History and Geography in Late Antiquity

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HISTORY AND GEOGRAPHY IN LATE ANTIQUITY

The period from the fifth century to the eighth century witnessed massive political, social and religious change. Geographical and historical thought, long rooted to Roman ideologies, had to adopt the new perspectives of late antiquity. In the light of expanding Christianity and the evolution of successor kingdoms in the West, new historical discourses emerged which were seminal in the development of medieval historiography. Taking their lead from Orosius in the early fifth century, Latin historians turned increasingly to geographical description, as well as historical narrative, to examine the world around them. This book explores the interdependence of geographical and historical modes of expression in four of the most important writers of the period: Orosius, Jordanes, Isidore of Seville and the Venerable Bede. It offers important new readings of each by arguing that the long geographical passages with which the works were introduced were central to their authors’ historical assumptions and arguments. A. H. MERRILLS

is a Solmsen Research Fellow, at the Institute for Research in the Humanities, University of Wisconsin-Madison. He has undertaken extensive archaeological work in France and central Spain and is the editor of Vandals, Romans and Berbers: New Perspectives on Late Antique North Africa (2004).

Cambridge Studies in Medieval Life and Thought Fourth Series General Editor: ROSAMOND MCKITTERICK

Professor of Medieval History, University of Cambridge, and Fellow of Newnham College

Advisory Editors: CHRISTINE CARPENTER

Reader in Medieval English History, University of Cambridge, and Fellow of New Hall JONATHAN SHEPARD

The series Cambridge Studies in Medieval Life and Thought was inaugurated by G. G. Coulton in 1921; Professor Rosamond McKitterick now acts as General Editor of the Fourth Series, with Dr Christine Carpenter and Dr Jonathan Shepard as Advisory Editors. The series brings together outstanding work by medieval scholars over a wide range of human endeavour extending from political economy to the history of ideas. For a list of titles in the series, see end of book.

HISTORY AND GEOGRAPHY IN LATE ANTIQUITY A. H. MERRILLS

cambridge university press Cambridge, New York, Melbourne, Madrid, Cape Town, Singapore, São Paulo Cambridge University Press The Edinburgh Building, Cambridge cb2 2ru, UK Published in the United States of America by Cambridge University Press, New York www.cambridge.org Information on this title: www.cambridge.org/9780521846011 © A. H. Merrills 2005 This publication is in copyright. Subject to statutory exception and to the provision of relevant collective licensing agreements, no reproduction of any part may take place without the written permission of Cambridge University Press. First published in print format 2005 isbn-13 isbn-10

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For D. H.

CONTENTS

Preface A note on translations List of abbreviations

ix xii xiii

Introduction: history’s other eye History and geography Challenges to the classical Weltbild

1 6 20

1 Orosius Overview of Orosius’ Historia The geographical introduction Conclusions

35 39 64 97

2 Jordanes Cassiodorus and Jordanes The geographical introduction Analysis of individual sections Justinian and the Goths Conclusions

100 101 115 132 162 168

3 Isidore of Seville The historical writing of Isidore of Seville The composition of the Gothic histories The Laus Spaniae The Laus Gothorum The Geography of Spain Epithalamial themes Conclusions

170 171 179 185 197 199 205 226

4 Bede The Historia Ecclesiastica The geographical introduction Ethnography

229 234 249 274 vii

Contents

5

The origin myths The Historia Ecclesiastica and the Angli Conclusions

282 290 307

Conclusions

310

Appendices A The geographical introduction to the Historiarum adversus paganos libri septem of Orosius. Orosius, Hist. I .1–106 B The geographical introduction to the De origine actibusque Getarum of Jordanes. Getica I .4–V .38. C The Laus Spaniae of Isidore of Seville D The description of Britain in Bede, Historia Ecclesiastica I .1 References Primary Sources Secondary Works Index

viii

313 321 327 329 332 332 345 373

PREFACE

The Geography which I had purposed is really a big undertaking . . . And really the material is hard to set out, monotonous, not so easy to embellish as it looked, and (the main point), I find any excuse good enough for doing nothing. Cicero, Letter to Atticus II.6

When I first came across this passage in my first year of graduate study at Cambridge, it scarcely filled me with confidence; a howl of impotent rage at the complexities of classical geography is not, after all, the best sentiment to encounter when embarking on just such a ‘big undertaking’. The following months of study justified some of those fears, and allayed others. Consequently, when I included it as an epigraph to my completed doctoral dissertation it was with mixed feelings of hubris and relief. Now, as I recycle the quotation for a second time after several more years of grappling with the delights of classical geography and the thought that followed in its wake, my own feelings are rather clearer. Big undertaking as it was, if I managed to escape the anguish that Cicero pours forth in his letter to Atticus, this was due in no small part to the help offered to me by countless advisors, friends and colleagues over the course of its genesis and composition. The doctoral thesis upon which this book is based was generously funded by a substantial grant from the British Academy Arts and Humanities Research Board, augmented by supplementary funding from Trinity College, Cambridge. In the years after its completion, I was supported first by a Rouse-Ball studentship at Trinity, which enabled me to take stock of the work, and then by a Post-Doctoral Research Associateship at King’s College, which eased its transformation into the current volume. I am also grateful to the Jebb Fund of the University of Cambridge for supporting its final stages. ix

Preface The translation of Orosius’ geographical introduction within Appendix 1 of the present volume is reproduced with the kind permission of the Catholic University of America Press. I am also indebted to Liverpool University Press and Ken Wolf for permission to reproduce the translation of Isidore’s Laus Spaniae in Appendix 3, and to Oxford University Press for the right to include the text of Bede’s description of Britain, as Appendix 4. I owe a particular debt to four scholars who have selflessly provided more guidance and advice than I could possibly have deserved. Rosamond McKitterick supervised my Masters and doctoral research, and has overseen much of my post-doctoral work. Her good humour and patience have proved invaluable. Walter Pohl and Dick Whittaker provided a thorough but sensitive examination of my Ph.D., gently directed me away from some of my more spurious flights of fancy, and encouraged me in pursuit of others. Finally, Simon Loseby, who first introduced me to the historians of late Antiquity, has been an incomparable source of support ever since. His diligent reading of my work at every stage of composition has shaped it profoundly. Katherine Clarke and Natalia Lozovsky read the original thesis in its entirety and brought to it their knowledge of very different geographies. The assembled members of the ‘History and Theory of Description’ group at King’s offered much illuminating feedback on the introductory discussion of history and geography, and are responsible for some of the better jokes. For this, I am very grateful to Stefan Hoesel-Uhlig, Judith Greene, Mark Philips, Franc¸ois Furstenberg, Dan Vyleta, Tom De Wesselow, Ann Fielding and Soumhya Venkatesan. At different stages, I have also benefited greatly from the detailed feedback of Peter Sarris, Peter Garnsey, John Blair, David Rollason, Jack Niles, Immi Valtonen, Neil Wright, Mayke de Jong and Tom Kitchen on substantial sections of the work. I must also acknowledge the advice and support of many friends and colleagues within Cambridge and beyond. Brigitte Resl, Alfred Hiatt, Carl Watkins, Helmut Reimitz, Richard Miles, Mike Clover, Miri Rubin and Keith Hopkins all listened with patience to my less structured ramblings, and quietly pointed me in the right direction where necessary. It has been a particular pleasure for much of my time at Cambridge to work alongside Mark Handley and Christina Po¨ssel, whose enthusiasm for matters late antique and early medieval has done much to shape my own. Cedric Barnes offered support and solace throughout my time at Trinity, and helped to foster an interest in matters North African. Jane Hiddleston shared endless discussions of memory and narratives, and helped to create many more. x

Preface When the library proved too much each summer, I had the great fortune to find refuge in the world of archaeology. If Rob Watson and Faye Simpson proved particularly effective at helping me forget about the complexities of Orosius and his successors, I owe an equal debt to John Collis for ensuring that they were never too far from my mind. The inspiration for this study was found as much in discussions of Celts, Goths and Romans over Spanish beer as in the more prosaic surroundings of the library. I also owe an enormous debt to those friends who put up with my obsession, while happily developing those of their own. Andy Bevan, George Shuffelton, John Dean and Bill Grundy have all offered support and comments throughout. When any excuse was good enough for doing nothing, many people have offered suggestions, especially Adam Squires, Becky Fell, Tom Penn, Andrew Lynn, Elana Wilson, Sarah Robinson, Soumhya Venkatesan, Eric Blaum, Dan Vyleta, Franc¸ois Furstenberg and Amy Dean. I leave my greatest debts until last. My parents, John and Dariel, have been the source of constant support and encouragement. Without them, this study could never have been completed. The book, however, is respectfully dedicated to Mrs Dorothy Hall, formerly the head of History at King Edward VII School, Sheffield. For better or for worse, it was her inspirational teaching that started the whole thing off . . .

xi

A NOTE ON TRANSLATIONS

The editions and available translations of the primary material used are included in the references at the end of the book. Wherever possible, I have used published English translations of all works cited. Deviations from these translations are marked in the relevant footnotes. Where published translations are unavailable, all translations are my own. For ease of reference, full English translations of the geographical introductions of Orosius, Jordanes, Isidore and Bede are included in the appendices to the current study.

xii

ABBREVIATIONS

ACW APACRS APS BEHEH Bude´ CAHS CCSL CSASE CSEL CSS EHD EMET FC GCS GGM GLM Hakluyt LCL MGH AA Ep. SRL SRM NMC NPNF OECT

Ancient Christian Writers. The Works of the Fathers in Translation American Philological Association. Classical Resources Series Arthurian Period Sources Bibliothe`que de l’Ecole des hautes e´tudes hispaniques Collection des universite´s de France publie´e sous le patronage de l’association Guillaume Bude´ Clarendon Ancient History Series Corpus Christianorum Series Latina Cambridge Studies in Anglo-Saxon England Corpus Scriptorum Ecclesiasticorum Latinorum Cistercian Studies Series English Historical Documents I, c. 500–1042 Exeter Medieval English Texts Fathers of the Church Griechische Christliche Schriftsteller der ersten drei Jahrhunderte Geographi Graeci Minores Geographi Latini Minores The Hakluyt Society Loeb Classical Library Monumenta Germaniae Historica Auctores Antiquissimi Epistolae Scriptores rerum Langobardicarum et Italicarum saec. VI–IX Scriptores rerum Merowingicarum Nelson’s Medieval Classics Nicene and Post-Nicene Fathers. Second Series Oxford Early Christian Texts xiii

List of abbreviations OMT PGL PL RCSS SC SCBO SCNC SEHL SLH SPCK TCL Teubner TTH

Oxford Medieval Texts Patrologia Graeco-Latina Patrologia Latina Records of Civilization. Sources and Studies Sources Chre´tiennes Scriptorum Classicorum Bibliotheca Oxoniensis Sources Chre´tiennes. Se´r. Annexe de textes non chre´tiens Scriptores Ecclesiastici Hispano-Latini Scriptores Latini Hiberniae Society for the Promotion of Christian Knowledge Translations of Christian Literature Bibliotheca scriptorum Graecorum et Romanorum Teubneriana Translated Texts for Historians

xiv

INTRODUCTION: HISTORY’S OTHER EYE

Chronology and Geography are the two eyes of History. Samuel Purchas, Pilgrimage, 2nd edn, p. 613

Seven years after Alaric’s sack of Rome in 410, and some five hundred miles away on the North African coast, the Spanish priest Orosius completed his Historiarum adversus paganos libri septem. At the very start of his piece, immediately after a brief declaration of the unprecedented chronological scope of his Historia, Orosius treated his audience to a long geographical passage, in a bold declaration of the spatial concerns of his ambitious work. Rattling through his chapter at some pace, the historian created nothing less than a succinct portrait of the fifth-century world, from India in the east to the Spanish provinces in the west, from the headwaters of the Nile in interior Africa to the mysterious Arctic island of Thule. The chapter is a central one within Orosius’ work, and within the evolution of Latin historiography. Proudly situated at the very start of the Historia, the description of the world not only declared Orosius’ own interests in the interaction of geographical and historical themes, it set the standard for Christian historical writing of the next half-millennium. Orosius’ introduction demonstrated the extent to which Christian historians could express themselves and make sense of their world, not only through reference to the past, but through their interpretation of the physical world. Orosius was not the first historian to grant geography so prominent a position within his historical narrative. Some five hundred years before the Spanish presbyter, Sallust had included a detailed description of Numidia at an early stage of his Bellum Jugurthinum, ostensibly to provide the setting for the military narrative that followed.1 Famously, Julius Caesar opened his own De bello Gallico with a succinct survey of Gaul, 1

Sallust, Bell. Jug. I.17.

1

Introduction: history’s other eye to reflect and accentuate the magnitude of his conquests.2 In the second century, the Alexandrian historian Appian added a more detailed and comprehensive description of the Roman Empire in its entirety as an introduction to his ambitious Historia Romana.3 Within the vast landscape of classical historical writing, however, Sallust, Caesar and Appian stood alone as isolated champions of the geographical introduction. In the majority of classical histories, from Herodotus to Ammianus Marcellinus, geographical or ethnographic passages were scattered throughout the text, in order to illuminate individual sections, or to add points of parenthetical interest.4 The discursus certainly had an important role to fill within historical writing, but the great prominence granted to geography by Appian and the two Latin historians was not uniformly adopted within the classical world. There can be little doubt that it was the Historia of Orosius which transformed the geographical introduction from an occasional literary tool to a central feature of Christian narrative history. The historians of the early medieval period looked at the world around them through Orosian-tinted spectacles. Jordanes, who wrote in Constantinople in the mid-sixth century, provided his De origine actibusque Getarum, or Getica, with a carefully plotted description of the Scandinavian origins of his eponymous group. Seventy years later, Isidore of Seville included an account of the Iberian peninsula as a preface to the longer recension of his History of the Goths,Vandals and Sueves, and a century after Isidore, the Venerable Bede chose to open his Historia Ecclesiastica gentis Anglorum with a justly famous description of the British Isles. These compositions comprised some of the most influential and widely read histories of the early medieval period, among modern students as well as among contemporaries. It is these texts, and the uses to which geography was put in each, that the present study is intended to examine. These prologues vary quite dramatically in length and in content, but all display an understanding of the importance of geography to an appropriate grasp of history. Orosius’ rather terse description of the whole of the known world contrasts sharply with the short encomium of the British Isles composed by Gildas as a preface to his polemical De excidio Britanniae in the late fifth century. Similarly, Jordanes’ rather peculiar perambulation of the Oceanic islands and his meandering description of the migration route of the Goths from the frozen north to the civilized Mediterranean bears little superficial resemblance to Isidore’s succinct portrait of Gothic Spain. In many ways, indeed, the geographical prefaces 2 4

Caesar, BG I.1–2. 3 Appian, Hist. Pref. 1–5. Cf. Tacitus, Annals IV.30 on the importance of geographical digression to historical narrative.

2

Introduction: history’s other eye are as varied as the historical works in which they appear, and often display their idiosyncratic authors at their finest. Gildas’ evocation of a bucolic Britain, for example, displays a dexterity of scriptural allusion that is quite breathtaking in its sophistication, and Bede’s description of the instant death of snakes upon arrival in Ireland is one of the most famous images within his Historia Ecclesiastica. The focal position afforded geographical themes within early Christian historiography is striking, and yet has prompted very little comment from modern scholars. Several studies have focused upon prefaces of this kind in isolation, but no coherent survey has ever attempted to trace the evolution of this peculiar historiographical structure, or to examine the appeal of such a methodology to the medieval writer.5 The need for such an investigation becomes all the more apparent when it is considered that these long prefaces formed the bedrock of geographical writing during the early medieval period. Although certain dedicated geographical compositions are extant from between the fifth and the eighth centuries, and textual attestations elsewhere allow the historian to state with confidence that other productions of the kind existed, historical works indisputably supplied the most widely read descriptions of the physical world during the period.6 Later geographers extensively cited Orosius in particular as an authority on the physical world. Jordanes, too, provided a definitive source on Scandinavian geography, and Bede’s description of England remained inviolate even into the thirteenth century. In many ways, the study of these introductions encompasses a survey not only of early medieval historiographical practice, but also of geographical thought in the same period. Paradoxically, the very success of Orosius’ initiative in including a geographical introduction to his historical narrative is partially responsible for modern neglect of his innovative structuring. Were it not for the frequency with which modern historical works employ similar introductions, it seems likely that the remarkably widespread adoption of the technique in late Antiquity would have earned more comment. In the wake of Orosius and his immediate successors, the inclusion of long prefatory spatial descriptions became almost indispensable to Latin historical writing. Paul the Deacon’s eighth-century Historia Langobardorum, for 5

6

These studies include Janvier (1982a) on Orosius, Higham (1991) on Gildas, Rodrı´guez Alonso (1975), pp. 113–22 on Isidore and Kendall (1979) and Speed (1992) on Bede. I deviate substantially from the views of each of these writers in the study that follows. On early medieval geographical writing in general, see the excellent survey of Lozovsky (2000), and her treatment of the historians at pp. 66–101. Compare Kimble (1938), pp. 19–29 and see also Staab (1976) on the identification of lost sixth-century geographers from fragmentary survivals in later works.

3

Introduction: history’s other eye example, was ornamented with a long geographical opening, which alludes clearly to the fifth-century work of Orosius.7 The Gesta Danorum of Saxo Grammaticus, the Historia regum Britanniae of Geoffrey of Monmouth, and the Historia Anglorum of Henry, Archdeacon of Huntingdon, to cite three further examples, all introduce their historical sections with a long discussion of the physical scope of their enquiry.8 Nor were these historians self-conscious about their deference to literary precedent in their exploitation of the geographical introduction. Paul and Saxo Grammaticus both made their debts to Orosius’ Historia clear through distinct allusion within their opening chapters: a pattern of deference previously followed by Gildas, Jordanes and Isidore of Seville. Later British historians, similarly, displayed their influences proudly through candid emulation of Bede’s British geography. The geographical introduction remains a surprisingly common tool of contemporary narrative history. While it would be stretching the point to suggest that Orosius exerted a direct influence over western historical writing into the modern period, the very popularity of this structure among more recent writers has done much to obscure the originality of this approach within the fifth century. Edward Gibbon opened his magisterial survey of The Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire with a long account of the physical scope of Roman authority under the Antonines.9 Trevelyan’s England under Queen Anne is introduced by a similar account of the landscape of seventeenth-century Britain, taken largely from the pages of Daniel Defoe’s Tour around Britain.10 Similarly, the great Histoire de France, assembled by Ernest Lavisse in the early years of the twentieth century, included a substantial description of the hexagon at its outset. Indeed, the work has as its opening book the Tableau de la ge´ographie de la France, constructed by Paul Vidal de la Blache for precisely this purpose, which was to prove hugely influential in the development of French historical and geographical thought.11 The practice survives within contemporary historical writing. Histories of individual regions, in particular, have frequently taken as their starting point a short geographical overview, in order to establish the spatial parameters of the area under consideration. To turn briefly to the bookshelf in order to illustrate the point, and to take from it monographs virtually at random, Geoffrey Parker’s The Dutch Revolt, Alan Bowman’s Egypt after the

7 8

9 11

Paul, HL I.1–6 and see also the description of Italy at II.14–24. Saxo Grammaticus, Gest. Dan. Pref 6–9; Geoffrey of Monmouth, HRB I.2; Henry of Huntingdon, HA I.1–3. Gibbon, Decline and Fall, pp. 3–33. 10 Trevelyan (1930), pp. 4–27. Vidal de la Blache (1903).

4

Introduction: history’s other eye Pharaohs and Chris Wickham’s Early Medieval Italy might be taken as representative of the considerable canon of regional histories to be introduced in this way.12 Implicit within each of these chapters is the assumption that a primary purpose of geography is to locate and delineate the historical narrative proper, rather than to contribute to it in a meaningful sense. Indeed, the geographical introduction to R. G. Collingwood’s Roman Britain is explicitly entitled ‘The Stage of History’.13 The reader is reminded here of the perpetual labours of Tristram Shandy’s Uncle Toby on the bowling green of Shandy Hall. Anxious to elucidate for his indifferent audience his accounts of the siege of Namur, and to make sense of his own confused memories, Uncle Toby perpetually crafts and re-crafts scale models of the city’s fortifications. Through his ‘hobby-horse’, the veteran exemplifies the assumption that spatial context is a necessary precursor to clear historical explanation.14 As the Uncle Toby analogy reminds us, however, historians can frequently be quite shameless in the exploitation of literary references in order to lend their works a certain gravitas. Indeed, a second important function of the geographical introduction is as a literary construct. The modern historians discussed, exceptional writers all, chose to locate their narratives, not merely through the use of maps, but through written geographical description, with all of the opportunities for rhetorical embellishment that this affords.15 At times, these literary pretensions are easy enough to identify. Trevelyan’s use of Defoe in order to provide a historical geography of seventeenth-century England displays the union of geographical and literary considerations clearly enough. Alan Bowman’s introduction exploits Herodotus and Ammianus Marcellinus for similar reasons, and Parker’s presentation of the Low Countries in 1549 through the eyes of the future Philip II employs obvious literary conventions. Again, however, it is Collingwood who provides the most striking, and classical, illustration of this point. Although the historian goes on to discuss the geology and ecology of Britain, and indeed creates a memorable image of the isles in so doing, his introduction begins with an obvious, and surely deliberate, pastiche of the opening geography of the Gallic War.16

12 13

14 15

16

Parker (1977), pp. 19–30; Bowman (1986), pp. 12–20; Wickham (1981), pp. 9–14. Collingwood (1936), p. 1; compare Wickham (1981), p. 9, who justifies a description of the Italian landscape at the outset of his work as ‘a stage and a backcloth to what follows’. Laurence Sterne, Tristram Shandy I.25–II.6. It might be noted here that Parker, Bowman and Wickham all augment their written geographical passages with maps. Collingwood (1936), p. 1: ‘The country of Britain is divided by nature into two parts, each with a character of its own, a complement and a contrast to that of the other’; compare Caesar, BG I.1: Gallia est omnis divisa in partes tres


Hi omnes lingua, institutes, legibus inter se differunt.

5

Introduction: history’s other eye These trends within modern historical writing have greatly influenced the way in which the geographical introductions to fifth-, sixth- and seventh-century histories have been read. Almost without exception, modern analyses of the chapters have assumed that the passages were intended either as a straightforward declaration of the spatial stage upon which the following historical narrative was to be set, or as the opportunity for some judicious literary display on the part of the author.17 Hence, criticism of the passages has manifested itself most forcefully through the Quellenforschung approaches of the late nineteenth-century philologists. Each of the passages has been subject to minute scrutiny, in the hope of teasing out literary allusions, with the underlying assumption that such echoes were an end in themselves, and did not fit part of a wider rhetorical programme.18 This is not to denigrate the painstaking work that has been devoted to the literary influences behind late antique geographical writing. Indeed, the study which follows would have been impossible without the invaluable foundations laid by such scholarship. An important feature of present work, moreover, has been the identification of further literary reflections within these kaleidoscopic chapters. Yet recognition of Orosius’ likely use of the Agrippa map, or of Jordanes’ use of Orosius, is all but immaterial unless the impulses which shaped these appropriations can be understood. HISTORY AND GEOGRAPHY

To consider fully the role which geographical passages might have within a work of historiography, the nature of the relationship between ‘geographical’ and ‘historical’ writing deserves some attention. In late Antiquity – the period of particular interest here – the disciplinary distinctions familiar to the modern schoolroom had little meaning. The term geographia, derived from the Greek, is known in only two Latin texts, neither of which was specifically concerned with the description of the world.19 The alternative chorographia, again taken from the Greek and popularized in the title of 17

18

19

Madoz (1939) and Fontaine (2001) typify the interpretation of Isidore’s Laus Spaniae as work of isolated literary merit. Goffart (1988), pp. 250–3, Gransden (1974), pp. 23–4 and Markus (1975), p. 4 are similarly representative in their assertions that Bede’s introduction was primarily intended as a spatial setting for the Historia. Speed (1992) provides an innovative allegorical reading of Bede’s geography, but similarly considers the opening chapter independently of the remainder of the Historia. See, for example, Braun (1909), Klotz (1930) and Zangemeister (1877) on Orosius; Friedrich (1907) and Ensslin (1949) on Jordanes and Philipp (1912) on Isidore. Further bibliography may be found in the individual chapters, below. Cicero, Ep. ad Att. 2.4.3; Ammianus Marcellinus XXII.8.10. On these passages, see Lozovsky (2000), pp. 8–9 and n.4.

6

History and geography Pomponius Mela’s first-century work, was scarcely more widespread.20 Instead, descriptions of the world circulated under a variety of different titles, from the cumbersome literalism of the anonymous totius orbis diversarumque regionis situs, to Martianus Capella’s misleading use of the personified Geometria to introduce his fifth-century description of the world.21 This confusion of nomenclature reflected the uncertain status of geographical description within late antique thought. As Natalia Lozovsky’s recent study has demonstrated, geographical works could certainly exist in isolation, but investigation of the physical world was more frequently subservient to other literary forms, particularly exegesis and historiography.22 It is conspicuous that the majority of classical and post-classical writers who sought to justify the composition and study of geographical works, from Cicero to Augustine, regarded an appreciation of the physical world as a natural counterpart to the understanding of the past. Cicero suggested that each could help to explain human experience, Augustine that both could illuminate the Sacred Word of Scripture.23 It is possible for the modern commentator to identify ‘historical’ or ‘geographical’ compositions from late Antiquity, but to do so with little thought to their conceptual interdependence is to risk anachronism. Perhaps more importantly, to do so without some consideration of the ambiguities inherent in the modern meanings of the two terms is to fail to appreciate quite why the two disciplines were so closely bound in the late antique mind. Within the examples of modern historical writing cited, simple distinctions might seem to be drawn between ‘geography’ and ‘history’ with little difficulty, yet even here the disciplinary divisions beloved of school curricula prove misleading. On the simplest level, ‘history’ might be distinguished from ‘geography’ through reference to its temporal, rather than spatial focus. Similarly, history might be said to deal with change over time, whereas geography typically considers the state of the world within a single time period, and allows less scope for historical change. Finally, narrative would seem to provide the most natural means for historical writing, as opposed to the descriptive methods employed by the geographer.24 In the baldest possible terms, therefore, we may propose three different, if interconnected, means of definition: History: time, 20 21 22

23

24

On Chorographia, compare Romer (1998), pp. 4–9 and Lozovsky (2000), pp. 9–10. Lozovsky (2000), pp. 9–10. Lozovsky (2000) provides a detailed study of different manifestations of geographical scholarship from AD 400 to 1000. See also her discussion of Carolingian ‘geography’ in Lozovsky (1996). Cicero, De oratore II.15.63; Augustine, De doc. Christ. II.27–9. On these passages, compare Lozovsky (2000), pp. 10–14; O’Loughlin (1992), pp. 40–1. A distinction proposed by Hartshorne (1939), p. 135: ‘History is narrative, geography a description.’

7

Introduction: history’s other eye the past, narrative; Geography: space, the present (or a single time-frame), description.25 Generally speaking, it is through a combination of these definitions that the distinction between geographical and historical writing may be drawn. Like the comparable boundaries between history and sociology, anthropology or narrative fiction, however, the frontier is scarcely an undisputed one, and its complexity reveals itself upon close examination. Crucially, the absolute distinction between time and space, as the principal objects of historical and geographical study, only applies on the most abstract level. Distinctions can certainly be drawn on such bases between geometry and chronology, but these definitions prove valueless in the application of the same criteria to the human sciences. When a human element is introduced to the equation, as is the case with both history and geography, the separation of the temporal and spatial becomes increasingly difficult. Historical writing, it must be stressed, is concerned, not with the passage of time per se, but with the activities of humankind over time.26 Geographies, similarly, are devoted not to the study of space, but to the relationship between humans and their environment. History and geography alike are concerned with the activity of humanity in time and space – ‘the basic stuff of human existence’ in the words of a prominent historical geographer.27 In many ways, they are symbiotic. Deprived of spatial assumptions, historical writing would be nonsensical. Conversely, without founding their studies upon human activity over time, geographers would simply have nothing to write about. The latter statement is, perhaps, the more contentious. While it seems self-evident that history must narrate actions in space as well as time, the temporal, or perhaps more accurately, the historical, aspect of geography is less immediately apparent. In fact, the point is most clearly illustrated through reference to one of the most extreme manifestations of mathematical cartography. Within the ancient world, the most striking example of abstract geographical expression was certainly the second-century Geographia of the Alexandrian cartographer Claudius Ptolemaeus.28 While Ptolemy’s work was firmly founded upon geometrical principles, 25

26

27 28

For these definitions, and for much of the theoretical discussion which follows, I am indebted to Katherine Clarke. Her comments on precisely these issues have been extraordinarily illuminating and a detailed discussion of many of them is to be found in Clarke (1999), pp. 1–76. In the light of this work, I provide only a brief summary (with some of my own observations) here. A point rightly stressed by Guelke (1997), pp. 223–34 in his discussion of historical geography and the relationship between its component disciplines. Meinig (1978), p. 1186, cited by Clarke (1999), p. 5. For the intellectual and historical background to Ptolemy’s work, see Dilke (1987a).

8

History and geography and the innumerable reference points which comprise his work in its extant form are located on an abstract co-ordinate grid, the work as a whole is imbued with countless historical assumptions. Crucially, the points identified by the cartographer as worthy of inclusion are towns, mountain ranges, river mouths and lakes – all features loaded with historical significance. As modern theoretical geographers have demonstrated at length, for such points to have any meaning – for ‘space’ to be translated into ‘place’, in other words – they must be imbued with a cultural significance.29 Towns are worthy of record because they are lived-in places, mountains and rivers because they are identified and named by a cultural authority. Despite its apparent abstraction, Ptolemy’s Geographia, like all geographical works, was ultimately founded upon human cultural responses to the physical world. In this sense, geography is not merely infused with temporal themes, but actively includes historical elements. The centrality of human, or historical, time to geographical composition may be further illustrated through reference to some of the ‘geographical’ introductions to modern histories identified above. Bowman, Parker and Wickham all betray considerable interest in the physical landscape of Egypt, the Netherlands and Italy respectively, yet their portraits of the physical world are scarcely devoid of a human element. Bowman’s description of Egypt places particular emphasis upon the countless benefits that the Nile Valley bestowed on its inhabitants, from the papyrus on its banks, and minerals beneath its sands, to the fertility engendered by the river flood itself.30 Wickham, similarly, discusses the impact of the Alps and the Apennines on the social structure of early medieval Italy, and the continued importance of roads and towns within the post-Roman peninsula.31 It is within the treatment of urban geography that the frontiers between geographical and historical themes are at their most blurred. The description of the urbanized Low Countries at the outset of Geoffrey Parker’s work certainly has a geographical dimension, but one coloured by demographic concerns, and enlivened by discussion of themes as diverse as education, medicine and standards of cleanliness within the average Dutch household.32 Given this interdependence, distinction may be drawn between geographical and historical approaches through the relative emphasis placed by a work, or indeed an individual passage within a work, upon human space and historical time. Few would argue, for example, that Ptolemy’s 29 30 32

See esp. Tuan (1977), Parkes and Thrift (1978) and the discussion in Clarke (1999), pp. 17–18. Bowman (1986), pp. 12–13. 31 Wickham (1981), esp. pp. 9–12. Parker (1977), pp. 20–3.

9

Introduction: history’s other eye Geographia is a predominantly historical composition, for all its underlying assumptions, or that Eusebius’ Chronicon is essentially geographical. By the same token, some distinction may be drawn between the opening, ‘geographical’ section of The Dutch Revolt, and the ‘historical’ emphasis of the remainder of the narrative. What must be stressed, however, is the recognition that each of these compositions, however it may be labelled, is founded upon a number of historical and geographical assumptions, whether stated or unstated. When a work juxtaposes ‘historical’ and ‘geographical’ passages, as is the case with Parker’s monograph, or with the late antique histories considered here, the conceptual interdependence of the two modes of enquiry is of particular interest. Nor does the methodological separation of descriptive geography and narrative history make distinction between the disciplines any clearer, particularly within the late antique world. The most widespread form of historical discourse within the period was the chronicle – a predominantly non-narrative form of historical expression, which provided the superstructure for many literary compositions.33 Conversely, periploi and itineraries provided popular media for the transmission of geographical information, which, if not narratological in the manner of modern travel literature, retain an obvious narrative structure. Indeed, recent scholarship has argued that space was frequently conceptualized in linear terms, despite the high status afforded to descriptive geographies within the classical world.34 The world, in other words, may have been regarded as a series of nodal points, separated by space and joined by routes of travel, rather than as a plane of regions invested with an equal epistemological status. The position is supported most persuasively by the Tabula Peutingeriana, a thirteenth-century map apparently derived from a fourth-century original, which depicts the world in precisely these terms, and might justly be compared to the London Underground map in its representation of space.35 For the texts considered in detail here, however, the distinction between historical narrative and geographical description is generally a useful one. The ‘historical’ passages of Orosius and his successors are generally imbued with a sense of linear, narrative progression, and ‘geographical’ elements with a descriptive stasis. It is along these lines that 33

34

35

On the literary form of the chronicle, and its relationship to narrative convention, see esp. White (1980/7), who stresses that the form contains certain elements of narrative construction, yet generally contrasts the style to more familiar forms of historiography. Janni (1984) and see also Bertrand (1997). Compare the important comments put forward by Nicolet (1991), pp. 70–2 who argues that spatial conceptualization in the period was a mixture of linear ‘experienced’ space and planar abstract space. Dilke (1988), p. 195. On the Peutinger Table, see Levi and Levi (1967); Finkelstein (1979).

10

History and geography Augustine’s De doctrina Christiana distinguishes between historia and other human sciences, including zoology and mineralogy, as well as topography.36 For the most part, therefore, the historians of late Antiquity attempted to tell a narrative historical story within their works, and illuminated this through the judicious application of geographical description. This discussion provides us with some theoretical context for the different ways in which history and geography might relate within historiographical compositions. I will be working here from two simple propositions, based on the discussion above. First, that geographical passages, particularly when granted such a prominent position within a historical narrative, might have a rhetorical function to play within that narrative. It is assumed, in other words, that historians are fully capable of adapting their geographical compositions to the wider requirements of their narrative, and that the arguments of a composition could be reflected in its geographical, as well as historical, content. Second, that the interdependence of historical and geographical understanding means that any historian’s view of the world will be inexorably shaped by his or her perspective on the past. Put in slightly different terms, it is assumed that when a society experiences a dramatic shift in the understanding of its own past, as reflected in its modes of historical expression, its attitudes to the physical world will undergo comparable change. Similarly, if the geographical understanding of a society is challenged, as happened during important periods of exploration or invasion, for example, its historical assumptions would also undergo some shift. The two propositions are, of course, interlinked, but provide a valuable perspective from which to examine the synthesis of geographical and historical elements within literary compositions. In order to illustrate this, I will discuss first the manifestations of these themes in ‘modern’ historiography, and then their implications for the understanding of historical and geographical writing in late Antiquity. The contrasting descriptions of the Roman Empire which introduce the histories of Appian and Edward Gibbon provide an appropriate illustration of many of these issues.37 Significantly, both works are introduced by a description of the empire during the Antonine period, and both adopt similar styles of geographic description. In each case, a composite image of the empire as a whole is created through the careful delineation of its constituent parts. At first glance, therefore, the two historians introduce their histories in surprisingly similar ways, despite 36 37

Augustine, De doc. Christ. II.28–9. Appian, Hist. Praef. 1–5; Gibbon, Decline and Fall, pp. 3–33, esp. 24–33.

11

Introduction: history’s other eye being separated by around a millennium and a half. It is through investigation of the differences between these accounts, however, that the importance of the geographical introduction to the narratives which follow may be discerned. The passages themselves were deliberately crafted in order to clarify the arguments inherent in the works as a whole, but were also affected implicitly by the differing perspectives of the historians upon the Roman past. The importance of both spatial change and chronological progression within Gibbon’s narrative is immediately demonstrated by the geographical introduction to The Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire. The use of the long description of the Antonine Empire as the starting point for the writer’s argument effectively highlights two of Gibbon’s most important themes. First, and most obviously, that he will discuss the fall of the empire from this date – the supposed high-water mark of the Roman experience. The static depiction of the state of the world in the second century effectively provides the chronological introduction to his narrative. Yet the proud celebration of early imperial hegemony also has important spatial implications within his argument. Throughout his work, Gibbon also describes the decline of imperial rule in geographical terms – from the expansive limites of the second century to its eventual fragmentation into the successor states of medieval and modern Europe. By opening with an account of the empire at its height, Gibbon provides his audience with a control against which to judge the catalogue of disasters that follows. Over the course of the seven volumes of the great work, the mind of the reader is brought back repeatedly to the opening book – contrasting the periods narrated with what has gone before. It is through geography, quite as much as discussion of events, that the historian establishes his narrative position. Gibbon’s historical perspective further affects his opening description of the world. The writer’s repeated comparison of Roman provinciae with contemporary European states might be read as a simple attempt to elucidate the complexities of Roman regional geography for an eighteenth-century audience.38 It might also be seen as a further illustration of the inexorable course of Gibbon’s tragic narrative: the transformation of a great empire into a collection of warring kingdoms. Even if we leave aside its narrative function, however, the geographical introduction betrays the

38

See, for example, Gibbon, Decline and Fall, p. 25: ‘Ancient Gaul, as it contained the whole country between the Pyrenees, the Alps, the Rhine and the Ocean, was of greater extent than modern France. To the dominions of that powerful monarchy, with its recent acquisitions of Alsace and Lorraine, we must add the duchy of Savoy, the cantons of Switzerland, the four electorates of the Rhine, and the territories of Liege, Luxemburg, Hainault, Flanders and Brabant.’

12

History and geography historical assumptions of the writer’s time. To the western European of the eighteenth century, the provinces of Europe, and not the decadent realms of the Orient or Arab North Africa, were the true heirs to the Roman legacy. As a result, the introduction to The Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire places a disproportionate emphasis upon the European provinces of the empire, and devotes rather less space to the Asian provinces, and very little to those of North Africa. Gibbon’s geographical introduction, far from being an essentially timeless portrait of secondcentury Rome, thus implicitly reflected the writer’s own historical understanding of the position of the empire within the wider patterns of human history. Unlike Gibbon, Appian intended his Historia Romana to be a narrative of Roman growth, reaching its zenith in the second century, rather than of its decline after that date. As a result, the description of the secondcentury empire which opens his work fulfils a very different narrative function to that adopted by Gibbon. Rather than depicting the Antonine Empire as the starting point for a long account of physical contraction and moral degradation, Appian effectively reverses the chronological conventions of narrative, and firmly declares his conclusion at the outset. Where Gibbon’s work perpetually draws its audience away from the perfection of the second century, Appian’s reflects an inexorable movement towards this point. Consequently, just as The Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire may be read as a narrative of spatial contraction, so the Historia Romana is unapologetically the story of growth. It is through the use of the geographical introduction that each historian makes his position clear. Just as Gibbon contrasted imperial Rome with contemporary Europe as the most vivid illustration of this decline, so the Alexandrian Appian sought to demonstrate the success of the empire through comparison with its predecessors. Particular emphasis is placed by Appian upon the Roman domination of the Mediterranean and Oceanic islands.39 Long regarded as the yardstick for authority within the classical thalassocracies, the islands become the most persuasive reflection of Roman authority.40 Elsewhere in his introduction, Appian effectively reverses Gibbon’s interest in European geography and focuses instead upon the expansion of Roman rule into the African desert, and throughout Asia. As might be expected of a writer who composed his work long before the events of the fourth and fifth centuries, Appian displays relatively little interest in Roman activities

39 40

Appian, Hist. Praef. 5, 9. Alonso-Nu´n˜ez (1984), p. 641.

13

Introduction: history’s other eye on the German frontier, and includes little on the expansion of imperial power to the North. In effect, both Appian and Gibbon include their descriptions of the second-century empire as a stage for their narrative histories, but with the implicit recognition that the stage is a perpetually changing one. The geographical introductions were not, therefore, simply unreflective backgrounds for the works in which they appeared, but were a fully expressive component in the telling of the historical ‘story’.41 In these examples, the stage metaphor – as the setting for a narrative work of history – is a particularly apposite one. As modern analyses of theatrical space have noted, setting has a central role to play within the expression and execution of dramatic narrative, and is typically readily exploited by its proponents.42 Although Gibbon and Appian were constrained by the geographical realities of the second-century empire within their introductions, and had much less flexibility than have dramatists or writers of fiction in the creation of a perfect spatial setting for their historical stories, the analogy remains an important one. Through a process of emphasis or omission within the chapters, and through the deliberate location of the idealized empire at the start of their works, both writers integrated their opening geographies to the wider narratives in which they appeared. If neither Appian nor Gibbon was profoundly affected by notions of geographical causality, or fully appreciated the potential role of geography for the understanding of historical events, both instinctively exploited geography within the writing of history. The recognition is a crucial one. Over the past century, historians have been made fully aware of the extent to which the tools of the geographer might affect not only the presentation of historical writing, but also the understanding of the manner in which the past was shaped. Two of the works cited earlier – the first volume of the Oxford History of England, published in 1936, and Vidal de la Blache’s introduction to Lavisse’s Histoire de France – reflect in different ways the conscious blurring of disciplinary boundaries that took place in the early twentieth century. In his contribution to the Oxford

41

42

A similar position is adopted in the thought-provoking study of Vasaly (1993), esp. pp. 21–2 on the function of spatial setting within the narratio and argumentatio of Ciceronian oratory. Compare, for example, Burke (1945), p. 7: ‘Thus, when the curtain rises to disclose a given stageset, this stage-set contains, simultaneously, implicitly, all that the narrative is to draw out as a sequence, explicitly.’ And note also the comments of Bal (1985), pp. 95–9 on the similar function that spatial ‘setting’ fulfils within narrative prose. Burke’s comments are related to modern dramatic convention, but his conclusions remain illuminating for the understanding of historical narrative. For further examples of the ‘stage’ in historical analysis, see esp. Cronon (1992) and compare the discussion in Baker (2003), pp. 27–8.

14

History and geography History, which forms the companion piece to Collingwood’s account of Roman Britain, J. N. L. Myers stresses at length the importance of adequate geographical knowledge to the understanding of Anglo-Saxon settlement patterns in the fourth and fifth centuries.43 This lead has since been followed by historians, geographers and landscape archaeologists alike, yet Myers made his own intellectual debts to emergent notions of historical geography abundantly clear.44 Inspired in part by the seminal work of H. C. Darby, Myers trod a delicate middle way between structuralist and behaviourist interpretations of occupation patterns, in which he associated the Saxon settlement both with the physical reality of fifthcentury England and with early medieval perceptions of the same landscape.45 The Saxon occupation, he argues, cannot be understood fully without reference to the peculiar topography of the British Isles, and to the likely impression that incoming Germanic groups had of it. While otherwise dominated by traditional patterns of historical narrative, Myers’ work nevertheless stresses at length the importance of new modes of enquiry and explication for the understanding of the early English past. Historical geography, of which Darby was a founding father, has enjoyed a somewhat uneven relationship with more orthodox forms of anglophone historical scholarship.46 Despite the influence of several seminal studies of the role of the landscape upon historical development, attempts to analyse the precise relationship between ‘geographical’ and ‘historical’ modes of investigation have been surprisingly rare.47 While modern geographers and philosophers in both Britain and the United States have assiduously attempted to map the disciplinary frontier, historians have generally subsumed elements of social scientific thought with

43

44

45

46

47

Myers (1936), p. 333: ‘For the facts of geography determined the course of Anglo-Saxon settlement, and the surest – indeed the only – way to an understanding of its difficulties will be a knowledge of England as it was in the fifth century of our era.’ Myers (1936), p. x. On recent developments in the discipline, see the collected studies in Jones and Dimbleby (1981) and Rackham (1994) and now Dark (2000). Myers (1936), p. 335. It is worth noting that Myers’ argument was partially anticipated in the late nineteenth century. Compare Green (1881), p. 30: ‘the ground itself, where we can read the information it affords, is, whether on the account of the Conquest or in that of the settlement of Britain, the fullest and most certain of documents’. Green (1991) provides an overview of the development of historical geography, particularly within Britain. With this compare now Baker (2003). Some of the difficulties engendered by the separation of the approach from other methods of historical understanding, particularly on the nature of ‘human time’, are highlighted by Guelke (1997). To cite just three studies which have been enormously influential in the understanding of early British history, see Hoskins (1955) – a seminal and immensely readable assessment of the English landscape; Dark and Dark (1997) – a more detailed discussion of the environment of Roman Britain; and Hooke (1985) – an illuminating case study of Saxon Worcestershire.

15

Introduction: history’s other eye relatively little discussion of the theoretical implications of this appropriation.48 In France, by contrast, the potential of geography, and other human sciences, was openly embraced by the historical community with a spectacular affection. The importance of historical elements to human geography, as propounded by Paul Vidal de la Blache, inspired Lucien Febvre’s seminal scholarship on the role of geography within historical thought.49 With Marc Bloch, Febvre founded the Annales d’histoire ´economique et sociale and in so doing created a model of historiography which incorporated, and to an extent subsumed, the complementary disciplines of sociology, geography and archaeology, and later the emergent ideologies of linguistic analysis.50 The emphasis placed by the Annales school upon the synthesis of geographical and historical ideas both reflected and shaped contemporary French historical writing to a considerable degree: a point illustrated most vividly by the work of Febvre himself and his natural successor, Fernand Braudel. In many ways, Braudel’s La Me´diterrane´e effectively consists of a geographical introduction writ large, and provides a stark contrast to the common image of such prefaces as merely the delineation of the ‘Stage of History’.51 Famously, La Me´diterrane´e comprises a long analytical description of the eponymous sea, with extensive emphasis upon its timeless characteristics. It is only in the final third of the book that the historian turns his attention to his ostensible historical subject matter, reflected in the subtitle of his work – Le monde me´diterrane´en a` l’e´poque de Philippe II. Braudel’s interest in the multiple rhythms of human history has been discussed at length, by the writer himself and by innumerable later commentators.52 What is of particular interest here, however, is that Braudel propounded a revolutionary view of human history through a conscious emphasis upon spatial, rather than temporal, boundaries for his enquiry. Unlike Myers, Braudel did not merely employ geographical and 48

49 50

51

52

Where discussion has taken place within the field of history, it has generally been fairly recent. See, for example, the round table discussion regarding the implications of ‘Ecological history’ for the understanding of the American past in the Journal of American History 76 (March, 1990). A much fuller discussion of the interdependence of environmental history, archaeology and the social sciences, in a deliberate attempt to develop many of the implications of Fernand Braudel’s work, is provided by the excellent survey of Horden and Purcell (2000). Febvre (1922) and see the discussion in Baker (1984), pp. 4–5. Much has been written on the history of the Annales. For stimulating discussion, see Clark (1985) and Baker (1984). Braudel (1949). A point acknowledged by the historian himself in his later defence of the work, Braudel (1972), p. 1239: ‘None of my critics had reproached me for including in this historical work the very extended geographical section which opens it, my homage to those timeless realities whose images recur throughout the whole book, from the first page to the last.’ For a summary of this material, see Horden and Purcell (2000), pp. 36–9 and esp. 541–4.

16

History and geography topographical observation to elucidate historical issues, although he did this too, of course, and to an unprecedented degree. Crucially, Braudel also employed spatial concerns in order to redefine his very area of enquiry. By writing a history of the Mediterranean, rather than a history of the Hapsburg Empire or the reign of Philip II, Braudel freed his account from the traditional temporal and political emphases of history, and opened up vast new areas for historical enquiry. By redefining the geographical parameters of his study, in other words, Braudel created a new structure and subject matter for his historical work. In a similar, albeit less self-conscious way, Braudel was anticipated in this approach by Henri Pirenne in his own discussion of the late antique Mediterranean. Pirenne’s posthumously published work Mahomet et Charlemagne effectively challenged the prevailing temporal boundaries placed on the study of the late classical world through a similar emphasis upon the spatial.53 Significantly, Pirenne’s work contains substantially less obviously geographical description than almost any of the other modern histories studied here. For the most part, his explicit interest in geography is reflected only in an opening declaration of the importance of the Mediterranean to the understanding of human history, and Pirenne shows little interest in either the role of geographical causality or the importance of the longue dure´e. Nevertheless, by eschewing the traditional chronological categorizations inherent in ‘classical’ or ‘medieval’ studies, and emphasizing instead the geographical coherence of the Mediterranean world, Pirenne effectively created a new field of historical enquiry.54 Perhaps ironically, Pirenne’s focus for study has since acquired chronological boundaries of its own, but the conceptual fluidity of late antique studies owes much to the precedent set by the Belgian scholar.55 In the long shadow cast by Vidal de la Blache, Febvre, Darby and their successors, it might seem reasonable to assume that the incorporation of geographical themes into historical study was largely a phenomenon of the twentieth century. In fact, it seems likely that generic distinctions were resisted with equal force within earlier modes of historical enquiry. 53

54

55

A point demonstrated in the opening line of the book, Pirenne (1937) p. 1: ‘De tous les caracte`res de cette admirable construction humaine que fut l’Empire romain, le plus frappant et aussi le plus essentiel est son caracte`re me´diterrane´en. C’est par la` que, quoique grec a` l’Orient, latin a` l’Occident, son unite´ se communique a` l’ensemble des provinces.’ A comparable use of redefined geographical focus in order to produce new historical perspectives is evident in Fowden (1993), in which a focus upon the ‘geographical arena’ of the Fertile Crescent at pp. 12–19 consciously challenges earlier approaches that have centred upon the Mediterranean. For some sense of the influence of Pirenne, compare Hodges and Whitehouse (1983), esp. pp. 1–19 and Horden and Purcell (2000), pp. 32–4 and 540–1. For some sense of the ideologies behind the study of late Antiquity, see Bowersock et al. (1999), pp. vii–xiii.

17

Introduction: history’s other eye Within much medieval Islamic historiography, for example, comparable attention is granted to human activity in both time and space, with the result that western commentators have frequently floundered in their attempts to catalogue the works in question. The tenth-century polymath al-Mas’udi included both ‘historical’ and ‘geographical’ elements prominently within his studies of the human past.56 Similarly, in the fourteenth century, Ibn Khalduˆn identified geographical discussion as a central component to the understanding of human social evolution, and provided a detailed assessment of the interactions of the two disciplines in his seminal Muqaddimah.57 Both al-Mas’udi and Ibn Khalduˆn were captivated by Hippocratic thought on the impact of climate on behaviour, and drew extensive conclusions from the thesis. Influenced as they were by Greek theoretical geography, however, their own interest in the physical form of the human landscape was scarcely less marked. Like the medieval Arab historians, and the later Annalistes, classical writers also appear to have synthesized spatial and temporal themes with considerable success. The insertion of geographical passages into historical writing was common practice from Herodotus onwards, and both were regarded as central to the process of historical composition. It is a regrettable reflection of common modern preconceptions regarding the centrality of narrative to the writing of history that several recent translations of classical works have suffered from the omission of geographical passages for the sake of clarity.58 For the most part, however, students of Polybius, in particular, have been anxious to stress the catholicism of his approach to the analysis of human society, and these arguments have equal force with respect to countless classical historians down to Ammianus.59 Although geographical elements are less immediately apparent within these works than within the compositions of Appian, Sallust or Julius Caesar, spatial themes are certainly important, whether expressed explicitly, as in innumerable digressions, or implicitly, within the arguments of the works as a whole. The geographical digression offered the historian the opportunity to insert material to instruct or entertain his audience, yet was also 56

57

58

59

On the history and geography of al-Mas’udi, see esp. the studies of Shafi (1960); Ali (1960); Alaui (1960). See, for example, the discussion of the inhabited world at Ibn Khalduˆn, Muqaddimah I.2, the influence of climate and regional fertility on human action at I.4–5, as well as the discussion of the scope of historical enquiry in the introduction. I refer here to Ian Scott-Kilvert’s Penguin translation of Polybius, produced in 1979 and Walter Hamilton’s epitome of Ammianus Marcellinus published in 1986 for the same series. Within this context it is interesting to note that Robert B. Strassler’s recent edition and translation of Thucydides (1996) effectively reverses this trend through the inclusion of copious illustrative maps. Walbank (1947), p. 156; cf. Emmett (1983); Wiedemann (1986). Significantly, at XXVI.1.1 Ammianus implies the centrality of the geographical digression to his own image of history.

18

History and geography essential to the expression of fundamental ideologies regarding the nature of human history. Studies of Herodotus’ accounts of Egypt and Scythia, for example, have demonstrated how central such elements were to the author’s conception of Greek society and to the balance of his work as a whole.60 Attempts to categorize the fragmentary survivals of several Greek histories have further demonstrated how difficult it is to separate ‘geographical’ from ‘historical’ scholarship. Katherine Clarke’s recent analysis of Strabo, Polybius and Posidonius has done much to support a position established within the scholarship of Jacoby and Walbank, that geographical and historical themes are virtually impossible to separate within classical writing.61 Although Clarke’s work acknowledges that some generic frontiers did exist – a point demonstrated most clearly by the fact that the Augustan writer Strabo appears to have composed a Historia alongside his famous Geographica, and clearly regarded the two as separate epistemological projects – she emphasizes that historical and geographical elements surfaced consistently across all works.62 As shall be discussed shortly, geographical and historical elements intertwined within classical writing as commentators struggled to make sense of their world. Each of the writers was concerned primarily, not with the description of the physical world or simply with human history, but with the human experience writ large. This may seem a circuitous way of demonstrating the centrality of geographical description within historical argument. What I hope this discussion has highlighted is the conceptual fluidity of geographical and historical thought, and the observation that the two elements must be regarded as interdependent, in the fifth, sixth and seventh centuries quite as much as in the twentieth or twenty-first. It is not my intention, however, to draw anachronistic links between the late antique historians and their classical predecessors, or to argue that Orosius and his successors were proto-Annalistes. Nor will I propose that a clear evolution of historical and geographical thought may be traced from Herodotus, through Strabo, Orosius, Ibn Khalduˆn and Gibbon, to its spectacular flowering in the twentieth century. Historians, after all, respond to the world around them in different ways, in the light of differing circumstances and their own literary ingenuity. Rather it is the intention of the present study to examine how the unique circumstances of late Antiquity

60

61

Compare Hartog (1988), which focuses largely on Herodotus’ attitudes towards Scythia, and the recent study of the Egyptian discourse by Vasunia (2001). Clarke (1999a), pp. 56–65 and see also Clarke (1997). 62 Clarke (1999a), p. 65.

19

Introduction: history’s other eye prompted a peculiar synthesis of historical and geographical writing in the Latin historiography of the period. There can be little doubt that the period from the early fourth century to the mid-eighth witnessed a substantial challenge to established thinking on both time and space. That the writing of history in late Antiquity underwent considerable change is well established, but the associated tumult in geographical understanding in the same period has been comparatively neglected. The prominence granted by late antique historians to geographical concerns within their works offers an unparalleled opportunity to assess the extent to which new ideologies were expressed through reference to the contemporary physical world, as well as to the past. Consequently, I will examine here the different challenges posed to historical writing within late Antiquity, in preparation for a study of the ramifications of these themes upon geographical thought within a handful of individual texts. CHALLENGES TO THE CLASSICAL WELTBILD

Varied as they were in form and content, the historical and geographical productions of the imperial period were generally founded upon assumptions of the timelessness of Roman rule, and its unique position within the inhabited world. Following Polybius, this association of the destiny of the empire with the oikoumene rarely required iteration or explanation.63 Livy’s monolithic Ab urbe cardita, which developed Polybian ideas for a Latin audience, inspired by the reinvention of Augustan Rome, was founded on just such assumptions of Roma Aeterna, and effectively reinforced these preconceptions.64 Within Latin writing, both formally historiographical and otherwise, these assumptions were perpetuated further through the creation and celebration of myths of universality in time and space. Virgil, famously, explained the boundless potential of eternal Rome through reference to its founding myths, and these traditions resurfaced in the political, rhetorical and historical writing of the empire.65 In many ways, the contemporary focus of much Latin historiography was justified by these assumptions, as much as by the inheritance of Thucydidean methodology.66 Equipped with an unspoken image of Roman dominance, the task of describing this growth was largely left to the great histories of the canon, or to unassuming summaries composed by 63 64 65 66

Breisach (1994), p. 59; Alonso-Nu´n˜ez (1990), p. 190. Breisach (1994), pp. 63–5; Fornara (1983), pp. 117–18. Nicolet (1991), pp. 31–43. Virgil, Aen. VI.781–2; compare Ovid, Fasti 2.667–84. Momigliano (1958).

20

Challenges to the classical Weltbild lesser historians with fewer literary pretensions.67 The most significant task for the ‘proper’ historian was the description of great men, and important deeds, in order to illuminate, and perhaps criticize, certain aspects of contemporary civilization, without challenging the assumptions that underlay them. Sallust, Tacitus, and later Ammianus are perhaps the most prominent Latin spokesmen of Roman moral weakness, but all based their criticism upon the assumption that the Roman state was essentially timeless, and that this representation of a movement away from a golden past need not be read as an assumption of inexorable Roman decline.68 These assumptions were challenged to a certain degree within the Greek historiography of the late republic and early empire. The universal historians of the first century before Christ all sought to contextualize Roman expansion within broader patterns of imperial growth and decline, and consciously drew their boundaries of enquiry beyond the temporal and spatial limites of Rome.69 A century later, Josephus composed his Jewish Antiquities in an effort to provide a comparable counterpoint to the growth of Roman power. Yet these voices of extra-imperial history were drowned in the choral celebration of Roman authority. Strabo and Appian both celebrated the hegemony of the City within their Greek compositions, and the inevitability of Jewish subservience to Rome provided the dominant theme of Josephus’ other great work, the Jewish War.70 It was only with the development of Christian discourse, therefore, and the ultimate adoption of the faith by the state, that the need to redefine the past – to demonstrate the great antiquity of the JudaeoChristian tradition, and to secure its place within history – became paramount. This created a twofold problem for the first Christian historians. On one level, the need to imbue the faith with a historic grandeur necessitated the evolution of new historiographical forms, or the investiture of the old with new emphases and authority. The comfortable patterns of contemporary history, implicitly bound to the assumptions of Roma Aeterna, were poorly equipped to carry a message as important as that proclaimed by Christianity.71 On another level, the importance of the classical heritage to literate Christian society necessitated an adherence of sorts to established patterns of discourse, particularly given the continued 67 68

69

70 71

Momigliano (1958), p. 131. Breisach (1994), p. 56; Fornara (1983), p. 91. Note, for example, Ammianus Marcellinus XIV.6.3 on the supposed timelessness of Roman rule. On these traditions, compare Alonso-Nu´n˜ez (1990), Clarke (1999b) and the discussion below, pp. 43–7. See esp. Josephus, Bell. Jud. II.8 – a vivid celebration of Roman authority. See Momigliano (1963), p. 110.

21

Introduction: history’s other eye importance of the empire to the evolving Christian Church in the fourth century. In response, new methodologies in the treatment of the past and present were created and existing systems were manipulated in order to make sense of the changing world.72 Eusebius of Caesarea was indisputably the central figure within the development of this Christian historical discourse. His Chronicon, which survives only in the expansion and Latin translation of Jerome from the late fourth century, effectively provided the first synthetic Christian chronology, reconciled secular chronological traditions, and demonstrated the primacy of Judaeo-Christian time.73 Eusebius was not the first writer to attempt such a project – Julius Africanus created a similar work in the third century, and synthetic chronicles were relatively commonplace within the city-states of the Greek world – yet the fourthcentury work proved to be enormously influential.74 The Chronicon of Eusebius-Jerome was to be revised and expanded repeatedly over the centuries that followed, with countless individual writers taking up the threads of the great chronology where previous writers had left off. Ultimately, this multiplication culminated in the composition of chronicles which focused primarily upon parochial events, yet all were bound, through their deference to the original Chronicon, to the great streams of divine time. Yet the Chronicon was far more than a platform upon which later chroniclers could build. Through its vivid demonstration of the linearity of Christian time, the work provided one of the earliest representations of Christian eschatological history. Similar themes were taken up by Sulpicius Severus in his independent Historia sacra, and in the varied images of divine time which emerged in the theological writings of Augustine.75 Ultimately, images of Christian time proved to be almost as numerous as the writers who devoted themselves to its interpretation, and a variety of different millenarian and apocalyptic expositions emerged from the fourth century onwards. Although Augustine and Bede, amongst other commentators, expressed some scepticism regarding the imminence of the end of Christian time, or the human capacity to

72

73

74

75

The exuberance of late antique historiography is celebrated by Cameron (1999). For a more detailed assessment of the nature of Christian historical discourses, and their inherent flexibility, compare Cameron (1991). Momigliano (1963), pp. 111–12. Mosshammer (1979), pp. 21–168 provides a detailed discussion of the Chronicon and of modern scholarship related to the work. Mosshammer (1979), pp. 84–112 locates Eusebius’ Chronicon relative to its antecedents. On the later evolution of the chronicle form, see esp. Brincken (1957). On Augustine’s historical philosophy, see the discussion of Markus (1970), and Breisach (1994), pp. 83–5.

22

Challenges to the classical Weltbild calculate precisely when it might occur, the suggestion that mundane time was finite, as declared by scripture, was rarely challenged.76 Consequently, while the secular state was frequently afforded a central position within the elaboration of divine history, Christian chronographers implicitly challenged concepts of an unchanging empire, which existed independently of the wider workings of history. If the Chronicon provided the paradigm for Christian views of linear time, Eusebius’ Historia Ecclesiastica was similarly influential in the writing of narrative history. Although its parameters were smaller, the Historia Ecclesiastica essentially adopted the linear temporality exemplified in the Chronicon, and applied it to historical narrative. The Church was thus provided with its own history, and one which explained, not the unchanging success of the secular empire, but the evolution of the Church from the Incarnation to its spread throughout the world. Significantly, Eusebius achieved his reappraisal of the distant past through reference to written historical sources, many of which he reproduced verbatim within his account. Through its emphasis upon written historical evidence, the Historia Ecclesiastica rejected the primary authority granted to autopsy within classical historiography, and perpetuated within contemporary Latin histories. Through reference to Philo’s theology, Josephus’ history, the letters of Dionysius of Alexandria and several martyrologies, and through critical assessment of these accounts, the Christian historian was able to challenge established historical practice which had been dominant since Thucydides.77 The new privileges granted to written sources were partially dictated by necessity. In order to compose a history of the Church, Eusebius was forced to expand his region of enquiry beyond living memory, and encompass the written documents of the Judaeo-Christian past. It seems clear, however, that the ideological importance of the written word in Judaeo-Christian thought was also partially responsible for this change. Within a religion so dominated by the book, and indeed by the importance of faith, it is scarcely surprising that established scepticism regarding anything which had not been witnessed personally was emphatically rejected. Eusebius depicted an empire which would certainly have been recognizable to a classical audience, but which had changed in a number of important ways. Unlike many of his predecessors, Eusebius regarded the consummation of Roman history as a relatively recent phenomenon – a

76

77

Augustine, De civ. Dei XX.5.4; Bede, DTR 66.7. Markus (2001), esp. pp. 24–7 provides a stimulating discussion of Christian attitudes towards eschatological time. On the distinction between ‘millenarian’ and ‘apocalyptic’ time, see Landes (1988), pp. 205–8 and the discussion in Markus (2001), p. 25. On the significance of this shift, see Momigliano (1961–2), pp. 217–19.

23

Introduction: history’s other eye fusion of the disparate strands of secular Roman history and the evolution of the Church. Although the historian clearly envisaged a focal role for the state within the resolution of divine history, the eschatological emphasis of his work, and his conception of linear time, contradicted many of the historical assumptions upon which the empire was built. Similarly, the historian appropriated the rhetoric of imperial universality in his celebration of the contemporary Christian state. Yet the repeated citation of Old Testament prophecies of Christian power at the start of the Historia Ecclesiastica, and the systematic presentation of the spread of the Word throughout the world, reminds the audience that Eusebius’ narrative is one of Christian growth, not of Roman timelessness. Given the intimacy of relations between historical and geographical scholarship within the classical world, it is scarcely surprising that similar methodologies should have underpinned their composition. Just as personal observation of events was deemed indispensable to the composition of authoritative classical history, so travel was seen as an essential prerequisite to accurate historical and geographical writing. Historians from Herodotus to Ammianus asserted their authority on the strength of the breadth of their travels throughout the world, and similar impulses naturally motivated the most ambitious geographical writers.78 Strabo, for example, alludes to his own extensive travels at some length within his Geographica, and casts aspersions on other writers whom he deems inexperienced in the realities of the world.79 Most famously, Pytheas of Marseille was repeatedly dismissed as an authority on the Northern Ocean, on the grounds that he was not of sufficient social standing to be able to afford such a voyage.80 Yet if Latin historiographical practice largely obviated the need to make claims towards universality, the emphases of geographically based works were naturally rather different. When faced with the task of describing a world far greater than the experience of any one individual, written materials were essential to the geographer’s task – a point readily admitted by Strabo.81 At times, moreover, deference to literary authority could be such that a writer’s own experiences were rejected in favour of 78

79 80

81

Compare, for example, Herodotus II.29, 44, 55, 106; III.12; IV.76–81, 15; VII.129; Ammianus Marcellinus XVII.4.6; XXII.15.1; XXVI.10.19. It might be noted that this emphasis upon physical (if not historical) autopsy remains common within modern historical writing. See, for example, Jones (1964), vii: ‘On the other hand I have visited 94 of the 119 provinces of the Roman Empire


Wherever I have gone I have inspected the Roman sites, ruins and still surviving buildings, and have studied the character of the countryside and the contents of local museums.’ Strabo II.5.11–12. Strabo I.4.3–5; II.3.5, 5.43 and compare Polybius 12.26.6 and 34.5.7. On this hostility, see Dion (1977), pp. 270–5. For further discussion of Pytheas, see below pp. 95–6. Strabo II.5.11.

24

Challenges to the classical Weltbild inaccurate, yet canonically ratified information.82 As a result, a hierarchy of textual sources was established, with particular credence placed in canonical histories and literary geographical works, compositions, in other words, which were themselves founded upon personal observation by trustworthy sources. These preferences are particularly evident in classical descriptions of India. Although mercantile contact with the region is attested by both overland and oceanic routes, and appears to have continued throughout late Antiquity, the information that such sources could provide on the subcontinent was only sporadically exploited. Instead, it was the writings derived from Alexander’s campaign within the region which dictated perceptions of India, and particularly the accounts of Megasthenes, Callisthenes and Patrocles.83 Despite the existence of contemporary information on the Orient, writers preferred to base their accounts on the fantastic mythographies of the Alexandrine tradition. This selective use of source material both informed and reflected the Romano-centric Weltbild. If Homeric poetry had enjoyed a peculiar status within the geographical understanding of the Greek world, it was the written reports of military expeditions that were most valued by the geographers of the empire.84 It was as the narrators of Alexander’s conquest that Megasthenes and Callisthenes were valued, as much as for their literary value. In part, of course, this discrimination had a practical aspect. The execution of a successful campaign would necessitate the gathering of information about the region under dispute, and these exotic fruits would be eagerly devoured by the geographers of the metropolis.85 In the wake of successful conquest came the demands of successful government, and censuses and surveys produced by the empire were invaluable to those who sought to describe its expanses.86 It is scarcely surprising that writers like Pliny relied heavily upon military reports and administrative surveys, and freely gave vent to

82 83

84

85

86

Stahl (1959), pp. 107, 124. On this phenomenon and the distorted geographies which resulted, compare Mayerson (1993); Dihle (1964); Majundor (1960). Romm (1992), pp. 95–110 notes Strabo’s stated reluctance to exploit archaic Indographic literature, and his implicit perpetuation of much of this material. Compare esp. Strabo II.1.9 and XV.1.12 (on Megasthenes) and the generous description of Patrocles at II.1.6. This is not to suggest that Homer disappeared entirely from geographical scholarship. On Strabo’s idiosyncratic attitude to the poet see esp. Clarke (1999a), pp. 249–51. Sherk (1974); Lee (1991), pp. 82–105 and Austin and Rankov (1995), pp. 112–20 discuss the importance of military activity. See also the discussion of Orosius’ geography, below. On these projects, see Nicolet (1991), pp. 95–182 and the comments of Purcell (1990) and Millar (1988); see also Dilke (1985), pp. 39–54, (1987b) and (1987c); Wolska-Conus (1973a) and (1973b) and the discussion below, pp. 70–3.

25

Introduction: history’s other eye their frustration when such sources were unavailable.87 Useful as mercantile reports may have been in filling in occasional gaps, the arrival of a merchant could scarcely compare with the passage of an army in the information that might be collected. It was, however, but a short step from the preferential use of literary or military accounts to the assumption that all regions which were not so blessed were effectively unworthy of study. Long regarded as a protoRoman in his annexation of India, Alexander ensured that much of the Orient remained within the focus of the classical geographer’s gaze. Beyond the limites established by the Macedonian and his Roman successors, the world seemed both small and insignificant. This was accentuated through the formulation and repetition of myths of universal domination within poetry, imperial rhetoric and visual art.88 Yet formal geographical writing remained at the forefront of this process. Although writers certainly absorbed the fragmentary information on the regions beyond direct Roman control, the hierarchy of source material, and hence of suitable subjects for geographical scholarship, remained clear.89 As was the case with its enquiry into the past, Roman use of geographical sources naturally propagated a sense of timeless – and boundless – empire. To a considerable extent, Christian writers were happy to appropriate Roman conceptions of space, just as they adopted certain temporal assumptions of Roma Aeterna to their own ends. Frequently, the celebration of the Christian empire or the expansion of the Church was expressed in terms long-familiar from imperial geography. Christian authority, like that of the secular empire, was depicted as stretching to the Oceanic frontiers of the world, from India in the east to Spain in the west.90 While Homer and the Alexandrine historians were slowly replaced as authorities by Latin geographers and their later epitomators, classical deference to written authority was readily embraced within the late antique world. It is perhaps worth stressing here that this deference to written tradition did not, in itself, represent an atrophying of geographical thought within the early medieval period, as is frequently suggested.91 While it would be futile to deny that works such as the

87

88

89

90 91

Pliny, HN V.51. Compare Pomponius Mela III.49 who expresses optimism that knowledge of British geography would develop as a result of the Claudianic occupation of the islands. An excellent summary of Roman imperial ideology and its relationship with geographical thought is provided by Whittaker (1994), pp. 10–30. Romm (1992) provides an accessible survey of ancient attitudes towards the fringes of the known world. Compare, for example, Eusebius, VC I.8; Or., Hist. V.2.3–4. For a vivid demonstration of this misconception, see the bibliography provided by Lozovsky (2000), p. 1, n.1.

26

Challenges to the classical Weltbild De nuptiis of Martianus Capella, or indeed the Origines of Isidore of Seville, were heavily indebted to classical precedent, this was scarcely novel within the field of geographical writing. Indeed, it would be far more remarkable had the writers of late Antiquity not been explicit in their deference to established geographical authorities. To suggest that the historians and geographers of late Antiquity were entirely deferential in their exploitation of the classical canon, moreover, is to overlook some of the most important trends within early medieval geographical scholarship. The mimetic status attributed to canonical geographical writing essentially created a wholly new field for exegetical interpretation on the part of Christian geographers. The relationship between Christian theology, exegesis and geographical thought will be considered in more depth below, but it is worth noting here the extent to which Christian geographers were aided in their task by the authority of classical texts. Secular writers like Pliny and Solinus could not only be exploited to elucidate Scripture, they could act as suitable subjects for exegesis in themselves, as textual translations of the physical world. It was only by accepting the authority of such texts that geographers like Gildas, Isidore and particularly Bede were able to draw so much from the world around them. Conversely, deference to literary authority could also hide a multitude of innovations on the part of later writers. Where the historians and geographers of late Antiquity cite inaccurately, or include erroneous attributions within their texts, such errors are routinely ascribed to scribal faults, to deviations of memory or to simple ineptitude on the part of the writers concerned. In many cases, such interpretations may be correct, but the capacity of writers for exploiting the power of a prominent authority should not be underestimated. Where early medieval geographers were faced with the task of describing regions that had escaped the attentions of classical writers, the judicious inclusion of a spurious authority could justify any number of remarkable assertions. The Christian inheritance of the world was not realized simply through the appropriation and adaptation of secular geography, however. Of comparable importance was the creation and perpetuation of networks of sacred spaces – or rather sacred places – and with them the incorporation of the Church into the physical landscape. Naturally, this process was at its most vigorous in Palestine, where the expanding Church struggled to establish a foothold upon the territories of Scripture in the face of both Judaic tradition and scepticism towards the very notion of sanctified space within the Christian community.92 Despite its author’s own reservations 92

On the assertion of Christian identity within the Holy Land, see esp. Halbwachs (1971) and (1992); Walker (1990); Cardman (1982).

27

Introduction: history’s other eye about the sanctification of places, Eusebius’ Onomasticon proved to be a central text within the enunciation of Christian claims over the Levant. Intended as an exegetical reference work, rather than as a religious protoBaedeker, the list of biblical toponyms provided by the Onomasticon nevertheless became an invaluable travelling companion for generations of Christian pilgrims.93 These pilgrims, in turn, composed their own accounts and both intensified religious travel to the heartland of the faith and saw the loca sacra expand to incorporate regions of Egypt and Syria.94 Significantly, the objects of devotion in these regions were not sites of scriptural importance but rather the habitations of desert ascetics – a vibrant new expression of the expansion of the faith throughout the world. It was through devotion to holy men, to relics and to missionary narratives, that Christianity was able to expand its network of sacred sites beyond the confines of its sacred texts, to the very edges of the known world.95 This proliferation of sacred places was vividly reflected in Christian writing. Eusebius and his successors stressed at length the distribution of Christian martyrs – and hence martyrs’ cults – throughout the world. The same writers also placed particular emphasis upon the ambition and success of missionary activity beyond the confines of the empire. Regions hitherto beyond the experience of direct Roman rule – such as Ethiopia in the far south – were suddenly depicted as part of the wider Christian world. In many ways, evangelical narratives marked the first challenge to the dominance of traditional patterns of geographical authority. Ethiopia, for example, was increasingly depicted with respect, not to Homer and the Neroitic expedition, but to Acts and the fourth-century evangelism of Frumentius. Persia and India, similarly, were no longer the playground merely of Alexander, but of Thomas and Bartholomew in their own, apocryphal Acts.96 As might be expected, the status of Scripture as a geographical source represented a fundamental problem for early Christian writers. Examples certainly exist of geographers who sought to rely exclusively upon the sacred text in the composition of their works. Yet Cosmas Indicopleustes – the sixth-century Byzantine cosmographer whose work is frequently taken to be typical of this literalist tradition – was himself heavily reliant upon secular geographical information, and did not enjoy wide circulation.97 93

94 95 96

97

On the origins of the Onomasticon, compare Thomsen (1903); Wutz (1914–15); Wolf (1964); Barnes (1975); Wilkinson (1974); Wilken (1992). On its use by later pilgrims, see Groh (1983). These narratives are discussed at length by Frank (2000). Markus (1998), pp. 139–55 and cf. Merrills (2004). See for example, Rufinus, HE X.9; Socrates Scholasticus, HE I.19; Sozomenus, HE II.24; and the commentary provided by Dihle (1965); Desanges (1969); Mayerson (1993), pp. 171–4. Wolska-Conus (1962), pp. 248–70 provides a detailed examination of the impact of classical geographical thought upon Cosmas. Cf. also Anastos (1946).

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Challenges to the classical Weltbild More typical of attitudes towards scriptural and secular science was the position taken by Augustine – that geographical and exegetical thought could be mutually beneficial, and that an understanding of the world would aid the interpretation of the Scriptures.98 To this end, theologians speculated on the geographical implications of Genesis, the location of Eden and the flood of the Nile. On a more practical level, Eusebius’ Onomasticon represented an attempt to identify and locate the different places mentioned within the Bible, and this lead was readily followed by a number of other geographically minded exegetes, including Bede.99 The impact of Christian modes of perception upon the Roman view of the world was thus somewhat mixed. New methods of temporal conceptualization were certainly introduced, and the faith forcefully asserted its own authority onto the physical world. Yet many existing assumptions were readily adopted or adapted. If the eternity of Rome could no longer be taken for granted, the empire still remained important. Similarly, if the assumptions underlying the construction of Strabo’s Geographica or Sallust’s Bellum Jugurthinum seemed less relevant within the fourthcentury world, the information that they contained lost little of its significance. Many of these changes took place only within the first post-Roman centuries, and assumed a variety of different forms, but the flexibility of the system which emerged may be demonstrated by the ease with which Christian historians met the new challenges to the Weltbild in the coming centuries. It was in the late fourth and early fifth centuries that the climactic challenge to the embryonic Romano-Christian world-view began to be felt. Whether these centuries witnessed the ‘Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire’, or the ‘Transformation of the Roman World’, there can be little dispute regarding the immensity of the political and cultural changes which took place from the late fourth century onwards.100 Ammianus Marcellinus exuded a residual optimism within his work, even in the wake of the disaster at Adrianople, but it remains telling that the Res Gestae was the last historical composition in which the timelessness of secular Rome could be taken for granted. Later secular histories, which have survived in fragmentary form, and the Christian writings of the Eusebian continuators continued to extol the virtues of the Eastern Empire, but the comfortable certainties of Ammianus were no 98 99 100

See above n.23. The best discussion of this exegetical geography is certainly Lozovsky (2000), pp. 35–67. The opposition between the ‘Decline and Fall’ of Gibbon and the image of the ‘Transformation of the Roman World’ in White (1966) is discussed by Pohl (1997b). While contemporary scholarly consensus favours the latter, the former still retains a certain hold on the popular imagination.

29

Introduction: history’s other eye more, particularly in the wake of the Gothic sack of Rome in 410. The differing responses to the assault upon the Imperial City reveal the immense changes occurring within historical assumptions within the period.101 Augustine’s De civitate Dei, which was partly inspired by these catastrophic events, provided a forceful declaration of the transitory nature of mundane history and the futility of temporal rule. His pupil Orosius sought instead to emphasize the clemency shown by the Christian Goths to the City, particularly in contrast to the violence of Roman expansion over the preceding centuries. While Orosius certainly envisaged a role for the empire within the resolution of divine history, he implicitly challenged the Romano-centric assumptions of the histories upon which he drew. Important as Rome and its empire were, they were no longer the essential framework for historical speculation. It was only from the early sixth century, however, through the composition of the first histories of the successor kingdoms, that historical writing was forced to encompass the different perspectives of the barbarian and Romano-Christian worlds. Cassiodorus’ lost Historia Gothorum and its epitome by Jordanes, Gregory of Tours’ Decem libri historiarum, Isidore’s Gothic Histories and the Historia Langobardorum of Paul the Deacon all sought to explain the changing world of the sixth, seventh and eighth centuries. Yet their responses were marked by their variety. The widespread identification of these works as Volksgeschichte, or ‘national histories’, reflects the similar circumstances in which these histories were composed, but creates a false sense of homogeneity within strikingly different compositions.102 Far from representing a coherent body of historiography, dedicated to the description of individual ethnic groups, Cassiodorus and his successors are increasingly seen to have concerned themselves with different aspects of the human experience. Gregory of Tours has little to say on ethnicity, for example, and his Decem libri historiarum was concerned, not with the ‘History of the Franks’, but with a divided-cloak-and-dagger account of episcopal and secular intrigue in the contemporary Merovingian world.103 Bede, similarly, devoted his Historia Ecclesiastica to the development of the Church in Britain, and 101

102

103

For a survey of the responses to the sack of Rome, see Paschoud (1967), esp. pp. 188–292. For a fuller assessment of the historical arguments of Augustine and Orosius, see chapter 1, below. On the image of the early medieval writers as ‘national’ historians, compare Grundmann (1965) and Smalley (1974), esp. p. 50. Goffart (1988), p. 3 takes these studies as the starting point for his convincing refutation of the argument. On the popular misconception that Gregory’s was a ‘History of the Franks’ – an interpretation perpetuated by the title of Lewis Thorpe’s English translation of the work – see esp. Goffart (1987) and the illuminating recent study of Reimitz (2003). On Libri historiarum more generally, see Heinzelmann (2001) and the controversial interpretation provided by Goffart (1988), pp. 112–234.

30

Challenges to the classical Weltbild necessarily adopted a multi-ethnic focus. Even Jordanes and Isidore, who each purported to describe the origins of Gothic groups, did so in different ways, and with emphasis upon the aristocratic and royal pedigree of the Goths respectively. As Walter Goffart has recently demonstrated, the focus of these historians upon individual peoples need not be read as a decisive break from classical literary precedent.104 Neither the composition of historical works focused upon discrete groups nor the celebration of individual regions was unprecedented within classical writing. Josephus’ Jewish History, the patchwork regional histories compiled by Pompeius Trogus, and the earliest forms of Christian historical writing all provided precedent for the composition of the histories of individual groups. Within classical imaginative literature, moreover, the celebration of the patria, or homeland, was a common motif, and was virtually a rite de passage for any man of letters hailing from Italy or Spain.105 In neither case did the focus upon an individual subject, be it an ethnic group or a province, imply any fragmentation of the political whole, and ideals of Roman universality were kept alive through a complex series of layered loyalties. While the early medieval period witnessed major changes in the understanding of the world, these conceptual shifts cannot simply be identified as the emergence of ‘national’ ideologies. The emancipation of the early medieval writers from the restrictive shackles of proto-nationalist paradigms has done much to reignite speculation regarding the impulses which drove these ‘narrators of barbarian history’.106 No longer regarded as disinterested commentators on early medieval society, Cassiodorus and his successors have increasingly been situated within the complex power networks of the post-Roman world. The histories written in the period have been interpreted, not as simple reflections of the realities of early medieval life, but as prescriptive images of society, which may have had a role to play in the formulation of postRoman ideologies.107 Consequently, the subjects which dominate these histories – the evolution of successor states, the success of the Church or the development of specific gentes – are increasingly difficult to divorce from the texts in which they appear. The status of the individual historian has thus become a subject of some interest, whether as a naı¨ve 104 105

106

107

Goffart (1988), pp. 3–19 and cf. Bickerman (1952). Bonjour (1975) and Ando (2000) discuss the issues of provincial loyalty within the imperial period. See also the examination of Spanish and Italian laudes in chapter 3, below. Again Goffart (1988), which employs the phrase ‘narrators of barbarian history’ as its title, has proved influential in the reappraisal of these sources. For recent reinterpretations of some of these authors, see also Heinzelmann (2001) (on Gregory) and Ward (1990) (on Bede). See the surveys of this scholarship in Pohl (1997a) and (2003).

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Introduction: history’s other eye commentator on the outside world, a cynical manipulator of his account to his own ends, or an author responsible for the ‘invention of tradition’ on the part of new political e´lites.108 However these historians may be categorized, it is important to stress the extent to which the texts that they produced challenged RomanoChristian assumptions concerning space and time. The new e´lites of the post-Roman west often happily subscribed to the cultural heritage of the old empire, but simultaneously derived their own authority from a conspicuously ‘barbarian’ antiquity. When Jordanes traced the prehistory of his eponymous Goths within the frozen islands of the Baltic Sea, he established an image of exotic barbarian origin that became something of a topos within later histories, and thereby created new emphases in the depiction of the world. Once belittled as peripheral and scarcely worthy of consideration, the forests of Germany and the mysterious island of Scandza were increasingly celebrated for their location beyond the limites, and for the generation of gentes who had never experienced the domination of Rome. Historical accounts no longer simply trod the familiar paths from Troy to Rome, or from the Mediterranean outwards, but incorporated a labyrinth of new historical itineraries, each of which helped to dislocate long-established attitudes towards the world. In many cases, the new foci in the depiction of the world were dictated by Christian, as well as secular, interests. Gregory of Tours’ identification of Pannonia as the likely homeland of the Franks must be considered alongside the similar Pannonian origins of Saint Martin of Tours.109 Through this apparent coincidence, Gregory not only drew the attention of his audience to the exoticism of Frankish prehistory, but also implied a natural affinity between the Merovingian inhabitants of Gaul and the greatest saint of the region. Similarly, Bede’s brief delineation of the Low Countries as the Anglian point of origin cannot be divorced from his later account of the eighth-century missions to Saxony.110 As will be discussed, Bede was fascinated by the implications of missionary activity in the binding of peoples and regions together, and this formed a central support to his conception of the human past. For Gregory and Bede alike, nebulous Germanic traditions were combined with evolving Christian geographical sensibilities in an effort to find patterns, both within the physical world and within divine history.

108

109 110

The concept of the ‘invention of tradition’ is, of course, a formulation of Hobsbawm and Ranger (1983); see also Pohl (2003), pp. 1–3 for the application of this paradigm to late Antiquity. Gregory, LH II.9; I.36. Bede, HE I.15; V.10; for further discussion, see below pp. 298–300.

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Challenges to the classical Weltbild Ultimately, it was the identification and depiction of such patterns that formed the greatest challenge to the historians of late Antiquity. Their task was not merely the reconciliation of a variety of different historical assumptions, but the resolution of these disparate traditions into a coherent, literary form. The precise nature of the relationship between historiography and literature has been the subject of considerable theoretical interest in recent years, but remains of particular relevance to the understanding of late antique thought.111 It is through the recognition of the demands of literary form that we can explain the huge generic variety that marked the historiography of the period. Hagiographies and chronicles formed new conduits for the exploration of the past, but long-established forms of secular narrative could also be exploited in many different ways. The assertion that historians were moved by literary impulses seems almost superfluous with respect to Bede, whose Historia Ecclesiastica has long been acknowledged as a work of considerable literary merit. Isidore, too, has earned the praise of innumerable modern studies for the rhetorical elegance of the Laus Spaniae, if for little else within his Gothic Histories. Yet the same must also be said of Jordanes, whose Getica was ostensibly based upon a lost work of Cassiodorus, and of Orosius, despite the frequent accusations levelled at the presbyter about his shortcomings as a historian. While Cassiodorus certainly cast a long shadow over the work of Jordanes, there can be little dispute that the Getica as it survives is a coherent literary composition, replete with a dominant argument, a progressive narrative and a definite, if somewhat anti-climactic, conclusion. Much of the damage to Orosius’ reputation as a historian, moreover, is a result of his willingness to sacrifice historical accuracy to the exigencies of his pointed rhetoric. For each of these historians, the writing of history was moved by literary considerations. The work that follows is devoted to four late antique historians – Orosius, Jordanes, Isidore and Bede – and to the importance of geographical passages within their works. The criteria which dictated the selection of these historians should be obvious enough, yet deserve some short comment here, if only to explain certain omissions. Orosius and his successors, of course, all chose to introduce their historical narratives with geographical descriptions. The fact that, from Jordanes onwards, the historians all demonstrate a familiarity with the work of Orosius, and all clearly based their own geographies upon that of the 111

Hayden White has been a central figure within this dispute. See esp. White (1973) and (1980/7)and compare the discussion in the papers collected in Roberts (2001). The issues raised by White are addressed with respect to ancient and early medieval historiography in Momigliano (1981), Morgan (1983), in the papers collected in Cameron (1989) and, more briefly, in Goffart (1988), pp. 16–19.

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Introduction: history’s other eye Spanish presbyter, justifies their consideration as a group, even if the works that they produced were extremely diverse. The absence of Paul the Deacon, whose Historia Langobardorum has traditionally been regarded alongside the works of Jordanes and Bede almost by default, does, however, deserve some explanation. This may be excused, in part, by the constraints of space, in part by a desire to break away from the familiar categories of early medieval historiographical study.112 Paul’s celebration of the supposed origins of the Lombards, and his account of their eventual rise to prominence within Italy, would certainly reward extensive investigation, and it is with mixed feelings that the historian is omitted from the study that follows. As the discussion above should make clear, it is not the intention of this study to examine the geographical compositions of Orosius and his successors in isolation. The individual features of each passage will be considered and in some detail, but the primary function of this analysis is to explore the relationship between historical and geographical expression in late Antiquity. The structural importance of geographical writing within early Christian Latin historiography provides an invaluable case study for the investigation of the interdependence of the disciplines. Throughout, these passages will be considered both as functional components of the narratives in which they appeared, and as conduits for Orosius and his successors to offer further explanation for the tumultuous events that they described. It was through both of the eyes of history – through geography as well as chronology – that the historians of late Antiquity brought the world around them into focus. 112

Compare Smalley (1974), pp. 50–66 and, of course, Goffart (1988).

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Chapter 1

OROSIUS

As was typical in late antique and early medieval writing, the Spanish priest Paulus Orosius opened his Historiarum adversus paganos libri septem with a firm declaration of his own incompetence as a historian. In place of the declarations of linguistic shortcomings or rhetorical ineptitude which surface frequently in contemporary modesty topoi, Orosius adopted an extended metaphor in which he compared himself to a dog.1 A dog, he reminds his audience, is always loyal to its master and would instinctively display its perpetual obedience. Because of love alone, a dog confronts the enemies of its owner and seeks to protect him from harm. As he points out elsewhere in the same work, a dog could scarcely hope to exist without the guidance of its master.2 The image is one of many entertaining authorial asides within the Historia, but has been seen as a particularly apt one in its intended depiction of Orosius’ relationship with his own mentor, Augustine of Hippo. Writing in the shadow of one of the most influential thinkers of the western world, and acutely conscious of the expectations upon him, Orosius has frequently been cast as an enthusiastic and well-meaning author, but one who could scarcely reflect with justice the sophistication of his teacher’s work. If Orosius’ writing is unlikely ever to garner the attention earned by Augustine, his own legacy was hardly insubstantial. A wide distribution of manuscripts testifies to the popularity of the Historia within the early medieval period, and Orosian themes may be traced within a multitude of later compositions in a variety of genres.3 As a historian, Orosius must be regarded alongside the republican historian Sallust, the episcopal chroniclers Eusebius and Jerome, and Holy Scripture as a cornerstone of medieval Christian historiography. As a geographer, Orosius provided 1 3

Or., Hist. Praef. 1–8. 2 Or., Hist. V.18.9. For discussion of the influence of the Historia, see Hillgarth (1992) and Alonso-Nu´n˜ez (1993), pp. 212–13. On the MS distribution see Arnaud-Lindet (1990), pp. lxvii–xc.

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Orosius what was perhaps the single most influential delineation of the known world until the Origines of Isidore of Seville two centuries later, and Isidore himself was heavily indebted to the work of his exiled compatriot. It is the purpose of this chapter, however, and of this study as a whole, to investigate the third great legacy of Orosius’ literary output – the relationship that he established between the complementary disciplines of geography and historiography. Orosius was not the first writer to compose a history that was as thoroughly infused with spatial and temporal themes on an almost equal footing, but his analysis of the world proved to be paradigmatic in the centuries that followed his death. As an isolated passage, the long geographical description which introduces Orosius’ Historia has been studied in considerable depth by a number of modern commentators. The philological scholarship of the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries has done much to highlight Orosius’ manifold debts to ancient geographical writing, with the result that the introduction is comfortably the most studied chapter within his work.4 As a result of these studies, Orosius has habitually been included in a number of modern surveys of the history of geography and cartography, but chiefly as a moribund and barely competent regurgitator of classical truths.5 If the Spanish historian provided an influential summary of earlier attitudes to the world, it was argued, he added little innovation to a discipline that had been in decline since the eclipse of Greek mathematical geography in the second century. This comfortable consensus regarding Orosius’ geography was challenged by Yves Janvier’s study of the writer, and his monograph remains the most exhaustive analysis of the subject.6 In many ways, Janvier is the true beneficiary of the Quellenforschung traditions of the nineteenth century and his work provides a detailed assessment of the influences that shaped the historian’s presentation of the world. Janvier’s methodological debts to the great philologists that preceded him are perhaps most evident in the limitation of his enquiry to the long geographical introduction itself. His monograph provides a subtle and sympathetic assessment of Orosius’ own authorial persona, yet relatively little attention is paid by Janvier to the relationship between the opening chapter and the work that

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Braun (1909); Klotz (1930) and (1931); Zangemeister (1877). Typical of this approach is the assessment of Tozer (1897), p. 366: ‘It [the geographical introduction] has numerous errors, and the relative positions of the various lands are strangely distorted; but, notwithstanding this, its popularity at a later period was not less than that attained by the historical portion of the work.’ Lozovsky (2000), pp. 69–78 provides a more detailed and more sympathetic discussion of Orosius’ geography, particularly in the context of the Historia, but says little of the writer’s innovation; cf. p. 73: ‘Orosius’ Geographical chapter is traditional in its contents’. Janvier (1982a).

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Orosius follows, despite an explicit acknowledgement of the importance of such links to the understanding of Orosius’ image of the world.7 Orosius’ geographical chapter, it must be remembered, was not composed in isolation. An expanded form of the chapter does seem to have circulated in the fifth century as a stand-alone text, but Orosius’ original chapter was primarily intended as a single chapter within a much larger historical composition.8 Detailed analysis of the chapter itself is essential to the understanding of Orosius’ geographical methodology, but so too is an appropriate appreciation of the writer’s historical emphases. Throughout the piece, the importance of the terrestrial world to Orosius’ understanding of human history is clearly evident. Against this background, the writer’s intentions in providing his Historia with a geographical context can be investigated more easily. In addition, the examination of Orosius’ geography with principal reference to its broader political agenda reveals the importance of a number of hitherto unnoticed features of the introductory chapter. Despite Orosius’ later popularity, and his potential significance for the understanding of the genesis of Augustinian thought, the Historia has been conspicuously neglected by modern scholarship. As a number of excellent monographs have demonstrated, however, Orosius’ work repays extensive investigation.9 Although the philosophy of history proposed by the writer may seem simplistic in comparison with the complex ideologies of his mentor, the Historia displays a coherent approach to the understanding and elucidation of the past. If the polemical drive of the work occasionally lends itself to ridicule by the more measured standards of modern historiography, Orosius at least pursued his goal with a focus that can hardly be faulted. Through the pages of his long and ambitious Historia, Orosius established a model of history that both offered some explanation for the tumultuous events of the recent past and demonstrated the extent to which a nuanced understanding of complementary temporal and spatial themes could facilitate the understanding of human history. Orosius’ Historia was originally intended as an addendum to Augustine’s De civitate Dei.10 Both pieces were composed in direct response to the pagan

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Janvier (1982a), p. 137 notes the importance of the Historia as a context for the geographical introduction, but goes on to regard the chapter in more or less complete isolation. Orosius’ geography was conflated with sections of the Cosmographia of Julius Honorius and circulated from the fifth century as the Cosmographia of Pseudo-Aethicus; see Riese (1878), pp. 24–55. See esp. Corsini (1968); Lacroix (1965); Fabrini (1974); Goetz (1980); Koch-Peters (1984); Marrou (1970); Trompf (2000); and the editions (and translations) provided by Lippold (1976) and (1985); Arnaud-Lindet (1990). Koch-Peters (1984), p. 18; Lacroix (1965), p. 57.

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Orosius accusations that the popularity of the Christian faith and the concomitant neglect of Roman civic rites were directly responsible for Alaric’s sack of the City in 410, and both were completed shortly after the cataclysm.11 Augustine’s seminal work was written between 413 and 425 in twenty-two books and was incomparably broader than Orosius’ short History in both form and function. In its completed form, De civitate Dei offered little less than a complete philosophical and theological blueprint for the understanding of God’s Creation, and was to dominate western thinking throughout the medieval period.12 Augustine’s interests within the work are catholic in the extreme, and fluctuate violently between intense exegetical speculation and brilliant criticism of pagan theology. As a result, human history, to which Orosius devoted himself exclusively, occupies only a fraction of the completed work. In the third and fourth books of De civitate Dei, Augustine includes a substantial digression on the Roman past, in order to support his developing theological argument.13 The pagan conception of a golden past was, Augustine argues, little more than a myth and through extensive citation of Livy, Pompeius Trogus and particularly Sallust, he elucidates his point vividly. The writer systematically examines passages from the great Roman historians in order to demonstrate that the suffering experienced in the aftermath of the Gothic sack of Rome in 410 was by no means unprecedented within the history of the empire. In the same section, the theologian expresses his regret that the need for brevity prevents him from expanding his analysis to an exhaustive appraisal of the human past, and thence to a systematic demonstration of the sufferings of the mundane world.14 There can be little doubt that Augustine understood the value of history as a powerful vehicle for the expression of his ideas, despite his own relatively desultory interest in the genre. More importantly, the theologian recognized that the human past bore indelible marks of the ineffable divine plan for mankind, whether expressed in Scripture or in profane historiography.15 Within such a context, the assembly of further historical exemplars to justify the arguments expressed in De civitate Dei would have been a matter of some urgency, and it was this role that the theologian apparently envisaged for his pupil.16

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Although the polemics to which Augustine and Orosius both responded are lost, some trace of this feeling may be detected in the charges levelled at Stilicho in the De reditu suo of Rutilius Namatianus. Red. II.51–60. For an overview of Augustine’s influence, see esp. Hillgarth (1985). Augustine, De civ. Dei III.1–IV.9. 14 Augustine, De civ. Dei III.1; cf. also IV.2. Markus (1970), pp. 14–17. Lacroix (1965), p. 49; Markus, (1970), pp. 5–6; Marrou (1959), pp. 131–4.

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Overview of the Historia The preface to the Historia indicates that Orosius completed the piece in around 417, at the same time as Augustine’s composition of the eleventh book of his De civitate Dei.17 In the years prior to this, Orosius had dedicated most of his energies to writing tracts in opposition to the Pelagian heresy. After completing several such texts in his native Spain, the young priest made his first journey to Hippo to study under the great bishop, probably in the early 410s.18 With Augustine’s blessing, Orosius then travelled to Palestine, where he sheltered under Jerome’s tutelage, and earned the approval of the great scholar.19 From there, he represented the orthodox party against the Pelagians at the Synod of Jerusalem in 20 AD 415, and finally returned to North Africa in the following year. Throughout this period, Augustine observed the wandering presbyter with a paternal fondness. In the letter that accompanied Orosius to Jerome’s foundation, the theologian praises the intelligence and fervour of his young disciple.21 The same pupil is marked for his piety and studiousness in correspondence with Evodius, written at roughly the same time.22 Orosius would thus have been an obvious candidate to provide De civitate Dei with a historiographical support, particularly if, as has been suggested, he had already composed a short work of history in the years before 417.23 There is some suspicion, however, that Augustine’s affection did not survive the production of the extant Historia, despite Orosius’ obvious attempts to please his mentor. Orosius does not feature thereafter in his mentor’s correspondence, the historical passages in the later books of De civitate Dei were written without reference to the presbyter, and Augustine appears to have contradicted the arguments of his pupil on a number of occasions.24 OVERVIEW OF OROSIUS’ HISTORIA

Despite this implicit criticism, Orosius seems to have followed the broader spirit of his initial brief with some fidelity. His Historia presents a systematic catalogue of human misery from the Creation to the early fifth century, and repeatedly emphasizes the relative superficiality of 17 18

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21 23 24

Or., Hist. Praef. 11. Augustine, Ep. 169.13; on Orosius’ life, cf. Lacroix (1965), pp. 35–8; Arnaud-Lindet (1990), pp. viii–xx. Augustine, Ep. 172.1. Orosius’ Liber Apologeticus provides a detailed commentary of his unsuccessful representation of Jerome at the Jerusalem Synod. Augustine, Ep. 166.2; Jerome, Ep. 131. 22 Augustine, Ep. 169.13. A suggestion made by Marrou (1970), p. 67; Arnaud-Lindet (1990), p. xxi. Augustine, De civ. Dei XVIII.52; XX.23; Mommsen (1959), p. 346; Paschoud (1967), pp. 277–8; Marrou (1970), pp. 75, 84–5; Markus (1963), pp. 352–3.

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Orosius contemporary suffering in comparison with the catastrophes of the past. With a sardonic humour, Orosius leads his audience on a vivid tour of human tragedy caused by the imperialism of Babylon, Assyria, Egypt, Macedonia and Carthage, before expounding the cataclysmic effects of Roman expansion both upon the subjects of the empire and upon the City itself. Orosius’ style and methodology also betray the infectious influence of Augustine. Both writers exploit the authorial voice extensively in their historical accounts, in order to provide a forceful rhetorical undercurrent to their work. The historian also emulates his mentor in the heavy use of irony within many of these interjections. Established classical perceptions of the glorious past are first exploded, and are then reprised, with obvious satirical intent.25 Clearly, Orosius’ methods of historical argument also owed a great deal to the precedent set by Augustine. Like his master, Orosius took Sallust’s coruscating attack on the lax morality of republican Rome as a starting point for his own desecration of the City’s hallowed past. From there, Orosius, like his mentor, adopted a systematic approach to the other historians of the developing empire. Suetonius, Livy, Tacitus and Justin’s Epitome of Pompeius Trogus are all exploited extensively by Orosius, and serve as a foundation for the attack on the Roman glorification of the past.26 In the preface to the Historia, and in its conclusion, Orosius displays an anxiety regarding Augustine’s reception of his work, and this nervousness is certainly understandable.27 In part, this may be ascribed to the inevitable difficulties of pleasing a demanding patron – a feeling familiar to many modern research students – but the Spanish presbyter was also at the mercy of a demanding literary genre. Crucially, Orosius’ task involved rather more than the straightforward expansion of Augustine’s tableau of horrors into a longer, and still bloodier, compilation. As a narrative historian, and the author of an independent work, Orosius required an overall structure for his piece: a fundamental necessity for which De civitate Dei offered him surprisingly little support. The half-finished magnum opus of his mentor may have offered some solutions to the seemingly inexplicable events of the early fifth century, but Orosius ostensibly created his work for a pagan audience – a point illustrated by the full title of his Historiarum adversus paganos libri septem – and sought to explain the contemporary world through the traditional medium of historiography. In striking contrast to Augustine, Orosius adopted a resolutely optimistic tone in his refutation of pagan accusations that Christianity had 25 26

Cf. for example, Or., Hist. II.11.8–11; II.19.12; Augustine, De civ. Dei II.17. Arnaud-Lindet (1990), pp. xxv–xxvii. 27 Or., Hist. Praef.1; VII.43.19–20.

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Overview of the Historia fatally weakened Rome. The seventh book of the Historia is devoted to an extensive demonstration that the Christian era was both the most stable and the most peaceful in human history, and that the events of the recent past were but minor inconveniences when considered alongside the tumults of previous periods. Over the course of his work, Orosius repeatedly compares Alaric’s sack of Rome and the destruction wrought on other cities in the past. At different points in the Historia, explicit contrasts are drawn between the Gothic assault and the divine destruction of Sodom, the sack of Babylon and the Roman invasion of Carthage.28 Having warmed to his theme, Orosius notes that Rome herself had undergone far worse trials in the past, whether at the hands of the Gauls, the Carthaginians or the pagan rulers of the early empire.29 At the root of this approach lie two complementary arguments, both of which are reiterated repeatedly throughout the Historia, and indeed throughout later medieval historiography. The first of these rests on the coincidence of the Incarnation and the pax Augusta – the advent of Christ in the first period of universal peace since the Flood. At several stages of his narrative, Orosius stresses that the timing of Christ’s birth, and his registration in the census, demonstrate divine support for Roman hegemony.30 The expansion of the empire, he argues, was predicated on its subsequent role as the homeland of the Saviour, and the closing of the Gates of Janus allowed only through God’s support. While he acknowledges that Christianity was not to become the dominant religion in the empire until the conversion of Constantine three centuries later, Orosius nevertheless depicts the Incarnation as the principal turning point in human history and the dawning of a new age of peace and prosperity. Orosius’ second, and more problematic, argument sought to present the dramatic events of 410 as little more than a mild chastisement of the City, at the hands of a group of Christian, and Romanophile, Goths. Rome, the historian argues, suffered little at the hands of Alaric thanks to the trust placed by its Christian inhabitants in Catholic, rather than pagan, civic rites. In a chapter that was to prove enormously influential in later historiography, the writer leaves his audience in little doubt as to the religious affiliations of the Gothic horde. Alaric is first shown to declare that Roman Christians would not be harmed in the assault, and subsequently halts his pillage in deference to the piety of a Christian Virgin and

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Or., Hist. I.6.1–6 (Sodom); II.3.2–10 and II.6.12 (Babylon); V.1.5 (Carthage). Or., Hist. II.19.1–16 and III.22.15 (the Gallic sack); IV.17.8 (noting that Rome was spared Hannibal’s wrath by God); VII.7.1–10 (on the destruction of Rome under Nero). Or., Hist. III.8.5–8; VI.1.5–9; VI.17.10; VI.20.6–8; VI.22.5–11; VII.1.11; VII.3.1–8. For discussion, see Alonso-Nu´n˜ez (1993), p. 207.

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Orosius to the power of Saints Peter and Paul. In one of the strangest and most moving passages of the whole work, Orosius depicts Goths joining with Romans in their adoration of the Saints and the true God, mid-way through the sack of the City.31 Within this context, Orosius’ description of a pious Christian Virgin is an important one, and not just because it surfaced with such regularity in later descriptions of the attack. At various stages in his Historia, the writer draws implicit comparison between the aged bride of Christ, who helped to spare Rome in 410, and the symbols of Roman pagan chastity associated with the Temple of Vesta. Orosius refers to the deflowering of four Vestal Virgins at different points of his work, as well as to the destruction of the temple itself in a fire.32 Orosius’ refusal to draw direct comparison between these events and those of the more recent past is unusual by the writer’s standards, but there can be little doubt that the parallel was a deliberate one. Christianity, Orosius argues, was responsible for the salvation of Rome. The attack upon the capital of the empire naturally forms the focus for Orosius’ historical argument, but it by no means exhausts his stock of comparative material. The historian repeatedly asserts that the sufferings of the contemporary world were substantially less than those of the past, and illustrates his point with examples drawn from different parts of the world. Orosius’ own experiences of barbarian activity in Spain are frequently drawn upon, and explicitly juxtaposed with the anguish experienced by the same region in the Punic Wars and during the Roman suppression of revolts in the peninsula.33 Sicily, too, as the location of Mount Etna, the site of several campaigns against Carthage and the origin of slave and bandit wars, offers the writer the chance to draw further comparisons for his audience.34 Elsewhere in the narrative, Britain fulfils an almost identical role. Again, disasters since the Incarnation, and particularly those experienced since the conversion of the empire, are shown to be negligible in comparison with the sufferings of the past.35 As if to round off his argument, Orosius suggests that plagues, earthquakes and prodigies were less common during the Christian era than at any other stage in human history. If Orosius’ optimism regarding the Roman state seems to have arisen from a spectacular misunderstanding of Augustine’s position in De civitate Dei, his sympathetic portrayal of the Christian Goths can only have 31 32

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Or., Hist. VII.39.8–14. Or., Hist. III.9.5; IV.2.8; IV.5.9; VI.3.1 (on the defilement of the Vestal Virgins), IV.11.9 (on the destruction of the temple). Or., Hist. VII.41.1–2; and cf. the attention paid to the peninsula in III.20.5–7; IV.18.1; IV.20.10–11; IV.21.1–10; V.1.6; V.4.1–6; V.5.1–6; V.7.1–18. Or., Hist. II.18.6; V.6.2; V.13.3 (on Etna); and esp. II.14.1–3. 35 Or., Hist. VII.6.11.

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Overview of the Historia been the product of conscious innovation. In the light of later events, the suggestion that the Goths themselves might eventually be hailed as Christian heroes seems a remarkably prescient one, and has led to the tentative identification of Orosius as the first historian of the regnum Gothorum.36 First Alaric and then his successor Athaulf are cast as Christian champions, reluctant to harm the Church and eager to do their part for the survival of Rome – a position facilitated considerably by Orosius’ convenient omission of reference to their Arian beliefs.37 Through the spread of Christianity to the barbarians, Orosius argues, the world might hope for a pax Christiana, led by a universal Church, rather than a hegemonic state. The dilemma of universal history Augustine’s desire to circulate a genuinely universal history as an adjunct to his great work placed a further burden upon his enthusiastic disciple. Again, De civitate Dei offered the young presbyter only partial guidance in the structuring of his own work. Important to the elucidation of his arguments, historical material was never absolutely central to the structure of Augustine’s work, as it later was to Orosius’. Augustine was writing a theological tract, occasionally illuminated by carefully chosen historical passages, rather than a work of historiography which relied for its structure and argument upon the presentation of the human past. Not only were Augustine’s historical passages concerned exclusively with the Roman state, and thus able to adopt a familiar imperial temporal framework more or less implicitly, his short excursus was also bereft of a clear philosophy for detecting deeper Christian meaning in human history.38 These historiographical shortcomings were partially overcome in the later stages of De civitate Dei, and by the great theoretical depth of the work as a whole.39 The ten books available to Orosius, however, and particularly the few historical chapters upon which he relied most fully, afforded little

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Teillet (1984), pp. 113–57. Orosius notes at VII.33.19 that the initial conversion of the Goths was to Arianism, and castigates the Emperor Valens appropriately. Elsewhere, however, most notably at VII.37.9, Alaric is cast as Christian with no reference to the heretical nature of his beliefs. At De civ. Dei XX.7, Augustine implicitly accepts a chronological framework of human history, in which he divides the world into six ages. Within the narrative historical section of De civitate Dei, however, the theologian largely limited his attention to the sixth age, and was thus able to defer to a Roman temporal model. Markus (1970), pp. 46–50 notes the dramatic change in Augustine’s historical philosophy from Book XI; similarly, Marrou (1959), p. 131 stresses that Augustine only fully turned to historical argument in the latter stages of the work.

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Orosius guidance for a historian anxious to elucidate the deeper patterns of human history, and to order his narrative in an appropriate manner.40 Orosius essentially encountered the same dilemmas of universal historiography that had been faced by proponents of the genre from its emergence in the fourth century BC to its greatest flowering in Augustan Rome.41 Universal historians faced two dilemmas: how to structure the multiple narratives of an exhaustive world history in order to make them comprehensible to an audience, and, no less importantly, how to demonstrate to the same audience that the history itself was indeed universal. As might be expected, a number of different solutions to these problems were proposed, from the disjointed regional narratives provided by Diodorus Siculus in the first century before Christ and Appian in the second century AD, to the carefully tabulated chronologies of Eusebius and Jerome. Orosius allowed himself to be drawn by many of these currents, but ultimately, like all universal historians, adopted a series of strategies best suited to the unique requirements of his own work. Orosius employed several different approaches to the perennial problems of universal history. The first of these was arguably the most straightforward. At several stages of his narrative, the writer pauses and interjects with a declaration of the difficulty of his task. Orosius repeatedly bewails, for example, the difficulty of structuring a work that purports to include all human suffering, and apologizes to his audience for his occasional lack of clarity.42 Elsewhere, he circumvents the same problem with declarations of his own brevity, and the suggestion that his work provides little more than an aide-me´moire of human suffering, for an audience already familiar with the great works of classical historiography.43 In part, such statements may be taken as little more than modesty topoi, but by including them the writer implicitly declared the ambition of his historical programme. If practical considerations prevented the inclusion of all historical material within the work, Orosius at least suggests that his canvas is a broad one, and that the attention of the author had been allconsuming. Asides of this sort excused Orosius from some of the difficulties faced by the structuring of his work, but they offered no solution in themselves to the challenges of organizing such a vast historical project. 40

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Hillgarth (1992), p. 159 notes that: ‘On a Political level, Augustine’s work must have seemed unhelpful, probably unintelligible, to his contemporaries.’ On the development of universal history, and the ideologies behind it, see esp. Alonso-Nu´n˜ez (1990) and Clarke (1999b). On Orosius’ debts to the form, see Alonso-Nu´n˜ez (1993). Orosius refers at length to the importance of structure to his Historia; cf. for example, II.3.5–6; II.12.1; III: Praef.1–3; III.15.1; IV. Praef.11; V.4.15. On brevity, cf. Or., Hist. I.12.1–3; I.18.1–2; I.19.2; II.4.8; II.14.2; II.18.5; IV.20.40; V.17.2; V.19.2; VII.37.2–3; on deference to the narratives of classical historians, V.15.2; VI.6.6.

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Overview of the Historia In response to these problems, Orosius, like each of the universal historians who came before him, ultimately structured his work around the twin pillars of chronology and geography. The relationship between time and space proved to be a pressing issue among classical historiographers and their late antique successors. In the broad surveys of the human past that have survived from the period, the emphasis placed on each varied considerably. The Geographica of Strabo, for example, employed a resolutely spatial structure, as its title implies. Nominally concerned with the description of the contemporary world, Strabo’s work nevertheless expounds at length upon historical matters, and has rightly been placed on the same generic continuum as the more familiar historiographical projects of Diodorus Siculus, Nicolaus of Damascus and Polybius.44 The Chronicon of Eusebius-Jerome, by contrast, includes no digressive geographical material and is structured firmly around Christian chronology.45 The need for spatial perspective within the Chronicon is met by the inclusion of parallel time-lines for different realms, before the eventual absorption of each into a single, Roman, chronology. As a sometime student of Jerome, Orosius based his own narrative upon a chronological superstructure, similar to that of the translated Chronicon. In an effort to demonstrate his departure from classical patterns, the historian immediately emphasizes the significance of this approach: Since nearly all men interested in writing, among the Greeks as well as the Latins, who have perpetuated in words the accomplishments of kings and peoples for a lasting record, have made the beginning of their writings with Ninus, the son of Belus, King of the Assyrians, because they wish it to be believed in their blind opinion that the origin of the world and the creation of mankind were without beginning; yet they explain that kingdoms and wars began with him as if, indeed, the human race up to that time lived in the manner of beasts, and then for the first time, as if shaken and aroused, awoke to a new wisdom. I have decided to trace the beginning of man’s wretchedness from the beginning of man’s sin, touching on only a few examples, and those briefly.46

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Clarke (1999b), p. 254. And see also the excellent study of Clarke (1999a). On Eusebius-Jerome see esp. Mosshammer (1979), pp. 29–83 and the short discussion above, pp. 22–3. Or., Hist. I.1.1–4: Et quoniam omnes propemodum tam apud Graecos quam apud Latinos studiosi ad scribendum uiri, qui res gestas regum populorumque ob diuturnam memoriam uerbis propagauerunt, intium scribendi a Nino Beli filio, rege Assyriorum, fecere – qui cum opinione caeca mundi originem creaturamque hominum sine initio credi uelint, coepisse tamen ab hoc regna bellaque definiunt, quasi uero eatenus humanum genus ritu pecudum uixerit et tunc primum ueluti ad nouam prudentiam concussum suscitatumque uigilarit – ego initium miseriae hominum ab initio peccati hominis docere institui, paucis dumtaxat isdemque breuiter delibatis.

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Orosius This declaration of intent serves a twin purpose within the Historia. Primarily, the passage reveals Orosius’ intent to present his work in a chronological form – starting with the Creation, and tracing the history of mankind to the present day. The foundation of Rome provided the principal chronological linchpin for this approach, but marked neither the beginning nor the end of his narrative. The Historia, in other words, was intended to consider the world as a whole, rather than providing a series of discrete analyses of separate regions. In so doing, the historian followed the precedent set by his two principal models – Justinus’ Epitome of Pompeius Trogus and the Chronicon of Eusebius-Jerome – rather than the more fragmentary approach favoured by the Greek writers Diodorus Siculus and Appian, or the geographical analysis of Strabo.47 No less important is Orosius’ explicit declaration that his work embraces a time-span far in excess of any previous historical composition. But by placing such emphasis upon the seminal rule of Ninus, Orosius does little more than identify the compositions against which he judged his own work. The only universal historians to have taken the Assyrian king as their starting point were Pompeius Trogus and his near contemporary Nicolaus of Damascus – of whose voluminous Greek history Orosius may well have been ignorant.48 Significantly, Orosius’ own treatment of the period before Ninus is cursory, and scarcely bears comparison with the extensive treatment of similar material in Josephus’ discussion of the Hebrew past. When the narrative of the Historia finally gets underway, in the fourth chapter of the first book, Ninus is the first major figure that the audience encounters.49 Later in his work, the historian implicitly defers to the presentation of the Assyrian monarch as the first king, and hence to his significance at the start of human history.50 This is not to suggest that Orosius’ attempts to surpass the chronological boundaries established by Pompeius Trogus, and perpetuated by Justinus, were futile. Nor should the writer’s perpetuation of dating ab urbe condita be regarded as a straightforward emulation of classical historiographical form. Through his overt rejection of the temporal parameters of the only universal history to be written in Latin, Orosius immediately invested his own work with a considerable impact. No less importantly, 47

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Alonso-Nu´n˜ez (1993), pp. 199–200. On the structural approaches of the earlier universal historians, compare Alonso-Nu´n˜ez (1987b) (on Pompeius Trogus); Alonso-Nu´n˜ez (1984) (on Appian); Clarke (1999b), pp. 294–6 (on Strabo). Justin, Ep. Pomp. Trog. I.1.4; F. Gr. Hist. II.A.324; C.229. Alonso-Nu´n˜ez (1987b), p. 56; Corsini (1968), pp. 73–4. Or., Hist. I.4.1. Or., Hist. VII.2.13, although here Orosius does imply that Ninus had important forebears.

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Overview of the Historia the position of the Creation at the start of his work allowed the historian to circumvent the traditional Romano-centric view of the past and to present the later emergence of human empires as essentially transitory. The establishment of the first monarchy under Ninus and the foundation of the City were important stages within Orosius’ work, but neither was as central as the Creation or the renewal of God’s work through the Incarnation. We see here for the first time an author who is willing to go beyond existing boundaries of historical enquiry, even when the means to do so were entirely absent. Chronology alone could not provide the foundations for a genuinely universal view of human history. As the parallel time-lines used by Eusebius and Jerome demonstrate, some strategy had to be employed in order to depict simultaneous events and to demonstrate that a universal work represented more than the simple elucidation of a single historical narrative. Orosius effectively adopted a more linear narrative approach, in which he traced the evolution of dominant empires through time, and only occasionally interrupted this pattern in order to digress on separate events. In this, the methodology of the writer may be compared to that of Appian and Diodorus Siculus, as well as to the model provided by Justinus and Pompeius Trogus. Nevertheless, spatial elements were also central to Orosius’ conception of the past, and geographical rhetoric is employed repeatedly throughout the Historia. The demonstration of spatial, as well as temporal exhaustivity within the Historia is a dominant theme within the work’s preface. Here, as elsewhere, geographical and chronological breadth are asserted in tandem: Therefore, I intend to speak of the period from the founding of the world to the founding of the City; then up to the Principate of Caesar and the birth of Christ, from which time the control of the world has remained under the power of the City, down even to our own time. Insofar as I shall be able to recall them, I think it necessary to disclose the conflicts of the human race and the world, as it were, through its various parts, burning with evils, set afire with the torch of greed, viewing them as from a watchtower, so that first I shall describe the world itself which the human race inhabits . . . in order that when the locale of wars and the ravages of disease are described, all interested may more easily obtain knowledge, not only of the events of their time, but also of their location.51 51

Or., Hist. I.1.14–17: Dicturus igitur ab orbe condito usque ad Vrbem conditam, dehinc usque ad Caesaris principatum natiuitatemque Christi ex quo sub potestate Vrbis orbis mansit imperium, uel etiam usque ad dies nostros, in quantum ad cognitionem uocare suffecero, conflictationes generis humani et ueluti per diuersas partes ardentem malis mundum face cupiditatis incensum e specula ostentaturus, necessarium reor ut primum ipsum terrarum orbem quem inhabitat humanum genus . . . expediam; quo facilius, cum locales bellorum morborumque clades ostentabuntur, studiosi quique non solum rerum ac temporum sed etiam locorum scientiam consequantur.

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Orosius This passage leads on seamlessly to Orosius’ famous description of the world – a passage which was central within the elucidation of his historical philosophy. Yet the spatial themes of Orosius’ Historia extended far beyond his measured geographical introduction. Throughout his work, the historian repeatedly casts himself as a horrified spectator, sharing with his audience his observations of events on a vast stage. At various points in his narrative Orosius returns to the image of the watchtower – specula – in defining his own role as narrator; a simile made all the more relevant by his frequent recourse to other spatial reference points within his work.52 Orosius reiterates the dominant themes of his introductory passage as his narrative progresses. In many cases, these assertions of the scope of his enquiry are visibly intended as a criticism of the Romano-centric approach of the poets and historians of the classical period, and help to distance the fifth-century writer from his predecessors. Again, these assertions are slightly misleading – each of the universal historians to have preceded Orosius embraced a geographical stage that was comparable to that of the Historia – but the consistency of Orosius’ rhetoric belies these similarities. In his description of the foundation of Rome, for example, the historian not only reprises the image of a darkened world, illuminated only by the fires of its own destruction, but re-establishes his ambitions for the work as a whole: ‘Not only were such events as these taking place in Rome, but every province was blazing with its own fires, and what a distinguished poet has described in one city, I shall express in regard to the whole world: cruel mourning everywhere, everywhere fear and the widespread shadow of death.’53 In the final chapters of the same book, the writer again declares his own intentions to examine the world beyond the confines of Rome, and again employs Virgilian motifs within his broad spatial imagery: ‘Behold, how many actions involving so many provinces, peoples and cities I have set forth in the smallest book and in the fewest words; how I have involved masses of misfortunes. For who will unfold the slaughter of that time, who the deaths in words, or who can equal the grief with tears?’54 Through the use of such abstractions, Orosius effectively demonstrates the scope of his interest, but it is through 52

53

54

Or., Hist. II.18.5; III.12.11; note, too, that in I. Praef. 11, Orosius refers to Augustine’s work ‘As from a watchtower of ecclesiastical splendour’, and in I.2.71 Britain is cast as a watchtower of the world – an image which fits well with Orosius’ explicit presentation of the island as a microcosm of human suffering, cf. VII.6.11 and p. 42 above. Or., Hist. II.5.10: Ad haec non Romae tantum talia gerebantur, sed quaeque prouincia suis ignibus aestuabat et quod poeta praecipuus in una urbe descripsit, ego de toto orbe dixerim: crudelis ubique Luctus, ubique pauor et plurima mortis imago (Citing Virgil, Aen. II.368–9). Or., Hist. II.18.4: Ecce paruissima pagina uerbisque paucissimis quantos de tot prouinciis populis atque urbibus non magis explicui actus operum quam inplicui globos miseriarum: quis enim cladem illius temporis, quis fando funera explicet aut aequare lacrimis possit dolores? And cf. Virgil, Aen. II.361–2.

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Overview of the Historia the use of more specific geographical imagery that the writer’s appreciation of the physical world becomes clearest. In his descriptions of imperial conquest, Orosius inserts geographical material almost as a matter of course. It is through these additions that the historian justifies his pretensions to universality, and again echoes the language of his introductory passage. The account of Ninus’ military expansion is typical of this strategy: and throughout all Asia for fifty years [Ninus] carried on a bloody life by warfare; starting from the south and the Red Sea, in the extreme North he laid waste and dominated the shores of the Euxine Sea; and he taught barbaric Scythia, until then unwarlike and inoffensive, to stir up its dormant ferocity, to release its strength, and to drink, not as heretofore the milk of domestic animals, but the blood of men, finally to conquer while she was being conquered.55

Similar passages illuminate the description of the campaigns of Ninus’ widow, Semiramis, Vesozes’ assault on Scythia and the Amazon invasion of Asia and Europe which followed.56 As might be expected, Orosius allows himself still fuller rein in his account of Alexander’s conquest of the east: Afterwards, driving around the turning post, as it were [Alexander] entered upon the Indus River from the Ocean, and quickly returned to Babylon. There, legates from terrified provinces of the whole world awaited him, that is, of the Carthaginians and of all Africa, and also of the Spanish provinces, the Gallic provinces, Sicily, Sardinia, besides the greater part of Italy. Such great fear of the leader in the most distant east had penetrated the peoples of the farthest west that you would perceive foreign legations from all over the world, whither you would scarcely believe that a rumour of Alexander had reached.57

Conspicuously, Orosius later compares Alexander’s reception of dignitaries after the Indian campaign with the similar deference to Augustus after his victories in Hispania.58 By elucidating the extent of imperial conquest and the suffering resulting from it, the historian implicitly 55

56 57

58

Or., Hist. I.4.1–2: cruentamque uitam quinquaginta annis per totam Asiam bellis egit; a meridie atque a Rubro mari surgens, sub ultimo septentrione Euxinum pontum uastando perdomuit, Scythicamque barbariem, adhuc tunc inbellem et innocentem, torpentem excitare saeuitiam, uires suas nosse, et non lacte iam pecudum sed sanguine hominum uiuere, ad postremum uincere dum uincit edocuit. Or., Hist. I.4.4–5; I.14.1–2; I.15.4–5. Or., Hist. III.20.1–3: Post quasi circumacta meta de Oceano Indum flumen ingressus, Babylonam celeriter rediit. Ubi eum exterritarum totius Orbis prouinciarum legati opperiebantur, hoc est Carthaginiensium totiusque Africae ciuitatum, sed et Hispanorum Gallorum Siciliae Sardiniaeque, plurimae praeterea partis Italiae. Tantus timor in summo Oriente constituti ducis populos ultimi Occidentis inuaserat ut inde peregrinam toto mundo cerneres legationem, quo uix crederes peruenisse rumorem. Or., Hist. VI.21.19–20.

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Orosius accentuates the ambition of his own work. Orosius’ careful identification of the few regions to have escaped the rapacious attentions of the Mediterranean empires accentuates this strategy still further. By providing even cursory histories of the Amazons and Goths, the writer provides a vivid reminder that his own account stretches even beyond the vast and virtually immeasurable conquests of the pagan empires.59 Even on the most local level, Orosius binds his historical narrative to the world in which it is set through the judicious use of geographical material. At its simplest, this involves little more than the insertion of topographical detail, as is evident in his descriptions of Babylon, Carthage, Numantia and the Spains.60 Elsewhere, Orosius includes extensive reference to physical prodigies throughout the world, and is at pains to locate each of these phenomena accurately. Earthquakes, volcanic eruptions and the emergence of uncharted islands all punctuate Orosius’ historical narrative and illustrate the intimate links between the physical world and the evolution of human history.61 This narrative strategy betrays obvious debts to classical historiographical practice, but such elements form only one aspect of Orosius’ interest in the spatiality of history. A similar motive may be detected behind Orosius’ careful reference to the testimony that the physical landscape provided to the events of Scripture. Perhaps the most familiar of these is Orosius’ description of the wheel-tracks still visible on the bed of the Red Sea – an image invoked in the work of several later writers.62 Alongside this must be considered the description of the area around Sodom and Gomorrah, made with particular reference to Tacitus, and the attempt to employ geological evidence to support his account of the Flood. In each of these cases, Orosius sought to verify the testimony of Scripture with reference to identifiable evidence on the ground.63 That he placed such a great store upon the physical world as an authenticator of his account testifies strongly to his appreciation of geography as a necessary adjunct to historical scholarship. Four empires and universal history Orosius’ most significant innovation was the suggestion that geography not only allowed his audience to locate events physically, but that it also 59 60 61

62 63

Cf. for example, Or., Hist. I.15.1–10; VII.37.2–4. Or., Hist. II.6.8–10; IV.22.4–6; V.7.2; VI.21.2–3. Cf. for example, Or., Hist. I.7.3; II.13.8; III.3.1–3; III.5.1–3; IV.4.1–4; IV.13.12–13; IV.20.30; VI.2.17–18; VII.4.13; VII.7.12; VII.9.11. Or., Hist. I.10.17; cf. Gregory of Tours, LH. I.10; Dicuil, De mensura VI.17; Egeria 4.Y5. Or., Hist. I.5.1–11; I.3.1–6.

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Overview of the Historia allowed a causal understanding of events themselves, particularly when combined with chronological analysis. The importance of geography to Orosius’ unique historical understanding is most clearly illustrated by the spatial emphasis in his description of the succession of temporal empires throughout history: ‘And by the same ineffable plan at the four cardinal points of the world, four chief kingdoms [were] pre-eminent in distinct stages, namely: the Babylonian Kingdom in the East, the Carthaginian in the South, the Macedonian in the North, and the Roman in the West.’64 The suggestion that the human past was marked by the succession of dominant empires forms the basic framework for the seven books of Orosius’ Historia. In his first book, the writer describes the prehistory of the world and the early development of Babylon. Book Two recounts the first sack of Babylon and the subsequent rise of the Assyrian kingdom, although Orosius stresses that the latter was very much an extension of its predecessor.65 Books Three and Four describe the rise and fall of Macedonia and Carthage respectively, and the remainder of the work is dedicated to Rome, in both pagan and Christian guises. Orosius was hardly unique in this division of the past into discrete periods of political dominance. The precedent for his approach may be traced back to the fourth century BC, although the precise identification of the ascendant realms underwent substantial change over the course of time. Hesiod, for example, divided the mythologized past into a series of periods, defined by metals, and appears to have thereby influenced a considerable body of eastern Mediterranean prophetic and historical writing.66 Herodotus offered a more precise identification of Assyria, Media and Persia as the dominant political powers of their respective periods.67 The disparate strands of the tradition were probably standardized in the writing of Aemilius Sura, Ennius and perhaps Polybius during the second century before Christ and became a common feature of classical historiography in the following century.68 According to this new paradigm Rome came to be regarded as a fifth empire, in succession to the dominance enjoyed by the Assyrians, Medes, Persians and Macedonians, and appears as such in the extant writings of both Dionysius of Halicarnassus and Appian.69 Alternative interpretations of the same philosophy remained common, however, most obviously within the Judaic tradition. Both Hebrew and 64

65 67 69

Or., Hist. II.1.5: eademque ineffabili ordinatione per quattuor mundi cardines quattuor regnorum principatus distinctis gradibus eminentes, ut Babylonium regnum ab oriente, a meridie Carthaginiense, a septentrione Macedonicum, ab occidente Romanum. Or., Hist. II.2.6–8. 66 Flusser (1972); Momigliano (1987), pp. 31–5. Herodotus I.95–130. 68 Mendels (1981), pp. 332–3; Alonso-Nu´n˜ez (1990), p. 190. Appian, Hist. Praef. 6–11; Dionysius of Halicarnassus, Ant. Rom. I.2.2–4; Swain (1940), p. 13.

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Orosius Christian scholars created their own model of four dominant empires based upon the prophecies of Daniel, and the eschatological themes of the Old Testament came to dominate exegetical exposition of the book.70 It seems likely that the Danielic model was originally intended to refer to a Babylonia–Media–Persia–Macedonia succession, although inevitably later commentators interpreted the passage in a variety of ways.71 Within his Demonstratio Evangelica, Eusebius identifies the four kingdoms of Nebuchadnezzar’s dream as the Assyrian, Persian, Macedonian and Roman. Jerome, similarly, lists the empires of Babylon, Media, Macedonia and Rome in his commentary on Daniel.72 For both Eusebius and Jerome, the inclusion of Rome within the list offered a scriptural justification for their conception of the contemporary empire as a divinely ordained state. The eschatological context of Daniel’s prophecy confirmed the importance of the Christian empire as the last, and greatest, of the realms. It is widely assumed that Jerome’s exegesis formed the principal influence behind Orosius’ interpretation, and the historian used the theologian’s Chronicon to demonstrate the chronological justification for his division.73 Yet the four empires depicted within the Historia differ significantly from the realms identified by Eusebius and Jerome. Orosius’ model included Carthage as the third dominant empire, and conflated the Babylonian and Assyrian realms. While the writer’s North African associations offer some explanation for this shift, and the historical importance of the Carthaginian Empire to the writer’s Spanish homeland still more, the principal motive behind Orosius’ manipulation of Jerome’s model is apparent only when his peculiar geographical rhetoric is considered.74 By replacing Assyria, a second eastern empire, with the southern Carthage, Orosius was able to highlight a spatial, as well as chronological distinction between the four realms. As human history progressed, he suggests, so the stage upon which it developed expanded, to encompass the four corners of the world. It should be noted that the Historia still devotes considerable space to the Assyrian ascendancy, despite this ostensible shift in emphasis, and does not otherwise grant disproportionate

70 71

72

73 74

Daniel 2:31; 7:2–28; Mendels (1981), pp. 335–7; Flusser (1972). Momigliano (1987), p. 48; contra Swain (1940), p. 1, who identifies the Danielic empires as Chaldaea, Media, Persia and Greece, respectively. Eusebius, Dem. Ev. XV. Fr. 1; Jerome, In Dan. I.2.31–5; Arnaud-Lindet (1990), pp. xlviii–xlix; Swain (1940), p. 19. The equivalence of the Medean and Persian empires in this scholarship thus provides a persuasive illustration of George S. Kaufman’s observation that ‘one man’s Mede is another man’s Persian’. Arnaud-Lindet (1990), pp. xlviii–l; Alonso-Nu´n˜ez (1993), p. 203. Points suggested by Alonso-Nu´n˜ez (1989), p. 495.

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Overview of the Historia attention to Carthage. It seems likely, therefore, that the omission of Assyria from the list of dominant empires was necessitated by the inclusion of the southern realm, rather than the other way around.75 Given that both his particular emphasis upon the North African empire and his geographical presentation of the four empires philosophy are entirely original, it is reasonable to assume that Orosius manipulated his Hieronymian schema with precisely this illustration in mind. This decision to represent the four temporal empires in geographical terms was unique to Orosius. Earlier narrative historians had certainly defined different realms with respect to their position in the world, but none had explicitly identified such a neat spatial structure within the succession model.76 It has been suggested that the adoption of this geographical approach was dictated by an original exegetical reading of the prophecy in Daniel 7:2 that ‘the four winds of heaven strive upon the great sea’.77 The plausibility of such an interpretation is, however, somewhat tempered by the absence of any reference to Daniel within the Historia, and if Orosius did base his interpretation upon an original reading of the Old Testament, he seems strangely reluctant to advertise the fact.78 Orosius evidently found the image of successive empires in different parts of the world to be a beguiling one. At the beginning of his final book, the historian returns to the model and justifies his definition of the realms with reference to their relative positions: I realise that no one has ever doubted that the Babylonian and Roman Empires are rightly called that of the East and that of the West. That the Macedonian Empire was in the North, not only its very geographical location, but also the altars of Alexander the Great which stand to this day at the very foot of the Rhipaean Mountains, teach us. Moreover, that Carthage surpassed all Africa and extended the boundaries of its Empire, not only into Sicily, Sardinia, and other adjacent islands, but also into Spain, both the records of History and remains of cities show us.79

75 76

77

78 79

Contra Corsini (1968), p. 166. Strabo I.2.28 suggests that Ephorus employed a spatial quadripartite division in his lost history; for discussion, cf. Clarke (1999a), p. 113; Alonso-Nu´n˜ez (1990), pp. 176–7; Wolska-Conus (1962), pp. 250–2. Daniel 7:2: quattuor venti caeli pugnabant in mari magno; cf. Arnaud-Lindet (1990), pp. xlix–l; Marrou (1970), p. 73. Mommsen (1959), pp. 338–9. Or., Hist. VII.2.5–6: Orientis et occidentis regnum Babylonium et Romanum iure uocitari, neminem umquam dubitasse scio; Macedonicum regnum sub septentrione cum ipsa caeli plaga tum Alexandri Magni arae positae usque ad nunc sub Riphaeis montibus docent; Carthaginem uero uniuersae praecelluisse Africae et non solum in Siciliam Sardiniam ceterasque adiacentes insulas sed etiam in Hispaniam regni terminos tetendisse, historiarum simul monumenta urbiumque declarant.

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Orosius Significantly, each of Orosius’ short geographical passages is accompanied by a brief chronological account of the periods of dominance enjoyed by the realms.80 In each case, Orosius draws direct comparison between Babylon and Rome, and between Macedonia and Carthage. The northern and southern empires, he argues, were each pre-eminent for around seven hundred years: a period that he deems especially important through the divine significance of the number seven, and which may also have dictated the division of his own work into seven books.81 He further notes that Rome herself was almost destroyed by fire in the sevenhundredth year of her ascendancy – a numerological coincidence that he underscores for his less astute readers.82 The historian then notes that one thousand, one hundred and sixty-four years mark the time that elapsed between the succession of Ninus and the eventual destruction of Babylon, and also between the foundation of Rome and Alaric’s sack of the city in 410.83 The parallel between Babylon and Rome forms a central motif within the Historia, and is neatly complemented by the innovative pairing of Macedonia and Carthage.84 Within Orosius’ schema, the spatial and chronological balance evident within the model acts as a dramatic demonstration of the divine order evident within human history.85 No less important, however, is the implied exemption of contemporary Rome from the patterns that had previously dictated human history. Where Babylon had been utterly destroyed by the Medians, Orosius reminds his audience, Rome merely experienced a relatively merciful admonition at the hands of sympathetic, Christian Goths.86 The rhetoric of universality with which Orosius describes post-Augustan Rome contrasts sharply with the presentation of the earlier empires, each of which had been firmly limited to its own corner of the earth. This shift provides one of the more perplexing aspects of Orosius’ Historia, but the coherence of the model that underlies his work is remarkable nevertheless. Orosius’ emphasis upon the geographical characteristics of the profane empires aids the broader aims of his narrative in a number of ways. Chief among these is the implicit sense of universality and exhaustivity that the approach lends to his account. Whereas Augustine’s short historical 80 81

82 84 85

86

Or., Hist. II.2.1–11; VII.2.7–16. Or., Hist. VII.2.8–9; on this numerology, cf. Arnaud-Lindet (1990), pp. xlv–lviii and his table on p. xvi; Marrou (1970), p. 73; Lacroix (1965), pp. 80–2; Alonso-Nu´n˜ez (1993), p. 199. Or., Hist. VI.14.5 and cf. VII.2.11. 83 Or., Hist. VII.2.12–16. Cf. for example, Or., Hist. II.2.3–5; II.2.10; II.6.14; III.20.11–13; VI.14.5; VII.2.13–16. Cf. Arnaud-Lindet (1990), p. xxxvii: ‘A travers les sept livres des Histoires, les arguments produits renvoient les uns aux autres comme dans un jeu de miroirs.’ Or., Hist. II.3.2–10.

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Overview of the Historia excursus had focused only upon Rome in the west, Orosius’ account deals systematically with the rise and fall of the eastern, northern and southern empires in preparation for his own account of the Roman past. The corresponding emphasis upon the chronological dominance of each extends this implied universality through time, as well as space, with the result that the Historia appears, at least superficially, as a genuinely universal appraisal of human history. On a slightly more sophisticated level, the approach also lends coherence to many of the moral themes within the Historia. Throughout his work, Orosius laments the suffering brought about by imperial expansion, be it Babylonian, Macedonian, Carthaginian or Roman. In a number of emotive passages, the historian deplores the misery engendered by the repeated conquest of his Iberian homeland, by the Carthaginians and Romans, as well as more recently by the barbarians.87 In the light of this anguish, Orosius declaims the futility of temporal conquest, and argues that true satisfaction can only be won through peace and through Christian faith. The writer’s reiteration of the spatial parameters within which each of the empires developed highlights this theme admirably. Through the simple application of geographical imagery, the aspirations of each of the realms to universal dominion are immediately seen to be ineffectual. As a result, Orosius is able to devote considerable energy to the description of the widespread destruction caused by Ninus, Semiramis, and Philip and Alexander of Macedon without fear that the scale of their campaigns would overshadow the moral failings that he sought to emphasize.88 In order to accentuate these points, Orosius makes several explicit denials of claims to universal dominion, most conspicuously in his systematic deflation of Alexandrine hyperbole, but these reminders merely supplement the assumptions implicit in the framework of the Historia.89 Orosius’ conviction of the futility of temporal conquest is highlighted particularly vividly through his empathy for countless subjugated groups. Throughout his Historia, subjected peoples, and particularly those on the periphery of the world, are treated with considerable sympathy. The spatial balance of Orosius’ work effectively depicts the four dominant empires as central realms expanding outwards, as well as predetermined states within each corner of the world. Orosius recalls the peaceable nature of the Ethiopians of the south and the Indians of the far east, for example, in contrast to the belligerent empires of the centre.90 87 88

On Orosius’ account of Spanish sufferings, cf. the stimulating overview of Alonso-Nu´n˜ez (1989). Or., Hist. I.4.1–3; I.4.4–8; III.12–15; III.16–23. 89 Or., Hist. III.20.9. 90 Or., Hist. I.4.5–6.

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Orosius Even the Scythians, who had been portrayed in wholly martial terms since Herodotus’ description of their fantastic society, are shown to have developed their corrupt and warlike behaviour largely as a result of contact with a succession of rapacious Mediterranean empires.91 Orosius actively idealizes the inhabitants of the periphery only very rarely, however. He describes the pacific Indians in exalted terms, and his unique description of a small Jewish community, exiled by Artaxerxes to the Caspian Sea, bears some comparison with the fantastic classical accounts of the Hyperboreans.92 On a rather different level, the historian also glorifies the ascetic Christian inhabitants of the African desert.93 For the most part, however, the Enlightenment conception of the Noble Savage was an alien one to Orosius. The spokesmen that the historian employs to provide an alternative perspective on the suffering caused by imperial expansion were rarely, it might be remembered, blameless victims of the process that they criticize, but merely belligerent on a rather smaller scale. Similarly, Orosius adheres to well-established tradition in his extensive description of Scythian and Hunnic barbarism, and in the anguish with which he recounts the assaults on his homeland.94 If the writer generally refuses to perceive the barbarians through rose-tinted spectacles, however, his criticism is tempered throughout by the proposition that the four Mediterranean empires were more systematic, and more wide-ranging, in their own instigation of suffering. Throughout, the spatial image of Mediterranean empires, engaged upon widespread pursuit of universal domination, provides a thematic unity within Orosius’ work. The dramatis personae of the historical account are introduced only gradually, in direct response to the avaricious expansion of the principal empires. Orosius avoids the common classical presentation of Scythia as the heartland of inexplicable hostility, and instead stresses heavily the role of the Mediterranean realms in the creation of this threat. Within his account, Scythian and Amazon hostility is the direct result of the successive attempts of Ninus, Darius and Alexander to impose their rule upon the wastelands of the north.95 Throughout, Orosius’ image of the Mediterranean empires, fruitlessly expanding and contracting within space, forms a dominant motivating theme within his work. In the latter stages of his work, Orosius’ fidelity to this neat and balanced model proves to be rather erratic. Unlike Augustine, who was happy to invoke the parallel between Babylon and Rome as an illustration 91

92 94

Or., Hist. I.4.2. On classical perceptions of Scythia, cf. Romm (1992), pp. 46–70; Hartog (1988); Shaw (1982/3). Or., Hist. I.4.6; I. 9.4; III.7.6. 93 Or., Hist. VII.33.2–3. Or., Hist. V.4.12; VII.33.10; III.20.6–7. 95 Or., Hist. I.4.2; II.8.4–6.

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Overview of the Historia of the transitory nature of the contemporary state, Orosius was unable to divorce himself completely from a confidence in the divine permanence of the Christian empire. Implicit within his carefully balanced four empires model was the assumption that the fifth, and final, empire would be universal in its authority, both in time and in space. Indeed, in his condemnation of earlier claims to universal dominion, Orosius repeatedly implies that the only truly dominant empire would be established with the support of Christ. Orosius’ failure to define adequately the complex relationship between the ideal Christian state and the contemporary Roman hegemony creates an enormous number of problems both for the historian and for his audience. Over the course of the Historia, Rome is presented partly as a flawed temporal state similar to that envisaged by Augustine, and partly in an idealized form more familiar from the Caesaropapist ideas of the Eusebian tradition.96 Orosius’ presentation of the Christian empire fluctuates, often violently, between the two contrasting forms and in the resulting disorientation the position of Rome with respect to the earlier empires is often forgotten. Again, this process is particularly well illustrated by the exploitation of geographical rhetoric within the text. The reign of Augustus acts as the fulcrum for Orosius’ analysis of the Roman state. The historian repeatedly reminds his audience that the pax Augusta provided the context for the Incarnation: a coincidence of temporal authority and divine activity that must illustrate decisively the symbiosis between the two institutions.97 The peace into which Christ was born is described in the same universal geographical terms that had been forbidden the earlier temporal empires: So in the seven hundred and fifty-second year after the founding of the City, Caesar Augustus, when from the East to the West, from the North to the South, and over the entire circuit of Ocean all nations were arranged in a single peace, then for the third time had the gates of Janus closed.98

The deliberate invocation of the cardinal points of the compass in the expression of Roman authority creates an obvious contrast to the more limited empires discussed earlier in the work. Of similar significance is Orosius’ identification of the circumferential Ocean as the frontier of the Augustan empire. Ocean provided a tantalizing goal for those with 96 97

98

Markus (1963), p. 350; Paschoud (1967), p. 284. Or., Hist. VI.1.22; Marrou (1970), p. 81; Petersen (1935), p. 88; Paschoud (1967), pp. 280–6; Alonso-Nu´n˜ez (1993), p. 207. Or., Hist. VI.22.1: Itaque anno ab Urbe condita DCCLII, Caesar Augustus ab oriente in occidentem, a septentrione in meridiem ac per totum Oceani circulum cunctis gentibus una pace conpositis, Iani portas tertio ipse tunc clausit.

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Orosius pretensions towards universal hegemony, and the motif is a common one within classical historiography and geography. Elsewhere within his Historia, Orosius acknowledges the celebration that had accompanied Alexander’s expansion to the Indian Ocean, but disparages the incomplete nature of his conquest, with some vehemence.99 Association with the whole circuit of Ocean is a solely Roman preserve within Orosius’ work, a quality that further promotes his depiction of Augustan Rome as the first truly universal dominion. This image of the universal Roman state is a prominent one in the opening sections of Orosius’ seventh book. Here, the historian makes explicit the role of Christ in allowing Rome to escape the spatial limitations imposed upon its political predecessors: From the foundation of the world and from the beginning of the human race, an honour of this nature had absolutely never been granted in this manner, not even to Babylon or to Macedonia, not to mention any lesser kingdom. It is undoubtedly clear for the understanding of all, from their faith and investigation, that our Lord Jesus Christ brought forward this city to this pinnacle of power, prosperous and protected by His will . . . 100

This image of a dominant empire scarcely adheres to the model that Orosius proposes elsewhere, but the writer explains his deviation from the established paradigm. The coincidence of the Incarnation and the pax Augusta, Orosius implies, effectively redefined the position of Rome within human and divine history.101 Whereas pre-Augustan Rome had been limited to dominion over the west, the divine support for the empire represented by Christ’s birth provided it with a spatial universality, and hence a new identity. The author thus depicts Augustan Rome as a synthesis of the fourth temporal empire and the universal fifth realm. Through emphasis upon Augustus’ rule, Orosius invests his work with recognizable elements of the Eusebian Caesaropapist ideal of the allpowerful Christian state. There are, however, numerous problems inherent in this simplistic impression of the duality of the Roman political identity, and Orosius never fully addresses the complicated relationship between pre-Christian Rome and the divinely supported empire of Augustus and his successors. The outspoken support for pax Augusta within the Historia sits poorly 99 100

101

Or., Hist. III.20.9. Or., Hist. VI.22.7–8: quod penitus numquam ab Orbe condito atque ab exordio generis humani in hunc modum, ne Babylonio quidem, uel Macedonico, ut non dicam minori cuiquam regno, concessum fuit. Nec dubium quoniam omnium cognitioni fidei inspectionique pateat quia Dominus noster Iesus Christus hanc urbem nutu suo auctam defensamque in hunc rerum apicem prouexerit . . .; cf. also Or., Hist. VI.1.5–6. Marrou (1970), p. 81.

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Overview of the Historia alongside Orosius’ outright condemnation of the Roman military activity that created such territorial dominance.102 Throughout, military conquest is presented as an abhorrent activity, but the resulting political stability is cast as praiseworthy. Nowhere is this paradox better illustrated than in Orosius’ description of the final conquests of pre-Augustan Rome: Rome reckoned the extent of her Kingdom by her misfortunes and, turning to her own destruction, laid claim to every individual nation in which she had conquered. To Asia, Europe and Africa, I do not say to the three parts of the world but to every corner of these three parts, she exhibited her gladiators, and to her enemies who were enjoying the holiday, she introduced a spectacle of vengeance that was pitiful.103

This vitriol serves the wider rhetoric of the Historia poorly. The implication that Roman military power before the advent of Christ could assert control over all of the different regions of the world contradicts the underlying themes of the four empires model. While Orosius does not explicitly assert the ubiquity of Roman control here, the inference is easy enough to make. Even without this statement, the logical paradox within Orosius’ account is obvious enough. If the pax Augusta embraced the whole world, then the conquest that preceded it must itself have been universal.104 The historian encounters similar problems in his treatment of the pagan emperors who succeeded Augustus. Orosius does prove himself adept at performing spectacular literary contortions for the sake of his argument, but he is forced at times into the confession that Imperial Rome had enjoyed some success under pagan emperors as well as Christians, and that religious persecution often coincided with periods of peace. Reasonably enough, this is partially explained through reference to the inscrutability of divine activity.105 If Orosius saw Augustus as the first ruler to benefit from obvious divine support, despite the emperor’s own paganism, it is

102

103

104

Paschoud (1967), p. 290. The ideology of the pax Augusta was founded on the rhetoric of conquest; cf. Teillet (1984), pp. 150–6; Galinsky (1996), p. 107. In this sense, the paradox at the heart of Orosius’ account may best be regarded as a conflict between inherited, imperial ideals implicit in the pax Romana and the embryonic ‘post-colonial’ position towards which the historian was himself moving. Or., Hist. VI.17.4: Percensuit latitudinem regni sui Roma cladibus suis atque in suam conuersa caedem singulas quasque gentes ibidem, ubi domuit, uindicauit. Asiae Europae atque Africae, non dico tribus mundi partibus sed totis trium partium angulis edidit gladiatores suos feriatisque inimicis spectaculum miserae ultionis ingessit. Paschoud (1967), p. 290. 105 Cf. for example, Or., Hist. VII.6.9–11; VII.9.8–10.

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Orosius scarcely surprising that he is able to identify similar forces behind the success enjoyed by Trajan.106 Such contrivances have only limited appeal, however, and elsewhere Orosius confines himself to the assertion that Roman fortune, like that of the earlier empires, was subject to a certain degree of fluctuation. As a result, he is forced to acknowledge the uncertainty, or rather the incomplete nature, of Romano-Christian symbiosis, and this forms a significant conclusion to his work. Throughout the latter stages of the Historia, Rome is presented as the uneasy inheritor of the world and as an incomplete ‘fifth empire’, a point that is again illustrated most clearly by Orosius’ geographical imagery: ‘Thus, the status of Rome is constantly disturbed by alternating changes and is like the level of the Ocean, which is different every day, and is raised for seven days by increases growing less daily, and in the same number of days is drawn back by the natural loss and internal absorption’.107 This particular image is specifically related to the fortunes of pre-Augustan Rome, but it may be read as indicative of Orosius’ attitude towards the empire as a whole. Significantly, the image itself closely echoes the writer’s earlier depiction of the fluctuations of Spartan power in conflict with Athens.108 The reprise of the familiar Oceanic motif also provides a vivid spatial representation of the changes in Rome’s fortunes, and explicitly contrasts the unhappy periods of imperial rule with the universal peace that accompanied the Incarnation. The repeated allusion to the seven days of the tide cycle also lends a Christian numerological aspect to the section, and emphasizes still further the divine role in the creation and maintenance of temporal empires. Orosius’ choice of geographical imagery within this short section clearly indicates that he regarded imperial Rome as a realm in the process of transition, from the strict temporality of the period before Christ to a potentially limitless future. Elsewhere within his final book, the historian repeatedly employs geographical points of reference in order to re-emphasize the fluctuating authority of the state. Orosius’ account of Caligula’s token Gallic campaign, for example, notes that the emperor travelled as far as the Ocean, but stresses too that he was unable to cross into Britain.109 Later in the same chapter, Diocletian is taunted with the activities of the Franks and the Saxons on the same coast, whereas Claudius is shown to extend

106

107

108

Or., Hist. VII.12.1–2. Although it should be noted that at VII.34 Orosius explicitly identifies Theodosius’ rule as more successful than that of Trajan. Or., Hist. VI.14.1: Igitur Romani status agitur semper alterna mutatio, et uelut forma Oceani maris, quae omni die dispar, nunc succiduis per septem dies attollitur incrementis, nunc insequentibus totidem diebus naturali damno et defectu interiore subducitur. Or., Hist. III.1.15; cf. Virgil, Aen. II.169–70. 109 Or., Hist. VII.5.5.

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Overview of the Historia imperial rule even beyond Britain, as far as the Orcades.110 Even after his extensive praise of Augustus’ jurisdiction, the historian highlights the limitations upon Roman authority throughout the world. Divine protection of the City, and Christ’s birth as a Roman citizen, had served to free the empire from the spatial and temporal parameters that had constrained the earlier realms, but lasting peace could only be obtained through the universality of the Christian faith. It is this perspective that shapes Orosius’ presentation of contemporary barbarian activity. The author’s argument that the Christian Goths offered little more than a mild chastisement to Rome propounded a revolutionary view of the events of 410, and one that was to prove influential among later historiographers. Yet Orosius’ emphasis upon the role of Christianity in securing Romano-barbarian relations was not limited to Alaric’s sack of the City. In his seventh book, the writer provides an uplifting assessment of the impact of the foederati within the churches of the empire: And yet, if the barbarians had been admitted into the territory of the Romans for this reason alone, because, in general, throughout the East and the West the churches of Christ were replete with Huns, Suebi, Vandals and Burgundians, and with innumerable and different peoples of believers, the mercy of God would seem to be worthy of praise and to be extolled, since, even if with our weakening, so many peoples would be receiving a knowledge of truth which, surely, they could never have discovered except with this opportunity.111

Orosius depicts the contemporary empire primarily as a vehicle for evangelism. The collapse of Roman military authority is presented as divinely ordained, thanks to the opportunity that this offered for the wider spread of the Christian faith. Where Roman arms had failed, in other words, the word of God was successful in extending its reach throughout the world. The Goths offer Orosius the most reliable medium for the elucidation of this argument. A people hitherto unconquered, despite the rapacious attentions of Ninus, Semiramis, Alexander and Rome, the Gothi came to the empire in peace, thanks to the beneficent effects of their embryonic Christianity. At the root of Orosius’ presentation of the Goths was his identification of the group with the classical Getae, traditionally located 110 111

Or., Hist. VII.25.3; VII.6.10. Or., Hist. VII.41.8: Quamquam si ob hoc solum barbari Romanis finibus inmissi forent quod uulgo per Orientem et Occidentem ecclesiae Christi Hunis, Sueuis, Vandalis, et Burgundionibus, diuersisque innumeris credentium populis replentur, laudanda et adtollenda misericordia Dei uideretur, quandoquidem, etsi cum labefactione nostri, tantae gentes agnitionem ueritatis acciperent quam inuenire utique nisi hac occasione non possent.

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Orosius 112

within Scythia. Orosius draws the link between the two at a very early stage in his account, and in so doing provides Alaric’s contemporary Goths with both a great antiquity and an admirable heritage. The writer is at pains to stress the survival of the northern group, free from the fetters of the Mediterranean empires. Crucially, in the same section in which he praises perpetual Gothic independence, Orosius stresses the pacific intentions of Alaric’s Christians: ‘They, whom alone the unconquered kingdoms feared, offered themselves as protection for the Roman Empire.’113 This potential commonwealth of Goth and Roman provides a strong secondary theme within Orosius’ work. The implications of a peace with the Goths for the universality of Roman rule are obvious enough, and highlight the historian’s confidence in the vigour of the Christian City. By stressing the potential for harmony between Goth and Roman, the writer was able to denigrate still further the contemporary conception of 410 as a cataclysmic period for the civilization of the south. His lead was followed extensively by historians in the early medieval period.114 Geographical language is also put to good use in Orosius’ praise of contemporary Romano-Christian peace. Through overt reference to his own experience as a peripatetic scholar, the historian presents a Virgilian image of a trouble-free world: The breadth of the East, the vastness of the North, the extensiveness of the South, and the very large and secure seats of the great islands are of my law and my name because I, as a Roman and a Christian, approach Christians and Romans . . . Among Romans, as I have said, I am a Roman, among Christians a Christian, among men a man; I implore the state through its laws, the conscience through religion, nature through its universality. I enjoy every land temporarily as my fatherland, because what is truly my fatherland, and that which I love, is not completely on this earth.115

There are unmistakable strains of Augustinian ideology within this passage. Orosius’ final allusion to his true patria bears close resemblance to the Heavenly City ideal that Augustine was to develop in the later books of 112

113 114

115

Or., Hist. I.16.2, and cf. Jerome, Hebr. Quaest. Gen. 10.2. For further discussion of the Goths/ Getae identification, cf. Teillet (1984), pp. 17–24 and Christensen (2002), pp. 48–50. Or., Hist. I.16.3: semet ipsos ad tuitionem Romani regni offerunt, quos solos inuicta regna timuerunt! See, for example, the presentation of the sack in Hydatius 297.15; Jordanes, Getica XXX.156; Isidore of Seville, LR 15–19. Or., Hist. V.2.3–6: Latitudo orientis, septentrionis copiositas, meridiana diffusio, magnarum insularum largissimae tutissimaeque sedes mei iuris et nominis sunt quia ad Christianos et Romanos Romanus et Christianus accedo . . . Inter Romanos, ut dixi, Romanus, inter Christianos Christianus, inter homines homo, legibus inploro rempublicam, religione conscientiam, communione naturam. Utor temporarie omni terra quasi patria quia quae uera est et illa quam amo patria in terra penitus non est. Cf. Virgil, Aen. I.540–1; on Orosius’ use of Virgil in this passage, cf. Coffin (1935/6), p. 238.

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Overview of the Historia 116

De civitate Dei. It remains intriguing, therefore, that this theme is not explored more fully. There is no other reference within the Historia to this philosophy and Orosius seems reluctant to confuse his fundamentally terrestrial approach to history through more extensive deference to Augustine’s cosmological arguments. Instead, Orosius’ brief eulogy of the contemporary world appears to have been included primarily as a further contrast to the divisiveness and instability of the past. In the chapter that precedes Orosius’ short declamation, the historian systematically bewails the sufferings endured by Carthage, Spain and Italy over the course of their respective histories. He stresses the wars and conflicts that beset a world without a common faith, and argues that a voluntary exile, in the manner of his own, would have been utterly impossible for long periods of human history.117 This impression of safe travel as a mark of political stability was a common motif within classical and early medieval writing, and was clearly appreciated by Orosius on a personal as well as literary level.118 Elsewhere in the same book, the historian claims that the unrest caused by war in Italy made travel within the peninsula extremely dangerous.119 In his subsequent description of republican Rome, Orosius’ emphasis upon piracy stresses that maritime transport was all but impossible.120 Although neither of these passages is of central importance to the Historia as a whole, Orosius’ repeated exploitation of geographical imagery clearly is. In describing peace, as well as war, Orosius turned to the world around him for illustration. The Historiarum adversus paganos libri septem is not a great work of philosophical or cosmographical scholarship. Comparisons with De civitate Dei inevitably cast Orosius’ composition as a somewhat frivolous piece and its author as a historian who was unwilling, or unable, to explore many of the issues that his mentor expounded. Nevertheless, from the disparate ideological influences that shaped his Historia, Orosius was able to fashion a coherent whole, in which his understanding of the physical world had a central role to play. Through his consistent application of geographical imagery, the historian presented a comprehensible view of human development, from Creation to a potentially limitless future. For Orosius, the past was a catalogue of suffering and division, caused by the political fragmentation of the world and the misguided attempts of mankind to unite it without Christian guidance. In the future, by contrast, lay the 116

117 119

On Augustine’s notion of the patria, cf. Adams (1971), pp. 34, 113–18 and Chesnut (1975), p. 78; on Orosius’ adoption of it, cf. Truyol y Serra (1961), p. 700. Or., Hist. V.1.1–16. 118 Cf. for example, Bede, HE II.16; Socrates Scholasticus, HE VII.19. Or., Hist. V.24.13. 120 Or., Hist. VI.4.1.

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Orosius potential for universal harmony, the foundations of which had already been laid by the Incarnation and pax Augusta. The Goths, disparaged and feared by much of the Roman literati, were seen by Orosius as little more than a catalyst in the divine plan for the redemption of mankind and the creation of a Christian world. Orosius’ understanding of history was rooted firmly to the global stage upon which it evolved. The audience of the Historia is reminded of this by the different digressions that colour the work as a whole, but the clearest statement of the author’s intent is the long geographical passage with which he introduced his work. THE GEOGRAPHICAL INTRODUCTION

It is easy to forget that Orosius’ geographical introduction was itself a structural and stylistic innovation. The enormous popularity of the fifth-century historian throughout the medieval period ensured that the prominent use of geographical description became commonplace in the millennium after his death, but Orosius himself had few models upon which to draw in adopting this approach. Although geography had enjoyed a privileged position within antique historiography, and classical historiographers explored many different avenues of geographical and topographical speculation, spatial themes were rarely afforded the focal role evident within Orosius’ Historia. The inclusion of the introduction, then, must be regarded as a conscious decision, and as an immediate declaration by the historian of the importance of geography within his work. The only classical historical work to employ a substantial geographical account at its outset is the Greek Historia Romana of the second-century Alexandrian, Appian: a text which has already been discussed briefly in the present study. As the title of his work suggests, Appian sought to explore the genesis of the Roman Empire, and to this end traced a succession of dominant empires, in much the same way as his fifth-century successor.121 Appian anticipated Orosius by including a substantial geographical introduction to his work, but consciously limited his attentions to the area under direct Roman control.122 The only extra-imperial region to be included within Appian’s geography is the autonomous kingdom of Greater Armenia – an addition that is probably explained by the historian’s desire to emphasize the subjection of the regions surrounding it.123 Elsewhere, the Alexandrian pointedly restricts his geography to the 121 122

123

On Appian’s interest in the succession of empires, cf. Alonso-Nu´n˜ez (1984). Appian, Hist. Praef. 1–5. For a brief discussion of this introductory chapter, and its context, see pp. 13–14 above. Appian, Hist. Praef. 2.

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The geographical introduction imperial limites, and makes repeated declarations of the worthlessness of the regions beyond.124 Orosius’ particular interest in precisely the areas beyond Roman authority provides a stark contrast to the work of his predecessor. It is unclear, however, whether this emphasis was intended as a direct rebuke to the Romano-centric philosophy of Appian, or simply as a reflection of his own, original perspective. The Historia Romana was not among Orosius’ sources, and there is little evidence that he was aware of the work. The preface to the fifth-century Historia does imply a familiarity with ancient Greek historiography, but the dominant influences behind the piece, in both form and content, were exclusively Latin.125 Orosius’ opening chapter was intended to challenge the image of Roman geography propounded by imperial writers like Strabo, and typified by Appian, but the direct influences behind his unusual choice of introduction must be sought among the Latin writers of the empire. It seems reasonable to suppose that Orosius’ admiration of Sallust was at least partially responsible for his adoption of a geographical preface. Although pre-Christian, the republican historian enjoyed an exalted position among patristic and medieval writers, thanks to his concise literary style and his rather negative view of antique Rome.126 As has been discussed, Sallust was exploited extensively within De civitate Dei, and Orosius followed the lead set by Augustine in deferring extensively to the writer. Sallust is rarely named explicitly within the Historia, but Orosius’ admiration is palpable, nevertheless. In his own description of the war with Jugurtha, for which he was extensively dependent upon the republican writer, Orosius places particular emphasis upon the quality of the material available to him.127 Similarly, the brevity of Orosius’ treatment of the Catiline conspiracy is excused through pointed deference to Sallust and Cicero.128 Geography fulfils a very specific purpose within Sallust’s Bellum Jugurthinum. In introducing his digressive description of Numidia, the republican writer implied that a geographical discursus would serve as a useful explanatory tool, and largely keeps his account within the spatial parameters of his historical narrative.129 Although Orosius justifies his 124

125 126

127

See for example, Appian, Hist. Praef. 4 (on the Roman boundaries in Africa) and 5 (on the domination of the worthwhile areas of Britain). At Hist. Praef. 7 Appian notes with disdain the deference of extra-imperial regions to Rome, and the Roman rejection of such worthless tributaries. Or., Hist. I.1.1. Corsini (1968), p. 74, n.5. questions whether Orosius could even read Greek. On Sallust’s use of geography, see Tiffou (1974); on the patristic and medieval reception of Sallust, cf. esp. Smalley (1971) and Chesnut (1975). Or., Hist. V.15.2. 128 Or., Hist. VI.6.6. 129 Sallust, Bell. Jug. 17.1–2.

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Orosius own introduction in rather more florid language, and sought to describe a rather larger region in his work, the geography of the Historia is heralded in very similar terms: first I shall describe the world itself which the human race inhabits, as it were divided by our ancestors into three parts and then established by regions and provinces, in order that when the locale of wars and the ravages of diseases are described, all interested may more easily obtain knowledge, not only of the events of their time, but also of their location.130

What then follows is a fairly comprehensive survey of the known world. Orosius first outlines the boundaries of the three continents and discusses some of the controversies that had surrounded the divisions in the writing of the past. He then retraces his description and includes a detailed account of the provinces of each continent in turn. Throughout, the writer adopts a largely formulaic approach to his task. He approaches his account of Asia, Europe and Africa through a systematic enumeration of their constituent provinces and regions, and describes each in relation to the territories and seas that delineate them. The historian only departs from this workmanlike model in order to investigate a significant handful of regions in particular detail, and his chapter is closed by a brief survey of the Mediterranean islands. Where Sallust limited his digression to areas of particular interest to his historical narrative, Orosius’ approach to geography appears, at first, to have been rather more fluid. If his ostensible purpose was to provide a context for his later historical writing, there is little evidence to show that the geographical survey was tailored specifically to the precise needs of his narrative. In his introduction, for example, Orosius locates Mount Olympus in Asia Minor, with little concern for his later application of the same name to a mountain in Galatia.131 The seemingly indiscriminate inclusion of towns within the opening geographical chapter provides a still more striking case. The obscure Ethiopian Mossylon Emporium is described in as much detail as Carthage, despite the obvious importance of the latter to the historian’s narrative.132 Neither Rome nor Babylon appears at all within the opening geography, yet Ottorogorra, in the Far East, and Portus Rutupi, in southern Britain, both do.133 Orosius’ complete

130

131

Or., Hist. I.1.16–17: ut primum ipsum terrarum orbem quem inhabitat humanum genus sicut est a maioribus trifariam distributum, deinde regionibus prouinciisque determinatum, expediam; quo facilius, cum locales bellorum morborumque clades ostentabuntur, studiosi quique non solum rerum ac temporum sed etiam locorum scientiam consequantur. Cf. Or., Hist. I.2.26; IV.20.25. 132 Or., Hist. I.2.28. 133 Or., Hist. I.2.42, 76.

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The geographical introduction omission of Rome may possibly be explained by the simple assumption that the City was already extremely familiar to an audience infused with Latin cultural understanding; Pliny explicitly excused his own failure to describe Athens in very similar terms.134 Conversely, a dearth of knowledge regarding Babylon may have discouraged Orosius from including the imperial city within his geography. Pausanias, the great Greek travel writer of the second century, confessed his own ignorance of contemporary Babylon and claimed that he knew of no one who had seen the few remains of the ancient city.135 The absence of any reference to the four temporal empires within the introduction seems more significant, given the overtly spatial construction of the narrative that follows. Not only are the capital cities of the different states included only haphazardly, but the boundaries of each realm are left largely unexplained. Orosius includes an ephemeral reference to the Roman Danube frontier, and locates the Gates of Alexander in the Caucasus mountains, but beyond this, his account is almost entirely unmarked by political features.136 If the geographical contortions of ancient empires formed a central theme of Orosius’ historical writing, this interest was certainly not evident in his opening chapter. The different attitudes towards geography taken by Sallust and Orosius are clearly demonstrated by the contrasting emphases of their introductory chapters, and are revealed further by the nature of the digressions within the works as a whole. The precision of Sallust’s opening description is complemented by a number of specific topographic descriptions, which lend a detailed spatial aspect to his narrative.137 Throughout, his audience is presented with a definite appreciation of topographical causality. Although Sallust emphasizes the moral aspects of his account, the physical landscape upon which his history unfolds plays an active role within it. The different characteristics of ethnographic groups are shown to have had a profound effect upon their actions, and the nuances of the African landscape are seen to shape military endeavours substantially.138 Orosius’ Historia is not entirely bereft of such considerations, but the later historian generally employs geography as a symbolic, rather than active, component of the historical narrative. Some attention is paid to the importance of the freezing of the Danube, to the difficulties of crossing the Alps, or of campaigning in the swamps of northern Gaul, but

134 135 136 137 138

Pliny, HN IV.24; a parallel proposed by Janvier (1982a), p. 193. Pausanias IV.31.5; VIII.23.3. Or., Hist. I.2.40 (but cf. Janvier (1982a), p. 91 on the identification of the Gates); Or., Hist.I.2.54. Cf. for example, Sallust, Bell. Jug. 16.5; 19.3–7; 47.1–2; 78.1–5; 89.4–7. Cf. esp. Sallust, Bell. Jug. 46.3–4; 48.3–49.2; 80.1–2; 89.4–90.3; 92.5–9.

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Orosius Orosius’ greatest geographical energies are expended in the description of rather abstract concepts.139 The spatial definition of the different temporal realms provides an obvious example of this, and Orosius’ moving eulogy of Romano-Christian peace another. In each case, Orosius clearly appreciates the importance of geographical rhetoric, on the broadest scale, and exploits it with some skill. There is little sense, however, that the writer appreciated the complexity of the relationship between landscape and history within his account. For Orosius, geographical imagery was chiefly representative and rhetorical, and geographical causality only relevant on the broadest possible level – in terms of the predestined spatial parameters of the mundane empires, for example. It is against this historical philosophy that the geographical introduction needs to be judged. When viewed in this perspective, the introduction may be seen to have fulfilled a number of important roles within the elucidation of Orosius’ historical argument. Perhaps its most obvious function was the explicit demonstration of the universality of the account that his expansive description of the world offered. Orosius’ repeated exploitation of geographical imagery in his account of the four empires emphasized his expansion of his Augustinian paradigm, and the introduction provided a dramatic prelude to this process. In the preceding chapter, Orosius stresses the unprecedented chronological scope of his account, and the description of the world forms a natural counterpoint to this.140 As a result, the introductory geography may simply be read as the longest of Orosius’ multiple declarations of his own historical breadth. Although this interpretation may seem simplistic, particularly for a passage as detailed as Orosius’ geography, there can be little doubt that the overt display of the enormity of his work provided a powerful incentive for his peculiar choice of introduction. Orosius naturally sought to make his geography as universal as possible in order to accentuate the implications for his Historia, but the methods employed by the historian to accomplish this are a reminder that the introduction fulfilled a second, and no less important, function. Orosius stresses that his geography, like his historical account, is limited only by the circumferential Ocean, and that all within its bounds falls within his remit. In his description of the world, in other words, Orosius very closely parallels the geographical rhetoric he later employs to celebrate the potentially universal empire of Christian Rome. Rather than provide a template for the description of the four temporal empires, the principal purpose of the geographical introduction appears to have been the 139 140

Or., Hist. IV.20.34; IV.14.4; VI.8.6–11. Or., Hist. I.1.1–15; Corsini (1968), p. 73; Koch-Peters (1984), p. 23.

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The geographical introduction delineation of the fifth, universal Christian realm. If such an interpretation is accepted, the absence of political markers and principal cities within the chapter is entirely understandable, and Orosius’ desire to create an exhaustive geographical account becomes clear. The geographical introduction was intended not to illustrate the extent of the empires that dominate the narrative of the Historia, but rather to emphasize further their limitations, in contrast to the potential ubiquity of the Christian world. Close investigation of Orosius’ geographical methodology would appear to support this interpretation. As might be expected, the historian composed his geography from a fundamentally Roman perspective, but his ambiguous attitude to the contemporary state is reflected in a Christian optimism that envisages a still greater, and ultimately boundless, empire. At the heart of Orosius’ chapter can be detected an unmistakably imperial construct, but the writer was a skilled enough manipulator of geographical rhetoric to ensure that his text was innovative where it mattered most. The result was a wholly original work, which proved to be enormously influential throughout the medieval period. The varied sources that Orosius exploited in the construction of his introduction have been the subject of considerable dispute among modern scholars. Within his opening chapter, the historian displays a familiarity with mercantile reports, historiographical geography and imperial cartography, and appears to supplement this body of learning with his own understanding of the world. In several sections, the writer flings himself with apparent relish into the centre of antique geographical disputes, and marshals his sources skilfully in the elucidation of his own responses. Although the solutions to geographical problems that emerge within his introduction are somewhat simplistic, the breadth of Orosius’ reading can scarcely be doubted. Little modern consensus has emerged, however, regarding Orosius’ exploitation of his sources. It has been suggested that the historian drew upon a lost Ptolemaic work as the foundation for his geography, and other commentators have argued that the passage itself was heavily indebted to classical cartographic productions of the early imperial period.141 There can be little doubt that Roman representations of the world shaped Orosius’ account, but analysis of his opening chapter with reference to the Historia that it precedes reveals a coherent methodology within the introduction that has not, hitherto, been acknowledged.

141

Baumgarten (1984) argues for Orosius’ use of a Ptolemaic text; Janvier (1982a) proposes rather closer links to Latin cartographic projects. For discussion of each argument, see below, pp. 89–90.

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Orosius Orosius’ introduction was not simply a recitation of long-established imperial ideas, but was altered considerably in response to the historical understanding of the writer. Orosius and his sources The dominant source for the majority of Orosius’ geography has since been lost, with the result that the precise manner in which the writer altered his model cannot be fully ascertained. The introduction, however, bears a striking resemblance to two near-contemporary geographical surveys, both in general structure and in many matters of detail. Knowledge of both of these works and comparative analyses of the three pieces together allows the general nature of Orosius’ most probable source to be speculated upon with some confidence. The first of these treatises, the Divisio orbis terrarum, was a fourth-century composition that survives in Dicuil’s ninth-century geographical tract, De mensura orbis terrae. The second, the Dimensuratio provinciarum, was probably originally produced in the fourth or fifth century and survives in isolation.142 Both are thought to have derived, ultimately, from the geo-political map constructed by M. Vipsanius Agrippa during the first century, and alluded to extensively in the Historia naturalis of the Elder Pliny.143 By far the most conspicuous affinity between Orosius’ geography and those of the earlier writers is the formulaic descriptive method employed by each. All three pieces adopt a somewhat monotonous tone for much of their length, and as a result can make rather tiresome reading. Provincial descriptions amount to little more in each work than the simple delineation of discrete regions with respect to their neighbours, with the result that the modern reader becomes stupefied upon prolonged exposure. The description of Asia Superior in the Divisio, to take an example virtually at random, is typical: The upper parts of Asia: Bordered to the east by Armenia Minor, to the west by the edges of Phrygia, Lycaonia, Pamphylia, to the north by the province Pontica, to the south by the Pamphylican Sea, which is between Cyprus and Cilicia. It is 800 milia in length, and 220 milia in breadth.144

142

143

144

Harley and Woodward (1987), pp. 208–9, 258–9; Lozovsky (1996), p. 26; Riese (1878), pp. 15, XVII–XIX. Dilke (1985), p. 43; Nicolet (1991), p. 106. On Agrippa, cf. Partsch (1875); Tierney (1963); Murphy (1978). Div. 17: Asiae pars superior. Finitur ab oriente Armenia minore, ab occidente finibus Phrygiae, Lycaoniae, Pamphyliae, a septentrione provincia Pontica, a meridie mari Pamphylico quod inter Cyprum et Ciliciam est. Longitudo milia passus DXXX, latitudo CCXX.

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The geographical introduction The Dimensuratio and Divisio generally adhere to this strict east–west– north–south pattern, and although Orosius mercifully varies this, and occasionally includes more precise information through the use of wind-patterns in his description, the resemblance between his work and the two earlier pieces is unmistakable.145 Indeed the only obvious stylistic difference between the majority of Orosius’ chapter and the anonymous pieces results from the historian’s refusal to include the dimensions of the provinces that he describes. In his account of Britain and the islands of the Mediterranean, however, even this small mercy is withdrawn. A number of other features of Orosius’ text also have clear parallels in the shorter compositions. The discussion of the tripartite division of the world that introduces the historian’s geography may be compared with the first chapter of the Divisio.146 The order in which the constituent provinces and regions of the world are presented in the Historia has similar precedent in the Dimensuratio; both begin their accounts in India and work their way progressively westward.147 Like the two shorter pieces, Orosius’ Historia employs an obviously imperial terminology in the nomenclature of individual regions. Areas within the empire are designated by their provincial titles, as might be expected, whereas the areas beyond are generally ascribed generic or ethnographic names.148 Both the Dimensuratio and the Divisio appear to have descended, either directly or indirectly, from the seminal Agrippa ‘map’ of the first century 149 AD. Although the original has long been lost, references to the work in the Historia naturalis imply that its geographical scope was very similar to those displayed in the later treatises. Pliny’s initial description of the map suggests that it was produced at the request of Augustus, and it may well have marked the first stage of an ongoing project to catalogue and to celebrate the extent of Roman authority.150 Whatever its precise purpose, the Historia naturalis states firmly that the map was originally intended for display in the Porticus Vipsania in Rome and may well have been accompanied by an explanatory text, from which most of the later recensions were probably ultimately derived.151

145

146 149

150 151

Klotz (1930), pp. 125–6; on Orosius’ wind-rose, cf. Baumgarten (1984), p. 194; Arnaud-Lindet (1990), p. 193. Or., Hist. I.2.1; cf. Div. 1. 147 Janvier (1982a), p. 156. 148 Janvier (1982a), p. 150. On the Agrippa map, cf. esp. Nicolet (1991), pp. 95–114 and Dilke (1985), pp. 41–53, as well as the more sceptical approach adopted by Brodersen (1995) and by Talbert (1989b) in his review of Nicolet, and (1987) and (1989a) in his review of the work of Dilke. Pliny, HN III.17; Nicolet (1991), pp. 95–114; but cf. Talbert (1989b), p. 1351. Pliny, HN III.17.

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Orosius Pliny’s frequent references to his Agrippan model have prompted considerable dispute among modern writers. Several speculative reconstructions of the piece have been attempted, with predictably varied results.152 In recent years, however, some scepticism has surrounded the suggestion that Agrippa’s work was a primarily pictorial construction. While Pliny’s description of the Porticus display map does imply that the original construction had a visual function, it seems likely that its later popularity was achieved through the circulation of a textual recension. There is no reason to assume that either the Dimensuratio or the Divisio (or, for that matter, the Historia naturalis) was drawn from a pictorial source. Indeed, the practical problems associated with the reproduction of complex maps during Antiquity would have made this extremely unlikely.153 Instead, it seems reasonable to conclude that Orosius and his predecessors were chiefly reliant upon textual geographical sources, similar to the two pieces that have survived. Despite the controversies associated with the original appearance of Agrippa’s work, the textual elements associated with the piece may be inferred with some confidence. The majority of references to Agrippa within the Historia naturalis are concerned with the specific dimensions of individual provinces, and these measurements appear to have been one of the most important features of the original.154 This emphasis is reflected in the prominence granted to provincial dimensions in both the Divisio and the Dimensuratio, and may explain Orosius’ careful inclusion of the sizes of the Mediterranean islands. The correlation between the treatises is not always precise, and both are occasionally contradicted by the information provided by Pliny, but there can be little doubt that the peculiar concerns of the original work substantially shaped the two extant compositions. The importance of the Agrippa model to the Divisio and the Dimensuratio is further suggested by the implicit imperial chauvinism that they display. Both texts purport to be universal in their scope of interest, and extend as far as India to the east, yet neither describes regions beyond the boundaries of the familiar Graeco-Roman world. Alexander’s conquests in the east and the resultant writing of Megasthenes, Appian and Curtius Rufus had ensured that the Orient occupied a familiar position within western imperialist thought. As a result, the inclusion of the area within the later recensions, and presumably the Agrippan 152

153

Berthelot (1933), p. 11, Sallmann (1971), p. 208 and Moynihan (1985), p. 162 all propose different reconstructions. All are reproduced by Brodersen (1995), pp. 271–2; Tierney (1963), p. 156 stresses the impossibility of attempting such a reproduction with any accuracy. Talbert (1990/1), p. 217. 154 Arnaud (1989), p. 24.

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The geographical introduction original, seems natural enough.155 In the consideration of the far north and south, by contrast, where comparable military activity had not taken place, both the Divisio and the Dimensuratio are rather more circumspect. The provinces of northern Europe are measured only with caution in the Divisio and are afforded far less attention in each of the recensions than the better-known provinciae to the south.156 Similarly, the Sahara is granted only cursory attention in each as a boundary to the province of Aegyptus and Arabia.157 Within the two works, attention is focused upon the familiar Graeco-Roman centre and it seems likely that this emphasis may have been a reflection of the Agrippan original. The Agrippa map, it should be remembered, was primarily constructed for reasons of political display, and the repercussions of that are clearly evident in the structural bias of its surviving descendants.158 There can be little doubt that the heart of Orosius’ geographical chapter was ultimately derived from Agrippa’s work, despite the writer’s reticence on the dimensions of individual provinces. Where Orosius does include measurements – in his treatment of Britain and the Mediterranean islands – his figures are close enough to those of the Divisio and the Dimensuratio to suggest persuasively that his information came from a similar source.159 For large swathes of his chapter, this model appears to have been reproduced faithfully and without undue comment. Where Orosius obviously deviates from the pattern set by the other Agrippa recensions, it seems reasonable to assume that the change was a conscious one. Despite his erudition, a close reading of the introduction suggests that Orosius’ wider knowledge is most evident in only a handful of short, digressive passages. The body of his chapter, by contrast, appears to have been taken fairly uncritically from a single source. For the most part, his piece is a simple catalogue of the regions and provinces of the known world, executed with appreciable, if uninspiring efficiency. In his treatment of the fringes of the world, however, and in the areas of geographical dispute most relevant to his Historia, the historian pointedly digresses from established classical thinking. It is scarcely surprising that the writer’s greatest energies were expended on the topics that were most important to his ambitions to create a universal geography. As a result, his introduction depicts a largely colourless world, surrounded by a fascinating, and lovingly elucidated, periphery.

155

156 159

On classical perceptions of India, cf. esp. Romm (1992), pp. 82–120; Whittaker (1998), pp. 1–5; Yule (1914); Helms (1988), pp. 220–4. Div. 11, 14. 157 Div. 21. 158 Nicolet (1991), pp. 95–6. Detlefsen (1906); Janvier (1982a), p. 247.

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Orosius Orosius’ deviations from established thinking inevitably afford the most interesting areas for study. As would be natural in a composition of the kind, some of these additions are clearly the result of the writer’s personal knowledge and were probably intended either as a straightforward elaboration of an unsatisfactory model, or as a courtesy to his audience. The area around Hippo, in which Orosius wrote and presumably intended his work to be read, is far more heavily laden with named towns than any other region within the introduction.160 Similarly, the writer’s personal origins are evident in the detail with which the Iberian peninsula is treated; a point that has been extensively exploited by modern studies of the chapter.161 These passages, however, frequently amount to little more than the supplementary addition of information. In several cases, by contrast, Orosius appears to abandon his model entirely in favour of more dramatic digression. The Nile, the Caucasus Mountains and the islands of the Northern Ocean are all covered in particular detail and with reference to a far deeper pool of information than is evident elsewhere in the introduction. It is these deviations from his principal source that reveal Orosius’ intentions in the geographical introduction most clearly, and they shall be studied in more depth below. The use of the first person at strategic points throughout the chapter strongly suggests that the piece was Orosius’ own construction and that his exploitation of disparate sources was not merely a reflection of the idiosyncrasies of the work upon which he drew. The alterations to the Agrippa model that are apparent in Orosius’ geography betray strong thematic links with the wider agenda of the Historia as a whole. Although much of Orosius’ geography may be read as an uncritical reproduction of an earlier text, there can be little doubt that Orosius was fully capable of manipulating his model to his own ends. Many of the authorial interventions within the introduction were clearly intended as explanatory asides. Orosius adopts this strategy to separate the descriptions of the different continents, and to mark the opening and closing of the chapter as a whole.162 Among these passages, the writer introduces his audience to the classical dispute over the correct division of the world: namely whether the oikoumene is best regarded as the sum of three, or two, parts: ‘Our ancestors fixed a threefold division of the whole world surrounded by a periphery of Ocean, and its three parts 160

161

162

Or., Hist. I.2.87–92; Janvier (1982a), p. 192 notes this, but professes to be baffled at the African bias. Or., Hist. I.2.69–74; on Orosius’ idiosyncratic presentation of Spain, cf. Braun (1909); Baumgarten (1984), p. 201; Arnaud-Lindet (1990), p. xii; Janvier (1982a), p. 139; Lacroix (1965), p. 33; Lippold (1976), p. 375; Alonso-Nu´n˜ez (1989), pp. 491–2. Or., Hist. I.2.1, 12, 51, 83, 95, 106.

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The geographical introduction they called Asia, Europe and Africa, although some have thought that there should be two, that is Asia and then Africa to be joined with Europe.’163 The use of a broad overview of the world in order to introduce a geographical text is natural enough. The Divisio orbis terrarum employs a similar technique before embarking upon its provincial descriptions, and the historian had established precedent in his approach. Sallust’s geographical digression is also introduced with a delineation of the world’s three constituent parts.164 Orosius’ assertion that his tripartite division was a controversial one, however, does seem unusual. The Divisio makes no such distinction and the tripartite/bipartite dispute was scarcely a contentious issue at the time of Orosius’ composition. The importance of his statement becomes more apparent in his short introduction to the provincial description of Africa. Again, Orosius refers to the controversy surrounding the identification of the area as a separate continent and appears to support the interpretation that regarded Africa as a component of Europe: As I have said, when our ancestors explained that Africa should be accepted as a third part of the world, they did not follow measurements of space but computations of divisions. Indeed, this Great Sea, which rises from the Ocean on the west, turning more to the south, has limited and made the boundary of Africa narrower between itself and the Ocean. Therefore, some also, although believing it to be equal in length yet much narrower, think it unfitting to call it a third part but rather allot Africa to Europe, that is, they have preferred to call it a portion of the second part. 165

This distinction is then justified in somewhat convoluted terms. Orosius justifiably notes that Africa is largely made up of desert, and although this factor would certainly cause geographers to underestimate the size of the region, it also acts as a reminder that the occupied part is a relatively small proportion of the whole. In human terms, the presentation of Africa as a relatively small region, to be considered alongside Europe, seems reasonable enough.

163

164 165

Or., Hist. I.2.1: Maiores nostri orbem totius terrae, oceani limbo circumseptum, triquadrum statuere eiusque tres partes Asiam Europam et Africam vocauerunt, quamuis aliqui duas hoc est Asiam ac deinde Africam in Europam accipiendam putarint. Sallust, Bell. Jug. 17.3. Or., Hist. I.2.83–5: Africam ut dixi cum tertiam orbis partem maiores nostri accipiendam descripserint, non spatiorum mensuras sed diuisionum rationes secuti sunt; mare hoc siquidem Magnum, quod ab occasu ex oceano oritur, in meridiem magis uergens angustiorem inter se et oceanum coartatae Africae limitem fecit. Unde etiam aliqui quamuis eam longitudine parem tamen multo angustiorem intellegentes, inuerecundum arbitrati tertiam uocare partem sed potius in Europam Africam deputantes, hoc est secundae portionem appellare maluerunt.

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Orosius Orosius’ simple distinction between the tripartite and bipartite division of the world scarcely does justice to the great variety of interpretative systems employed by classical geographers and cartographers, however. Hellenic scientific thought proposed latitudinal zonal divisions of the world, which remained influential in the work of Pliny, Strabo and Ptolemy.166 Similarly, classical and scriptural rhetoric proposed a fourfold division that Orosius himself appears to have employed in his spatial representation of the four empires.167 While neither of these methods contradicted the continental approach described in Orosius’ introduction, his simplistic analysis belies the complexity of antique debate.168 The use of continents to divide the known world was also more varied than Orosius’ simple assertion suggests. For the majority of writers, the tripartite system appears to have been the most appropriate method. The Agrippa ‘map’ probably differentiated simply between Africa, Asia and Europe, and the same pattern is evident in the work of Pomponius Mela, Polybius and Strabo.169 Where this model was developed, and the two smaller continents were considered as a pair, the differentiation was not always along the lines suggested by Orosius. Varro, for example, placed Europe in opposition to Asia and Africa.170 Similarly, Pliny explicitly states his adherence to the tripartite model, but the Historia naturalis also notes that Europe might justifiably be regarded as half of the world.171 Orosius’ own assertion that Asia was the greatest of the three continents thus ran contrary to the principal themes of classical thought. The only Roman writer to anticipate the historian in his association of Africa and Europe was Sallust, who places a similar emphasis to Orosius upon the importance of accurate division.172 Of equal importance is the parallel description in the Bellum Jugurthinum of the difficulties associated with the measurement of Africa, thanks to its vast expanses of arid land.173 These similarities to the account provided by the later Historia explain not only the immediate source for Orosius’ own description of continental divisions, but also the principal influence behind his decision to refer to the 166

167

168

169 170 171

172

On zonal divisions, see esp. Aujac (1987), pp. 169–71; Romm (1992), pp. 128–35; Heiberg (1920); Stevens (1980), pp. 268–72. Augustine, Serm. 270.3; cf., for example, Lyle (1984); Renfrew (1987), p. 219; Helms (1988), p. 213. The division of the world into three, or four, parts also captivated later medieval writers, although the impact of Orosius’ account upon this appears to have been minimal; cf. Smyth (1996), pp. 279–83. Pomponius Mela I.8; Polybius III.37.1–11; Strabo XVII.3.1. Varro, Ling. Lat. V.16; V.31. Pliny, HN III.3 suggests a tripartite division; III.5 gives a bipartite interpretation; for discussion, cf. Romm (1992), p. 82. Sallust, Bell. Jug. 17.3–4; Klotz (1930), p. 121. 173 Sallust, Bell. Jug. 17.2.

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The geographical introduction problem at all. Analysis of the different approaches to the division of continents would have been superfluous to Orosius’ Agrippan model, but was made appropriate within a historical composition thanks to the precedent set by Sallust. Again, Orosius’ debts to the republican historian in the creation of his geographical introduction are clearly evident. Orosius’ suggestion that the world might be regarded as the sum of two parts, rather than three, might also be regarded as a manifestation of his own political ideologies. Although the four empires philosophy was certainly not a central influence upon the structure of the geographical introduction, Orosius’ particular emphasis upon the division of the world into east and west is notable.174 The interest of the writer in a geographical interpretation that separated the Asian east from the European and African west has clear associations with the parallel of Babylon and Rome that so dominates his subsequent narrative. It might thus be assumed that Orosius altered the standard tripartite presentation of the world to support more fully his later political themes. This interpretation is an attractive one, but it seems unlikely that political considerations shaped Orosius’ account here to any more than a minor degree. The absence of specific descriptions of either Babylon or Rome within the introduction, and the refusal of Orosius to litter his geography with obvious political markers suggest that his primary interests within the account lay elsewhere. It should also be remembered that Orosius’ introduction remains anchored to the threefold division beloved of Antiquity, despite his recognition of the validity of a bipartite model. The east–west polarity so important to the narrative of the Historia may have influenced the historian’s application of the Sallustian model, but it seems likely that Orosius’ principal motive was the simple emulation of the republican writer. In identifying an area of supposed controversy, Orosius both expressed his own deference to the precedent set by Sallust and proudly displayed his ability to create an unambiguous geographical work, even when faced with long-standing problems. Orosius acknowledges further geographical dispute at several points over the course of his introduction, and in each case the allusion heralds a clear deviation from his Agrippan model. In all, the writer includes three substantial digressions within his piece, all of which add considerably to the imperial framework provided by his model. The first purports to chart the disputed origins of the Nile.175 The second, and longest, is a fairly detailed description of the Caucasus mountain chain.176 The third is concerned with the Oceanic islands of the far north-west.177 In each 174 176

Lacroix (1965), p. 80; Marrou (1970), p. 73. 175 Or., Hist. I.2.28–33. Or., Hist. I.2.36–47. 177 Or., Hist. I.2.75–82.

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Orosius case, Orosius’ digression illuminates a peripheral area that had been neglected, or misinterpreted, in the past. Through an ostensibly simple process of explanation, the writer effectively illuminates the whole of three problematic regions and by extension lends his account an air of universality that is absent in the Agrippan model from which he worked. There are several reasons for assuming that the digressions on the Nile, the Caucasus and the Oceanic islands were Orosius’ own additions and were not simply reflections of his source. Chief among these is the choice of subject matter. Neither the Nile nor the Caucasus features prominently in the later recensions of Agrippa’s work, and Pliny describes each without reference to the cartographer. More dramatically still, of the five islands and island groups of the north that Orosius includes within his work, none is mentioned in the Divisio and only Britannia is included in the Dimensuratio.178 Although Pliny’s much longer survey includes all five, as well as a substantial number of other islands, the Historia naturalis appears to have been independent of Agrippa in this area. A conspicuous change in descriptive style may also be detected within each of the three sections. The monotony of simple delineation that so dominates the remainder of the introduction is broken in each passage by more digressive discussion.179 The only references to indigenous animal and plant life outside Orosius’ description of his homeland appear within the digressions on peripheral regions. The writer colours his account of the Caucasus by noting the local cultivation of amomum and assafoetida in the mountains.180 Similarly, the islands of Hibernia and Mevania are praised for their fertility, and the irrigative properties of the Nile are implied.181 The monsters of the same river are the only animals to be included in the work and Orosius’ solitary use of ethnographic information is concerned with the Scythian nomads living to the north of the Caucasus.182 Orosius’ approach to the description of these areas also differs substantially from that evident elsewhere within the Historia. His account of the Caucasus renounces the east–west pattern predominant in the rest of the introduction, and systematically describes the chain from its westernmost boundary to the promunturium Samara in the east. To a certain extent, Orosius’ exploitation of new techniques was probably necessitated by the impracticality of describing long, linear features like the Nile and the Caucasus within a descriptive framework far better suited to tessellating 178 179

180

Dim. 30. Janvier (1982a), pp. 172 ff. notes the irregularity of Orosius’ topographic and ethnographic detail, but draws few conclusions from this uneven distribution. Or., Hist. I.2.42; I.2.43. 181 Or., Hist. I.2.80–2; I.2.28. 182 Or., Hist. I.2.47.

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The geographical introduction 183

polygonal territories. Nevertheless, the differences evident within his digressions serve to highlight still further the separation of these substantial passages from the introduction as a whole. There can be little doubt that the three long digressions within the introduction were deliberate additions to the basic Agrippan model. In all likelihood, this approach was partially inspired by a desire on Orosius’ part to create as complete a geographical work as possible and to exploit whatever material was available to him. As with the discussion of the different divisions of the world, however, this technique also served an important symbolic purpose within the Historia. Although much of Orosius’ geographical introduction was tangential to the wider themes of his Historia, in certain focal areas he may be seen to have modified his account with considerable skill. The Nile The first of Orosius’ major departures from the Agrippa model is his short digression to explain the course and idiosyncrasies of the Nile.184 Neither of the later recensions of Agrippa’s work contains any reference to the river, either as a boundary to the African provinces or as a feature in its own right. Although it seems unlikely that a similar omission would have marked the original work, there can be little doubt that the Nile did not feature prominently on Agrippa’s map.185 Orosius’ account, by contrast, proposes two separate origins for the great river. One is located in the Ethiopian Red Sea littoral. A second, described in rather more depth, is associated with the Atlas Mountains in the westernmost part of Africa. Despite his obvious interest in the river, Orosius remains silent on the possible significance of the Nile as a global landmark. The Historia makes no reference to the common classical identification of the Nile as both the eastern boundary of Africa and the natural twin of the European Tanais.186 Orosius appears fully aware of the common theory regarding the Tanais as the frontier between Europe and Asia, but favours Egypt, and specifically the city of Alexandria, rather than the famous river, as the limit of Africa.187 Orosius’ interests in the Nile seem to have been dictated

183 184

185 186

187

Janvier (1982a), pp. 84–5. Or., Hist. I.2.28–33. For a more detailed discussion of Orosius’ description of the Nile, see Merrills (forthcoming b). Contra Postl (1970), pp. 18, 23–6. Contra Janvier (1982a), p. 208, who mysteriously detects echoes of Herodotus’ Nile/Tanais parallels from Herodotus II.33–4. Or., Hist. I.2.8.

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Orosius by rather more than the simple requirements of a straightforward global geography. Similarly, the writer appears to have been little moved by contemporary exegetical interpretations of Nilotic origins. The hypothesis that the Nile, alongside the Tigris, Euphrates and Ganges, was one of the four paradisaical rivers of Genesis was popularized in the writing of Josephus and Philo and later adopted by Jerome and several patristic commentators.188 This interpretation, which rested heavily upon the mysterious origins of each of the rivers, was subsequently developed by the sixthcentury Byzantine cosmographer Cosmas Indicopleustes, and remained an important theme in much medieval geography.189 Josephus was an author well-known to Orosius, and his patristic successors still more familiar, but there is little reason to suppose that these biblical interpretations shaped the geography of the Historia in any way.190 The only close parallel between the Nile described by the fifthcentury writer and that thought to flow from Eden is the emphasis placed by each account on the subterranean passage of the river. As shall be discussed, however, this theme was a common one within antique geography, and Orosius’ exploitation of the motif clearly owes more to secular than to scriptural precedent. This would appear to be supported by the relative absence of explicitly Christian allusion within the introduction as a whole. While Orosius naturally refers to each of Jerome’s four rivers within his geography, he identifies no particular association between them, and treats the Euphrates and Tigris with little detail. Indeed, Orosius refers only once to Scripture within his introduction, and then simply to equate Parthia with biblical Media.191 Neither Bethlehem nor Jerusalem is included and the Holy Land is treated in no greater detail than any other area, an omission made all the more surprising by Orosius’ own familiarity with the region. If the introduction was moved by important Christian themes, the direct application of exegetical theology was not among them. Instead, Orosius developed the religious themes of his geographical writing with rather more subtlety. Orosius’ principal interest in the Nile was as a topographic feature in its own right, divorced from its symbolic global and scriptural significance. This interest was not unique to the historian. The idiosyncrasies of the 188

189

190

Philo, Gen. I.12–13; Josephus, Ant. Jud. 1.38–9; Jerome, Hebr. quaest. Gen. 2.11; cf. also Ambrose, De paradiso 3.14; Augustine, Gen. VIII.7.1–14. On Cosmas Indicopleustes see esp. Wolska-Conus (1962), p. 267; on the four rivers paradigm, cf. Danielou (1953/4), p. 451; Woodward (1987), p. 328; cf. Gaster (1969) and Neiman (1977) on its origins in Judaic thought. Contra Janvier (1982a), pp. 211–12. 191 Or., Hist. I.2.19.

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The geographical introduction Nile had prompted extensive scholarship almost since the inception of civilization within its delta. The mysterious origins of the river provided an imperative to worship, and the river features prominently in a variety of different religious traditions.192 The Nile also offered a provocation to scholarly curiosity and the unique flooding patterns that periodically swamped its basin encouraged similarly incessant inquiry.193 The famous peculiarities of the river prompted intense speculation throughout the medieval period and into the nineteenth century.194 In the absence of realistic information on the headwaters of the river, however, classical investigation was marked chiefly by its diversity. Certain patterns may be detected in Nilotic studies, but there was no generally accepted solution to the mysteries of the great river. Orosius’ description of the river is systematic in structure. He describes two different Nilotic sources in turn and goes on to trace the streams that sprang from each. One watercourse is followed from its origins in the Ethiopian littoral, close to the Emporium of Mossylon, as far as Meroe and the Egyptian plains. A second is then identified, running to Meroe from the Atlas Mountains in the far west. The short section is concluded with a description of the eventual confluence of the two streams. Viewed in isolation, Orosius’ parallel assertions that the Nile rose in Ethiopia and in the Atlas Mountains are largely unremarkable. In each case, the writer adhered to well-established argument and his debts are scarcely difficult to discern. What is unique is that the two solutions to the problem of the Nile’s course are presented in tandem by Orosius, and equal emphasis is placed upon each. Earlier geographers had certainly recognized the existence of different theories regarding its course, and often expressed considerable misgivings regarding the feasibility of tracing the river with any confidence. Yet no writer before Orosius had suggested that these doubts might be solved by the presentation of a composite image of the river, and by the simple supposition that two entirely different, and apparently mutually exclusive, solutions to the enigma of the Nile could both be correct. Orosius’ image is made still more striking by the simple fact that his was the first description of the Nile to be

192

193

194

Cf. for example, Herodotus, II.19; Heliodorus, Aethiopika II.28.2; on Nilotic faith in general, cf. the excellent study by Bonneau (1964). Donne (1857), p. 430; Postl (1970), pp. 33–4; Romm (1992), p. 149: ‘[The Nile] took on the stature of a mythic riddle’. On nineteenth-century attitudes to the river, cf. McLynn (1992), pp. 55–81. The problem also found its way into the fantastic literature of the period: cf. Jules Verne, Five Weeks in a Balloon, p. 7: ‘A modern Oedipus is to give us the key to this enigma which the scientists of sixty centuries have failed to solve. Of the old search for the sources of the Nile, fontes Nili quaerere, was regarded as a mad project, an unrealisable chimera’.

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Orosius executed without recourse to the topos of ignorance regarding its upper reaches. Of the three sections of his description, that which Orosius devotes to the Ethiopian Nile is the shortest: ‘This river seems to rise from the shore where the Red Sea begins at a place which is called Mossylon Emporium; then flowing some distance and forming an island in its midst called Meroe; finally bending to the north, swollen by seasonal floods it waters the plains of Egypt’.195 The precise influences behind this passage are somewhat obscure, but Orosius’ identification of an Ethiopian source for the river has substantial literary precedent. The association of the Nile with the mountains of Ethiopia developed during the third century before Christ, and gained its most authoritative adherents in Aristotle and the Alexandrine historian, Callisthenes.196 Both writers argued (quite correctly) that the peculiar summer flooding of the Egyptian plain could only be caused by heavy rainfall in the southern mountains. Orosius seems to have been influenced, if only indirectly, by this tradition. This passage contains the writer’s only allusion to the famous floods of the Nile, and the very suggestion that the river originated in the eastern parts of Africa has obvious antecedents in Greek geographical writing.197 The precise location of the Nile’s source close to the Red Sea coast, however, deviates from established Aristotelian thinking and implies that Orosius did not draw directly upon such sources. The reference to Mossylon Emporium implies that Orosius’ sources were mercantile periploi of the region. The reference in the first-century Erythraean Periplus to Neilopotamion or ‘Lesser Nile’ in the vicinity of Mosyllum, strongly suggests that the writer employed such sources.198 Although the Erythraean Periplus was itself a Greek work, and is thus unlikely to have been Orosius’ immediate source for the Ethiopian river, the historian was certainly aware of a tradition that placed the origins of the Nile in the easternmost parts of Africa, and reconciled this with other material available to him. The result is scarcely brilliant geography, but does display a flexibility in his use of geographical information. 195

196

197 198

Or., Hist. I.2.28: qui de litore incipientis maris Rubri uidetur emergere, in loco qui dicitur Mossylon emporium, deinde diu ad occasum profluens, faciens insulam nomine Meroen in medio sui, nouissime ad septentrionem inflexus, tempestiuis auctus incrementis plana Aegypti rigat. Burstein (1976), pp. 135–8; Bonneau (1964), pp. 203–4; although Postl (1970), p. 29 notes that Aristotle’s conclusions on the Nile were rather nebulous, and varied quite dramatically between his different works. Postl (1970), pp. 16–17. Eryth. Perip. 11; on the Periplus cf. the notes in Schoff (1912). The passage may also have influenced Strabo’s identification of the River Neilus in the same region: Strabo XVI.4.14. On antique knowledge of the east African coast, see also Benoit (1896).

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The geographical introduction Orosius’ account of the Saharan Nile is still more obviously derivative: Some authors say that this river has its source not far from mount Atlas and straightaway disappears in the sands, and, after a short interval, gushes forth into an enormous lake and then flows eastward through the Ethiopian Desert to the Ocean, and again turning to the left descends to Egypt. Indeed, it is true that there is a great river which has such a source, and begets all the monsters of the Nile. The barbarians near its source call it the Dara, but the other inhabitants call it the Nuhul. 199

Orosius immediately telegraphs his debts to earlier geographers through his reference to aliqui auctores. The suggestion that the Nile originated in the west of Africa appears to have circulated sporadically since the controversial voyages of Euthymenes of Marseilles to the region in the sixth century before Christ, and perhaps arose from a misidentification of the mouth of the Niger.200 The thesis gained in popularity five centuries later, when the Mauritanian King Juba II claimed that an expedition under his patronage had discovered the source of the river in the western Atlas Mountains.201 It is this argument that dominates the description of the Nile in the Chorographia of Pomponius Mela, Pliny’s Historia naturalis, the Collectanea rerum memorabilium of Solinus and Martianus Capella’s De nuptiis Philologiae et Mercurii.202 Almost identical models are evident in the writing of Vitruvius and Cassius Dio, and it is in the writing of the latter that the name Draa is first associated with the headwaters of the Egyptian river.203 In each case, the Saharan Nile was said to pass through a series of lakes and subterranean passages, connecting with the familiar Egyptian river at an unspecified point in the vicinity of Meroe. That the river was the Nile was proved by the supposed presence within its waters of animals unique to the Egyptian river, including the crocodile and the hippopotamus.204 Of these accounts, Orosius’ digression adheres most obviously to the Historia naturalis in its description of the desert course, although his

199

200 201

202 203 204

Or., Hist. I.2.29–31: Hunc aliqui auctores ferunt haud procul ab Athlante habere fontem et continuo harenis mergi, inde interiecto breui spatio uastissimo lacu exundare atque hinc oceano tenus orientem uersus per Aethiopica deserta prolabi rursusque inflexum ad sinistram ad Aegyptum descendere. Quod quidem uerum est esse huiusmodi fluuium magnum qui tali ortu talique cursu sit et re uera omnia Nili monstra gignat; quem utique prope fontem barbari Dara nominant, ceteri uero accolae Nuchul uocant [modified translation]. Postl (1970), p. 21. Thomson (1948), pp. 258–9, 267. For a detailed discussion of Juba’s geographical scholarship, see Roller (2003), pp. 183–211. Pliny, HN V.51–2; Pomponius Mela I.50; Solinus 32.2–4; Capella, De nuptiis VI.676. Vitruvius, De arch. 8.2.6–7; Cassius Dio, Ep. 76.13.3–5. Postl (1970), p. 23.

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Orosius account is considerably simplified. In his relatively straightforward elucidation of the earliest passage of the Nile, Orosius’ account follows Pliny’s with some fidelity, but digresses from his model where its meaning becomes less clear. The mysterious Lacus Nilides of the Historia naturalis appears in the later work as an unnamed body of water in a roughly equivalent position, and the subterranean passage of the Nile is also noted, albeit in a slightly different location.205 The historian further follows Pliny in his description of the bestial inhabitants of the river; Pliny’s digression on crocodiles is paralleled almost exactly by Orosius’ allusion to the Nile’s unnamed monsters – the only animals to appear within his geographical chapter.206 The second of Pliny’s two great Nilotic lakes is located more ambiguously within Orosius’ work. Significantly, the Historia naturalis specifically locates the second lake near to the territory of the Masaesyles and Orosius’ likely erroneous association of the group with the Ethiopian Mossylon Emporium probably encouraged the later writer in his conviction that the river had multiple courses.207 He includes an unnamed lake between the two watercourses, and implies that it either marked their confluence, or was located somewhere close to their point of conjunction: but here in the region of the peoples who are called Libyo-Egyptians, by no means far from that river, which we have said rushes forth from the shore of the Red Sea, it is received and swallowed up in a huge lake; unless perchance, by a hidden course, it erupts into the bed of that river which descends from the east. 208

In broad outline, Orosius evidently adhered to Pliny’s model, but simplified it considerably where he felt its meaning to be unclear. More importantly, the historian also adapted his model extensively, in order to confirm his own unique interpretation of the river’s course. Orosius’ Nilotic geography did not develop simply from a juxtaposition of disparate traditions, but from an active amalgamation of contradictory theories on logical, if understandably cautious, lines. Orosius built his descriptions of the Nile upon the strongest intellectual foundations. It thus seems all the more remarkable that in the crucial suggestion that the Nile was a river of two sources, he deviated from both of the traditions available to him. Neither the Hellenic proponents of the Ethiopian Nile, nor the writers who argued that the river originated in the 205 206 208

Cf. Or., Hist. I.2.33; Pliny, HN V.52. Or., Hist. I.2.31; Pliny, HN V.51. 207 Pliny, HN V.52; Bunbury (1879), p. 692, n.1. Or., Hist. I.2.32–3: sed hic in regione gentium, quae Libyoaegyptiae uocantur, haud procul ab illo fluuio quem a litore maris Rubri prorumpere diximus inmenso lacu acceptus absumitur, nisi forte occulto meatu in alueum eius, qui ab oriente descendit, eructat.

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The geographical introduction Atlas Mountains, gave any suggestion that the Nile was anything other than a spectacular river with a single dominant course. Admittedly, each tradition stressed that the river was joined by numerous tributaries, and the Greek geographer Strabo described several of these at some length.209 At no point, however, was it suggested that these tributaries might themselves deserve equal recognition for their contribution to the Nilotic stream. Only Ptolemy depicted a twin-headed Nile, and one that, with hindsight, was striking in its accuracy.210 Ptolemy’s immediate impact, however, appears to have been minimal, and he did little to shape western thinking on the river until the ‘rediscovery’ of his cartography in the early Renaissance. More importantly, the twin watercourses traced by Ptolemy extend to the Ethiopian highlands and to the lake regions of central Africa, respectively, with no reference to the supposed western origin of the great river.211 There is certainly little reason to suggest that Orosius was directly influenced by the cartographer in his account of interior Africa. It comes as something of a surprise to find that Orosius, long dismissed as a derivative geographical writer, could have argued that the Nile was a river with two distinct streams independently of all precedent. The surprise is accentuated still further with the recognition that his astute observation was certainly not based upon any great original sources of information regarding the river. The Blue Nile and the White Nile actually separate at around the sixteenth parallel, where the modern city of Khartoum is located. In keeping with ancient tradition, however, Orosius focuses his greatest attention upon the ‘island’ of Meroe – insula Meroe – some distance downriver. As the location of the Meroitic imperial capital, the peninsula formed by the confluence of the Nile and the Atbara rivers was certainly important, but it was not an island, despite being consistently represented as such in classical geography. It was this misapprehension, and the focus upon the Atbara confluence rather than the still more important fork in the river futher south, which may explain the failure of the classical writers to recognize the divided nature of the River Nile.212 209 210

211

212

Strabo XVII.1.2. On the accuracy of Ptolemy’s depiction of the Nile, cf. Bunbury (1879), pp. 611–17 (who is wholly complimentary), and Thomson (1948), pp. 269–77 (who is not). Ptolemy, Geog. IV.6 does acknowledge the presence of a riverine system in western Africa, which several modern studies have regarded as a reflection of fragmentary knowledge regarding the Niger. This complex is described in isolation within the Geographia, however, and links neither to the Nile, nor to any Ocean. Shinnie (1978), p. 220. I am indebted to Ian Wood (pers. comm. 1999) for the observation that the late Latin insula could refer to a peninsula, as well as an island proper. Orosius’ language at Hist. I.2.28, faciens insulam nomine Meroen in medio sui, leaves little doubt that he regarded Meroe as an island.

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Orosius The nature of Orosius’ sources makes it certain that the writer was aware of his own originality in the presentation of the Nile. Had he merely omitted the common assertion of uncertainty regarding the river, his approach might have been excused by a deference to literary fluidity within the introduction. Similarly, had his presentation of the twin courses of the Nile been included without comment, his slip might be dismissed as simple scholarly carelessness. The fact that the historian not only included two apparently contradictory theories regarding the river, but added a paragraph of his own composition explaining how the streams converged demonstrates that the approach was a deliberate one. Orosius, moreover, was writing for a largely North African audience that was likely to have been unusually critical of haphazard speculation on the geography of the interior. As a result, his fusion of disparate traditions into a comprehensible whole could only be executed with some caution. Close investigation of Orosius’ account of the African coastline has shown that the historian supplemented textual information with local knowledge wherever possible, and it seems likely that a similar process occurred in his description of the Saharan Nile.213 His inclusion of local nomenclature for the river, for example, does have literary precedent, but the terms used by Orosius, Dara and Nuhul, appear to have been inspired by a regional awareness of named watercourses in the desert.214 Almost every other aspect of Orosius’ geography of the Nile may be seen to have stemmed from the classical corpus of work surrounding the river. Somewhat paradoxically, the historian’s chief departure from classical tradition is apparent in the confidence with which these claims are repeated. This contrasts sharply with the confessions of ignorance paraded by Mela, Ptolemy and the periploi, and particularly with the candid statement of Pliny on the limitations of Roman knowledge: ‘The sources from which the Nile rises have not been ascertained, proceeding as it does through scorching deserts for an enormously long distance and only having been explored by unarmed investigators, without the wars that have discovered all other countries . . . ’215 The origins of the river in the region beyond the experience of Mediterranean activity naturally prompted caution in classical geographical writing. In much the same way, the flooding patterns of the Egyptian plain were rarely described without the postulation of several alternative 213 215

Janvier (1982b), p. 146. 214 Janvier (1982b), p. 141. Pliny, HN V.51: Nilus incertis ortus fontibus, ut per deserta et ardentia et inmenso longitudinis spatio ambulans famaque tantum inermi quaesitus sine bellis quae ceteras omnis terras invenere . . . ; cf. also XII.19; on military ambition in the area, cf. Romm (1992), pp. 152–6.

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The geographical introduction 216

explanations. It is striking that in his account of both the Nilotic headwaters and the peculiar phenomena of its delta, Orosius’ account allows no room for alternative explanation. Rather than being the great enigma of geographical thought, the Nile is suddenly invested with a contrary role as the illuminator of the area around it. As he quietly charts the different courses of the river to Ethiopia and the Atlas Mountains, Orosius presents his audience with an unprecedented image of a comprehensible African hinterland. There can be little doubt that Orosius’ empirical knowledge of interior Africa was substantially less than that of his predecessors, who frequently displayed a remarkable appreciation of the subtleties of the region’s topography and ethnography.217 Nevertheless, Orosius far surpasses his predecessors in the presentation of the Saharan regions as an area that was both familiar and understood. Careful study of the Historia and comparison with Orosius’ likely sources do suggest that his own grasp of Nilotic studies was limited, but the writer’s presentation of the river is conspicuous for its lucidity.218 This process of simplification and direct assertion enabled Orosius to make a claim to comprehensiveness within his work that had been denied even to the most sophisticated of classical geographers. The Caucasus Mountains Orosius’ digression on the Caucasus Mountains appears to have been prompted by similar ambitions. The mountains themselves effectively marked the northern limit of Mediterranean geographical knowledge and placed an obvious frontier on scientific and military expansion, just as the upper reaches of the Nile had in the south.219 The symbolic significance of the Caucasus was thrown into a stark light during the latter years of the fourth century. The Hunnic invasion through the chain in 390–1 demonstrated the permeability of this physical and conceptual frontier, and prompted Jerome into typical lamentation for the fragility of the 216

217

218

219

This is illustrated most vividly by the Egyptian discourse of Aelius Aristides 36, in which ten different solutions to the origins of the Nile flood are postulated. Ultimately, the writer rejects them all. On the different explanations for flooding, cf. esp. Bonneau (1964), pp. 137–206. On antique knowledge of the southern periphery, see the studies of Christides (1969) and (1982); Daniels (1970); Snowden (1970) and (1983); Courtes (1979); Shaw (1981) and (1982/3). Pace Janvier (1982a), p. 229, who correctly notes that Orosius’ knowledge of Africa was limited, but ignores the implications of the false authority with which Orosius presents what little knowledge he does possess. Thomson (1948), p. 134; cf. Thubron (1983), p. 237: ‘In this savage place – the Ancient Iberian Gates – the river rang with a mad, cold clamour and the air was moist and sunless, as if at the mouth of Hell. Pompey halted his legions here, on the edge of the recorded world, and the Romans closed the ravine’s mouth with classical wooden and iron-bound gates, as if to shut out the unknown forever.’

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Orosius 220

empire. Although Orosius is largely silent on these events, and preferred to focus on the equally tumultuous Danube frontier within his Historia, it seems likely that the mountains had a particular relevance at the time of his composition. If Orosius has little to say on the recent incursions of the Huns, the Caucasus certainly feature prominently within his account as the northern limit of imperial authority, and particular emphasis is placed upon the perpetual liberty of the regions beyond. Alexander’s campaigns are repeatedly traced to the foothills of the range, and are once allowed to creep over the Taurus Mountains, but the chain as a whole is generally depicted as a frontier to Macedonian conquest.221 Similarly, the historian’s description of Publius Servilius’ subjugation of the Taurus range stresses both that the accomplishment was unique among Romans, and that the campaign progressed no further beyond the mountains.222 As has been discussed, Orosius alludes to a thriving Jewish community on the shores of the Caspian, and stresses the independence of the Scythian and Gothic peoples throughout his account. The detailed description of the Caucasus and the inclusion of the expansive realms beyond pointedly extend Orosius’ sphere of interest beyond the traditional Graeco-Roman oikoumene, and accentuate the breadth of his enquiry. The description of the Caucasus is the most detailed of Orosius’ three digressions and is made particularly conspicuous by its disproportionate length. The passage as a whole occupies roughly half of Orosius’ account of the continent of Asia and no other single geographical feature is assessed in anything like the same depth.223 The suggestion that the writer was influenced in this imbalance by a similar emphasis within Agrippa’s work is a superficially convincing one, but seems poorly supported by other information on the great Roman map.224 Neither the Divisio nor the Dimensuratio mentions the range as anything more than a common northern boundary to the separate regions of the Orient, and certainly they do not invest the range with the importance clearly evident in Orosius’ Historia. Pliny’s account of the same range makes no mention of Agrippan precedent.225 While the imperial cartographer would certainly have been aware of the range, there is no reason to assume that it offered the same fascination to him that it later did for Orosius.

220 221 223 224

225

Jerome, Ep. 60.16. On the Hunnic invasion, Isaac (1998), p. 443. Or., Hist. III.16.5; III.17.5; III.18.7. 222 Or., Hist. V.23.22. Janvier (1982a), pp. 84–101. The centrality of the Caucasus to Agrippa is suggested by Tierney (1963), p. 166 and with more caution by Anderson (1928), p. 141. Pliny, HN VI.40–50.

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The geographical introduction Instead, Orosius’ account of the Caucasus echoes that of the Nile in its exploitation and reconciliation of a variety of classical sources. Again, the writer alludes to a history of scholarly dispute on the subject, and again implies that his own interpretation offers a solution to these squabbles: The Caucasian Range rises first among the Colchi who dwell above the Cimmerian Sea, and among the Albani who are near the Caspian Sea. Indeed, up to its eastern end it seems to be one ridge, but it has many names. Many would wish these mountains to be considered as belonging to the Taurian Range, because in fact the Parcohatras Mountains of Armenia between the Taurian and Caucasian is thought to make the Taurian continuous with the Caucasian; but the Euphrates River shows this not to be so, for pouring forth from the base of the Parcohatras Mountains, directing its course to the south, it keeps itself to the left and the Taurian Mountains to the right. 226

This distinction between the congruent parts of the range is developed throughout the section. The historian further identifies the Acroceraunian, Ariobarzanian, Memarmalian, Parthau, Oscobares and Imavus ranges, as well as two separate Taurian groups and two more identified simply as Caucasian. Despite the apparent complexity of this pattern, and the difficulties that later audiences have had in reconstructing Orosius’ supposed impression of the range, the writer himself allows little room for uncertainty within his account.227 This calm authority is bolstered considerably by the ordered simplicity of the digression itself. The range as a whole is described in eight discrete sections from west to east. Each of these named ranges is then delineated, first by the towns or passes that mark their extremities, and then by the indigenous inhabitants of their northern and southern slopes. This simple west–east–north–south pattern is not followed in the opening section of the digression, in which the Parcohatras are considered, but thereafter forms the template for the whole of Orosius’ account.228 The precise sources employed by the historian have been the matter of some recent dispute, but broadly speaking Orosius appears to have drawn upon each of the major strands of geographical scholarship within his own construction. While the absence of military activity along the course of the Nile limited knowledge of that region, Alexander’s Indian campaign 226

227 228

Or., Hist. I.2.36–8: Mons Caucasus inter Colchos, qui sunt super Cimmericum mare, et inter Albanos, qui sunt ad mare Caspium, primum attollitur. Cuius quidem usque in ultimum orientem unum uidetur iugum, sed multa sunt nomina; et multi hoc ipsum iugum Tauri montis credi uolunt quia re uera Parchoatras mons Armeniae inter Taurum et Caucasum medius continuare Taurum cum Caucaso putatur; sed hoc ita non esse discernit fluuius Euphrates qui, radice Parchoatrae montis effusus, tendens in meridiem, ipsum ad sinistram, Taurum excludit ad dextram. For modern reconstructions cf. Miller (1895/8), VI. Taf. 3; Janvier (1982a), pp. 95–6. Janvier (1982a), p. 85.

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Orosius did much to prompt classical interest in the Caucasus.229 Hellenic cartographers rapidly invested the range with a considerable significance and identified in its course the backbone of Asia.230 These themes were introduced first by Eratosthenes in the third century before Christ and were reprised in varying form in Greek scholarship down to the compositions of Strabo and Ptolemy.231 Concurrent historiographical trends saw a revived interest in Alexander during the early part of the imperial period and speculation concerning the Caucasus is apparent in the works of Arrian and Curtius Rufus, as well as the later Alexandrine Itinerary.232 A third distinct strand of geographical writing emerged from mercantile activity in the same area. Although the itineraries of Asian merchants are by far the least coherent of the three genres and are frequently the least accessible to a modern audience, the reports of contemporary travel in the region offered an important counterpoint to geographical and historical suppositions based largely upon archaic Alexandrine sources.233 Such is the depth of Orosius’ apparent interest in the Caucasus that a direct debt to the cartography of the Greeks has recently been posited. His description of a fragmented Caucasus would seem to suggest that Orosius’ chief influence was a relatively late work, and the passage as a whole bears certain parallels to Ptolemaic exemplars.234 It seems unlikely, however, that Orosius drew directly from the great cartographer. Latin recensions of Ptolemy’s work were certainly in circulation by the sixth century, and quite possibly much earlier, yet little else in Orosius’ geography betrays a familiarity with the writer.235 In his erroneous location of the Gangetic source, Orosius directly contradicts the Ptolemaic tradition.236 Similarly, although the historian’s presentation of the Caspian Sea as a gulf of the Northern Ocean had extensive classical precedent, a familiarity with Ptolemy’s work would have served to dispel the myth.237 The historian appears to have borrowed from a widely disparate array of sources in the construction of this passage, and it is certainly possible that Ptolemaic elements crept into his account. Orosius’ debts to the cartographer, however, should not be overestimated.

229 230 231 232 233 235

236

For a discussion of literary interest in the range, see Anderson (1928), pp. 130–48. Thomson (1948), p. 134; Janvier (1982a), pp. 213–16. Strabo II.1.31–2; Ptolemy, Geog. VI.14–15. Arrian, Anabasis III.28; V.5–6; Indica 2; Curtius Rufus, Hist. V.4; VII.3.20–1. Alex It. 33.75; 46.103. On this trend, cf. Strabo XV.1.9–10. 234 Janvier (1982a), p. 213. Although Baumgarten (1984), p. 201 argues that Orosius’ description of Ireland betrays a familiarity with Ptolemy. I find this unconvincing for the reasons discussed. Ptolemy, Geog. VII.1. 237 On the Caspian Sea in Antiquity, cf. Dion (1977), pp. 178–9.

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The geographical introduction The wealth of incidental detail within the passage is such that Orosius’ account must be interpreted as the product of several different influences. Yves Janvier has recently identified several apparent similarities between Orosius’ nomenclature and that presented in Isidore of Charax’s first-century mercantile Parthian Stations.238 Isidore himself may not have influenced the historian directly, but it does seem reasonable to suppose that Orosius supplemented his account with reference to at least one mercantile itinerary, a process that would bear comparison with the methodology of the Nile digression. His unusual inclusion within his Caucasus account of the origins of two indigenous plants, both of which were traded with the west, would certainly support such a supposition.239 Given the wider significance of the geographical chapter to Orosius’ historical philosophy, the writer’s specific identification of the amomum plant is worthy of comment. Amomum features incidentally in classical and late antique verse as a symbol of exoticism, but was invested with a peculiarly Christian resonance in the early fourth century.240 In his Oration to the Assembly of Saints, the Emperor Constantine propounded a barnstorming, if occasionally erratic, reading of Virgil’s fourth Eclogue. Apparently working from a Greek translation of the poem, Constantine reinterpreted the text as Christian philosophy, and paid particular attention to Virgil’s declaration that amomum should spring forth throughout the world.241 While Virgil intended the image to be a straightforward evocation of terrestrial bounty, Constantine’s reading interpreted amomum in the light of its Greek meaning, ‘blameless people’, and thus presented the short passage as a prophecy of Christian universality. In this, the emperor closely anticipated the themes of Orosius’ later Historia. How far Orosius’ later reference to amomum was any more than coincidence is difficult to say, but the thematic coherence of the image is certainly striking. Given that the fifth-century historian sought to present a potentially limitless Christian world within his geographical chapter, the direct association of a strong religious symbol with the very fringes of the oikoumene fitted well with his descriptive programme. Orosius’ delineation of the Caucasus chain is immediately followed by a summary of the land beyond. The geography of the passage is far from detailed, but the writer does allude to forty-two different Scythian and Hyrcanian peoples, and to thirty-four more between the Caspian, the 238 239 240 241

Janvier (1982a), p. 97. Although it should be noted that assafoetida also appears in Arrian, Anabasis III.28. Luxorius 46.9; Sidonius Apollinaris, Carm. V.42. Virgil, Ec. IV.25, Constantine, Oration, 20. On this passage, see Lane Fox (1986), pp. 649–50.

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Orosius Tanais, the Black Sea and the Caucasus.242 The ethnographic aspects of the section are extremely scanty, and amount to little more than the assertion that the infertility of Scythia forced its inhabitants to a nomadic existence. Orosius’ description of the barbarians may be skeletal, but it is the only ethnographic information of any kind to be included within the introduction. In his careful enumeration of northern peoples, Orosius interrupts the devotion to physical and provincial geography that dominates the rest of the chapter. Through this relatively simple approach, Orosius succeeds in presenting the mysterious regions beyond the Caucasus in recognizable terms. Bereft of all but the most ambiguous physical landmarks, his infusion of the region with a profusion of peoples demonstrated that the northern plains of Eurasia, no less than the populated regions to the south, fell within his remit as a geographer, and as a historian. The results of this amalgamation of different sources are rather less spectacular than those apparent in the Nile digression, but it seems likely that Orosius’ intentions in his description of the Caucasus were similar. In each case, the historian concerned himself with an area on the fringes of the known world, and by presenting traditionally controversial subjects in straightforward terms opened up huge swathes of genuine terra incognita to ostensibly straightforward description. In the case of the Nile, Orosius was able to describe the Sahara with some confidence. Through his account of the Caucasus, he was able to present at least an impressionistic account of northern Asia, freed from the uncertainty that had constrained his predecessors. The islands of the Northern Ocean Orosius’ third digression is the least dramatic of his additions to a fundamentally imperial geographical pattern. Roman dominion over Britain featured prominently in imperial rhetoric and many of the associated islands of the North Sea thereafter become familiar features of the extended Mediterranean world.243 Britannia and Hibernia had long been known to classical geography and Orosius’ presentation of the islands suggests that his imperial source remained an important influence upon the structure of this short section.244 The Historia, however, seems to have deviated from the established patterns of imperial geography at a number of significant points within the passage. The implications of these additions are such that a deliberate revision, with further ambitions towards geographical exhaustiveness, must be supposed. 242

Or., Hist. I.2.47, 49.

243

Romm (1992), p. 140.

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244

Janvier (1982a), p. 78.

The geographical introduction On the most superficial level, Orosius follows imperial precedent with apparent obeisance. His description of Britannia seems substantially similar to the testimony of the Dimensuratio provinciarum: Britain, an island in the Ocean, extends for a long distance northward; to the south, it has the Gauls. A city which is called Portus Rutupi affords the nearest landing place in this country for those who cross over; thence, by no means far from Morini, it looks upon the Menapi and the Batavi in the south. This island is eight hundred miles in length and two hundred miles in width. 245

The dimensions that Orosius gives for Britain were almost certainly based upon a corrupt recension of Agrippa’s text, probably at second hand. Pliny explicitly cites the imperial cartographer as his source for a length of eight hundred miles and a width of three hundred, and the Dimensuratio gives the same dimensions.246 Orosius’ few additions to the description of the island also appear to have been derived from incontestably imperial sources. The Morini and Menapi appear as a pair in the Historia naturalis, Strabo’s Geography and most notably Caesar’s De bello Gallico, which seems further to have influenced directly Orosius’ later account of the invasion of the island.247 The addition of Portus Rutupi, probably modern Richborough, also has both Ptolemaic and poetic precedent.248 This additional detail certainly contrasts with the more restrained accounts of other provinces within the introduction, but was nevertheless executed within undeniably orthodox form. If these incidental flourishes add to Orosius’ account, they scarcely support his more revolutionary approaches. Orosius’ departure from his likely model becomes more obvious when his treatment of the smaller British islands is considered. Alongside Britannia, the historian describes Hibernia, Mevania and Thule in some detail, and further alludes to thirty-three insulae Orcades, beyond the larger island. In each case, the historian incorporates a considerable body of supplementary material, but his descriptions are also conspicuous for the information that they fail to include. Unlike the other islands within the chapter, Orosius’ smaller Oceanic provinces are presented without any reference to their dimensions. If, as seems likely, the historian included insular dimensions wherever possible in deference to his principal source, 245

246 247 248

Or., Hist. I.2.76–7: Britannia oceani insula per longum in boream extenditur; a meridie Gallias habet. Cuius proximum litus transmeantibus ciuitas aperit quae dicitur Rutupi portus; unde haud procul a Morinis in austro positos Menapos Batauosque prospectat. Haec insula habet in longo milia passuum DCCC, in lato milia CC. Pliny, HN IV.102; Dim. 30. Pliny, HN IV.104, 106; Strabo 4.3.5; 4.5.2; Caesar, BG III.9; III.28. Ptolemy, Geog. II.3.12; Lucan, Pharsalia VI.67; Juvenal 4.141; Ausonius, Opuscula, Parentalia 7.2, 18.8; and cf. the discussion in Rivet and Smith (1979), pp. 448–9.

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Orosius the omission of comparable measurements for the northern islands implies a conscious authorial independence within this section. The suggestion that the Agrippa map omitted the islands beyond Britannia appears still more likely when their absence from both the Dimensuratio and the Divisio is considered.249 Orosius apparently turned to alternative sources of information in his effort to illuminate the northern sea. Both Hibernia and Mevania were known to Roman geography, and the historian probably drew upon a number of different sources within his work. For the most part, Orosius appears to have been content to describe each island with only the most generalized indication of its relative position and orientation. Despite the best efforts of modern commentators, there is little reason to suspect that the historian was reliant upon cartographic sources in his depiction of the islands.250 In his use of literary material, however, Orosius’ account includes some intriguing innovations: This [Hibernia] is rather close to Britain and narrower in expanse of territory, but more useful because of its favourable climate and soil. It is inhabited by tribes of the Scotti. Mevania also is very close to Britain and is in itself not small in extent and is rich in soil. It is likewise inhabited by the tribes of the Scotti. 251

This impression of the great fertility of the two smaller Britannic islands runs contrary to the great majority of antique scholarship. The failure of Rome to extend its hegemony beyond Britain itself naturally limited the knowledge of her geographers with regard to the neighbouring islands. Both frequently recur in compositions, often alongside still more islands, but they are rarely described in any detail. Where more precise information is forthcoming, the accounts are generally negative. Strabo dismisses Hibernia with contempt as a bastard cousin of Britain.252 While both Pomponius Mela and Solinus praise the potential of Hibernia for pasture, both qualify their appreciation through emphasis upon the impossibility of arable farming within the island.253 Tacitus’ Agricola is perhaps the most sympathetic in its account, and it does little more than suggest that Britannia and Hibernia were comparable in their

249

250 251

252

Baumgarten (1984), p. 195 argues that Agrippa did include Hibernia within his map, but that Orosius derived his own account from Caesar, BG V.13 and Ptolemy. Arnaud-Lindet (1990), pp. xi–xii argues that Orosius’ interest in Hibernia may have resulted from his personal knowledge of the island through contact with Irish barbarians in Spain. This seems rather unlikely. Contra Baumgarten (1984). Or., Hist. I.2.81–2: Haec propior Britanniae, spatio terrarum angustior, sed caeli solique temperie magis utilis, a Scottorum gentibus colitur. Huic etiam Meuania insula proxima est et ipsa spatio non parua, solo commoda; aeque a Scottorum gentibus habitatur. Strabo IV.5.1–5. 253 Pomponius Mela III.53; Solinus 22.2.

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The geographical introduction 254

mediocrity. No classical author describes Mevania, the modern Isle of Man, in any detail.255 Orosius’ outspoken and unqualified praise of the fertility of the two small islands must be regarded as a substantial departure from classical precedent. His particular emphasis upon the superiority of Hibernia over Britannia, moreover, is entirely unique. The significance of these apparently minor additions becomes more apparent when the wider implications of the change are considered. Roman perceptions of the British Isles were largely dictated by imperial hegemony within the area. Military expansion naturally increased knowledge of the region, just as it had in the Caucasus, but also encouraged a polarization in the account of the islands, from the favourable reports on areas under imperial control, to more negative assessments of areas without.256 The fact that the only two regions to be praised specifically by Orosius for their fertility lay beyond the boundary of Roman control thus seems worthy of comment. The theme may perhaps be read as a further attempt on Orosius’ part to distance his account from the orthodox perspective of imperial geographical writing. Orosius’ additional inclusion of the island of Thule further developed this theme of extra-imperial universality. The geographical dispute over the island is acknowledged, just as in the digressions on the Nile and the Caucasus, but once more the writer allows no such uncertainty to corrupt his own description: ‘Next we have the island of Thule, which, separated from the other by an indefinite space and situated in the middle of the Ocean toward the northwest, is known to barely a few.’257 Orosius apparently expends little energy in his account of Thule but the peculiar position of the island within antique thought makes the inclusion a significant one. Thule, or Thyle, had something of a chequered past within classical geographical writing. The island was first identified in the third century BC by the explorer Pytheas of Marseilles, who remained the sole authority on Thule until the Roman conquest of Britain.258 He located the island 254 255

256 257

258

Tacitus, Agricola 24. The island appears in Pliny, HN IV.102 as Monapia/Manavia and in Ptolemy, Geog. II.2.10 variously as Monaoeda and Monarina, with little additional information. Orosius’ metathesis of n and v to arrive at Mevania proved to be influential in the centuries that followed, and the island appears in similar form in JH 16; Jordanes, Getica I.8 and Bede, HE II.5, 9. See Rivet and Smith (1979), pp. 410–11, and the further discussion of the later references at pp. 136–7, 245–6. Dion (1977), pp. 256–60. Or., Hist. I.2.79: Deinde insula Thyle quae per infinitum a ceteris separata, circium uersus medio sita oceani, uix paucis nota habetur. Strabo I.4.2–5. On Pytheas, cf. Dion (1977), pp. 180–212; Hawkes (1977); Nansen (1911), p. 73; Cunliffe (2001a).

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Orosius six days’ sailing to the north of Britain, and was later supported in his assertion by Eratosthenes’ theoretical geography.259 Pytheas’ account cemented the northern island within the geographical consciousness of the Mediterranean, but his testimony did not go unchallenged. Scepticism regarding his description reached its climax in Strabo’s vitriolic criticism of the explorer in the late first century BC. Strabo repeatedly emphasizes his doubts that an inhabited island could exist so far to the north, but bases his most memorable and heartfelt argument upon the personal veracity of Pytheas.260 His assertion that a figure of Pytheas’ limited means could scarcely fund such a dramatic northern voyage is justified by reference to the similar doubts of other Hellenic writers, including Polybius, Dicaearchus and Eratosthenes himself. 261 For the majority of writers, however, Thule was a valid feature of Oceanic geography, albeit a particularly enigmatic one. Ptolemy included the island in his work with little corroborative detail.262 Pliny, Solinus and Capella refer to the island as the most distant of the British archipelago.263 Mela, uniquely, places it close to the Scythian coast, and Tacitus famously asserts in his Agricola that a Roman naval expedition had come within sight of the island, only to be denied access by the sluggish nature of the surrounding sea.264 Thule also featured with some regularity in imperial verse to symbolize the ends of the earth, perhaps the most convincing demonstration of the semi-mythical status of the island.265 If the classical world enjoyed a familiarity with Thule, it was never able to claim authority over it. Indeed, it was the position of the island beyond human experience that lent descriptions of Thule such immediacy within all forms of literature. Tacitus’ description of the abortive attempt to penetrate the surrounding sea typified the relationship between the civilized south and the inaccessible north. The invocation of the island in verse was dependent upon this isolation for its impact, and although Thule occasionally appears in panegyrics as a motif of universal praise, realistic imperial claims never extended as far as the island.266 There can be little doubt that the Agrippa map was silent on the region, and none of 259 263 264

265

266

Strabo II.4.2. 260 Strabo I.4.3; 2.4.2. 261 Strabo II.4.1. 262 Ptolemy, Geog. II.2. Pliny, HN IV.104; Solinus 22.11; Capella, De nuptiis VI.666. Pomponius Mela 3.57; Tacitus, Agricola 10; on the sluggish sea, cf. also Solinus 22.11; Strabo I.4.3; 2.4.1; Pliny, HN IV 104. Cf., for example, Virgil, Georgics I.30 (on this passage, cf. below, pp. 122–3); Juvenal, Sat. 15.112; Seneca, Medea 379; Silius Italicus, Punica III.597; xvii .416; Statius, Silvae III.5.20; IV.4.62; V.1.9; Romm (1992), p. 158 notes: ‘By a kind of metonymy this one island came to represent all the most distant regions to which exploration and conquest could aspire’. Panegyrici Latini VI.7.2; Romm (1992), pp. 158–71.

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Conclusions its derivative pieces betrays any recognition of the mysterious northern island. The decision to include the island within the Historia must have been a conscious one. Orosius’ apparent reference to the island’s absence in earlier accounts certainly suggests that his own addition was a deliberate rectification of the error, and that he was aware of the slightly controversial stance that he was adopting. His emphasis upon the isolation of the island accentuates its symbolic, as well as physical, removal from the world of the centre. Orosius’ account is by no means spectacular in itself, but its implications for a treatise with pretensions to universality were profound, particularly when considered alongside the writer’s treatment of Hibernia and Mevania. Over half of Orosius’ description of the Northern Ocean is concerned with places beyond the imperial frontiers, which had generally been regarded as extraneous to the interests of orthodox classical geography. Conspicuously, it is these regions that are described in the most detail.267 Just as in his descriptions of the Nile and the Caucasus, Orosius is concerned here with the delineation of a controversial region that had traditionally been examined only with considerable caution. Just as he had in the earlier digressions, Orosius acknowledges this discord and simply states his own case. In so doing, he reveals a third mysterious peripheral area to the gaze of his audience, and once more promotes his pretensions to geographical – and hence historical – universality. CONCLUSIONS

It seems likely that Orosius will never be regarded independently of his great mentor. The Spanish presbyter was fully aware of the magnitude of the task that Augustine set him in compiling a universal catalogue of human suffering, and inevitably the resulting composition fell far short of impossible expectations. As a result, it is difficult to consider the misplaced polemic and factual distortions of the Historiarum adversus paganos libri septem without casting the occasional glance at the majestic De civitate Dei standing proudly alongside them. That Augustine’s greatest work was incomparably broader in both scope and ambition than Orosius’ smaller edifice need not be doubted, but such comparisons should not cloud the sophistication of the presbyter’s composition, or the originality with which he built geographical and chronological themes into a single, historiographical construction.

267

This is noted by Janvier (1982a), pp. 181–2, although the implications are left unexplored.

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Orosius As a detailed study of the narrative demonstrates, Orosius established his own historical philosophy upon a heady combination of spatial and temporal concerns. This interest in the broadest patterns of human history arose from, and was intended to emphasize, Orosius’ own pretensions towards historical universality within the work. Perhaps more than any other concept, universality provides the dominant motif within all of Orosius’ historical writing, whether spatial or temporal in its principal emphasis. The association of mundane kingdoms with discrete regions of spatial dominance effectively denied the Babylonian Empire and its successors any claims to this universality, and simultaneously demonstrated the vanity of such ambitions. No less importantly, this deliberate emphasis upon the exotic kingdoms of the east, north and south demonstrated Orosius’ own escape from Romano-centric models of history. Only the Christian historian – and only the Christian empire – could hope to achieve a genuinely universal scope within Orosius’ mind, and it was to this end that the writer included a long geographical preface within his work. The geographical introduction itself was intended, not as a simple delineation of the world upon which the later narrative would be set, but rather as an implicit demonstration of the breadth of the Christian world, and the limitations of the mundane kingdoms that had come before it. Orosius’ own cultural background limited him to certain established models in the calculation of time and the depiction of space, and deference to classical authorities is readily apparent throughout his work. Nevertheless, within the geographical chapter in particular, the writer proves himself to be an enthusiastic challenger of ruling paradigms, and devotes particular attention to those regions which had perplexed or defeated the geographers of classical Antiquity. In his solution to the perennial problems of the continental division of the world, and in his fearless depiction of the Nilotic headwaters, the Caucasus Mountains and the isles of the Northern Ocean, Orosius effectively posited a new model of geographical writing. In place of the well-described centre and hazy periphery long-familiar from classical geography, Orosius depicted a world in which all parts were equally clear. As the centuries that followed demonstrate, the significance of Orosius’ opening chapter was twofold. Crucially, Orosius created an image of the world upon which later Christian writers, in all disciplines, could draw. His authoritative geography supplanted the work of Solinus and rivaled the later writings of Martianus Capella as the principal source for the description of the world. He provided a more succinct geography than that available in Pliny’s Historia naturalis, and if the great encyclopaedist and his pagan epitomators continued to be read in the early medieval period, Orosius supplanted them as the first port of call for the ambitious 98

Conclusions geographer. Within late Antiquity, as in the classical period, geographical information was only as authoritative as its source. Orosius’ compilation provided a trustworthy referent. Orosius also established a precedent for the inclusion of geographical description within works of history. The subsequent popularity of the geographical passage as a means of introducing Christian narrative serves as a vivid reminder of Orosius’ great popularity within the post-Roman world. Each of the later writers studied here structured their works as they did because of Orosius. The later historians also followed Orosius in shaping their geographical passages to the wider requirements of their works. Like the Spanish presbyter, later historians did more than repeat the material available to them. All exploited their geographies to fit their historical philosophies; all looked with both ‘eyes’ of history upon the changing Christian world around them. Orosius’ impact upon Christian historiography was not merely structural; it established the role that space and time together might play within the elucidation of the Christian Weltbild. Orosius’ definition of the Christian world deserves comparison with the revolution in Christian temporal understanding established by the Chronicon of Eusebius-Jerome. Just as later chroniclers expanded upon the Chronicon, and in so doing bound their works into the great patterns of Christian time, so later narrative historians displayed their own debts to the Spanish presbyter. None of these writers saw fit to revise the oecumenical model established by Orosius. Instead, they deferred to the Historia through citation or allusion, and added to its image through the judicious addition of regional geographies. Through Orosius’ geography, a work could be lent a universal significance, however parochial its outward appearance. In emphasizing so heavily the fundamental relationship between Christian history and the physicality of its manifestation within the world, Orosius may well have alienated a patron more interested in a rejection of mundane matters, in favour of higher goals. If Augustine turned his back on the innovative philosophy of the Spanish presbyter, however, the same was certainly not true of generations of historians in the Latin west. Orosius essentially created an image of a universal Christian world, reclaimed from secular Rome and bound tightly to the undulations of human history. It was a model that was to resurface consistently in the centuries that followed.

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Chapter 2

JORDANES

De origine actibusque Getarum, written by Jordanes in around 551, is among the most fascinating and frustrating texts to have survived from the twilight years of the Roman Empire. The Getica – to adopt its most popular designation – did not purport to be a wholly original composition, but was rather an epitome of a twelve-volume Gothic History that the Italian statesman Cassiodorus had composed some two decades earlier. The loss of Cassiodorus’ original text has left the Getica in glorious and perplexing isolation. In part a paean to the Ostrogothic kingdom of Italy, even as it disappeared under the rapacious attentions of the Byzantine reconquest, in part a celebration of Justinianic triumph over the group, the scope of the Getica belies either of these limited ambitions. Tracing the history of the people from its origins in the frigid northern island of Scandza, Jordanes dwells at length upon the triumphs and disasters of the Goths through Scythia and the Balkans, digresses on the successes of the Visigoths in Spain and consistently colours his account with judicious borrowings from classical writing on the Amazons, Getes and Huns of the mysterious north. Had Cassiodorus’ Gothic History survived, the Getica would most likely be viewed as a fantastic anomaly: a further illustration of the intellectual curiosity and literary ingenuity of Justinianic Constantinople, to be set alongside the Chronicle of Marcellinus Comes and the multi-faceted writings of Procopius of Caesarea. Yet in the absence of Jordanes’ model, the Getica has been subject to intense scholarly scrutiny, often divorced from the imperial capital in which it was written. Attempts to identify within Jordanes’ work the traces of Cassiodorus’ lost history have prompted extensive – and often vitriolic – debate over a range of subjects. Those sections of the Getica which have been attributed with confidence to Cassiodorus’ pen have been employed to explain the likely role of historical writing in the formation of Gothic identity and the consolidation of royal power within Italy. Similarly, the references throughout the Getica to the 100

Cassiodorus and Jordanes ‘ancient songs’ of the Goths have prompted speculation on the function and historical significance of oral traditions within barbarian society, and the uses to which both Cassiodorus and Jordanes put these new forms of evidence. CASSIODORUS AND JORDANES

The dispute over the authorship of much of the Getica has largely arisen from the conflicting information available on the principal characters within the debate. Cassiodorus, as is well known, was a statesman of considerable productivity during much of the early sixth century, and was a no less accomplished self-promoter.1 His letters of state, written on behalf of a succession of Ostrogothic rulers in Italy, have survived in his Variae, compiled in 538, and the picture that they offer of early medieval rulership has ensured Cassiodorus’ longevity in the minds of scholars of the period.2 Cassiodorus is also remembered as an enthusiastic bibliophile and his voracious appetite for books was reflected both in the library of his Vivarium monastery and in the Institutiones – an annotated bibliography of secular and profane works that he produced in order to advise his community on appropriate reading.3 Cassiodorus was also a historian of sorts. The writer composed a short Chronicle, probably to commemorate the accession of Eutharic, the son of Theoderic the Great, to the Roman consulate in 519.4 Like many such compositions, the Chronicle drew heavily upon earlier works in the genre. The influence of Eusebius-Jerome, Victor and Prosper of Aquitaine may be traced with little difficulty through the work, but Cassiodorus readily manipulated this source material in the light of the new political circumstances of the sixth century.5 Rather later in his career, Cassiodorus also supervised the compilation and translation of the work of the Eusebian continuators, Sozomenus, Theodoret of Cyrrhus and Socrates Scholasticus, under the title Historia tripartita.6 The prefatory comments to the work reveal a critical historical mind, and his process of selection from each of the three Greek historians has generally been praised for its discretion.7 Eusebius was also known to the writer, even if only through

1

2 3 4

5 6 7

The material on Cassiodorus is too voluminous to cover here. Compare the surveys of Vyver (1931); O’Donnell (1979); and Krautschick (1983) and the bibliography therein. On the Variae, see Gillett (1998). Cassiodorus, Inst.; Barnish (1989), pp. 175–81; O’Donnell (1979), pp. 202–22. Cassiodorus, Chron.; O’Donnell (1979), pp. 38–42; Heather (1993a), p. 341; Croke (1987), p. 130; Momigliano (1955), p. 217; Amory (1997), pp. 66–7. On manipulations within the Chronicle, see Heather (1991), pp. 55–6. On the Historia tripartita see esp. Laistner (1948); Momigliano (1955), p. 214. Barnish (1989), p. 163; Heather (1993a), p. 321.

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Jordanes the translation of Rufinus, and the Historia ecclesiastica is praised in the Institutiones in hyperbolic terms.8 There can be little doubt, however, that Cassiodorus regarded the Historia Gothorum as his most significant historical work.9 In the summary of the statesman’s accomplishments provided by the Ordo generis Cassiodorum, or Anecdoton Holderi, the Historia is cited alongside the Variae as an illustration of his literary prowess: ‘ formulae for official documents, which he arranged in twelve books, and entitled Variae. At the command of King Theoderic, he wrote a history of the Goths, setting out their origin, habitations and character.’10 Whether the Historia was indeed composed during the long reign of Theoderic, as the Anecdoton suggests, has been the subject of some dispute.11 At the latest, the history was certainly completed by 533, at the time of Cassiodorus’ second accession to the consulate. In commemoration of this honour, Cassiodorus penned an address to the senate in the name of King Athalaric, in which the Historia is again listed among his most noteworthy accomplishments. Precisely what form this history took is, of course, unknown.12 To judge from the allusion in the eulogy of 533, the lineage of the ruling Amal house had a focal role within the work: He restored the Amals, along with the honour of their family, clearly proving me to be of royal stock to the seventeenth generation. From Gothic origins he made a Roman history, gathering, as it were, into one garland, flower-buds that had previously been scattered throughout the fields of literature. Think how much he loved you in praising me, when he showed the nation of your prince to be a wonder from ancient days. In consequence, as you have ever

8 9

10

11

12

Cassiodorus, Inst. I.17.1. Cassiodorus’ lost work is not provided with any consistent label within the surviving literature. Cassiodorus, Var. XII.20 refers to historia nostra, the Anecdoton Holderi to historiam Gothicam originem eorum et loca mores, Getica, Praef. 1 to Cassiodorus’ De origine actibusque Getarum, the title by which the later epitome is now known. Within modern scholarship Wolfram (1988), p. 3 and passim refers to the work as the Origo Gothica, which assumes a prominence for Gothic origins within the lost text which is by no means certain. Most other modern studies prefer the more ambiguous Historia Gothorum or History of the Goths. For the purposes of simplicity, and to avoid confusion with Jordanes’ Getica, the latter titles will be employed in the present study. Anec. Hold. 20–2: suggesit formulas dictionum, quas in duodecim libris ordinavit et variarum titulum superosuit. scripsit praecipiente Theoderico rege historiam Gothicam originem eorum et loca mores in libris enuntians. On the authorship of the Anecdoton, cf. Momigliano (1955), pp. 189–90 and Krautschick (1983), pp. 78–84. Compare O’Donnell (1979), pp. 44–6; Krautschick (1983), pp. 31–4; Barnish (1984), pp. 336–7; and the discussion in Goffart (1988), pp. 32–4. Cassiodorus’ only direct reference to the contents of the lost history is found in a letter of c.536 preserved as Var. XII.20.4 in which he alludes to his description of Alaric’s sack of Rome. The same episode within the Getica would seem to owe little to Cassiodorus’ original text.

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Cassiodorus and Jordanes been thought noble because of your ancestors, so you shall be ruled by an ancient line of kings.13

Substantial sections of Jordanes’ Getica would seem to subscribe to this deliberate enhancement of the Gothic past and the centrality of the Amal family within it. In such passages, Jordanes’ dependency upon the writing of Cassiodorus has rarely been disputed. For this reason, the famous Amal genealogy that forms a focus for the first part of the Getica is presumed to have derived from the lost Historia Gothorum.14 The genealogy as it appears in the Getica, however, was clearly a later version of the model that provoked such outspoken praise in the early 530s.15 Within the passage, the Amal lineage is continued down to the marriage of Matasuentha to Germanus and to the subsequent birth of the younger Germanus.16 For obvious reasons, this cannot have predated their union in 551, some two decades after Cassiodorus’ Historia was published. Thus, although the genealogy that Cassiodorus composed prior to 533 was probably retained in its virtual entirety, the delineation of Amal ancestry to which the writer refers in his Variae must have been revised at a later date. The inclusion of later events within the Getica as a whole forms an obvious, yet significant objection to the assumption that the piece contained little that was not directly influenced by the earlier Gothic History. The challenge is partly circumvented by the brevity with which events after 533 are treated. The Getica does include an account of the Gothic Wars, both in Italy and in Spain, and is outspoken in its praise of Justinian.17 The descriptions of the devastating effect of the plague upon the early history of the Goths are also likely to have been later additions, in the light of the implicit comparisons with the similar scourge that struck the empire in 542.18 For the most part, however, the Getica focuses upon the middle 13

14

15

16 18

Cassiodorus, Var. IX.25.4–6: Iste Hamalos cum generis sui claritate restituit, evidenter ostendens in septimam decimam progeniem stirpem nos habere regalem. Originem Gothicam historiam fecit esse Romanam colligens quasi in unam coronam germen floridum quod per librorum campos passim fuerat ante dispersum. Perpendite, quantum uos in nostra laude dilexerit, qui uestri principis nationem docuit ab antiquitate mirabilem, ut, sicut fuistis a maioribus uestris semper nobiles aestimati, ita uobis antiqua regum progenies inperaret. Getica XIV.79–81. On this passage cf. Hachmann (1970), p. 47, Heather (1993a), pp. 344–7, and the extensive discussion in Christensen (2002), pp. 124–34. On the argument in Wagner (1970), p. 10, Wolfram (1967), pp. 99–104, (1988), p. 31, and Heather (1989), p. 109 that the seventeen generations of Gothic royal ancestry preserved in the Getica were intended to echo the number of Alban kings between Aeneas and Romulus, see Goffart (1995), pp. 25–6, n.64 and (2002), pp. 35–6 who notes that no classical tradition numbers the Alban kings at seventeen. Cf. also the truncated list of nine Amal rulers provided at Var. XI.1.19 in praise of the ancestry of Amalasuentha. Getica XIV.81. 17 Getica LX.315–16. On this passage, see below, pp. 166–7. Getica XIX.104–5. On the plague, compare Procopius, Bella II.xxii.1–xxiii.21.

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Jordanes period of Gothic history, between the arrival of the group in Europe and its eventual accession to power in Italy. Of the events that postdate 533, only the marriage of Germanus and Matasuentha receives particular emphasis and even that is scarcely afforded the attention elsewhere granted to other events. On the most straightforward level, therefore, it would certainly be possible to read the Getica as a fundamentally Cassiodoran construct with later material added with little comment by a later editor. Such has been the fascination with Cassiodorus, however, that attempts have been made to attribute even the later material to the writer, and to relegate Jordanes to the most subsidiary of supporting roles. In an inspired reading of the text, Arnaldo Momigliano noted that the marriage of Germanus and Matasuentha was celebrated in the Getica, not as a union of Goth and Roman, but as an alliance between the Amal family and the Roman Anicii.19 Cassiodorus’ repeated tendency to advertise his own associations with the Anicii has encouraged the view that he was himself responsible for the peculiar emphasis of the Getica. According to Momigliano’s argument, Cassiodorus returned to his Historia Gothorum around two decades after its initial completion, in order to celebrate the nuptials of 551, and used the opportunity to engage in some characteristic self-promotion.20 Jordanes is thus supposed to have worked from a nearcontemporary Cassiodoran recension in his own composition of the surviving epitome. The suggestion that Cassiodorus himself revised the Historia continues to earn adherents, but Momigliano’s arguments have since largely been refuted.21 Cassiodorus was a prominent promoter of the Anicii during the early sixth century, but the family was well known within contemporary society. The fact that Germanus is associated with the Anicii, rather than the imperial house, may be read as an entirely appropriate parallel to the emphasized Amal lineage of his bride.22 Both parties were cast in their roles as aristocratic figures, under the benevolent aegis of the emperor, and the suggestion that the marriage united the Gothic royal house and the imperial purple was avoided. If this emphasis upon the Anicii is disregarded, the rather clumsy suggestion that Cassiodorus first returned to his composition after two decades and then supervised its revival by another, largely unknown, writer, seems difficult to sustain. Nevertheless, the thesis does illustrate the extent to which modern studies have often

19 21

22

Getica LX.314; Momigliano (1955), p. 220. 20 Momigliano (1955), pp. 223–4. Adherents include Barnish (1984), p. 353; Krautschick (1983); and Cameron (1981), p. 185, although Cameron’s stance is largely formulated by opposition to O’Donnell (1979). Baldwin (1979), p. 489; Bradley (1966), p. 69; Reydellet (1981), p. 260; Wagner (1967), p. 46.

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Cassiodorus and Jordanes been anxious to attribute as much of the Getica as possible to the famous Italian man of letters. It is perhaps inevitable that Cassiodorus has cast such a shadow over the study of the Getica. Jordanes himself was conscious of the looming presence of the Italian statesman when he came to revise the work, and was at pains to excuse immediately any deviation from his model: Nor do you note this, that my utterance is too slight to fill so magnificent a trumpet of speech as his. But worse than every other burden is the fact that I have no access to his books that I may follow his thought. Still – and let me lie not – I have in times past read the books by his steward’s loan for a three days’ reading. The words I recall not, but the sense and the deeds I think I retain entire. To this I have added fitting matters from some Greek and Latin histories.23

Jordanes’ description of the composition of his work seems remarkably candid, but later scholars have been reluctant to read his assertion at face value. Throughout the preface to the Getica, in which this statement appears, Jordanes borrows extensively from Rufinus’ introduction to his translation of Origen’s Commentary on Romans.24 Rufinus’ influence is most evident in a striking boat metaphor, with which Jordanes opens his own text, but echoes of the earlier writer infuse the opening section as a whole.25 As a result, Jordanes’ relatively detailed description of his difficulties in obtaining a copy of the Historia Gothorum has been viewed with some scepticism.26 Jordanes’ statement is without precise parallel in Rufinus’ writing, but the earlier translator included in his piece a similar lamentation upon the failings of his own library, and may have provided a model for his successor to follow. It seems possible that Jordanes was drawn to the Rufinan model by the recognition of similarities between his own quandary and those of his predecessor, but such an assumption cannot be demonstrated conclusively. What would otherwise be read as a clear insight into the process of textual transmission has become something of a scholarly minefield, and Jordanes’ precise method of composition has been the subject of considerable dispute.

23

24 25 26

Getica Praef. 2–3: Nec illud aspicis, quod tenuis mihi est spiritus ad inplendam eius tam magnificam dicendi tubam: super omne autem pondus, quod nec facultas eorundem librorum nobis datur, quatenus eius sensui inserviamus, sed, ut non mentiar, ad triduanam lectionem dispensatoris eius beneficio libros ipsos antehac relegi. Quorum quamuis uerba non recolo, sensus tamen et res actas credo me integre retinere. Ad quos et ex nonnullis historiis Grecis ac Latinis addedi convenientia [modified translation]. On the significance of the term relegere, which need not imply a second reading (as in Mierow’s translation), see Croke (1987), p. 121 and Goffart (1988), p. 61. Rufinus, Rom. Praef; Goffart (1988), p. 59; Baldwin (1979), p. 490. On the boat metaphor as classical topos, cf. Curtius (1953), pp. 128–31; Smit (1971), pp. 172–89. Goffart (1988), pp. 59–63.

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Jordanes Significantly, it is not Jordanes’ literary humility that has provoked the scepticism of commentators, but quite the reverse. With the emphasis upon Cassiodorus’ central role in the composition of the Getica there has frequently been a concomitant reluctance to attribute to the later writer any but the most minor additions to the work.27 Jordanes’ suggestion that he added original material at his own discretion, and plundered extensively from the classical canon, has thus been openly questioned, despite the fact that no parallel assertion exists in Rufinus’ preface.28 A large number of commentators on the Getica have suggested that only a handful of additions may be attributed to the later writer, generally including among these the description of the most recent events.29 This bias is forgivable enough given the rather fragmentary knowledge of the Getica’s compiler. Jordanes appears as a less luminescent figure in the history of the early sixth century than does Cassiodorus, and probably rightly so. He is known only from the Getica and the De summa temporum vel origine actibusque gentis Romanorum, or Romana, a summary of the Roman past that he interrupted in order to compile his Gothic history. This shorter work has until recently been condemned as an unimaginative and often flawed amalgamation of other sources.30 Although more recent studies have stressed that Jordanes’ own innovations within the Romana were considerable, the piece remains an uninspiring read.31 As its title would suggest, the work is broadly concerned with the history of Rome, and it provides a fairly succinct chronology of empire from the Creation. Jerome’s recension of Eusebius’ Chronicon occupies a central role within the piece, but alongside it may be detected clear deference to the work of Florus, Eutropius, Marcellinus Comes and, crucially, Orosius.32 It would be unjust to dismiss Jordanes as an incompetent historian solely on the evidence of the Romana. Mistakes are certainly evident within the work, and it is hardly a piece of overwhelming originality, but the genre of writing is an unforgiving one and provides little scope for rhetorical flourishes. The Romana is no more derivative than was, for example, the Historia tripartita, and was substantially less so than Cassiodorus’ own Chronica. While this is not intended to argue that

27 28 29

30 31

32

Momigliano (1955), p. 218; cf. Baldwin (1979), p. 490. For discussion of this trend, see Heather (1991), p. 343. This position is adopted by Hachmann (1970), Baldwin (1981) and Barnish (1984), although Barnish at p. 351 argues against Jordanes’ composition of later parts. Wes (1967); Baldwin (1977), pp. 103–4, and (1981), p. 142; Croke (1975), pp. 82–3. Croke (1983), pp. 97–100; Goffart (1988), pp. 46–58 stresses heavily the innovative aspects of the Romana and affords it a focal role in the expression of Jordanes’ historical ideologies. On the sources of the Romana, cf. Croke (1983); Wes (1967); Ensslin (1949); Goffart (1988), pp. 49–52.

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Cassiodorus and Jordanes Jordanes was as accomplished a writer as Cassiodorus, these factors do challenge assumptions that only the Italian could have made meaningful contributions to the Getica as it has survived. Perhaps more importantly, the historiographical interest displayed in the Romana makes it more than likely that Jordanes made his own alterations to the Getica. Given that he was specifically requested to compose the piece, and ultimately produced a coherent historical work, it must be assumed that he was an accomplished enough writer to be capable of manipulating his material as he saw fit.33 Working on this principle, several attempts have been made to displace Cassiodorus from the centre of the authorship equation and stress instead the literary integrity of Jordanes’ composition. The most extreme of these interpretations run the risk of overstating the likely involvement of the later writer and, in an effort to support their arguments, place an intolerable burden upon elements of the Getica which are incontrovertibly the work of Jordanes.34 The marriage between Matasuentha and Germanus, for example, has been granted a significance within the work which is difficult to justify. Although the nuptials are referred to three times over the course of the Getica, these points are hardly focal, and it is hard to sustain the argument that the remainder of the piece was structured around the event.35 Tellingly, there is little in the Getica to suggest that Jordanes substantially manipulated his model simply to prepare his audience for the supposedly climactic marriage. As a result, a less dramatic but comfortable ambiguity regarding the authorship of the text has gained prominence. Many recent scholars have been content to assume that the Getica was principally the work of Cassiodorus, but was shaped to a greater or lesser extent by Jordanes and probably reflects the interests of both writers in the form in which it survives.36 Attempts to distinguish between the authors have been made through a variety of media, including linguistic and stylistic analyses, but have enjoyed little uniformity in their conclusions.37 One recent theory has suggested that the Getica may be read as the product of Jordanes’ uneven familiarity with Cassiodorus’ Historia Gothorum. If the protestations of 33

34

35 36

37

Goffart (1988), pp. 29–30; Croke (1987), although Croke’s assessment of the Getica is strikingly inconsistent with his appraisal of the Romana: cf. Croke (1975), p. 83. Goffart (1988), pp. 69–90 is the prime example and he has been much criticized for it; cf. Heather (1991), p. 46 and (1993a), p. 263; and the valid warnings against such emphases made by Croke (1987), p. 135. Getica XIV.81; XLVIII.251; LX.314; and cf. Croke (1987), p. 132. To simplify greatly, the works of Giordano (1973), Giunta (1952), Wagner (1967), Luiselli (1980), Varady (1976) and Heather (1991) might all be regarded as typical of this approach, and view both Cassiodorus and Jordanes as influential in the text of the Getica as it survives. For further discussion of this scholarship, see Goffart (1988), pp. 23–4. For discussion, see Heather (1991), pp. 34–8; Weibensteiner (1994).

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Jordanes Jordanes’ preface are accepted, and the later writer had only a limited exposure to his model, it may be assumed that his notes from the original would have been fragmentary in parts and exact in others.38 In areas where Jordanes’ aide-memoires were less than comprehensive, his epitome would have been coloured by elements of his own composition, and influenced by the alternative sources available to him. This theory offers a sympathetic assessment of the problems facing Jordanes and also proposes a model of composition that affords both Cassiodorus and his later epitomator direct involvement in the composition of the Getica. Behind this debate over the origins and authorship of the Getica lurk wider disputes regarding the relationship of the extant text to the oral historical traditions of the Goths and the function that such myths may have had in the society of the sixth century. That Cassiodorus composed his history with at least one eye on the historical assumptions of his barbarian neighbours is demonstrated clearly by the description of the work within the Variae. Yet the address to the senate scarcely suggests that the statesman viewed this new body of source material with confidence: ‘He extended his labours even to the ancient cradle of our house, learning from his reading what the hoary recollections of our elders scarcely preserved.’39 The obvious implication of this statement is that the shortcomings of the Goths’ own memories of their distant past forced Cassiodorus to turn to written histories in the composition of his history.40 Yet this apparent ambivalence towards the notitia maiorum of the Goths belies the frequency with which Cassiodorus or his epitomator alludes to precisely these memories in the extant text of the Getica. The carmina prisca of the Goths are invoked to explain early Gothic migrations, the meaning of the term Capillati and the origins of the Huns.41 At two points in the Getica, moreover, direct reference is made to the honouring of the ancestral dead through the means of commemorative song.42 If Cassiodorus displays a scepticism regarding the historical value of Gothic traditions, the text of the Getica nevertheless affords such sources a prominent role. Comparative studies of other non-literate groups have demonstrated beyond reasonable doubt that any Gothic traditions that did survive into the early sixth century are likely to have been preserved only in fragmentary form. Typically, orally transmitted traditions are susceptible to 38 39

40 41 42

Heather (1989), p. 127, and (1993a), pp. 343–4, n.91. Cassiodorus, Var. IX.25.4: lectione discens quod vix maiorum notitia cana retinebat. Iste reges Gothorum longa oblivione celatos latibulo vetustatis eduxit. Goffart (1988), pp. 38–9, and (1995), p. 26; Christensen (2002), p. 153. Getica IV.28; XI.72; XXIV.121. Getica V.43; XLI.214; and cf. Ammianus Marcellinus XXXI.7.11.

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Cassiodorus and Jordanes massive variation over time, with change prompted by both physical and political upheaval.43 This is particularly true of genealogical tradition. As new elites rise to prominence within a society, so the history of the group undergoes a dramatic realignment in order to justify the redefinition of the status quo.44 The distant past may be colonized through the invention of familial links in order to bind contemporary rulers to the shared heroic myths of the group, or through the invention of new ancestral archetypes. Similarly, events of the more recent past may be reinterpreted in order to present a society, and its elites, in a more favourable light. Within a Gothic kingdom that had occupied northern Italy only for two short generations at the time of Cassiodorus’ likely composition, and which seems to have been heterogeneous in its ethnic affiliations, attitudes to the past must have been both varied and extraordinarily valuable to the ruling Amal minority.45 Ultimately, however, it was the translation of oral tradition into written form during the sixth century that had the most lasting effect upon the Gothic historical record, and it is principally through the Getica that this process can be studied by modern historians. Predictably, scholarship on the subject has been violently divided. Most visibly, an important analytical approach has emphasized the importance of historical tradition as a ‘kernel’ or rallying point for group identity during a period of substantial ethnic redefinition.46 As the earliest text to claim association with these traditions, the Getica – and through it the lost Gothic History – has had an important role 43

44

45

46

On historical tradition within contemporary non-literate groups, compare Person (1972), Finnegan (1970), the discussion of this material in Goffart (1980), pp. 10–12, and the seminal study of Vansina (1965). Finnegan (1970), p. 197. On the difficulties associated with the anthropological study of descent groups, see Scheffler (1966) and the responses therein. On the confusion of identities within Ostrogothic Italy, and its exploitation by the Amal elite, see esp. Amory (1997), and the works cited below. The Traditionskern Theory (more commonly referred to as the ‘ethnogenesis theory’ in anglophone scholarship) regards early medieval ethnicity as the product of ideological concepts of unity and a belief in shared origins, rather than immutable biological factors. This model of analysis is most frequently associated with the seminal study of Wenskus (1961), and with the more recent scholarship of Wolfram (1975/6), (1988) and (1994); and Pohl (1988) and (1991). Accessible summaries of the applications of this approach are provided by Wolfram (1994); Gillett (2002b); Scales (2000); Pohl (1994) and (2003). On the antecedents of this theory in nineteenth-century scholarship, see Murray (2002). As Pohl (2002) notes in his response to critics of the model, however, simple scholarly caricatures do not do justice to the varied scholarship engendered by this approach, which has developed substantially in recent years. Important contributions to the understanding of early medieval ethnicity, which develop and refine the arguments of Wenskus and Wolfram include (as a representative selection): Jarnut (1982); Geary (1983) and (1988); Moisl (1985); Garcı´a Moreno (1982) and (1989); Pohl (1991); and (with caveats) Amory (1997); Wood (1990); Teillet (1984); Heather (1991) and (1996). This interpretative approach has been substantially bolstered by the publications of Benedict Anderson and Anthony D. Smith. See esp. Anderson (1991); Smith (1986) and (2003).

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Jordanes to play within this scholarship. Cassiodorus’ lost work has been identified as the first in a new genre of writing intended to reconcile Germanic mythology with the Graeco-Roman historical tradition.47 As a result, the text has been viewed, not simply as a more or less fantastic account of the Gothic past, but as a written validation of the privileged Amal image of the group’s history.48 Viewed from this perspective, references to the ‘ancient songs’ of the Goths must have played an essential function in the work. If Cassiodorus sought primarily to glorify the Amali within his composition, as is often assumed, then ostensible deference to the very ideologies that the ruling clan propounded would have been essential to the realization of this ambition. The self-evidently mythical parade of names in the upper branches of the Amal family tree has been variously identified as newly minted tradition, or the preservation of dimly remembered names, revived by association with the ruling group.49 Cassiodorus’ privileged access to extant Gothic traditions has also been used to explain the more idiosyncratic personal names, toponyms and stories of the Getica narrative.50 The result is not an account of the group’s prehistory that may be read euhemeristically, but a dark mirror through which the complex processes of group formation during the latter stages of the migration period may be viewed.51 Within such a reading, the Getica is primarily valued as a more or less accurate reflection of the politically charged historical myths of the early sixth century, adapted by Cassiodorus and thereafter employed within the armoury of Amal self-promotion. Other scholars have viewed this position with some scepticism, and have challenged both the confidence with which the form of Cassiodorus’ lost work may be inferred from the Getica, and the use of later texts and artificial generic classification to illuminate its function and methodology.52 The continuity of the Amal line during a period of considerable political and 47

48 49 50

51

52

Perhaps the most confident assessment of the Getica as a genuine reflection of Cassiodorus’ work is provided by Wolfram (1988), pp. 3, 4, 15; cf. also the restatement of this position at Wolfram (1994), pp. 35–6. Wolfram (1988), pp. 19–35 and (1994), pp. 19–38. Heather (1991); Wolfram (1994), pp. 29–31, 36–7. Compare, for example, Wolfram (1975/6) and (1994), pp. 23–4; Svennung (1967), pp. 32–110; Wagner (1967), pp. 103–22; and the defence of this approach in Pohl (2002), pp. 228–30. Wolfram (1994), p. 26: ‘The tribal sagas are not chronologically and historically reliable records. They have been subject to the ever-changing oral tradition until they, or rather fragments of them, came to be written down.’ Wolfram’s critics, however, have been swift to note that the narrative of his own Geschichte der Goten is structured closely upon that provided by Jordanes; cf. Goffart (1988), p. 110–11, n.397. Goffart (1988), passim, and esp. p. 105: ‘Cassiodorus would be poorly served if we imagined that his celebration of the Amals and their people could be reconstructed on the basis of its Byzantine travesty.’ Broader challenges to the Traditionskern model, and its application to the study of Cassiodorus’ text, include: Bowlus (1995); Goffart (1995); and the papers collected in Gillett (2002a).

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Cassiodorus and Jordanes social upheaval has been contested, and the significance of the group as the guardians of an ‘authentic’ Gothic history disputed.53 More seriously for the present discussion, the very relevance of the distant past to the Goths themselves has been brought into question.54 Doubt has been cast on the likely practical value of a written Latin history to the consolidation of Amal rule among the Goths.55 Historical writing, after all, makes a poor propaganda tool in a largely illiterate society.56 Cassiodorus’ transformation of the fragments of Gothic history into a coherent narrative based loosely upon the migration myths of Exodus and the Aeneid, and his easy equation of the Ostrogoths of the sixth century with the Getes, Amazons and Huns of Mediterranean historiography, have also been cited as illustrations of the relevance of his work to the classically minded audience of the Roman senate, rather than to the Gothic court in Ravenna.57 Those sections of the Getica which purport to be based upon oral traditions have similarly been subject to this indefatigable Quellenforschung. By noting the classical or scriptural antecedents behind these supposedly ‘Gothic’ stories, the foundations of the Getica in barbarian myth have been substantially eroded.58 Following this reasoning, those personal names or terms within the text which are thought to be ‘Gothic’ in origin have been dismissed as reflections of the ingenuity and wit of Cassiodorus, or so altered by the filters of his classical understanding as to have had little relevance either to the history of the first half of the first millennium or to the creation of the Ostrogothic state in Italy.59

53 54 55 57

58

59

Goffart (2002), pp. 33–4, 46–7; Gillett (2002c), p. 87, n.7. Goffart (1995), pp. 19–30 and (2002). Gillett (2002c), p. 88; cf. Reynolds (1998), p. 26. 56 Heather (1991), p. 42. This position is adopted most vociferously by Christensen (2002), p. 127: ‘What kind of people is this, that would allow a Roman in the service of their king to so blatantly distort its history, which is portrayed in its own traditional songs?’ and passim. Compare also Goffart (1988), pp. 89–90 who argues that Jordanes’ adoption of classical migration tropes was independent of any genuine ‘Gothic’ tradition, and Amory (1997), p. 297. See, for example, Maenchen-Helfen (1944/5), pp. 244–8 who notes the origins of the description of the Haliurunnae at Getica XXIV.121–2 in the scriptural story of the fallen angels, and the identification of the ‘curiously Homeric ring’ to Jordanes’ account of Attila at p. 244, and Christensen (2002), pp. 158–96 on the influence of Ammianus and Ptolemy on the account of Ermanaric’s kingdom at Getica XXIII.116–20. See also Gillett (2000), p. 484, n.9 who notes in passing that the references to maiores at Getica IX.59 and XXIX.148 have written antecedents and need not imply Jordanes’ reliance here upon his ‘own’ traditions: an observation supported by Orosius’ similar use of the term at Or., Hist. I.2.1 and 83. Goffart (1995), pp. 28–9. Goffart’s statements rest in part upon the observation of MaenchenHelfen (1944/5), p. 245: ‘All the passages in the Getica which go back, or seem to go back to old Gothic tradition, prisca eorum carmina . . . , are copied from literary sources.’ This statement places a particular emphasis upon Jordanes’ own, apparently ambivalent, attitude to oral sources at IV.28. For discussion of this passage, see below, pp. 124–6.

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Jordanes In part, the differences between these scholarly positions have been generated by misunderstanding and the polemical requirements of contemporary scholarship quite as much as by genuine differences of methodology: at least within the context of the interpretation of the Getica.60 The ideological value of Cassiodorus’ history to the Ostrogothic court was dependent not upon its accuracy as an account of the earliest stages of Gothic history, but rather on its capacity to create an image of this past which made sense in the context in which it was written. Similarly, a text need not be viewed as a work of propaganda for it to be useful as an illustration of the desires and assumptions of its audience.61 Few scholars would now dispute that the Gothic migration narrative reflected the needs of sixth-century society, rather than the faithful preservation of long-standing oral traditions.62 Equally, the majority of modern studies accept that contact with the classical world will have had a profound effect upon the form and content of societies and their myths, both as a result of gradual acculturation during the fourth and fifth centuries, and through the transmission of these songs into written form during the sixth.63 When the sherds of Gothic memory were pieced together to form the new vessels of narrative history, it is perhaps not surprising that they adopted the form of Mediterranean fine-ware, rather than the coarse-ware of northern Europe. Yet the problem of reconstructing the intent behind Cassiodorus’ composition from its uncertain preservation in the Getica remains an insurmountable one. There is much in the extant text that fits poorly within the context of Ostrogothic Italy in the early sixth century. Prominent as the Amal genealogy is, the ruling house of Italy occupies a relatively peripheral position within a history which devotes considerable space to the vicissitudes of Gothic history within the Balkans and the 60

61

62

63

This is not to underestimate the significance of the wider theoretical debate over the application of ‘ethnogenesis’ models to the understanding of Germanic prehistory, a dispute that is manifested most visibly in the contrasting images of the Bavarian past: cf. for example the papers in Wolfram and Schwarcz (1985) and Wolfram and Pohl (1990), with the comments of Bowlus (1995) and (2002), pp. 249–56. In the context of Gothic prehistory, the practical methodologies employed by different groups, particularly in the reading of historical texts, remain remarkably similar. Misrepresentation is a common accusation within this literature. Compare Wolfram (1994), pp. 19, 26, n.28; Gillett (2002b), pp. 14–15; Pohl (2002), pp. 233, 239. A point succinctly made by Amory (1997), p. 303: ‘histories can reflect propaganda. Their interests will be directed partly by the interests that the powerful think is healthy for their subjects to have’; and cf. Pohl (2002), p. 228 and Reynolds (1998), pp. 335–6. A view succinctly expressed in the criticism of ‘ethnogenesis theory’ by Goffart (2002), p. 23: ‘Invented tradition strolls hand in hand with the distant past, an intermediary between the opacity of remote centuries and the desire of the present to appropriate alluring days of yore.’ Geary (1988), p. vi: ‘The Germanic world was perhaps the greatest and most enduring creation of Roman political and military genius’; Wenskus (1961), p. 489; Wolfram (1994), p. 26.

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Cassiodorus and Jordanes startling success of the Balthi within Gaul and Spain.64 Nor can Cassiodorus’ likely engagement with the different sources at his disposal be examined except with the greatest caution. The Getica as it stands is indisputably the work of Jordanes, whatever his debts to his luminous predecessor. Ultimately, it is only through the engagement of Jordanes with the different sources at his disposal – oral as well as written – that the relationship between these different forms of evidence may be assessed with confidence. Interest in the Gothic past did not fade with the slow death of the Ostrogothic kingdom in the Byzantine wars of reconquest. Nor did the Amals hold a monopoly over the Gothic past.65 Jordanes could happily celebrate the antiquity of the Goths while describing the decline of the erstwhile royal line of the Ostrogoths.66 The writer composed his work in a world in which different accounts of the group’s history continued to circulate, and evidently regarded his task as being rather more complex than the simple celebration of a dominant royal house. In two passages of the Getica that can be ascribed with confidence to the later epitomator, Jordanes’ unease at navigating the middle ground between an array of written and oral sources is readily apparent. In his preface, the writer betrays an awareness of alternative interpretations of his history that may have been available to his patron, Castalius: ‘Wherefore reproach me not, but receive and read with gladness what you have asked me to write. If aught be insufficiently spoken and you remember it, do you as a neighbour to our race add to it, praying for me, dearest brother.’67 Much the same tension is evident in the concluding paragraph to the work: perhaps the clearest indication of the difficulties facing the historian in this period: Let no one believe that to the advantage of the race of which I have spoken – as if I trace my own descent from it – I have added aught besides what I have read or learned by inquiry. Even thus, I have not included all that is written or told about them, nor spoken so much to their praise as to the glory of him who conquered them.68 64

65

66

67

68

An emphasis noted by Goffart (1988), pp. 62–8; Heather (1991), pp. 50–61; and Amory (1997), pp. 292–313 which provides the most persuasive presentation of Jordanes within the Balkan military milieu of Constantinople. Heather (1991), p. 61; contra Wolfram (1988), p. 15: ‘One generation before their fall the Amali had succeeded in monopolizing the entire Gothic tradition’; but note the qualification of this position at p. 16. Heather (1991), p. 52; Goffart (1988), pp. 65–8 notes the conspicuous brevity and ambivalent tone of Jordanes’ treatment of Theoderic’s reign. Compare also Teillet (1984), pp. 322–33 on the conspicuously ‘imperial’ perspective of the Getica in contrast to the political tone of Cassiodorus’ Variae. Getica Praef. 3: quare sine contumelia quod exigisti suscipe libens, libentissime lege; et si quid parum dictum est et tu, ut vicinus genti, commemoras, adde, orans pro me, frater carissime. Getica LX. 316: nec me quis in favorem gentis praedictae, quasi ex ipsa trahenti originem, aliqua addidisse credat, quam quae legi et comperi. nec si tamen cuncta, quae de ipsis scribuntur aut referuntur, complexus sum,

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Jordanes Jordanes inherited a long written history from Cassiodorus, but along with it a vast number of differing accounts of the Gothic past, through which he had to thread his way.69 This need not imply that the historian had privileged access to ‘authentic’ Gothic traditions that had been preserved since time immemorial, but merely that competing accounts of the group existed within Constantinople, which were transmitted in different forms.70 Ultimately charged with creating a relevant narrative history of a group who were fading from the political sphere of the mid-sixth century, Jordanes had to engage with all of the sources at his disposal, whether written, oral or a combination of the two. It is only by appreciating the complexity of his task that the accomplishment of the historian, in creating a narrative that remained authoritative for a millennium and a half, can be appreciated fully. The geographical introduction to the Getica provides an admirable window upon the context of the work’s composition. Few attempts have been made to regard Jordanes’ geographical work in depth and still fewer have investigated this section as a literary construct in its own right. Although the classical influences behind the passage have long been recognized by scholars, no single study has attempted to ascertain through detailed investigation whether the geographical introduction was the work of Jordanes, Cassiodorus or both. As a result, no attempt has considered the ramifications of the Getica’s geography in appropriate depth. In many ways, the geographical introduction may be read as a microcosm of the whole work.71 The section betrays a clear rhetorical and argumentative coherence and was certainly composed with a definite motive. Within it, Jordanes betrays a deference to his Cassiodoran model, yet deviates from it substantially. It seems likely that, while passages or phrases were appropriated from the Historia Gothorum, particularly on technical ethnographic matters, the structure into which they were fitted was Jordanes’ own. Alongside his borrowings from Cassiodorus, Jordanes exploited numerous classical writers and included digressive material of his own composition, often influenced by the oral traditions that continued to circulate in Constantinople in the mid-sixth

69

70

71

nec tantum ad eorum laudem quantum ad laudem eius qui vicit exponens [modified translation]. Mierow translates quasi ex ipsa trahenti originem as ‘though indeed I trace my own descent from it’. On the dispute over Jordanes’ own background, which partially rests upon this passage, see n. 258 below. Pace Gillett (2000), pp. 484–5 who argues on the strength of Jordanes’ stated preference for written sources that ‘If parts of the Getica do preserve oral tradition . . . they must transmit information from Jordanes’ written sources.’ On Jordanes’ assertion for the primacy of written history, see below, pp. 124–6. Amory (1997), p. 295 notes that such ‘oral’ traditions might include ‘commonplaces, court gossip, learned deductions or the stories brought back by travelers and soldiers from the West.’ Contra Goffart (1988), p. 75 who views the introduction as ‘colorful but inconsequential’, and Amory (1997), p. 300; cf. Pohl (1993) for a more sympathetic assessment.

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The geographical introduction century. The conclusions which follow are necessarily tentative, but appear to reveal a thoughtful historian and a geographer who may not have been immune from making elementary mistakes, but was certainly capable of exploiting the material available to him in an imaginative, and occasionally brilliant fashion. THE GEOGRAPHICAL INTRODUCTION

Commentators have long acknowledged the importance of Jordanes’ geographical section to the structure of his Getica, but the majority of studies have substantially underestimated its length. Unlike Orosius’ Historia, in which geographical and historical narrative may be distinguished with little difficulty, the Getica suffers from a certain blurring of these boundaries. As a result, much modern scholarship has encouraged an unconscious foreshortening of the geographical introduction. The description of Scythia, which is the last of Jordanes’ long digressions on the regions of the north, has been granted insufficient attention as a coherent feature of the writer’s geography. Crucially, the truncation of the opening geography of the Getica has led to an insufficient appreciation of the importance of the short paragraph that forms the conclusion to the introduction as a whole.72 Like the parallel introduction in the Historia of Orosius, the first chapters of the Getica are far more than a haphazard collection of material, and display a very obvious internal structure. The author first excuses himself from the burden of embarking upon a comprehensive description of the world by allusion to the innumerabiles . . . scriptores who had devoted themselves to such a task, among whom he certainly would have included the Spanish presbyter.73 Rather than provide an exhaustive geography in the manner of his fifth-century predecessor, Jordanes immediately turns his attention to the circumferential Ocean, and dedicates the first chapters of the opening section to a summary of available knowledge of the islands in the outer sea. Starting with Hippodes, Iamnesia and Solis Perusta in the Indian Ocean, he draws a rapid periplus around the east and then moves his attention to the better-known islands of the west.74 The climax of this peregrination is marked by a direct quotation from Virgil to herald Thule, and the edge of the known world.75 Thereafter, Jordanes’ geography becomes significantly more detailed. His enumeration of the Oceanic islands is first broken by a brief, and 72 73

The paragraph in question is Getica V.38; for discussion, see below, pp. 124–6. Getica I.4. 74 Getica I.6–8. 75 Getica I.9.

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Jordanes apparently incongruous, assertion that the mysterious island of Scandza witnessed the origins of the Gothic race.76 Jordanes then devotes his attention to two substantial digressions on the larger islands of the Ocean. Britannia is described with extensive reference to classical authorities, and Jordanes’ account appears to have been derived principally from the writing of Tacitus and Cassius Dio.77 This is then followed by a long description of Scandza itself and a reiteration of its importance to the prehistory of the Goths. Again, Jordanes is clearly dependent upon antique sources, most conspicuously the work of Ptolemy and a variety of ethnographic texts.78 It is after the long description of Scandza that most recent accounts have located the end of Jordanes’ geographical section and the start of his historical narrative. Indeed, the chapters that immediately follow are concerned primarily with the migration of the Goths from Scandza and their earliest settlements within the continent, and are bereft of overt geographical elements. This reading of the opening section of the Getica was implicitly suggested by the broad subheadings with which Charles Mierow divided the piece in his English translation of the work at the beginning of the twentieth century, and has been accepted fairly uncritically ever since.79 Such an interpretation ignores the centrality of Jordanes’ subsequent chapters to the structure of his geographical opening. After a brief description of the mythology surrounding the secondary and tertiary Gothic migrations within Europe, Jordanes returns wholeheartedly to geographical concerns. The historian explicitly includes the description of Scythia within his geographical introduction at the outset, rather than his historical narrative: ‘Before we enter our history, we must describe the boundaries of this land, as it lies.’80 Jordanes’ subsequent description of the Goths’ new Scythian homeland draws upon both geographical and ethnographic sources.81 In length, the section is matched only by the earlier account of Scandza, and is considerably longer than Jordanes’ analysis of Britain. The writer then draws this digression to a close with an explanatory paragraph that reveals many of his motives in the composition of the geographical introduction as a whole. Within this short passage, Jordanes defends the conclusions he has drawn and notes the primacy of written evidence over more spurious methods of transmission.82 It seems 76 79

80 81

Getica I.9. 77 Getica II.10–15. 78 Getica III.16–24. Mierow (1915), p. 57; cf. for example, Goffart (1988), pp. 88–9 and Pohl (1993), p. 248, both of whom implicitly separate the description of Scythia from the remainder of the introduction, albeit for different reasons. Getica IV.29: antequam aliud ad medium deducamus, necesse est, ut iacent, edicere. Getica V.30–7. 82 Getica V.38.

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The geographical introduction likely that the passage was intended as a coda to the introduction as a whole, and as such it clearly lends a coherence to Jordanes’ geography that would otherwise be lacking. There can be little doubt that it is the central description of Scandza that forms the focus of Jordanes’ geographical introduction. The catalogue of islands that opens the section, and the long descriptions of Britannia and Scythia are all plainly intended to place the relatively little known northern island within a familiar context. The account of Scandza occupies the longest single section of the introduction, and Jordanes describes its features and inhabitants in considerably greater depth than those of any other region. Scandza is the only area to which Jordanes alludes on separate occasions, and its association with the genesis of the Goths ensures its focal position within the introduction. Scandza itself may be identified with the southern tip of Scandinavia, which was ubiquitously and erroneously identified by antique authors as an island, rather than a fragment of a much larger peninsula.83 Jordanes’, however, is the first extant reference to the region after the golden period of Alexandrian cartography, and his work witnesses the first explicit inclusion of the island within a historical composition. Like Thule, with which it was frequently confused or conflated, Scandza occupied a somewhat ambiguous position within classical geography. As Jordanes’ substantial exploitation of Ptolemy demonstrates, however, the island was certainly known. Anticipating the cartographer by some two centuries, Pomponius Mela refers to a large and extremely fertile Codanovia.84 Pliny, similarly, locates Scatinavia within the Codanian Gulf, but expresses uncertainty regarding the calculation of its size.85 These references are likely to have been based upon mercantile contact with the northern region, and information probably continued to filter south over the centuries that followed.86 The importance of the Getica in readmitting Scandinavia to the conceptual geography of the south should not be underestimated. The inclusion of Scandza within the eighth-century Ravenna Cosmography was justified with reference, not to Ptolemy or the Latin geographers, but to Jordanes.87 More striking still is the extent to which later historians followed Jordanes’ lead in tracing the origins of their own historical 83

84 87

On antique perceptions of the far north cf. Romm (1992), pp. 156–60; Nansen (1911); Chevallier (1984); Parroni (1984); and see also the discussion above, pp. 95–7. On Scandinavia, cf. Dilke (1984); Whitaker (1980) and (1983); and esp. Svennung (1974). Pomponius Mela III.54. 85 Pliny, HN IV.96. 86 Alonso-Nu´n˜ez (1987a), pp. 1, 12. Ravenna V.30.1. Jordanes is also cited as an authority on Scythia at IV.1.1–2 and cf. also IV.5.7, 7.4; for discussion, compare Dagron (1971), p. 297; Schnetz (1925) and (1942), pp. 65–6; Dilke (1987e), p. 260.

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Jordanes subjects to the frozen island in the north. While Jordanes is not cited directly in Paul’s account of the Lombards, Freculphus’ of the Franks or the account of Burgundian origins in the Passio Sancti Sigismundi regis, the promotion of Scandinavia to an elite group of distant regions from which peoples might trace their origins surely owed much to the impact of the Getica upon early medieval imaginations.88 Unlike Thule, the very isolation of which had made it a cause ce´le`bre, Scandza had sunk into relative obscurity by the early medieval period. The very uncertainty of the position of Scandza within European thought both aided the impact of the Getica and created considerable problems for its writer. A half-familiar and barely habitable island in the fantastic north made an ideal stage for the earliest acts of Gothic prehistory, but its very mystery made its inclusion as a central feature of a historical work a problematic exercise. Much of the geographical introduction was directed towards a facilitation of this process. The aspect of Scandza that most interested Jordanes was its supposed role as the nurturing place of the Gothic people. The migration of the Goths from this northern island is the only episode to link the outer sea, described in the opening chapters, with the broader patterns of Gothic history recounted in the Getica. Britain and the smaller islands play almost no part in the later historical account, and even Scandza only appears in the main body of the Getica in order to reiterate its importance as the birthplace of the Goths.89 It is hardly surprising that the migration under Berig should be mentioned twice in the introduction and that both references should occupy focal positions. The episode is first mentioned prior to the long digression on Britain and then again after the similar account of Scandza: ‘Now from this island of Scandza, as from a hive of races or womb [or ‘scabbard’] of nations, the Goths are said to have come forth long ago, under their king, Berig by name.’90 This episode provides a crucial link between the introduction and the narrative that it precedes. Without it, the long prefatory accounts of the Oceanic islands would be rendered meaningless, and the history itself would be bereft of an appropriately mythical and prehistoric opening. With this in mind, the whole of the geographical introduction is best interpreted as a context for one focal event. The accounts of Britain, Thule and even Scandza itself are designed primarily to illuminate the key 88

89 90

Paul the Deacon, HL I.1 and cf. Orig. gentis Lang. 1 (Scadinavia / Scadan / Scandanan / Scadanan); Freculphus, Chron. I.2.17; Pass. Sanct. Sig. 2.333 on the Burgundians in Scanadavia (sic). Getica XVII.94–5; XXIV.121. Getica IV.25: Ex hac igitur Scandza insula quasi officina gentium aut certe velut vagina nationum cum rege suo nomine Berig Gothi quondam memorantur egressi [modified translation]. Mierow (1915) translates vagina as ‘womb’. For discussion of the significance of this interpretation, see below, pp. 147–8.

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The geographical introduction migration passage, and to make sense of the earliest periods of Gothic history. This background was of central importance for the transmission of what was, in essence, a highly controversial association of the Goths and Scandinavia. This deliberate attempt to place the Berig migration in a precise geographical context makes rather more sense when the controversial nature of the episode itself is considered. Vast reams of modern scholarship have been devoted to the identification of the true origins of Gothic society and culture, and there is little reason to suppose that matters were any clearer in the sixth century than they have been in the twentieth and twenty-first.91 Neither Cassiodorus nor Jordanes could derive his account of Gothic prehistory from classical sources, and in turning to different forms of evidence, interpretative problems naturally arose.92 Even if it is accepted that Gothic traditions regarding the earliest migrations of the group were extant – which seems unlikely – it is inconceivable that such myths would have been marked by a spatial precision that would have satisfied a classically minded audience.93 In order to render such accounts intelligible, and to subscribe to the generic requirements of historical writing, the Mediterranean historians would have been required to fit Gothic elements within a Graeco-Roman Weltbild.94 While the account of the Berig migration reveals a number of recognizably mythological elements, which may well have derived ultimately from oral traditions, the specific association of the group with the island of Scandza must have been a Mediterranean rationalization of this information. Gothic nomenclature would probably have existed, but this would have been largely useless to the compiler of the Getica in the absence of an established geographical context in which to place this material. The ‘Romanization’ of oral myth was thus an interpretative process and one that was not without substantial difficulties. The need to justify conclusions drawn through heavy reference to established fact was profound, and with this in mind the long introduction to the Getica does not seem excessive. This interpretation of Gothic tradition through the familiar nomenclature of Graeco-Roman geography is most clearly indicated in the

91

92 93

94

On the twentieth-century debate, cf. Andersson (1971), pp. 373–5; Pohl (1993), pp. 228–9; Amory (1997), p. 36. Andersson (1963), p. 29. Heather (1991), p. 66; Wolfram (1994), p. 29 argues that the Scandza location was an established feature of Gothic oral traditions. Heather (1996), p. 30, although Heather reaches different conclusions from those expounded here on the originality (or otherwise) of Jordanes’ position; cf. also Goffart (1988), p. 89.

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Jordanes description of the events that immediately followed the Berig migration, once the Goths had begun to establish themselves in Europe: But when the number of the people increased greatly and Filimer, son of Gadaric, reigned as king – about the fifth since Berig – he decided that the army of the Goths with their families should move from that region. In search of suitable homes and pleasant places they came to the land of Scythia, called Oium in that tongue. Here they were delighted with the great richness of the country, and it is said that when half the army had been brought over, the bridge whereby they had crossed the river fell into utter ruin, nor could anyone thereafter pass to or fro.95

The influence of oral tradition on this passage is palpable. Classical and scriptural parallels for the over-population motif, the Arcadian description of the Scythian Canaan and the broken bridge image do suggest that Gothic migration stories had not survived uncontaminated by contact with the Mediterranean world, but they remain recognizably the tropes of oral tradition.96 Of particular significance here is the repeated – and surely pointed – rendering of Gothic Scythia as Oium.97 The term may, of course, have been a simple invention of Jordanes or Cassiodorus, intended to lend a witty verisimilitude to a knowingly derivative origin myth, but the context in which the term appears, and its deliberate repetition, suggests that the toponym was inherited by the author of the Getica and carefully reconciled with the classical image of the distant north.98 The Getica would have prompted few raised eyebrows in identifying Gothic Oium with the vast area north of the Danube. Indeed, to judge from the allusion later in the same section, Jordanes may have taken his lead from the lost work of the mysterious Ablabius.99 Even without descending into speculative Quellenforschung, the identification of the region seems straightforward enough. Mediterranean writers had long recognized the position of the Goths on the Scythian periphery and, since the emergence of the threat from that quarter during the fourth century, 95

96 98 99

Getica IV.26–7: Ubi vero magna populi numerositate crescente et iam pene quinto rege regnante post Berig Filimer, filio Gadarigis, consilio sedit, ut exinde cum familiis Gothorum promoveret exercitus. Qui aptissimas sedes locaquae dum quereret congrua, pervenit ad Scythiae terras, quae lingua eorum Oium vocabantur: ubi delectatus magna ubertate regionum et exercitus mediaetate transposita pons dicitur, unde amnem traiecerat, inreparabiliter corruisse, nec ulterius iam cuidam licuit ire aut redire. Dagron (1971), p. 300. 97 On Oium, see Green (1999), p. 14. Pace Goffart (1995), p. 29. Getica IV.28: quod et Ablavius descriptor Gothorum gentis egregius verissima adtestatur historia. The inclusion of this reference as a postscript to the discussion of Oium encourages the suspicion that Ablabius was included either as authentication for the description of Filimer’s victory over the Spali (which it immediately follows) or, more probably, as a simple exercise in name-dropping. On the likely content of Ablabius’ lost work, and the disputes surrounding it, see below, pp. 156–7.

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The geographical introduction the area had enjoyed firm Gothic associations.100 Jerome and Orosius had identified the relatively unfamiliar Goths with the Scythian Getae of ancient historiography and the Getica – as its title might suggest – happily continues this tradition.101 In the wake of this authority, the identification of Oium could be made with little comment and, it might be assumed, with the expectation of little contradiction. The same was emphatically not true of Scandinavia. If Gothic settlement in Scythia had long been recognized from the Mediterranean, the genesis of the group remained frustratingly obscure. Jordanes’ is the earliest known work explicitly to associate the Goths with Scandza and his interpretation was merely one among several. Thule and Britain were probably also cited as possible homelands of the group in near contemporary works.102 At the time of composition, the Getica’s introduction of the northern island into Gothic history was a dangerously innovative one, and the earliest period of Gothic prehistory could not be considered so lightly as the more recent migrations. As a result, Jordanes presented his conclusions only within a very carefully constructed context. The thoughtful structure of the introduction, and the considered application of established geographical authorities within it, certainly bolster the argument in the Getica, but cannot disguise the spurious grounds upon which the Scandza conclusion is drawn. Like Orosius, the author of the Getica very deliberately manipulated his geographical opening for rhetorical ends. This manipulation was especially important in disguising the absence of precedent for the assertion of these Scandinavian Gothic origins. To this end, extant authorities are put to effective use, and by inundating his audience with a shower of references, Jordanes almost succeeds in camouflaging the weakness of his own suppositions. Conspicuously, classical authors are cited most ebulliently in the central section of the geographical introduction – at precisely the point where the Scandinavian roots of the Goths are first expounded. The avalanche of citation is initiated by direct quotation from Georgics on the isolation of Thule, and its deference to empire.103 There then follows a mistaken attribution to Livy in the description of Britannia, a more general assertion of the importance of 100

101

102

103

On Mediterranean accounts of the northern Goths cf. esp. Vasiliev (1936); Wolfram (1988), pp. 19–28; Teillet (1984), pp. 43–5. Jerome, Hebr. quaest. Gen. 10.2; Or., Hist. I.16.2. Jordanes cites Orosius on this equivalence at Getica IX.58, but elsewhere employs the terms interchangeably. Cf. Eliade (1972), pp. 71–2; Iordache (1983); Heather (1991), pp. 44–5. Goffart (1988), p. 85; Heather (1991), p. 66; although Heather is critical of Goffart’s precise interpretation, p. 66, n.82. Getica I.9.

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Jordanes Greek and Latin authors, and a catalogue of information explicitly taken from Strabo, Tacitus and Cassius Dio.104 The Scandza section quotes extensively from a recension of Ptolemy, supplemented by unacknowledged, but readily apparent, use of Julius Honorius, Orosius and Pomponius Mela. Amongst these references are embedded two short – and unprecedented – assertions that the Goths were indeed of Scandinavian stock. Classical authors are cited throughout the Getica, but nowhere is the density of reference as great as in the central section of the geographical introduction. In all, the names of fifteen established authors are invoked over the course of the whole work, of whom seven are included in the passages relating to Thule, Britain and Scandinavia. Of these authors, only one, Cassius Dio, is cited elsewhere in the text, and this apparent continuity probably resulted from a confusion between the writer and his near-namesake Dio Chrysostom.105 To this group might be added Josephus, who is cited in the Getica only in the description of the Oium settlement.106 It should also be noted that Jordanes dispenses with cited geographical authority when describing areas removed from his principal concern, which would add little to the argumentative thrust of his work. The smaller islands which open the introduction are recounted without explicit recourse to familiar authors, and the description of Scythia that closes it is similarly unmarked. The precise structure of this deference is also revealing. The first of these references, one of the few direct quotations in the work, emphasizes the importance of Thule in contrast to the smaller islands that precede it in the introduction: ‘And at the farthest bound of its western expanse it has another island named Thule, of which the Mantuan bard makes mention: ‘‘And Farthest Thule shall serve thee’’.’107 The most significant aspect of this quotation, however, is the passage that it immediately precedes: The same mighty sea has also in its arctic region, that is, in the north, a great island named Scandza, from which my tale (by God’s Grace) shall take its beginning. For the race whose origin you ask to know, burst forth like a swarm of bees from the midst of this island and came into the land of Europe.108

This serves the ostensible purpose of locating Scandza within the familiar world of literary geography, and draws an obvious parallel between the 104 107

108

Getica I.10–15. 105 See below, pp. 139–40. 106 Getica IV.29. Getica I.9: Habet et in ultimo plagae occidentalis aliam insulam nomine Thyle, de qua Mantuanus inter alia: ‘tibi serviat ultima Thyle’; cf. Virgil, Georgics I.30. Getica I.9: Habet quoque is ipse inmensus pelagus in parte artoa, id est septentrionali, amplam insulam nomine Scandzam, unde nobis sermo, si dominus iubaverit, est adsumpturus, quia gens, cuius originem flagitas, ab huius insulae gremio velut examen apium erumpens in terram Europae advinit.

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The geographical introduction starting point of the Getica and a long-recognized geographical landmark of Antiquity. The juxtaposition of the two islands also performs a second, and far more important function. The absence of any direct literary antecedent for the Berig episode is essentially side-stepped by its artificial association with familiar Virgilian verse. It was presumably in order to link Scandza with Virgil’s Ultima Thyle that Jordanes introduced the northern island so early in his account. Conspicuously, this first reference is not followed by a longer description of the island, but instead gives way to a digression on Britain, only after which is Scandza explored more fully. This structure allows the writer to introduce the difficult concept of Scandinavian migration in the wake of indisputable literary authority, and then immediately turn his attention to a second, and more familiar area. The section that follows this allusion to Berig’s migration is similarly awash with reference to established authority. Britain was a topic of great interest to antique geographers, and Jordanes plundered the classical canon with considerable aplomb.109 The almost fetishistic use of citation in this section is best demonstrated by the first of these references – an apparently erroneous allusion to Livy: ‘Although Livy tells us that no one in former days sailed around it, because of its great size, yet many writers have held various opinions about it.’110 This information may have been derived from a lost chapter of Livy’s work, but a more widely accepted theory suggests that the citation derived from a careless reading of Tacitus.111 Jordanes betrays here an apparent misinterpretation of a reference to Livy in Agricola – a work which the writer later exploits in considerable depth. Tacitus’ account features Livy as an authority only on the shape of Britain.112 The reference to the first circumnavigation of the island actually comes later in the same chapter, and is clearly distinct from material borrowed from the earlier writer. Nevertheless, Jordanes’ motives in appropriating the name of the historian are fairly obvious. The stature of Livy would have made his inclusion in the geographical chapter natural enough, but it would have seemed particularly attractive when placed immediately after the problematic Berig migration. The first indication of the importance of Scandza to the Getica, then, is sandwiched between two ostensibly authoritative quotations, which together lend it a vicarious authority of its own. In much the same way, 109 110

111

112

On Britain, see above, pp. 93–5, and below, pp. 249–56. Getica II.10: cuius licet magnitudine olim nemo, ut refert Libius, circumvectus est, multis tamen data est varia opinio de ea loquendi. Mommsen (1882), p. 56, n.1; Devillers (1995), p. 128, n.11 suggests uncritically that Jordanes refers here to the lost Book 105 of Livy’s Roman History. This seems unlikely for the reasons outlined in the text. Tacitus, Agricola 10.

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Jordanes the second allusion to the same migration is made only in the wake of a substantial description of Scandza, and Jordanes’ account does not linger upon the migration itself. While the Berig episode is clearly the focal feature of his geography, and appears twice within the chapter, Jordanes only ever presents the arrival of the Goths in Europe within a contrived literary setting. In each case the migration is recounted in the shadow of considerable, if slightly irrelevant, geographical scholarship. Jordanes exploits this technique most audaciously in the chapter that concludes the geographical introduction: We read that on their first migration the Goths dwelt in the land of Scythia near Lake Maeotis. On the second migration they went to Moesia, Thrace and Dacia, and after their third they dwelt again in Scythia, above the sea of Pontus. Nor do we find anywhere in their written records legends which tell of their subjection to slavery in Britain or in some other island, or of their redemption by a certain man at the cost of a single horse. Of course if anyone in our [city] says that the Goths had an origin different from that I have related, let him object. For myself, I prefer to believe what I have read, rather than to put trust in old wives’ tales.113

Surprisingly, the most interesting feature of this passage has largely escaped the critical attention of modern scholars. Jordanes’ contrast of written and oral sources was not simply an indication of his own exclusive dependence upon the former.114 There can be little doubt that the writer did appreciate the differences between the types of evidence available to him, and that he clearly valued written information above alternative sources. As close investigation of his opening chapter reveals, however, this overt discrimination should not be regarded as proof that Jordanes relied exclusively upon literary material. Indeed, this short methodological discussion appears to have been intended to disguise the precise nature of Jordanes’ own sources. The strength of Jordanes’ self-righteous invective is based upon a false comparison. He notes first, and quite rightly, that his own account of Gothic movements in Scythia was able to draw upon a substantial corpus of written evidence. The description here of the secondary and tertiary Gothic migrations may well have been derived from the work of 113

114

Getica V.38: Quorum mansione prima in Scythiae solo iuxta paludem Meotidem, secundo in Mysiam Thraciamque et Daciam, tertio supra mare Ponticum rursus in Scythia legimus habitasse: nec eorum fabulas alicubi repperimus scriptas, qui eos dicunt in Brittania vel in unaqualibet insularum in servitute redactos et in unius caballi praetio a quodam ereptos. Aut certe si quis eos aliter dixerit in nostro urbe, quam quod nos diximus, fuisse exortos, nobis aliquid obstrepebit: nos enim potius lectioni credimus quam fabulis anilibus consentimus. The passage has been cited extensively by modern studies as evidence for Jordanes’ exclusive dependence upon written, rather than oral, tradition. Compare Goffart (1988), p. 89; Gillett (2000), p. 485, n.12; Croke (1987), pp. 123–4; Amory (1997), p. 296.

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The geographical introduction Ablabius – a source to whom the Getica later returns in more detail during his historical narrative.115 The association of Goths and Scythia was not a novel one, moreover, and it was with the northern region that the Goths had most closely been associated in late Antiquity. Jordanes was certainly on firm ground when he asserted that his Scythian narrative was written with considerable literary precedent. Yet Jordanes does not condemn alternative interpretations on the strength of their accounts of Gothic Scythia, but rather upon their assertions regarding the earlier prehistory of the group. Again, the writer is probably right in his assertion that Gothic written history contained nothing regarding either British origins or the mysterious horse myth. What he remains silent upon, however, is his own authority in locating the earliest Gothic settlements in Scandza, rather than Britain. The whole section may thus be read as an example of authorial sleightof-hand, and the audience is tricked into the assumption that the whole of Jordanes’ narrative was as valid as his Scythian material. Instead, the Getica papers over difficult areas through the judicious use of circumstantial evidence and some extremely clever structuring. In reality, the central episode of the geographical introduction is little more than Jordanes’ own interpretation of the fabulae aniles, or ‘old wives’ tales’, available to him. It must be assumed that the writer would have exploited any written evidence of any kind that would support his interpretation. The absence of any such reference is telling. Jordanes’ authority was not, then, based upon privileged access to new sources of information, but rather resulted from his own manipulation of the old.116 The peculiar implications of oral evidence are indicated by the contrasting attitudes to evidence of this kind at various stages of the Getica. Not only does Jordanes avoid any reference to non-literary sources in his account of the Berig migration, a similar suspicion of oral material is also evident throughout his geographical introduction. His fantastic description of the swamps of Oium, for example, is moderated by an assertion that the accounts of travellers are not always to be believed.117 Jordanes’ suspicion of oral source material all but disappears when the author turns his attention to less contentious material elsewhere in the Getica. Later in the work, oral accounts are proudly paraded to illuminate, amongst other

115 116

117

Getica XIV.82; XXIII.117. On Ablabius, see below, pp. 156–7. Heather (1996), p. 28 concludes, surely incorrectly, that Getica V.38 proves that Jordanes had written authority for his assertions that the Goths had migrated from Scandza. This is precisely the conclusion that the writer hoped to provoke. Getica IV.27.

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Jordanes things, the deeds of Gothic ancestral heroes, the nomenclature of the group and the death of King Theodorid.118 Here, the sixth-century author may be seen to have ascribed to a longstanding distinction between the norms of geographical and historical writing, discussed in the introduction. While autopsy had been afforded a privileged role within the collection of historical evidence from Herodotus onwards, geographical works rested far more heavily upon the foundations provided by written precedent. Like each of the historians considered in this study, Jordanes adopted his most literary tone in the composition of his geographical chapter. Classical authorities leap forth from the page, and sources bereft of the authority of the written word are suppressed or actively disguised. In describing historical events, by contrast, Jordanes makes little allusion to his exploitation of written material, and proudly states his deference to oral tradition. The condemnation of other accounts in the concluding section of the introduction also highlights the intuitive nature of the investigation of Gothic origins. The ecclesiastical historian Sozomenus implies that fifthcentury Constantinople had experienced the circulation of a number of different Hunnic origin myths, and comparable stories regarding the Goths are likely to have prompted popular speculation a century later.119 It seems likely from the apologia at the end of the Getica introduction that at least one tradition had associated the Goths with Britain, and Jordanes’ reference to the horse myth may hint at a second interpretation.120 Modern scholars have also been quick to point out the likelihood that Procopius’ association of the Heruli with Thule was a manifestation of a third Gothic origin myth: When the Eruli, having been defeated in battle by the Langobardi, left their ancestral homes, some of them, as I have explained, settled in places among the Illyrians, but the rest were reluctant to cross the river Danube and established themselves at the very limits of the inhabited world . . . arriving at the ocean they took ship and having come to the island of the Thule they settled there.121

Procopius goes on to describe the island in some detail, and emphasizes both the barren nature of its terrain, and its unique experience of the midnight sun.122 While it should be noted that this passage is not an origin myth per se, and describes instead the exile of the group to the island, the 118 119 120 121

122

Getica V.43; XI.72; XL.208. Goffart (1988), p. 39; Heather (1991), p. 36. Sozomenus, HE VI.37. On this myth, cf. Wagner (1967), pp. 60–102; Svennung (1969), p. 78. Procopius, BG VI.15.1–4; Goffart (1988), pp. 88–96; although note Peter Heather’s objections (1991), p. 66, n.82. Procopius, BG VI.15.6–13.

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The geographical introduction association is a telling one. It has been convincingly argued that by this account Procopius sought to offer a paradigm for the treatment of the Goths after their expected defeat in Italy, and the most likely source for this programme would have been Procopius’ own interpretation of circulating Gothic traditions.123 It seems likely that Gothic tradition placed the origins of the group in a northern island of considerable size. The island itself may have been unnamed, or more probably had a Gothic nomenclature that would have been incomprehensible to the Graeco-Roman mind. Mediterranean writers were thus forced into drawing their own tentative conclusions as to its precise location, armed only with the Latin and Greek geographies of classical Antiquity. That the Goths were ascribed Scandinavian origins for so long is a mark of the persuasiveness of the interpretation offered by the Getica. A plausible thesis was defended with verve, but the subsequent acceptance of Jordanes’ argument should not disguise the caution with which his theory was first proposed. Authorship This careful structure certainly suggests that the geographical opening was devised as a coherent whole, with the intention of illuminating or justifying a central and contentious point. It is not immediately clear, however, whether this was an innovation of Jordanes’ own, designed to provide a preface for more obviously Cassiodoran material, or whether it was lifted in its entirety from the Historia Gothorum. Given the peculiar background to the composition of the Getica, this enigma can never fully be resolved, but some valuable suggestions may be derived from a close investigation of its constituent elements, and from the comments made by the epitomator in the preface to the work. Within his opening address to Castalius, Jordanes provides a typically ambiguous statement of his own contribution to the Getica as it survives. Here, the writer openly acknowledges his debt to Cassiodorus, but states, too, that he added his own material where appropriate: ‘To this I have added fitting matters from some Greek and Latin histories. I have put in an introduction and a conclusion, and have inserted many things of my own authorship.’124 Jordanes’ assertion that he composed his own introduction to the piece would seem to indicate that he claimed responsibility for the opening geography, an inference that is supported by the echo of 123 124

Goffart (1988), p. 95. Getica Praef. 3: ad quos et ex nonnullis historiis Grecis ac Latinis addedi convenientia, initium finemque et plura in medio mea dictione permiscens.

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Jordanes the sentiment at the start of his description of Britain.125 The only other explanation for this statement is that the introduction to which Jordanes refers was actually little more than the preface in which the statement appears. While this cannot be disproved, such a statement would be almost nonsensical. While such a supposition can only rest on conjecture, the structural elements argue persuasively that Jordanes was largely responsible for the introduction as it now stands. Despite this, there is good reason to believe that Jordanes was at least partially reliant upon Cassiodorus for some of the material within the geographical section, and traces of the earlier writer are frequently evident. In the ethnographic description of the inhabitants of Scandza, familiar motifs are occasionally apparent: ‘But still another race dwells there, the Suehans who, like the Thuringians, have splendid horses.’126 The Thuringians are similarly noted for the quality of their horses in Cassiodorus’ letter to their king, Herminafrid, written on behalf of Theoderic between 506 and 512.127 The letter itself was composed in response to a diplomatic gift of these animals, shortly after Herminafrid’s marriage to Theoderic’s niece, Amalaberga. Although the letter was certainly composed substantially before the Historia Gothorum, it seems reasonable to assume that both Cassiodorus and his Ravennate audience would have remembered the gift sufficiently to make his use of the comparison an appropriate one. Traces of Cassiodorus’ authorship may also be detected in the brief allusion to the northern exile, Roduulf, later in the same passage: Furthermore, there are in the same neighbourhood the Grannii, Augandzi, Eunixi, Taetel, Rugi, Arochi and Ranii, over whom Roduulf was king not many years ago. But he despised his own kingdom and fled to the embrace of Theoderic, king of the Goths, finding there what he desired.128

This has generally been read with little comment as the product of Cassiodorus’ pen for understandable reasons. Procopius refers to a King Rodolphuus of the Heruli, who was killed in battle against the Lombards in 493, and who may have enjoyed temporary sanctuary in previous years with Theoderic in Moesia.129 As such, it seems likely that Cassiodorus, as a later inhabitant of the same court, would have enjoyed a greater 125 126 127 128

129

Getica II.10: quem, ut a Graecis Latinisque autoribus accepimus, persequimur. Getica III.21: alia uero gens ibi moratur Suehans, quae uelud Thyringi equis utuntur eximiis. Cassiodorus, Var. IV.1; Barnish (1984), p. 341. Getica III.24: Sunt quamquam et horum positura Grannii, Augandzi, Eunixi, Taetel, Rugi, Arochi, Ranii. Quibus non ante multos annos Roduulf rex fuit, qui contempto proprio regno ad Theodorici Gothorum regis gremio conuolauit et, ut desiderabat, inuenit. Procopius, BG VI.14.11–13.

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The geographical introduction knowledge of the king than Jordanes, who wrote in Constantinople some sixty years after Roduulf’s supposed death. Several commentators have extended this argument to suggest that Roduulf may have been a significant source of ethnographic information for the Historia Gothorum. As a northern king, and a temporary occupant of the Gothic court, Roduulf could have provided information that later found its way to the Italian historian.130 There are several problems with this interpretation, although none of them is substantial enough to warrant its complete rejection. Perhaps chief among these is the immediate acceptance by later commentators that Roduulf’s origins were precisely those claimed by the Getica. There is no reason to interpret Procopius’ brief account of the king’s background as an assertion that his homeland was in the far north of Europe or in Scandza. Indeed, the political and ideological implications of Theoderic’s support for a northern exile would have been considerable in the early years of the sixth century, when his people began to assert their own affiliation with the northern parts of Europe. Roduulf’s somewhat ambiguous origins may thus have been imposed, or accentuated retrospectively by Cassiodorus, in an effort to develop the political undertones of his own work. The Getica may, of course, be correct in its association of Roduulf with the far north, but the possibility that it merely reflects an ideological distortion should not be overlooked. This suspicion of political expediency, of course, implies that Cassiodorus may be identified as the writer responsible for the inclusion of the Roduulf reference. While the connections of each with Theoderic’s court make this quite probable, it is perfectly conceivable that Jordanes had some independent knowledge of the northern king. Given Procopius’ contemporaneous reference to the individual, it is clear that Roduulf was remembered in Constantinople in the mid-sixth century. Walter Goffart’s recent suggestion that the mysterious fra¨nkische Vo¨lkertafel, or ‘Table of Nations’, originated in sixth-century Byzantium further highlights the ethnographic interests of the Justinianic capital.131 The Vo¨lkertafel consists of little more than a classified list of thirteen Germanic gentes, and survives in a variety of western recensions, but it displays a number of apparently Byzantine idiosyncrasies.132 The same period witnessed the composition of the Ethnika of Stephanus of Byzantium, a vast compilation of ethnic names and origin traditions 130 131 132

Von Grienberger (1902), p. 128; Heather (1993a), p. 347; Christensen (2002), p. 256. Goffart (1989), p. 157. On the manuscript tradition of the Vo¨lkertafel, see Goffart (1983), pp. 135–49. A tentative composite edition is proposed at p. 149.

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Jordanes from a variety of classical texts which survives only in a later epitome. When considered alongside the varied ethnographic digressions of Procopius and Agathias, these texts provide a vivid reminder of the scholarship prompted by the cosmopolitan milieu of Justinianic Constantinople: the same environment in which Jordanes worked.133 Cassiodorus certainly remains the most likely source for the Roduulf allusion, but a Constantinopolitan origin cannot be dismissed entirely. Neither the reference to Thuringian horses nor the account of Roduulf is wholly conclusive, therefore, but the coincidence of two such elements within one relatively short passage is a persuasive argument that Cassiodorus had a profound influence upon at least part of the geography of the Getica. It remains possible, of course, that in both cases Jordanes deliberately adopted Cassiodoran motifs in order to lend his own writing a literary gravitas and to disguise his own innovations. In the conclusion to the Getica, which was certainly the work of Jordanes, the writer exploits a floral image that has definite Cassiodoran overtones.134 A similar motif also appears in the preface to his Romana.135 There can be little doubt that each allusion was entirely deliberate, and that Jordanes recognized the value of adopting the language of his principal model in the composition of his own additions. As such, the comparison between Suehan and Thuringian horses is hardly illuminating. Similarly, the later reference to Theoderic’s court may have been an artificial association with Cassiodorus’ work. The coincidence of the two elements within the same short passage, however, suggests either that Jordanes adopted a derivative writing style only sporadically, or that the influence of the earlier writer within this section may be surmised. In the absence of convincing evidence to the contrary, there is little reason to discard these ephemeral links entirely. It seems reasonable to assume that Jordanes derived at least some of his material on the ethnography of Scandza from a survey originally written by Cassiodorus, which he then altered to a greater or lesser extent to fit in with his own account. Cassiodorus’ original was probably tailored to the requirements of his courtly audience, and may even have been produced independently of his historical work. If the Historia Gothorum did include such a survey, however, the context in which it appeared is unlikely to have borne much resemblance to the geographical introduction of the 133

134

135

Amory (1997), pp. 136–42 provides a brief discussion of Justinianic ethnography. Cf. also Wilson (1983), pp. 55–6 on Stephanus; and Cameron (1968); Svennung (1967), pp. 193–7; AlonsoNu´n˜ez (1987a); and esp. Cesa (1982) on Procopius’ ethnography. Getica LX.313; cf. Cassiodorus, Var. Praef. 11; IX.25.5; Janson (1964), pp. 81–2; O’Donnell (1979), p. 52. Romana Praef. 2; Janson (1964), p. 82.

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The geographical introduction 136

Getica. Although elements of Cassiodoran prose are evident within the description of Scandza, the Italian writer is conspicuous only by his absence in the remainder of the introduction. Jordanes’ involvement in the construction of the introduction is most convincingly suggested by the Orosian elements that recur throughout the passage. Indeed, the very inclusion of a geographical introduction to a work of history evidently owes much to the Spanish presbyter. Orosius was known to both Cassiodorus and Jordanes, and either might have taken his lead from the fifth-century writer, but it is here, rather than in less tangible forms of historical transmission, that the most likely structural influences behind the Getica are to be found. Orosius was a central source in Jordanes’ Romana, and it seems reasonable to suggest that the later writer continued this deference during his composition of the Getica.137 Cassiodorus, by contrast, appears to have regarded the historian with less affection.138 Orosius appears in his Institutiones only after hyperbolic praise of Eusebius and his continuators, and then in far from effusive terms: ‘Orosius, who compares Christian times with pagan, is also at hand, if you desire to read him.’139 Crucially, the whole of the opening section of the Getica is infused with Orosian material. This is apparent not only in the direct reference to the writer at the very start of the introduction, but further in the individual geographical passages, as shall be discussed. While Mommsen is certainly correct in his assertion that Julius Honorius was a major influence upon this section, it is difficult to sustain his argument that the principal geographical source was a map influenced by the writer.140 Throughout the introduction, Orosius, and not Honorius, is the dominant source of information, and Cassiodorus’ praise of the latter in his Institutiones thus seems largely irrelevant to the authorship dispute.141 In the light of their differing attitudes towards Orosius, Jordanes seems more likely than Cassiodorus to have introduced his history in deliberate emulation of the fifth-century writer. Some rather elusive hints to the authorship of the geographical opening are also provided by its frequent authorial interjections. This is evident first in the brief intervention that accompanies the initial reference to Berig’s migration: ‘For the race whose origin you wish to know burst forth like a swarm of bees from the midst of this island and came into the

136 137 139

140

Contra Pohl (1993), p. 248, who argues that the introduction was entirely Cassiodorus’. Mommsen (1882), p. XXVII. 138 Hillgarth (1992), p. 163. Cassiodorus, Inst. I.17.1: Orosius quoque, Christianorum temporum paganorumque collator, praesto vobis est, si eum legere volveritis. Mommsen (1882), pp. XXXI–XXXIV. 141 Cassiodorus, Inst. I.25.1.

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Jordanes 142

land of Europe.’ Here, the writer addresses his patron in considering the crucial episode, just as he employs a direct authorial voice in the paragraph that concludes the introduction. It is frustrating that in both cases the identity of the writer responsible for these interjections has never been conclusively proved.143 In recent years, however, Jordanes has been identified as the author most likely to exploit the form, if only because the scattered uses of the first person within the Getica tie together so neatly. It has been assumed that, had Jordanes attempted to copy Cassiodorus’ authorial asides verbatim, certain inconsistencies would have crept into his epitome.144 Within the context of the geographical introduction as a whole, such an interpretation is certainly convincing, and it seems unlikely that the later writer would slavishly copy Cassiodorus’ own interjection so shortly after including Orosian elements on his own initiative. Jordanes’ assertion that he supplemented Cassiodorus’ history with ‘fitting matters from some Greek and Latin histories’ would seem to mirror precisely the modus operandi evident within his opening passage. As a result, his subsequent statement that he had added an initium, or introduction, may be read as a declaration of his own composition of the geographical introduction as it stands.145 If we accept Peter Heather’s attractive theory that Jordanes had only fragmentary notes for some sections of the Historia Gothorum, and supplemented these with his own reflections, it seems most likely that the geographical section was an area in which Jordanes deviated substantially from the precedent set by his model.146 ANALYSIS OF INDIVIDUAL SECTIONS

Small islands The rapid peregrination of the outer sea, which forms the opening section of the geographical introduction, appears at first to be a straightforward exploitation of familiar sources. The importance of Orosius and the fifthcentury Cosmographia of Julius Honorius is obvious and both are exploited throughout this short section. It seems likely that the latter was known through a textual recension rather than a map, and was exploited only where Orosius’ account was insufficient. Mommsen’s argument that 142

143

144

Getica I.9: quia gens, cuius originem flagitas, ab huius insulae gremio uelut examen apium erumpens in terram Europae aduinit. Hachmann (1970), pp. 60–1, and Svennung (1967), p. 138 and (1969), p. 78 argue that Cassiodorus was responsible for much of the material in the first person; Heather (1991), p. 50 supports Jordanes. Heather (1991), p. 50. 145 Getica Praef. 3. 146 Heather (1993a), pp. 343–4, n.91.

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Small islands Jordanes was reliant upon a cartographic representation of Julius Honorius’ work offers superficial explanation for certain aspects of the early part of the section, but fails to explain adequately the elementary geographical errors that are plainly evident in the latter parts.147 There can be little doubt that Jordanes was influenced extensively by Julius Honorius’ work in his account of the eastern islands: Thus there are to the east in the Indian Ocean, Hippodes, Iamnesia, Solis Perusta (which though not habitable is of great length and breadth), beside Taprobane, a fair island wherein there are towns or estates and ten strongly fortified cities. But there is yet another, the lovely Silefantina, and Theros also.148

The six islands are recounted here in exactly the order in which they appear in the extant textual recension of the Cosmographia.149 Jordanes only deviates from this model to give very brief asides on Solis Perusta and Taprobane. Solis Perusta appears in Solinus and Pliny as Solis Insula and in Pomponius Mela as the multiple Solis Insulae.150 All three accounts emphasize the great heat that made the island or islands uninhabitable. Taprobane is the only eastern island to be mentioned in Orosius’ geographical writing, and the island is also granted particular attention within the Getica.151 Jordanes’ description of the ten fortified cities is clearly derived from the earlier historian, and marks one of a series of obvious debts to Orosius’ work. Throughout his introduction, Jordanes defers to Orosius wherever possible, and follows the line propagated by the historian in areas of difficulty. This is particularly apparent in the much less straightforward account of the western islands. The description of the western region is extremely confused, and Jordanes seems rather less comfortable in his enumeration of the occidental islands than in the ingenuous account of the east. The section is marked, in particular, by two peculiar mistakes, the first of which certainly argues against Jordanes’ use of a map in his composition: ‘However, it [the Ocean] has other islands deeper within its own tides, which are called the Baleares; and yet another Mevania, besides the Orcades, thirty-three in number, though not all inhabited.’152 The misplacement of the Balearics within the Ocean, and the omission of 147 148

149 151 152

Mommsen (1882), pp. XXXI–XXXIII; followed by Nansen (1911), p. 129 and Dagron (1971), p. 297. Getica I.6: ut in orientali plaga et Indico Oceano Hyppodem, Iamnesiam, Solis perustam quamvis inhabitabilem, tamen omnino sui spatio in longo latoque extensam: Taprobanem quoque, in qua (excepto oppida vel possessiones) decem munitissimas urbes decoram sed et aliam omnino gratissimam Silefantinam: nec non et Theron . . . Cf. JH 3. 150 Solinus 54.4; Pliny, HN VI.96; Pomponius Mela III.71. Or., Hist. I.2.13, 16. Getica I.8: Habet tamen et alias insulas interius in suo estu, quae dicuntur Baleares, habetque et alia Mevania, nec non Orcadas numero XXXIII quamvis non omnes excultas.

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Jordanes Hibernia, suggest strongly that Jordanes relied here upon a misreading of literary authorities, rather than upon cartographic evidence. If the writer’s sources are assumed to be textual, the origins of this mistake are easy enough to identify. The Julius Honorius text describes the Balearics, with no additional comment, merely as islands of the Western Ocean.153 Within the schema of his Cosmographia, it might be noted, the writer is, technically, correct in this attribution. The divisions of the earlier work were made relative to a central point, rather than to the circumferential Ocean, and as a result the Balearic Islands are juxtaposed with Mevania and the Fortunate Isles, just as Cyprus, Rhodes, Cythera and Crete are listed alongside the islands of the Indian Ocean.154 Given that the Balearics would have been less familiar to Jordanes than the islands of the eastern Mediterranean, the simple repetition of his source is forgivable enough, particularly when the ambiguity of other written material on the group is considered. Although a careful scrutiny of Orosius would certainly have located the islands correctly, a more cursory reading of his work could easily have perpetuated the error: ‘[Sardinia] is bounded on the east and north-east by the Tyrrhenian Sea which faces the harbour of the city of Rome, on the west by the Sardinian Sea, on the southwest by the Balearic Islands located far away . . . ’155 Jordanes can perhaps be forgiven a momentary carelessness in his writing, especially if his work was based upon written, rather than cartographic, material. A second, and more perplexing, mistake is evident in Jordanes’ consideration of the Spanish promontories, alongside the western islands: Although some reckon as islands of Ocean the twin promontories of Gallaecia and Lusitania, where are still to be seen the Temple of Hercules on one and Scipio’s monument on the other, yet since they are joined to the extremity of the Galician country, they belong rather to the great land of Europe than to the islands of the ocean. 156

The origins of this assertion are somewhat obscure. Strabo locates both the temple and the monument on islands, and appears to have been correct in so doing.157 The sites themselves, however, were not located in Roman Galicia and Lusitania, but were considerably further south, near modern Huelva and at the mouth of the Guadalquivir, respectively. 153 155

156

157

JH 16. 154 JH 3. Or., Hist. I.2.102: Haec habet ab oriente et a borea Tyrrhenicum mare quod spectat ad portum urbis Romae, ab occasu mare Sardum, ab africo insulas Baleares longe positas . . . Getica I.7: Quamvis nonnulli et illa gemina Galliciae et Lysitaniae promuntoria in Oceani insulas ponant, in quarum una templum Herculis, in alia monumentum adhuc conspicitur Scipiones, tamen, quia extremitatem Galiciae terrae continent, ad terram magnam Europae potius quam ad Oceani pertinent insulas. Strabo III.5.5; III.1.9.

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Small islands The problem becomes more intriguing still when the description of Galicia and Lusitania, much later in the Getica, is considered: [The Sueves] formerly occupied as their country Galicia and Lusitania, which extend on the right side of Spain along the shore of the Ocean. To the east is Austrogonia, to the west, on a promontory, is the sacred monument of the Roman general Scipio, to the north Ocean, and to the south Lusitania and the Tagus River, which mingles golden grains in its sands and thus carries wealth in its worthless mud.158

The colligation of Galicia and Lusitania and the prominence of the Scipio monument in both sections betray obvious links between the passages, and both must have been the work of the same author. The focal assertion of the first passage – that the twin monuments of Hercules and Scipio were peninsular rather than insular – echoes Pomponius Mela’s similar argument on the location of the latter, and the natural extension of this motif to encompass both temples may have been Jordanes’ own innovation.159 Similarly, the golden grains of the Tagus are prominent in Mela’s account of the river, in keeping with classical tradition.160 Jordanes may thus have taken two central elements from a writer from whom he explicitly borrowed elsewhere in the introduction. The ambiguities of Mela’s account may also be responsible for Jordanes’ error in locating the twin monuments. Although Mela is explicit in his location of Scipio’s monument, and places the memorial close to the River Baetis, in what is now south-western Andalusia, his later description of the three promontories of the Lusitanian Atlantic coast may explain Jordanes’ confusion.161 It has been suggested that Mela’s emphasis upon the promunturium sacrum (the modern Cap St Vincent) was a primary cause of this confusion, and this is doubtless partially true.162 Indeed, much of the description may be explained with reference to the earlier writer. Mela’s ambiguities on the habitations of the Autrigones, for example, may explain Jordanes’ unorthodox inclusion of Austrogonia as the eastern boundary of Galicia and Lusitania.163 Here, as elsewhere, however, Jordanes was influenced by the spectre of Orosius’ work, and the historian again provides a satisfactory explanation for some of Jordanes’ more mysterious inclusions, especially if it is assumed that his work was read in conjunction with that of Pomponius 158

159 162

Getica XLIV.230: Quibus antea Gallicia et Lysitania sedes fuere, quae in dextro latere Spaniae per ripam Oceani porriguntur, habentes ab oriente Austrogonia, ab occidente in promuntorio sacrum Scipionis Romani ducis monumentum, a septentrione Oceanum, a meridie Lysitaniam et fluvium Tagum, qui harenis suis permiscens auri metalla trahit cum limi vilitate divitias. Pomponius Mela III.4. 160 Pomponius Mela III.8. 161 Pomponius Mela III.4; III.7. Pomponius Mela III.7; Mierow (1915), p. 144, n.7. 163 Pomponius Mela III.15.

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Jordanes 164

Mela. Despite his Spanish origins, Orosius provides a relatively short description of the Iberian peninsula and the region is not covered in any of the historian’s long digressions. Lusitania – a central feature of Mela’s account – is omitted entirely, for example, and no mention is made of either the Scipio monument or the temple of Hercules.165 This very reticence almost certainly forced Jordanes towards alternative sources of information for the Getica. It is significant, however, that the most striking feature of Orosius’ description appears to have been retained: ‘The second corner of Spain extends towards the northwest, where Brigantia, a city of Gallaecia, is located and raises its towering lighthouse, one of the few memorable structures, toward the watchtower of Britain.’166 The Brigantium lighthouse was, of course, a completely separate edifice from the temples already described, and was located some 350 miles to the north of them. Yet a writer familiar with the Iberian peninsula only through his reading might have conflated these monuments easily enough. The association of Scipio’s monument and Galicia, rather than Lusitania, cannot be the result of a simple misinterpretation of Pomponius Mela, and yet is easily explained if it is accepted that Jordanes simply assumed that the Brigantium lighthouse and the Scipio memorial were identical. Orosius’ implication that the lighthouse was both constructed on the coast (and not on an island) and ‘one of the few memorable structures’ – inter pauca memorandi operis – in Spain, makes the confusion still more understandable. It might also be noted that Orosius refers to the Autrigones as neighbours of Gallaecia, and makes multiple references to the River Tagus, albeit without allusion to its auriferous qualities.167 It thus seems likely that Jordanes constructed his twin accounts of Gallaecia and Lusitania with reference to both Orosius and Pomponius Mela. While most of the Spanish geography within the Getica was derived primarily from the latter work, the fragmentary material in Orosius’ Historia was of considerable importance and Jordanes’ deference to the author led him into unfortunate conclusions. The description of the smaller islands of the Ocean ends with short references to Mevania and the Orcades, and a slightly longer account of Thule. The usage Mevania for what is now known as the Isle of Man reveals little in itself about Jordanes’ sources, beyond betraying an 164

165

166

167

Alonso-Nu´n˜ez (1981), p. 149 states baldly that the description in Getica I.7–8 was influenced by Orosius. Or., Hist. I.2.69–74; on Orosius’ description of Spain, cf. Braun (1909); Alonso-Nu´n˜ez (1989), p. 492 and above, p. 74. Or., Hist. I.2.71: Secundus angulus circium intendit ubi Brigantia Gallaeciae ciuitas sita altissimam pharum et inter pauca memorandi operis ad speculam Britanniae erigit. Or., Hist. VI.21.3 (Autrigones); V.4.2 (River Tagus).

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Britannia apparent preference for late antique authority. The island appears in this form in both Orosius and Julius Honorius, but as Monapia / Manavia in the Historia naturalis and as Monarina in Ptolemy.168 The inclusion of this island where Hibernia is omitted, however, is rather more difficult to explain. Britain and Ireland were rarely regarded separately in antique geography and both Orosius and Julius Honorius refer to Mevania immediately after Hibernia.169 Jordanes’ omission is peculiar, but again may best be explained as the result of a careless reading of textual sources, rather than of confusion over a map. Any cartographic representation of the work of Ptolemy, Julius Honorius or Orosius would have featured Hibernia so prominently as to render its omission in favour of the much smaller Mevania virtually unforgivable. The treatment of the Orcades is rather more straightforward. Although the precise number of islands to the north of Britannia had been the matter of some dispute, the Getica simply follows Orosius in putting the figure at thirty-three.170 Again, in disputed matters, Jordanes turns to Orosius as his principal geographical source. Britannia Jordanes allows himself rather fuller rein in his account of Britannia, but the basic elements of his geographical approach remain essentially unchanged. Here, again, a fundamental reliance upon Orosius and Pomponius Mela may be detected. Although the most striking aspect of the description of Britannia is certainly the spectacular parade of other classical sources, a definite descriptive continuity with the earlier sections of the introduction is clearly evident. The most important feature of Jordanes’ description of Britain is its implicit association with his subsequent account of Scandza. It seems likely that the ostentatious erudition displayed by Jordanes within the British passage was at least partially intended to distract from the more problematic description of Scandza that follows. If Jordanes was unable to muster accurate geographical information on the latter island, he at least sought to demonstrate that his knowledge of Britain was exhaustive and well supported.171

168

169 171

Or., Hist. I.2.82; JH 16; Pliny, HN IV.102; Ptolemy, Geog. II.2.10; and see the discussion in Rivet and Smith (1979), pp. 410–11. Cf. above, pp. 93–5. 170 Cf. Getica I.8; Or., Hist. I.2.78. These parallels are noted by Dagron (1971), p. 298 and Goffart (1988), p. 90, but both regard its significance as rather different from that noted here.

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Jordanes This overt display of information served a second function within the rhetoric of the introduction, which was no less important to its overall purpose. The elements of British geography that Jordanes sought to emphasize are precisely those that had a direct bearing upon the enigmatic origins of the Goths. His account was not, then, a thoughtless regurgitation of sources, but rather a carefully structured description, which had a twofold function. On one level, the Getica presents Britain as an obvious twin of Scandza. Authoritative knowledge of one implied some appropriate familiarity with the other, and consequently allowed Jordanes some freedom in the exploitation of the scanty material available on Scandza. In addition, Jordanes’ display of familiarity with Britain allowed him to demonstrate conclusively the weaknesses of arguments that associated Gothic origins with the island. Throughout, the description of Britannia may be seen to have played a fundamental role within the broader argument of the geographical introduction. The three most important authorities whom Jordanes cites on Britain are all carefully marshalled in order to emphasize the many parallels between the island and Scandza. Strabo and Cassius Dio are both employed only with marked selectivity, but Jordanes’ nuanced application of Tacitean geography demonstrates this process vividly. As has been discussed, the erroneous reference to Livy within the British section almost certainly resulted from a misreading of Agricola, and echoes of the same chapter resonate throughout the passage. Tacitus is deferred to explicitly in Jordanes’ account of the short British nights, and in his praise of the pastoral fertility of the island. Both topics anticipate precisely the emphases within the subsequent account of Scandza.172 Jordanes also paraphrases the Roman historian on the indigenous peoples of the island: The Silures have swarthy features and are usually born with curly black hair, but the inhabitants of Caledonia have reddish hair and large loose-jointed bodies. They are like the Gauls or Spaniards, according as they are opposite either nation. Hence some have supposed that from these lands the island received its inhabitants, alluring them by its nearness.173

This interest in the origins of the British people prompts immediate comparison with the later account of Scandza and with the Berig migrations that are so important to the introduction as a whole. Tacitus, it might be noted, is rather more circumspect on the likely continental 172 173

Getica III.19; 22; cf. Tacitus, Agricola 10. Getica II.13–14: Silorum colorati vultus; torti pleroque crine et nigro nascuntur; Calydoniam vero incolentibus rutilae cumae, corpora magna, sed fluuida: Gallis sive Spanis, ut quibusque obtenduntur, adsimiles. Unde coniectavere nonnulli, quod ea ex his accolas contiguo vocatos acceperit; cf. Tacitus, Agricola 11.

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Britannia background of the Silures and Caledonians than Jordanes’ pre´cis would suggest.174 Understandably, the later writer notes only that the inhabitants of Britain were not autochthonous, and implicitly contrasts them with the isolated and insular Goths. Whereas Berig’s migration marked the first contact between the Gothic homeland and the continent, Britannia is clearly displayed in a context of very definite European interaction. The deliberate invocation of Tacitus thus fulfils an important purpose and Jordanes is able simply to follow the historian in describing an agreeable island, but one with ties that are too close to the continent to allow speculation that Britain was the mysterious island habitation of the earliest Goths. Jordanes counterbalances the mellow fruitfulness of Tacitus’ Britain through reference to the mists of Strabo’s account. Indeed, Jordanes’ chief use of Strabo is as a counterpoint to the semi-idyllic image of Britain presented by his other sources. The writer is first cited as a commentator on the foul weather of the region, and then again as an authority on the crude living conditions of the indigenous peoples:175 ‘They live in wattled huts, a shelter used in common with their flocks, and often the woods are their home.’176 This juxtaposition of the idyllic with the wretched again anticipates the description of Scandza. Neither Britannia nor Scandza is described by Jordanes in entirely paradisaical terms. Instead, the islands are presented as unusually fertile, yet capable of sustaining only the most primitive human society.177 It is significant that Jordanes exploits Tacitus and Strabo chiefly for their more generalized ethnographic information and for their arguments regarding the climatic conditions of the northern island. In both cases the information that they provided was sufficiently general to apply equally to the insular neighbour of Britannia. In this way, the writer employed established classical sources to cast light upon his rather speculative description of Scandza. The many parallels between the two were not accidental, therefore, but a deliberate function of Jordanes’ intuitive geographical technique. Cassius Dio, the third of Jordanes’ cited sources on Britannia, occupies a complicated position within the Getica, thanks largely to the apparent confusion between the Greek historian and his near-namesake, Dio Chrysostom.178 Chrysostom composed a history – now lost – which was also known as the Getica, and which appears to have shaped the content 174 176

177

178

Tacitus, Agricola 10. 175 Getica II.12; cf. Strabo IV.5.2. Getica II.14: Virgeas habitant casas, communia tecta cum pecore, silveque illis saepe sunt domus; cf. Strabo IV.5.2. Contra Goffart (1988), p. 91, who argues that Jordanes presented both as wretched, and Marin (1971), who argues that Jordanes’ presentation of Scandza was utopian. On this confusion, cf. Mommsen (1882), pp. XXX–XXXI.

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Jordanes of Jordanes’ later work considerably. Its author is extensively praised and is explicitly cited on a number of occasions. It seems likely, therefore, that the prominence of Cassius Dio within the geographical introduction was at least partially the result of a confusion of the two writers. The material on Britannia that is taken from Cassius Dio is somewhat fragmentary. The writer is followed on the dimensions of Britannia and then, still more briefly, cited on a minor ethnographic point: ‘Yet Dio, a most celebrated writer of annals, assures us of the fact that they have all been combined under the name of Caledonians and Maeatae.’179 The similarity between the terms used to praise Cassius Dio here, and those later used with reference to Dio Chrysostom, suggests that the two writers were confused in Jordanes’ mind. Two other brief allusions to Dio, concerned with the port of Ravenna and the siege of Odessa, were probably also included under the same misapprehension, although the precise origins of these citations are unknown.180 This mistake is easy enough to explain. Dio Chrysostom is extensively exploited, but only in the main narrative section of the Getica: precisely those areas, in other words, in which Cassiodorus’ authorship can most reasonably be suggested. The nature of this borrowing suggests that Cassiodorus was directly familiar with Chrysostom’s Getica and a straightforward literary debt may be assumed. Within the central narrative of the Getica, there is no evidence that Chrysostom was ever confused with Cassius Dio. Instead, the name Dio is only used with reference to the historian of the Getes. The exploitation of Cassius Dio, by contrast, is limited to the description of Britain and, possibly although not definitely, to the short geographical digressions on Ravenna and Odessa later in the work. It seems possible that Jordanes’ misunderstanding of the references in the Historia Gothorum led him to appropriate information from Cassius Dio for use in his geography, on the assumption that the two writers were identical. Cassiodorus’ direct exploitation of Chrysostom makes it unlikely that he could have been responsible for such an obvious error and the blame must fall on the shoulders of his later epitomator. Jordanes’ assertion in his preface, that he included elements from Greek and Latin sources on his own initiative, would seem to fit neatly with this slightly misguided addendum.181 It may be concluded with some confidence that Jordanes was responsible for the composition of the description of Britain, and by extension much of the geographical opening. 179

180

Getica II.14: cunctos tamen in Calydoniorum Meatarumque concessisse nomina Dio auctor est celeberrimus scriptor annalium; cf. Cassius Dio, Ep. 76.12. Getica XI.67; XXIX.150. 181 Getica Praef. 3.

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Britannia This paraded erudition affords a dramatic contrast to the relatively limited borrowing of the opening chapters, but strong strands of continuity are certainly evident, and two of the most prominent sources to be exploited in the earlier island section are also used in the description of Britain. It is perhaps significant that Pomponius Mela and Orosius are the only authorities used in the description of Britain not to be acknowledged directly. Although neither source is put to spectacular effect within this section, the influence of each is obvious enough. Pomponius Mela is plundered extensively for specific topographical and chorographical detail and may be regarded, alongside Tacitus, as Jordanes’ principal source on Britain. Orosius, while rather less important here than elsewhere, is followed in the association of Britain and the history of the continent. Jordanes’ brief account of the shape of Britain is taken directly from Mela: Most of them [Greek and Latin authors] say it is like a triangle pointing between the north and the west. Its widest angle faces the mouths of the Rhine. Then the island shrinks in breadth and recedes until it ends in two other angles. Its long doubled side faces Gaul and Germany.182

No attempt has been made by the later author to clarify this rather confusing geometrical image, and Jordanes’ only significant deviation from Mela’s original is the inclusion of the dimensions of the island, derived from Cassius Dio.183 More important within the context of the introduction as a whole is the use that Jordanes makes of Mela’s incidental information on the island. The particular emphasis upon the rivers of Britannia and the sober account of the militarism of the island’s inhabitants were both clearly taken from the earlier writer.184 It is scarcely surprising, given the heavy parallels elsewhere between this section and the later account of Scandza, that both elements are reprised in Jordanes’ description of the neighbouring island.185 Again, Jordanes manipulates his sources in order to stress the clear parallels between the known island of Britain and its mysterious neighbour.

182

183 184

185

Getica II.11: Triquadram eam plures dixere consimilem, inter septentrionalem occidentalemque plagam proiectam, uno, qui magnus est, angulo Reni hostia spectantem, dehinc correptam latitudine oblique retro abstractam in duos exire alios, geminoque latere longiorem Galliae praetendi atque Germaniae; cf. Pomponius Mela III.50. Getica II.11; cf. Cassius Dio, Ep. 76.12. Rivers: Getica II.13; cf. Pomponius Mela III.51; militarism: Getica II.15; cf. Pomponius Mela III.52. Getica III.17; III.24.

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Jordanes Orosius, by contrast, plays only the most fleeting of roles within Jordanes’ description of Britain. Little on the physical nature of the island is taken from his work and Jordanes follows Cassius Dio on the dimensions of Britain despite the alternative information offered by Orosius’ Historia. It is worth noting, however, that where Orosian material is exploited it is to draw the attention of the audience to the earlier historian’s account of the Roman conquest of the island. Jordanes’ description of Britain immediately notes its subservience to Roman rule. In the opening paragraph he alludes to Caesar’s conquest, a campaign which is described in more detail later in the Getica. In his later description of the conquest, moreover, the writer follows Orosius in the assertion that only the Goths, or Getes, had escaped this northerly imperial expansion.186 Jordanes’ straightforward assertion that Britain had been conquered adds further authority to his fundamental argument that the island could not have been the original homeland of the Goths. Again, his selective exploitation of established sources strengthens Jordanes’ argument with a subtle, yet persuasive force. The description of Britain fulfils a central role within the geographical introduction. Through a careful application of his sources, Jordanes is able to provide a nuanced impression of a northerly island, which later forms his template for the description of Scandza. The role of this passage as a vehicle for ostentatious reference to existing writers has been discussed in some depth, but the importance of the account of Britannia as a valuable counterpoint to the more difficult description of Scandza that follows should not be underestimated. Despite this, there can be little doubt that the British section was the work of the same writer who produced the earlier accounts of the smaller islands. Not only do Pomponius Mela and Orosius retain their centrality within the geographical framework of the text, but the confused exploitation of Cassius Dio also suggests persuasively that the British section was the work of Jordanes, and not his predecessor. Scandza The description of Scandza occupies the central section of the whole geographical introduction and is best regarded as an amalgamation of two parts. The first provides a simple geographical overview of the island and fits comfortably within the descriptive pattern established in the earlier sections of the introduction. In it, Jordanes carefully outlines the physical

186

Getica II.10; XI.68; cf. Or., Hist. I.16.2–3. For further discussion, cf. above, pp. 61–2.

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Scandza shape of Scandza, with appropriate deference to Graeco-Roman authorities.187 He then cursorily fills in this image with various scraps of a more or less fantastic nature. Many of these elements bear obvious similarities to the features that the writer associated with Britain, and further parallels colour his presentation of the island’s physical geography. There can be little doubt that the early part of Jordanes’ description of the island was composed with full reference to the general context of the introduction and that the writer was at pains to emphasize the coherence of his account. The second part of the section is concerned with the complex ethnography of the island. Here, Jordanes’ pattern of influences seems more confused, and his descriptive style digresses substantially from the method established in the remainder of the introduction.188 Little reference is made to the antique geographers who so densely populate the earlier sections of the Getica and traces of Cassiodoran composition are evident for the first time in the introduction. As ever, it is quite possible that Jordanes was himself responsible for the inclusion of these elements in an effort to add gravitas to his account. A more probable explanation, however, is that the ethnographic excursus was derived ultimately from a Cassiodoran original. How much of the section was original to Jordanes will never be known, but it seems likely that even here he manipulated the account available to him, in order to support the broader ambitions of his recension. The short geographical overview of Scandza is executed in terms that are immediately familiar from the remainder of the introduction. Just as Livy, Cassius Dio and Tacitus were summoned to support Jordanes’ account of Britain, so Scandza is heralded by overt reference to Ptolemy and Pomponius Mela. The parallels between the island and its neighbours are further highlighted by the precise nature of Jordanes’ geographical overview. The writer opens his description of the island with a geometrical image, just as he had in his account of Britain. Scandza is then located with respect to the landmarks of the continent to the south and the vast Ocean to the north.189 Where Britannia was located opposite the mouth of the Rhine, Scandza is positioned between the Vistula and the unnavigable northern Ocean.190 Alongside the obvious influence of his British model in the account of Scandza, Jordanes makes the most of his meagre written resources in order to create a convincing image of an unfamiliar region. The silence of most Latin literary sources on Scandinavia was countered in the Getica by 187 189

Getica IV.16–18. Getica III.16–17.

188 190

Getica III.19–24. Getica III.17; cf. Getica II.11.

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Jordanes exhaustive reference to Ptolemy and the account of Skandia in his secondcentury work. The debt to the cartographer here is greater than that to any single source for Jordanes’ British section, and forms the scaffold around which the historian constructs his geographical description of the island: Claudius Ptolemaeus, an excellent describer of the world, has made mention of it in the second book of his work, saying ‘There is a great island situated in the surge of the northern ocean, Scandza by name, in the shape of a lemon leaf with bulging sides which taper to a point at a long end’.191

Ptolemy is the only author other than Virgil to be quoted directly in the introduction, and the cartographer is exploited further in the description that follows. Jordanes’ use of the Vistula to locate Scandza has direct Ptolemaic antecedent, and the same source may also have inspired the historian’s description of the Jutland peninsula in the same passage. Jordanes’ direct quotation of Ptolemy suggests that the historian’s source material took an unusual form. Modern recensions of the cartographer’s work survive as little more than dry collections of co-ordinates, interspersed with explanatory paragraphs. Ptolemy himself excused these stylistic deficiencies with the plea that his own work was intended as more than the simple topographic description of discrete regions. As a result, in known recensions of his work, Skandia does not appear poetically depicted ‘in the shape of a lemon leaf ’ – in modum folii cetri – as the Getica would have it, but rather as a cluster of precisely located points.192 The contrast between Jordanes’ image of Ptolemaic Skandia and that provided by surviving recensions of the original text has led scholars to argue that the text of the Getica was drawn from a map accompanying his source.193 The difficulties in ascribing Jordanes a pictorial source in his descriptions of the smaller islands have already been discussed, and the matter is no clearer in the account of Scandza. The direct quotation of the author within the Getica argues against a cartographic source, and there is little evidence that early medieval recensions of the text included such visual aids.194 It seems more likely that Jordanes drew his quotation from a later Latin recension of the work, and one that had attempted to develop Ptolemy’s skeletal framework with the intention of making the piece more palatable to a literary audience.195 To judge from a reference in his 191

192 193 194

Getica III.16: De hac etenim in secundo sui operis libro Claudius Ptolomeus, orbis terrae discriptor egregius, meminit dicens: est in Oceani arctoi salo posita insula magna, nomine Scandza, in modum folii cetri, lateribus pandis, per longum ducta concludens se [modified translation]. Getica III.16; cf. Ptolemy, Geog. II.10. Hachmann (1970), p. 80 and cf. the discussion in Christensen (2002), p. 258. Christensen (2002), p. 258. 195 Nansen (1911), p. 130.

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Scandza Institutiones, Cassiodorus also seems to have been familiar with a composition of this kind. The description that Cassiodorus provides suggests that his knowledge of the Alexandrian text was based upon just such a literary interpretation: ‘Then, if a noble concern for knowledge has set you on fire, you have the work of Ptolemy, who has described all places so clearly that you judge him to have been practically a resident in all regions . . . ’196 Whether Jordanes had a comparable familiarity with Ptolemy is rather less clear. Given the absence of explicit reference to Ptolemy in the sections of the Getica that can be attributed with confidence to the later historian, it remains possible that he derived this quotation from the lost Historia Gothorum. Argument from silence is a difficult proposition, however, particularly in a piece as enigmatic as the Getica. Justinianic Byzantium witnessed considerable geographic scholarship in widely disparate forms, in which Ptolemaic science played a focal role. Greek cartography formed a central influence upon both Stephanus’ sixthcentury gazetteer and upon Cosmas Indicopleustes’ unique Topographia Christiana.197 Although Cassiodorus’ influence may have been considerable, therefore, the likelihood remains that Jordanes was able to supplement his work with independent reference to a text that was well known to his contemporaries. The relative silence of Jordanes’ preferred geographical sources on the Scandinavian island was doubtless partly responsible for the writer’s deference to Ptolemy within this section. Yet the familiar geographical methodology of the writer is not entirely absent from his most important description. Jordanes makes his own involvement in the composition of this section clear through his explicit deference to Pomponius Mela as a second cited source alongside Ptolemy. Mela mentions Codanovia only briefly, but his account is reproduced in the Getica almost in its entirety: ‘Pomponius Mela also makes mention of it as situated in the Codan Gulf of the Sea, with Ocean lapping its shores.’198 The importance of Mela to the composition of the earlier sections of the introduction has already been noted, and it is scarcely a surprise to witness Jordanes’ deference to the Chorographia in his account of Scandza. The synthesis of Mela’s testimony with that provided by Ptolemy, moreover, provides convincing support for the suggestion that Jordanes was responsible for the physical description of Scandza as it survives in the Getica. The continuity

196

197 198

Cassiodorus, Inst. I.25.2: Tum si vos notitiae nobilis cura flammaverit, habetis Ptolomei codicem, qui sic omnia loca evidenter expressit, ut eum cunctarum regionum paene incolam fuisse iudicetis . . . Dagron (1971), p. 297; Wolska-Conus (1962), pp. 248–70. Getica III.16: De qua et Pomponius Mela in maris sinu Codano positam refert, cuius ripas influit Oceanus; cf. Pomponius Mela III.54.

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Jordanes in Jordanes’ exploitation of sources, and the thematic parallels between his account of Scandza and that of Britannia, suggest strongly that the description of the mysterious Gothic island was composed alongside the remainder of the introduction. The absence of Scandinavia from Orosius’ text means that Jordanes’ preferred geographical source offered little on the location or form of the northern island. Nevertheless, the influence of the fifth-century writer may be traced behind the systematic description of the island within the Getica. After noting the position of the Vistula to the south of the island, Jordanes surveys the other cardinal points: The island has on the east a vast lake in the bosom of the earth, whence the Vagus river springs from the bowels of the earth and flows surging into the Ocean. And on the west it is surrounded by an immense sea. On the north it is bounded by the same vast unnavigable Ocean, from which by means of a sort of projecting arm of land a bay is cut off and forms the German Sea.199

The order of this delineation is obscured slightly by Mierow’s interpolation within the text. Here, the translator interpreted Jordanes’ haec ergo habet ab oriente as demonstrating that the vastissimus lacus lay within the eastern part of the island. According to this reading, Jordanes provided a topographical description of Scandza, and modern scholars have readily identified his ‘great lake’ and river in the landscape of southern Scandinavia.200 Yet the methodical description of Scandza in which Jordanes describes the lake ab oriente encourages a different reading of his ambiguous reference. After discussing the position of the lake, the writer goes on to note the presence of the ‘immense sea’ ab occidente, and the ‘unnavigable Ocean’ a septentrione. When considered alongside the description of the Vistula to the south of Scandza, with which the passage opens, the four features would seem to have been intended to locate the island through reference to its neighbours, from the south, east, west and north respectively. According to this interpretation, the vastissimus lacus would have been located, not in the easterly part of the island, but to its east: on the mainland, in what would have been identified as the northernmost reaches of Scythia. Armed with this interpretation, the lacus has been 199

200

Getica III.17: Haec ergo habet ab oriente vastissimum lacum in orbis terrae gremio, unde Vagi fluvius velut quodam ventrae generatus in Oceanum undosus evolvitur. Ab occidente namque inmensu pelago circumdatur, a septentrione quoque innavigabili eodem vastissimo concluditur Oceano, ex quo quasi quodam brachio exiente, sinu distento, Germanicum mare efficitur [modified translation]. Mierow (1915) translates ab oriente as ‘in its eastern part’, on which see the discussion below. On the attempts to identify this lake, cf. Svennung (1967), pp. 13–16; Hachmann (1970), p. 126; Christensen (2002), pp. 259–60 and the bibliography therein.

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Scandza variously identified, with Lake Ladoga, to the north-east of modern St Petersburg, gaining the greatest number of adherents.201 Inevitably, this discussion has had at its heart a dispute over the trustworthiness of Jordanes’ Scandinavian geography, and hence his account of the ethnography of the region in the sixth century. More significant for the purposes of the present study is the observation that the quadripartite descriptive schema employed in the location of the island betrays unmistakable Orosian echoes.202 Deprived of an authoritative description of Scandza in the fifth-century work, Jordanes nevertheless provided a persuasive image based upon both his British geography and the same pseudo-Orosian methodology that he was later to employ in his description of the Scythian mansiones. If Jordanes was influenced by Cassiodorus within this brief geography, therefore, it seems probable that the material within the original Historia Gothorum was substantially adapted within the Getica by Jordanes’ own appreciation of other Greek and Latin sources, in order to support his broader rhetorical aspirations. Jordanes evidently sought to present a convincing image of Scandza within his opening geography, and the modern exegesis devoted to the chapter is testimony to his success in this. Yet within the wider context of the Getica, the writer’s interest in the island was primarily in its role as the nurturing place of the Goths. Here, literary impulses, rather than a strict deference to his fragmentary sources, dictated the form of his account. Jordanes’ use of powerful literary imagery is demonstrated most vividly in the striking organic metaphors with which he colours his text. Scandza is presented as vagina nationum, a phrase translated by Mierow as ‘womb of nations’ and generally read as such by later commentators.203 The image of the incredible human fertility of the north had some precedent in classical accounts of the Hyperboreans, but it was Jordanes’ description of Scandinavia which proved seminal in medieval, and many modern, attitudes to the region.204 In this context, it is interesting that modern translators have placed rather less emphasis upon Jordanes’ repeated use of gremium in his accounts of the centre of Scandza. Mierow’s translation of the phrase insulae gremio as ‘from the midst of this island’, for example, 201

202

203

204

Weibull (1925), pp. 218–24, who identified Jordanes’ account as a reference to the Caspian Sea; Svennung (1967), pp. 13–28 identifies the lacus as Lake Ladoga and the river as the Neva, and is followed by Alonso-Nun˜ez (1987), p. 2. The thesis as a whole is dismissed by Hachmann (1970), p. 84 as ‘improbable’. The debate is discussed by Christensen (2002), pp. 259–63, who concludes that Svennung’s solution is ‘the most plausible alternative’. Svennung (1967), pp. 13–14. Cf. for example the descriptive methodology employed at Or., Hist. I.2.72, 101. Mierow (1915), p. 15; cf. for example the French translation of Devillers (1995), p. 15: ‘une sorte de matrice de peuples’. See above, n. 88.

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Jordanes rather negates the symbolic implications of the language of the Getica.205 Like vagina, gremium has obvious metaphoric meaning that Mierow’s subsequent translation of the same word as ‘bosom’ renders more faithfully.206 Throughout his introduction, the historian presents the origins of the Goths in resolutely organic terms. Recent scholarship has suggested that several layers of meaning may be detected within Jordanes’ choice of language. Marc Reydellet has argued that contemporary patterns of Latin usage would suggest that a more appropriate interpretation of vagina would be translated into French as ‘fourreau’ and into English as ‘scabbard’ or ‘sheath’.207 If this interpretation is accepted, Jordanes may be seen to have presented the migration of the Goths from Scandza not only as a birth, but also simultaneously as the drawing of a weapon. Each image is evidently underpinned by assumptions regarding the natural barbarism of the group, but both also implicitly suggest the centrality of the migration episode to the formation of Gothic identity. Without the seminal movement to Europe, Jordanes implies, the group would have remained essentially unformed – a weapon undrawn, or a child unborn. Some hint of the historical destiny of Jordanes’ Goths is also provided by the linguistic imagery of the opening section of the Getica. This has been most widely recognized with respect to the descriptive terminology that the writer applies to the migration itself. In his first aside to Castalius, Jordanes compares the exodus of the group from Scandza to the eruption of a swarm of bees.208 This simile invests the group with conspicuous bestial characteristics, but attains a further significance in the light of the subsequent statement that the island of Scandza was entirely bereft of the insects.209 In part, the metaphor simply accentuates the paradoxical characteristics of the northern island: a region inhospitable to bees that nevertheless generated such a terrible swarm. In narrative terms, the image may be regarded as a firm assertion that the migration of the Goths could not be reversed. In this sense, the passage acts as an obvious antecedent for the later description of the broken bridge, and may have had a direct political significance at the time of Jordanes’ composition. Given his obvious interest in metaphor, Jordanes’ reference to the vastissimus lacus to the east of Scandza is also worthy of further analysis.

205 206

207

Getica I.9; Mierow (1915), p. 15. Getica III.17; Mierow (1915), p. 17. Mierow’s translation of Getica II.10 describing the location of Britain in sino Oceani as ‘in the bosom of the Ocean’ rather obfuscates the contrast in language between Jordanes’ accounts of the two islands. Reydellet (1981), p. 270. 208 Getica I.9. 209 Getica III.19; cf. Solinus 22.4.

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Scandza The lake and river have been identified physically with a variety of bodies of water scattered around Scandinavia and the eastern Baltic, and in literary terms compared to the lake at the heart of Thomas More’s Utopia.210 It seems strange, therefore, that the literal meaning of vagus as ‘nomadic’ or ‘wandering’ has been largely ignored.211 The name may have been prompted, of course, by observations by Jordanes’ source on its meandering course, but it might also be read as an intentional symbol for the Goths themselves. Vagus is contrasted with sedes in the accounts of the Scythians provided by Horace, and the Sarmatians by Statius.212 Perhaps more importantly, Sallust employs the same duality in his account of Aeneas’ foundation of Rome.213 Jordanes thus had substantial literary precedent in the naming of the northern river, but no known geographical material to which he might refer, and it seems likely that the writer was drawn in his naming of the river by the currents of classical verse. Significantly, the only aspects of the river that are mentioned in the Getica are the violence of its course and its passage from the ‘bosom’ – ab gremio – of Scandza (or Scythia) to the Ocean, both of which might be read as the defining characteristics of the Goths themselves. Recent studies have noted Jordanes’ inheritance of traditions of nomadic Gothic ideologies.214 In describing the group’s original homeland as he does, the writer prepares his audience for the historical destiny of his eponymous gens. The ethnography of Scandza The descriptive style of the Getica undergoes a conspicuous change in the second part of Jordanes’ description of Scandza. So dramatic is this shift that the possibility that the writer appropriated discrete passages from Cassiodorus or another source must be entertained. Unlike the ethnographic passage in the account of Britain, in which the populace of the region is explained only with extensive deference to classical writing, the inhabitants of Scandza are paraded before the audience of the Getica with little protection. Nevertheless, Jordanes makes a spirited attempt at authenticating his ethnography with respect to classical antecedent,

210

211

212

213

Marin (1971), p. 315 brilliantly compares Jordanes’ geography to More’s idealized island. For further solutions to this problem, cf. n. 201 above. Svennung (1967), pp. 20–1 discusses the vernacular etymology of Vagus/va´gr’ without reference to its Latin meaning. Horace, Carm. 3.24.10; Statius, Silv. 3.3.170. Compare also Ammianus Marcellinus XXXI.4.2 and the discussion in Teillet (1984), p. 55. Sallust, Cat. 6.1. 214 Pohl (1993), pp. 227–8.

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Jordanes through a second citation of Ptolemy at the start of the section: ‘Now in the land of Scandza, whereof I speak, there dwell many and divers nations, though Ptolemaeus mentions the names of but seven of them.’215 Different recensions of Ptolemy’s text include six or seven peoples within the island of Skandia. Yet the peoples listed within the second-century text bear little relation to the parade of thirty peoples within the Getica.216 Aware, as ever, of the value of authoritative citation, Jordanes nevertheless compiled the bulk of his Scandinavian ethnography without the support of the classical canon. The passage that follows is structured in relatively straightforward terms. The first three groups – the Adogit, Screrefennae and Suehans respectively – are described in some detail.217 The Adogit introduce a short digression on the apparent course of the sun in the extreme north, and of the likely effects that such unusual patterns would have on the local populace. The account of the Screrefennae is coloured by an explanation of their diet of birds’ eggs, and the Suehans are similarly distinguished by their skill in raising horses. Thereafter, digression becomes rather more sparing, and the vast majority of the Scandinavian peoples appear as little more than names, with only the vaguest indication of their location within the poorly known island. For the most part, the later peoples are considered in groups, and are only ambiguously associated with different regions of Scandza. In all, the Getica refers to thirty peoples, with some unintentional repetition. The overall effect is one of a densely populated and well-known island: an impression that fits neatly with the rhetorical intentions of the introduction as a whole. This ethnographic discursus is by far the most studied individual section of the Getica.218 A number of exhaustive investigations have sought to establish the precise identities of the groups mentioned by Jordanes, with varying degrees of success. The references to the Vagoth and Gauthigoth peoples within the account of Scandza, and to their neighbours the Ostrogothae, have been the subject of particular attention among modern scholars. The relationships of these groups to the Goutai of Ptolemy’s text, the Gotones of the Historia naturalis and ultimately to the Gothi of sixth-century Italy have predictably been the source of 215

216

217 218

Getica III.19: in Scandza vero insula, unde nobis sermo est, licet multae et diversae maneant nationes, septem tamen eorum nomina meminit Ptolemaeus. Ptolemy, Geog. II. II.xi.16 lists the peoples as: the Chaidenoi, Phavonai, Phiraisoi, Phinnoi, Goutai, Daukiones and Leuonoi. On this passage, see Christensen (2002), pp. 256–8; on Jordanes’ debts to it, cf. Svennung (1967), p. 193 and (1974). Getica III.19–21. The bibliography on the subject is enormous, but cf. Svennung (1967); Hachmann (1970), and its criticism by Andersson (1971); Whitaker (1983); Alonso-Nu´n˜ez (1987a).

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Scandza 219

considerable scholarly dispute. Speculative maps have been employed to locate the peoples of the Getica, and Jordanes’ ethnography has similarly been compared with the material record in an attempt to assess his authority on the politics of the region during the sixth century.220 A reiteration of these studies would add little to the understanding of Jordanes’ geography, but a number of important points do emerge. Almost all analyses of the Getica’s northern ethnography have accepted that the passage most probably drew upon at least two separate sources on the region. The treatment of the three northern peoples, the Adogit, Screrefennae and Suehans, contrasts so markedly with the more cursory examination of the other groups, that a separate origin must be postulated.221 This supposition is supported by the apparent repetition of the names of two of the northern peoples in the longer lists that follow. The horse-loving Suehans have been plausibly identified with the well-built Suetidi, later in the same passage. Similarly, the Finnoi, frequently identified as the ancestors of the modern Finns, have been associated with the Screrefennae.222 The author of the section apparently married at least two completely separate sources, with little critical appraisal of the two texts, and with little suspicion that the material might overlap. It seems likely that both sections were derived from mercantile sources of some kind. The detail with which the first three tribes are described, and particularly the relish and apparent accuracy of the description of northern Scandza’s summer nights, might imply a first-hand account, although the route by which this information came down to Jordanes has been much debated.223 The emphasis upon Suehan horse breeding and upon the group as a conduit for other tribes’ fur trading would certainly support a mercantile origin. Whether the peculiar dietary habits of the Screrefennae were also derived from a similar source is more problematic. Although antique mercantile accounts do refer to the dietary peculiarities of indigenous peoples, the egg-eating of the Screrefennae has precise literary parallel in the Oeonae of Pomponius Mela, Pliny and Solinus.224 In the absence of other literary parallels, however, it seems likely that the primary influence behind the first ethnographic section was a personal

219 220 221

222

223

224

On this dispute, see esp. the discussion in Christensen (2002), pp. 283–99. Compare, for example, Svennung (1967), pp. 30–1; Alonso-Nu´n˜ez (1987), p. 15. Svennung (1967), pp. 142–4; Alonso-Nu´n˜ez (1987), p. 3; Malone (1924), p. 366 notes a similar pattern in Ptolemy’s presentation of the region. Whitaker (1983); Alonso-Nu´n˜ez (1987), p. 6; and see the discussion of the early twentiethcentury historiography in Christensen (2002), pp. 271–3. Weibull (1925), p. 236 argues for a literary source, shared by Procopius, BG II.15.16–23. Svennung (1967), pp. 141–2 argues that the material came through Priscus and Ablabius. Pliny, HN IV.96; Pomponius Mela III.56; Solinus 19.6.

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Jordanes account to which literary elements were added only as supplementary information, if at all. The latter parts of the excursus certainly came from a written source, and one that would seem to bear obvious comparison to the periploi of the classical period. As is typical of such works, the peoples mentioned are enumerated with little detail, and almost nothing is said of incidental interest beyond brief allusion to diet and habitation. The positioning of the groups of peoples, with respect to each other rather than to broader regional geography, also suggests that the writer was here reliant upon a periplus rather than a literary or oral source.225 Some studies have suggested, however, that this mercantile evidence may have been supplemented by alternative sources of information. The allusion to the exiled King Roduulf has prompted the suggestion that a principal source for the ethnography of the Getica is personally acknowledged within the relevant passage.226 The inclusion in the Getica of certain historical fragments relating to the mentioned groups has led to further speculation that the compiler drew upon historiographical work in his composition. It seems unlikely, for example, that the historic conflicts between the Dani and the Heruli, which are alluded to in the Getica, would have been included in an oral mercantile source, and a literary source of some kind has thus been postulated, albeit tentatively.227 As a result, the ethnographic discursus has generally been seen as a multi-layered amalgamation of disparate sources, which thereby created a necessarily anachronistic picture of the northern region.228 There has been little consensus, however, regarding the appropriate identification of the writer responsible for this peculiar creation. As has been discussed, a number of themes serve to propose a Cassiodoran authorship for at least part of the section. If King Roduulf was a source for the ethnography of Scandza, then Cassiodorus, as an inhabitant of the court at which he found exile, is more likely to have enjoyed access to the information that he provided on the region. Even if little of Roduulf’s own information was included, moreover, Cassiodorus’ composition on behalf of an Ostrogothic courtly audience would perhaps be more likely to make direct reference to the royal exile than Jordanes’ Constantinopolitan text. Similarly, although the specific comparison between Suehan horses and those of the Thuringians could have been made by either Cassiodorus or his epitomator, the image would seem to fit more appropriately within the context in which the Italian statesman was writing. 225 226 227

Svennung (1967), pp. 32, 144–7; Alonso-Nu´n˜ez (1987), p. 7. Getica III.24; Nansen (1911), p. 135; Alonso-Nu´n˜ez (1987), pp. 6–7. Svennung (1967), pp. 99–101. 228 Alonso-Nu´n˜ez (1987), p. 4.

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Scandza While the later writer was certainly capable of manipulating the literary imagery of his model to suit his own ends, the coincidence of two distinctly Cassiodoran elements within the same passage must encourage the suspicion that an ethnographic account of some description was included within the Historia Gothorum. In the absence of any particularly striking evidence to associate this ethnography with Jordanes, this seems to be a reasonable conclusion. The ethnographic discursus differs sufficiently from the descriptive techniques employed elsewhere in the geographical introduction to imply that its origins were different, and its exploitation of available sources was considerably more complex than that evident in earlier sections. Conversely, beyond these speculations, there is no particular reason to assume that Jordanes was incapable of making his own additions to a Cassiodoran model.229 There can be little reasonable doubt that the geographical account of Scandza that precedes the ethnographic material was Jordanes’ own composition, and his involvement may have extended to the inclusion of additional information on the northern island. The addition of material relating to the fertility of Scandza, for example, may have been added in order to draw further the parallels between the northern island and Britain. The incidental information provided by Procopius, and the fra¨nkische Vo¨lkertafel highlight the extent to which knowledge of the far north was disseminated in Constantinople during the mid-sixth century. There can be little doubt that original information on the Baltic region would have been available to the epitomator of Cassiodorus’ Historia.230 Given Jordanes’ own interests in the region, it would be surprising had the historian not exploited the opportunity to embellish Cassiodorus’ ethnographic model in the light of the additional material that must have been available to him. Amid the dispute surrounding the empirical background to Jordanes’ human geography, and the seemingly endless search for his sources, the function that the passage serves within the Getica is too easily forgotten. Like Britain before it, the island is generally presented as a combination of the very best and worst aspects of peripheral life. The presentation of the Adogit betrays some similarity to the classical idealization of the Hyperboreans, but tempers this with overwhelmingly negative themes, so that they surpass all in their sufferings as well as their blessings.231 The 229

230

231

Indeed, Goffart (1988), p. 89, and Whitaker (1983), p. 5 assert that Jordanes’ ethnography was composed without reference to Cassiodorus. This seems to overstate the case somewhat and underestimates Jordanes’ ability to exploit the material of others. Cf. Procopius, BG VI.15.14–36; VIII.20.1–10, 40–55. For discussion of Procopius’ ethnography, cf. n. 133 above. Getica III.20: ita alternato merore cum gaudio beneficio aliis damnoque impar est.

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Jordanes Screrefennae are likewise depicted as inhabitants of a fertile land of plenty, but one which is bountiful only in their diet of birds’ eggs and raw flesh. Alongside them dwell poor, but richly dressed fur traders, troglodytes whose dwellings look like castles and a cavalcade of nations marked, amongst other things, by both bestial violence and extreme pacifism.232 Jordanes’ Scandza is at once a region of intense contradictions, which distance it from the familiar territory of Mediterranean Europe. Just as classical historians emphasized the social, sexual and dietary peculiarities of the northern peoples with whom they came into contact, so Jordanes here exploits familiar motifs with which to emphasize the martial and social idiosyncrasies of his eponymous group. The climactic contact between these people and the empire, which forms the principal subject of the Getica, would be far less dramatic but for the deliberate cloud of mystery surrounding the genesis of the group. It is the fantastic origin of the Goths that lends the Getica its impact and, ultimately, makes the eventual Roman assimilation of the group so meaningful.233 In the light of this view of a paradoxical Scandza, the language that Jordanes employs in his earlier description of the peripheral islands of the world gains a retrospective significance. The catalogue that opens the Getica illustrates the great contrasts of insular habitation, almost always at several stages removed from the familiar world of the centre.234 The delights of Silefantina and the Fortunate Islands offer an immediate contrast to the inhospitable cold of the islands near Scandza. Similarly, the urban civilization of Taprobane could scarcely be more removed from Solis Perusta – an uninhabitable island of unknowable size. Even the insular identities and geographical locations of the islands themselves accentuate this variety. After the description of the peninsulas of Spain – islands in appearance, but in reality tied to the continent – Jordanes emphasizes the supposed Oceanic isolation of the Balearics and Thule.235 The description of Scandza forms the focus of Jordanes’ geographical introduction, and much of his opening section is tailored to facilitate this brief passage. Faced with the task of delineating an island that was poorly known to the geographers of the Mediterranean, and aided by a body of source material that was conspicuous only for its variety, Jordanes nevertheless revealed himself to be a consistent and skilful geographer. The writer named Ptolemy and Pomponius Mela to lend authority to his account, and drew Scandza further into focus by means of a descriptive methodology shaped by his own account of Britain and by the familiar model of Orosian description. Within this island, the historian placed 232 235

Dagron (1971), p. 297. Getica I.8.

233

Dagron (1971), p. 298.

154

234

Dagron (1971), p. 297.

Scythia a variety of peoples, in all probability combining classical, mercantile and contemporary fragments into a cheerfully anachronistic but compelling composite. It is open to question, of course, quite how far Jordanes had been anticipated in this human geography by the Historia Gothorum of Cassiodorus. The literary coherence of much of the passage, however, and particularly the thematic and stylistic ties that bind it to the introduction as a whole, strongly argue that the later epitomator was responsible for much of the description of the island. Scythia It is a mark of the proclivities of modern historical scholarship that Jordanes’ patchwork account of Scandza has been far more heavily studied than has the very similar chapter on Scythia that follows it. This imbalance is largely the result of understandable interest in the earliest periods of Gothic history, but may also be read as a reflection of the peculiar structure of the Getica itself. The description of Scythia forms the final part of Jordanes’ geographical introduction and occupies an anomalous position within it. In contrast to the earlier sections of the introduction, the writer does not specifically tailor his account of Scythia in order to emphasize the veracity of the central Berig migration. The passage stands, instead, as a background to the secondary and tertiary settlement patterns of the Goths once established on the continent. To a certain extent, the Scythian passage is removed from the rhetorical drive of the introduction as a whole, and must be studied in some isolation. It would be a mistake, however, to distinguish too forcibly between the first section of Jordanes’ introduction and his later account of the Scythian mainland. As is noted above, recent analyses of the Getica have erroneously identified this passage as a feature of Jordanes’ historical narrative and not as a coherent feature of the introduction in its own right. While it may seem unnecessarily pedantic to draw attention repeatedly to this apparently minor point, the distinction is an important one. Jordanes’ argumentative paragraph of self-justification, which concludes the introduction, demonstrates the importance of the Scythian passage to the rhetorical structure of the whole. Without it, Jordanes would have been unable to protest his adherence to written history and to suggest, by extension, that the whole of his introduction was based upon such authority. No reference is made in the Scythian section to the geographers of Antiquity, but there can be little doubt that the passage was heavily shaped by written authority. Jordanes’ statement in the concluding paragraph of 155

Jordanes the introduction betrays the structural influence behind his description of Scythia: ‘We read that on their first migration the Goths dwelt in the land of Scythia near Lake Maeotis. On the second migration they went to Moesia, Thrace and Dacia, and after their third they dwelt again in Scythia, above the Sea of Pontus.’236 This image of three separate settlement phases – mansiones – of the Goths is a recurring one throughout the Getica, and shapes the description of Scythia fundamentally. Indeed, Jordanes’ account of northern continental Europe may be read as a spatial interpretation of this tripartite settlement pattern. In it, the author first outlines the region as a whole, as he had in his earlier accounts of Britannia and Scandza. This is followed by a series of shorter analyses of separate regions within Scythia, apparently dictated by the phases of Gothic occupation. Jordanes first describes the area around Lake Maeotis.237 He follows this with a short description of the regions to the north of the Danube and a concluding passage on the Gothic habitations around the Pontic Sea.238 Each of these short accounts is further illuminated by a brief digression on a local peculiarity of topography, namely the Tanais, the Vistula and the Pontic Sea itself. This tripartite settlement pattern may well have derived from the lost work of the descriptor Gothorum, Ablabius. Nothing is known of Ablabius beyond the three references to the writer within the Getica, although considerable speculation has inevitably surrounded his enigmatic appearances in Jordanes’ work.239 Ablabius may have composed a substantial piece with a broad remit, but the pattern of deference to the writer within the Getica implies that his area of interest was actually quite specific. Jordanes alludes to the earlier historian only with respect to the Scythian habitations of the Goths or to the oral traditions relating to the same period. Within this small area, it seems likely that Ablabius’ work was influential. The Getica notes particularly the authority of the historian on matters of Scythian topography, and twice alludes to the writer with respect to the Gothic settlement patterns within the area.240 It seems reasonable to suppose, therefore, that much of the Scythian geography in

236

237 239

240

Getica V.38: Quorum mansione prima in Scythiae solo iuxta paludem Meotidem, secundo in Mysiam Thraciamque et Daciam, tertio supra mare Ponticum rursus in Scythia legimus habitasse . . . Getica V.32. 238 Getica V.34, 37. Mommsen (1882), pp. XXXVII–XXXIX regarded Jordanes’ allusions to Ablabius storicus and Ablauius istoricus at Getica XIV.82 and XXIII.17 as evidence that the author composed a substantial Gothic narrative history, which served as a source for both Cassiodorus and Jordanes. Hachmann (1970), pp. 59–81 and Heather (1991), pp. 61–4 refined this model to suggest that the writer composed a specifically Visigothic history, which again provided a fundamental source for the Getica. Cf. also Svennung (1967), pp. 136–47; Korkkanen (1975); and the discussion in Gillett (2000), pp. 485–94. Getica XIV.82; XXIII.117.

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Scythia the Getica was influenced by the account provided by the mysterious historian.241 The concept of three distinct periods of Gothic settlement is a dominant one throughout the Getica, yet Jordanes never fully resolves the spatial ambiguities that surround the precise location of these phases of Scythian habitation. Indeed, at several points, his historical narrative appears confused regarding the precise distinction between these regions, and the migratory phases are not always clearly signposted.242 Jordanes escapes this problem within his opening geographical account by making his debt to the written settlement model explicit. Each of the three sections of the description is presented in isolation and is clearly labelled. As a result, although the relative positions of the three Scythian regions are far from clear, Jordanes’ audience is left in no doubt as to the significance of the areas under investigation. This approach results in a slightly disjointed geographical image. Only a token effort is made to bind the disparate sections of the account together, and the passage as a whole displays rather peculiar emphases. The suspicion must be harboured that the geography of Scythia, as it is presented here, was an amalgamation of material, rather inexpertly strung together, in support of the broader ambitions of the Getica. This is immediately apparent at the very start of the section. Jordanes opens his account of Scythia with a brief overview of the area, just as he had with Britain and Scandza: Beyond Lake Maeotis it spreads on the other side of the straits of Bosphorus to the Causacus Mountains and the River Araxes. Then it bends back to the left behind the Caspian Sea, which comes from the north-eastern Ocean in the most distant parts of Asia and so is formed like a mushroom, at first narrow, and then broad and round in shape. It extends as far as the Huns, Albani and Seres.243

His subsequent reiteration of this description, however, appears to serve no obvious purpose. Although the next paragraph purports to clarify the original delineation, little is added to the opening account and the

241

242 243

Andersson (1971), p. 374 notes that Ablabius’ lost work is most likely to have been an ethnographic composition, a position developed by Gillett (2000) who notes at p. 488 that the parallel between the allusions to Ptolemy at III.16: orbis terrae descriptor egregius, and Ablabius at IV.28: descriptor Gothorum gentis egregius, implies a generic similarity between the works. The reference to Ablabius’ Historia need not imply that it was a work of narrative history. Cf. for example, Getica X.62; XVI.90. Getica V.30: ultraque Meotida per angustias Bosfori usque ad Caucasum montem amnemque Araxem ac deinde in sinistram partem reflexa post mare Caspium, quae in extremis Asiae finibus ab Oceano eoroboro in modum fungi primum tenuis, post haec latissima et rotunda forma exoritur, vergens ad Hunnus, Albanos et Seres usque digreditur.

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Jordanes simplification of the material already used merely reduces the literary charm of the original: This land I say, – namely Scythia, stretching far and spreading wide, – has on the east the Seres, a race that dwelt at the very beginning of their history on the shore of the Caspian Sea. On the west are the Germans and the river Vistula; on the Arctic side, namely the north, it is surrounded by Ocean; on the south by Persis, Albania, Hiberia, Pontus and the farthest channel of the Ister, which is called the Danube all the way from the mouth to the source.244

The motives behind this rather baffling repetition become more apparent when the stylistic peculiarities of the two accounts are considered. The colourful analogy within the first description has direct literary precedent in Cassiodorus’ Variae.245 Appropriately enough, the Italian writer had previously employed this fungal image to describe the mountains surrounding the town of Verruca in the Tyrol. While the possibility that Jordanes deliberately emulated Cassiodorus’ language within his account should not be dismissed, the direct use of material from the Historia Gothorum seems to provide a more satisfactory solution. Indeed, this passage may provide a particularly clear illustration of Peter Heather’s suggestion that Jordanes relied upon piecemeal notes in his continuation of Cassiodorus’ work. The second description, by contrast, would seem to bear the marks of Jordanes’ own geographical methodology. Although the exact precedent for the description is obscure, it clearly owes a considerable stylistic debt to Orosius and the Agrippa recensions. Like these works, and unlike the brief passage it was intended to clarify, this account delineates the region through simple reference to neighbouring areas. Scythia, it should be noted, was not included as a discrete region in the work of Orosius, or in the known recensions of the Agrippa work. It thus seems likely that Jordanes constructed his own description of the region in deliberate emulation of Orosius’ style. It is striking that each of the regions employed by Jordanes in his delineation of Scythia appears in Orosius’ original geography.246 Given the explicit deference to the earlier historian elsewhere in the introduction, it may be argued that the second account of the northern region was Jordanes’ own and reflected his own conception of an appropriately historiographical form of geographical writing. 244

245 246

Getica V.31: Haec, inquam, patria, id est Scythia, longe se tendens lateque aperiens, habet ab oriente Seres, in ipso sui principio litus Caspii maris commanentes; ab occidente Germanos et flumen Vistulae; ab arctu, id est septentrionali circumdatur oceano, a meridiae Persida, Albania, Hiberia, Ponto atque extremo alveo Istri, qui dicitur Danubius ab ostea sua usque ad fontem. Cassiodorus, Var. III.48; Mommsen (1882), p. 61, n. 2. Or., Hist. I.2.14, 17, 40, 47–8, 54.

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Scythia The opening of the description of Scythia reflects the composition of the section as a whole. The initial description of the region was probably taken from the original Gothic History of Cassiodorus. This would explain Jordanes’ otherwise extraordinary repetition of the geographical overview in the following paragraph. As it stands, Jordanes seems to have attempted to clarify Cassiodorus’ colourful description with a more straightforward, Orosian account of the same area. This process of clarification through implicit reference to geographical authorities is continued in a rather subdued form throughout Jordanes’ description of the region. For much of his account, the writer relies extensively upon unknown sources. In his description of the Hellenic trading emporia of the Black Sea coast, for example, Jordanes writes without obvious reference to the familiar geographers of Antiquity. Instead, his account contains elements that would appear to have been derived from a historical work, and which bear obvious relevance to the later narrative of the Getica: ‘But in that region where Scythia touches the Pontic coast it is dotted with towns of no mean fame: Borysthenis, Olbia, Callipolis, Cherson, Theodosia, Careon, Myrmicon and Trapezus. These towns the wild Scythian tribes allowed the Greeks to build to afford them a means of trade.’247 Despite this deviation from his standard form, the account in the Getica never strays far from Jordanes’ favoured authorities. When he turns his attention to the course of the River Tanais through the same region, the writer plunges back into the language of Orosius’ Historia with relief: ‘In the midst of Scythia is the place that separates Asia and Europe, I mean the Rhipaean Mountains, from which the mighty Tanais flows. This river enters Maeotis, a marsh having a circuit of one hundred and forty-four miles and never subsiding to a depth of less than eight fathoms.’248 The Orosian strains in this section are obvious enough. The earlier historian locates the source of the Tanais in the semimythical Rhipaean Mountains, and the river itself is identified as the boundary between Europe and Asia.249 Orosius writes only relatively allusively on the river itself, but the vast majority of the information that he does include is faithfully reproduced in the Getica.

247

248

249

Getica V.32: In eo vero latere, qua Ponticum litus attingit, oppidis haut obscuris involvitur, Boristhenide, Olbia, Callipolida, Chersona, Theodosia, Careon, Myrmicion et Trapezunta, quas indomiti Scytharum nationes Grecis permiserunt condere, sibimet commercia prestaturos. On this passage, cf. Dagron (1971), pp. 302–3. Getica V.32: In cuius Scythiae medium est locus, qui Asiam Europamque ab alterutro dividit, Riphei scilicet montes, qui Thanain vastissimum fundunt intrantem Meotida cuius paludis circuitas passuum mil. CXLIIII, nusquam octo ulnis altius subsidentis. Or., Hist. I.2.4–5; I.2.52.

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Jordanes Jordanes returns to the same description later in the Getica, when the attention of his audience is again drawn to the Tanais: By the Tanais I mean the river which flows down from the Rhipaean mountains and rushes with so swift a current that when the neighbouring streams or Lake Maeotis and the Bosphorus are frozen fast, it is the only river that is kept warm by the rugged mountains and is never solidified by the Scythian cold. It is also famous as the boundary of Asia and Europe.250

Here the Orosian strains evident in the introduction are complemented by anecdotal evidence from Pomponius Mela on the temperature of the river.251 Jordanes again demonstrates his loyalty to his two principal sources and his own ability to arrive at a satisfactory synthesis from their accounts. Elsewhere in the Getica Jordanes also integrates Mela’s account with that of Solinus on the course and idiosyncrasies of the Danaper, a river mentioned only briefly in the introduction.252 Jordanes’ description of the second region of Gothic Scythian settlement repeats this pattern of an apparently obscure description, consolidated by a later repetition along more familiar Orosian lines. The introductory geography of Scythia is disappointingly brief in its account of the Gothic settlement in Moesia, Dacia and Thrace despite its importance in the historical narrative of the Getica. Of the three regions, only Dacia is considered in depth, and even this short section rapidly gives way to a broader ethnographic excursus: Within these rivers lies Dacia, encircled by the lofty Alps as by a crown. Near their left ridge, which inclines towards the north, and beginning at the source of the Vistula, the populous race of the Venethis dwell, occupying a great expanse of land. Though their names are now dispersed amid various clans and places, yet they are chiefly called Sclaveni and Antes.253

This imbalance is amply redressed by the geographical digressions that later interrupt the text. Jordanes’ reiteration of the initial account includes information on indigenous groups only to aid his delineation of the region:

250

251 253

Getica V.45: Thanain vero hunc dico, qui ex Ripheis montibus deiectus adeo preceps ruit, ut, cum vicina flumina sive Meotis et Bosforus gelu solidentur, solus amnium confragosis montibus vaporatus, numquam Scythico duriscit algore. Hic Asiae Europaeque terminus famosus habetur. Cf. Pomponius Mela I.115. 252 Getica V.46; cf. Pomponius Mela II.6–7; Solinus 15.1. Getica V.34: Introrsus illis Dacia est, ad coronae speciem arduis Alpibus emunita, iuxta quorum sinistrum latus, qui in aquilone vergit, ab ortu Vistulae fluminis per inmensa spatia Venetharum natio populosa consedit. Quorum nomina licet nunc per varias familias et loca mutentur, principaliter tamen Sclaveni et Antes nominatur.

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Scythia I mean ancient Dacia, which the race of the Gepidae now possess. This country lies across the Danube within sight of Moesia, and is surrounded by a crown of mountains. It has two ways of access, one by way of Boutae and the other by Tapae. This Gothia, which our ancestors called Dacia and now, as I have said, is called Gepidia, was bounded on the east by the Roxolani, on the west by the Iazyges, on the north by the Sarmatians and Basternae and on the south by the river Danube.254

This purposeful use of ethnographic material contrasts with the rather meandering account in the introduction, in which the audience is drawn northward to the mouth of the Vistula, before the passage returns to the Gothic south. Despite these differences, the association between the passages is obvious enough. The reprise of the corona simile illustrates conclusively that the later digression drew heavily upon the introduction and was probably intended to supplement it. It is not a surprise, therefore, that the only recognizable classical voice behind the later description is that of Orosius, whose equation of Dacia and Gothia is repeated, albeit in slightly different form.255 Orosius’ geographical account is further plundered in Jordanes’ description of Moesia: ‘Our ancestors called this Kingdom Moesia. This province has on the east the mouths of the Danube, on the south Macedonia, on the west Histria and on the north the Danube.’256 Orosius’ is actually a rather more detailed description than this. He includes among Moesia’s neighbours Thracia, to the south-west, Dalmatia to the south-east and Pannonia to the north-west, but is otherwise followed exactly in the Getica, both in the areas named and in the order in which they are considered.257 On two separate occasions, therefore, it seems likely that Jordanes supplemented the material within the introduction with more expansive digression over the course of his narrative. This is not to suggest that Jordanes could not have been responsible for the whole of the Scythian section, but this pattern of clarification of an unusual geographical writing style would seem to follow Jordanes’ geographical methodology as it appears elsewhere in the Getica.

254

255 256

257

Getica XII.73–4: Daciam dico antiquam, quam nunc Gepidarum populi possidere noscuntur. Quae patria in conspectu Moesiae sita trans Danubium corona montium cingitur, duos tantum habens accessus, unum per Boutas, alterum per Tapas. Haec Gotia, quam Daciam appellavere maiores, quae nunc, ut diximus, Gepidia dicitur, tunc ab oriente Aroxolani, ab occasu Iazyges, a septentrione Sarmatae et Basternae, a meridiae amnis Danubii terminabant. Or., Hist. I.2.53. Getica IX.59: Huius itaque regnum Moesiam appellavere maiores. Quae provincia habet ab oriente ostia fluminis Danubii, a meridie Macedonia, ab occasu Histria, a septentrione Danubium. Or., Hist. I.2.55.

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Jordanes The description of Scythia bears several similarities to the passage on Scandza that precedes it. In both cases, the input of Jordanes seems marked and the coherence of each section within the structure of the introduction leaves little doubt that the passages were shaped to the peculiar requirements of Jordanes’ rhetoric. Alongside this, however, must be considered the presence of a number of apparently Cassiodoran elements in each passage. While these, too, may have been the work of Jordanes, in emulation of his model, the coincidence of dramatic change in descriptive technique and the unprecedented arrival of Cassiodoran linguistic echoes probably hint at something more significant. Jordanes’ measured deference to Mela and Orosius is replaced by a more complex style, composed with less reference to the writers of Antiquity. It seems likely that in these sections, the later epitomator moulded his own account around a model, or around individual fragments that he discovered in the Historia Gothorum. Although Cassiodorus’ input may be detected within the geography of the Getica, his material was carefully vetted by the compiler of the work, and placed within a context that was entirely of Jordanes’ own devising. JUSTINIAN AND THE GOTHS

Jordanes was evidently at great pains to set his account of the earliest stages of Gothic prehistory in an appropriate and authoritative context. His precedent for the identification of Scandza as the nurturing place of the Goths is uncertain, but as it stands, the opening section of the Getica must be ascribed to the Constantinopolitan writer. The echoes of Cassiodorus heard in the human geography of Scandza may have resulted from Jordanes’ exploitation of his source, or might equally reflect a deliberate mimicry of the Italian writer’s style, as is certainly the case elsewhere in the text. Ablabius, while evidently an important source for Jordanes’ discussion of Gothic Scythia, does not appear in the earlier section and cannot be assumed to have anticipated Jordanes in his discussion of the Goths’ first migration. The geographical introduction as it stands, and its central thesis that the gens first emerged onto the stage of history from the frozen northern island, was evidently original to Jordanes’ text. The explanation for Jordanes’ memorable choice of introduction is to be found in the context of mid-sixth-century Constantinople in which he wrote. As has been discussed, Jordanes very probably composed his work in an environment that witnessed substantial ethnographic and geographical enquiry. Yet this scholarship was prompted not only by the stabilization and revival of imperial power under Justinian and his predecessors, but also by extraordinary social and ethnic mobility within the 162

Justinian and the Goths imperial capital at this time. In this sense, the disputes surrounding Jordanes’ background are instructive. A former notarius to the Amal Gunthigis, the historian has variously been claimed as a Goth, as a result of his decision to compose a Gothic history and the elusive statement of his own sympathies in its closing section, and an Alan, on the strength of the name of his grandfather, Alanoviiamuth.258 Jordanes’ own ethnic affiliations are far from clear within his surviving work, but such confused origins were scarcely unique within Justinianic Constantinople. Following the rise of a succession of emperors who traced their origins to the confused milieu of the fifth- and sixth-century Balkans, political, military and even imperial authority was far from the exclusive preserve of a Greek-speaking elite.259 Justinian himself was a parvenu from Tauresium who seems to have regarded his Illyrian origins with a mixture of pride and unease.260 Within such a context, the ethnographic compositions of sixth-century Constantinople – among them the Getica – were clearly intended to classify, rationalize and normalize a changing and uncertain world. From this perspective, Patrick Amory has argued persuasively that the Getica might best be interpreted as a programmatic image of the ‘proper place’ of the Goths within the mid-sixth century.261 According to his reading, the emphasis upon the Balkans within the text was intended to accentuate the historical anomaly that the kingdoms of Ostrogothic Italy and Visigothic Spain represented, and thereby to provide justification for the Justinianic campaigns within these regions. Jordanes’ own origins within the Balkans would have added force to this display of overt deference to the emperor, and might be paralleled to the comparable display of Illyrian delight at the Justinianic reconquest, apparent in the different drafts of Marcellinus Comes’ Latin Chronicle.262 This interpretation casts an important light upon Jordanes’ emphasis on the Balkan phases of the Gothic past, and also helps to explain the otherwise anomalous interest in Visigothic history in a work ostensibly concerned with the Ostrogoths. Suggestive as this argument is, however, it does not fully explain the rhetorical value of the geographical introduction to the Getica. 258

259 260

261 262

Getica L. 266 and cf. LX. 316. Jordanes’ own ethnic background is discussed by Wagner (1967), pp. 4–17, Gillett (2000), pp. 482–4 and Christensen (2002), pp. 84–94. Amory (1997), pp. 277–91; Honore´ (1978), pp. 12–14. Amory (1997), pp. 289–90; Evans (1996), pp. 96–7; Honore´ (1978), pp. 1–39, esp. 28–30; and cf. Procopius, Anec. 6.1–3, and 14.2–3 on Justinian’s rustic origins. Amory (1997), pp. 291–312. Jordanes’ origins in the Balkan military milieu are discussed by Croke (1987), pp. 133–4. On the similar background to Marcellinus’ Chronicle, and the likely function of its two recensions, see Croke (2001), pp. 25–34, 78–101. The virulently anti-Gothic tone of the Chronicle, however, contrasts sharply with the celebration within the Getica.

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Jordanes If Jordanes regarded the Goths as a Balkan people, as Amory argues, the historian’s overt emphasis upon the supposed Scandinavian Urheimat of the group deserves some explanation.263 The most obvious function of the geographical introduction, aside from its simple descriptive importance, was its emphasis upon the extracontinental origins of the Goths. Both Jordanes and Cassiodorus clearly recognized the affiliation between their protagonists and the Scythian barbarians of classical Antiquity. The repeated association of the Goths with a land beyond Scythia further accentuated the perceived alterity of the group. Through the reiteration of the importance of Gothic prehistory, Jordanes was able to depict the Goths not only as identical to the traditional Scythian nemeses of classical historiography, but also as the close cousins of new, and more terrible, threats. Insular origins are used to explain the otherwise perplexing phenomena of Hunnic and Gepid activities and to link them to the history of the eponymous group.264 The Getica is consistently at pains to distance the Amali from the excesses of the Huns, Vandals and Gepids, but the very allusion to their kinship serves to emphasize the martial, and perhaps alien characteristics of the Goths themselves.265 This association was made still more potent by specific location of these historical ties in an area outside mainland Europe. Significantly, the divisions between different Scandinavian groups are depicted as having arisen only during the migration from Scandza, or in the very first, tentative European settlements.266 The links between the groups are effectively cast as prehistoric and are seen to occupy a physical location substantially removed from the familiar European milieu. Islands had always been the realm of the fantastic in classical literature and historiography. In Homer, Virgil, Thucydides and Diodorus Siculus, to name only the most obvious writers, islands had been the stage for the most peculiar historical acts.267 By making his protagonists the original inhabitants of these peripheral zones, Jordanes naturally accentuated the mysterious nature of their origins.268 The audience of the Getica would have been familiar with the implications of such topography, yet Jordanes

263

264 266 267

268

Amory (1997), p. 300 acknowledges the Scandinavian origin motif, and immediately brushes it aside: ‘Scandza is then forgotten about.’ Yet the very prominence of the migration myth within the Getica, and its adoption by later emulators, argue that the Scandza passage represents more than a colourful but meaningless preface. Getica XVII.94–100; XXIV.121–8. 265 Dagron (1971), p. 302. Getica XVII.94–6; XXIV.121. Gabba (1981); Spann (1977); Cassidy (1969), pp. 35–8; Marin (1971), p. 315; Helms (1988), pp. 217–18. For a rather different interpretation of the same episode, cf. Dagron (1971), pp. 303–5.

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Justinian and the Goths carefully cultivates these themes over the course of his introduction. While the catalogue of islands that opens the piece was primarily intended to support the simple assertion that Scandza existed, and that Gothic origins in the region were plausible, an essential secondary function was to place Scandza amongst a well-established congregation of appropriately strange locations. Perhaps the most important feature of the peripheral island in classical historiography is its anomalous relationship with the empire of the centre. As is discussed in chapter 1, islands had a deep symbolic significance for imperialist historians. Appian, for example, defined the greatness of Rome by its domination of the Mediterranean islands.269 Strabo, conversely, dismissed the importance and even existence of northern islands beyond the imperial frontier.270 This theme has particular resonance in the Getica, given the eventual subjugation of the Gothic people to Constantinople, albeit only after their migration to the continent. The insular origins of the Goths form an important recurring theme in the definition of the group and it seems likely that the perceived inevitability of their eventual absorption substantially shaped the introduction as a whole. The importance of islands as a representation of imperial power is first suggested by the political overtones of Jordanes’ accounts of Thule and Britannia. The direct quotation from Virgil that introduces Thule has obvious imperial connotations.271 Jordanes adds little to this excerpt, with the result that the northern island appears essentially an isolated vassal of Rome. As the foregoing discussion of Orosius’ geography demonstrates, this presentation of Thule was almost diametrically opposed to the standard classical presentation of the island, and indeed to the original meaning of Virgil’s deliberately hyperbolic statement. Similarly, if less controversially, one of the earliest elements in Jordanes’ description of Britannia places particular emphasis upon the political subjugation of the island: ‘It was long unapproached by Roman arms, until Julius Caesar disclosed it by battles fought for mere glory.’272 This image is reprised elsewhere in the Getica. The Roman domination of Britain is again noted, and Jordanes explains the absence of any similar reference to Roman hegemony in his account of Scandza: Then came Caesar, the first of all the Romans to assume imperial power and to subdue almost the whole world, who conquered all kingdoms and even seized 269 270 271 272

Appian, Hist. Praef. 5. Strabo II.5.7–8; cf. Romm (1992), p. 158; Dion (1977), pp. 256–60. Getica I.9; Romm (1992), pp. 158–9. Getica II.10: Quae diu si quidem armis inaccensam Romanis Iulius Caesar proeliis ad gloriam tantum quesitis aperuit.

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Jordanes islands lying beyond our world, reposing in the bosom of the ocean. He made tributary to the Romans those that knew not the Roman name, even by hearsay, and yet was unable to prevail against the Goths, despite his frequent attempts. Soon Gaius Tiberius reigned as third emperor of the Romans, and yet the Goths continued in their kingdom unharmed.273

Orosius was a fundamental source for this account. Although the earlier writer was rather more accurate in associating the practical domination of Britain and the parallel subjugation of the Orcades with Claudius, rather than Caesar, his influence here is clear.274 Not only does the description of the British conquest echo Orosius’ account, but the image of the Goths as a group who had perpetually avoided domination by the southern empires was also first presented by the earlier historian. While Orosius’ emphasis upon Gothic independence was intended to illustrate the limited extent of Roman hegemony prior to the events of 410 and the ephemeral nature of temporal rule, Jordanes put the same motif to rather different uses. Most obviously, the theory that the Goths had never been subject to Rome offered strong support for Jordanes’ conclusion that Scandza must have been the homeland of the group. The presentation of both Thule and Britain as regions that had experienced the yoke of Roman rule implicitly suggested that neither could have spawned the fiercely independent Goths.275 It is significant that Jordanes’ Getica was composed shortly before what was assumed to be the final act of the Gothic War and immediately after the marriage of Germanus and Matasuentha. Unlike Cassiodorus, Jordanes was writing from a perspective from which eventual Gothic capitulation to Constantinople on a political and military level could easily be envisaged, and perhaps expected. While it would be wrong to overestimate the extent to which these concerns shaped the Getica as a whole, the anticipated conclusion to centuries of Gothic independence probably altered Jordanes’ own additions to the work. This is suggested most persuasively by the brief panegyric to Justinian that forms the first part of the general conclusion to the Getica and which was certainly the work of Jordanes. In purely literary terms, this praise is uninspiring and certainly compares unfavourably with the contemporary eulogies penned by Corippus. Within the context of the Getica, however,

273

274

Getica XI.68: Caesar vero, qui sibi primus omnium Romanum vindicavit imperium et pene omnem mundum suae dicioni subegit omniaque regna perdomuit, adeo ut extra nostro urbe in oceani sinu repositas insulas occuparet, et nec nomen Romanorum auditu qui noverant, eos Romanis tributarios faceret, Gothos tamen crebro pertemptans nequivit subicere. Gaius Tiberius iam tertius regnat Romanis: Gothi tamen suo regno incolume perseverant. Or., Hist. VII.6.9–11. 275 Or., Hist. I.16.

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Justinian and the Goths and particularly of those additions made by Jordanes, the implications of the passage remain important: And now we have recited the origin of the Goths, the noble line of the Amali and the deeds of brave men. This glorious race yielded to a more glorious prince and surrendered to a more valiant leader, whose fame shall be silenced by no ages or cycles of years; for the victorious and triumphant emperor Justinian and his consul Belisarius shall be named and known as Vandalicus, Africanus and Geticus.276

The glorification of the Amali is sublimated to the greater praise of Justinian, and the emperor’s success is implicitly contrasted with the failures of earlier rulers to overcome the Goths. Given this conclusion, the constant re-emphasis of the Scandinavian origins of the group over the course of the Getica seems especially noteworthy. Although Justinian’s supposed conquest of the Goths took place within Europe, the very particular associations of the people with their point of origin offer another dimension to the praise of the emperor. His victory, through war or dynastic alliance, made him emperor not only over the focal Gothic group, but also, by extension, over their inaccessible Oceanic homeland. The restrained praise of Caesar for his military conquest of Britain forms the template for the later commendation of Justinian’s accomplishment. Jordanes’ Goths may well have been a Balkan people, as Amory suggests, but they were also a Scandinavian people. In celebrating both their antiquity, and their anticipated absorption into Justinian’s revived empire, the historian sought to clarify the boundaries between the triumphant imperial house and the exotic gens subdued before him. Jordanes’ allusions to comparable interpretations of Gothic origins that circulated in Constantinople at the time of his composition imply that the historian was not the first writer who attempted to make sense of the confusion of identity and ethnicity within Italy and the eastern empire during the sixth century. By situating the Gothic past in a context that flattered both the gens and their eventual conqueror, however, and by propagating a narrative that seemed to make sense of the disparate sources at his disposal, it was Jordanes’ Getica that proved to be definitive.

276

Getica LX.315: Haec hucusque Getarum origo ac Amalorum nobilitas et virorum fortium facta. Haec laudanda progenies laudabiliori principi cessit et fortiori duci manus dedit, cuius fama nullis saeculis nullisque silebitur aetatibus, sed victor ac triumphator Iustinianus imperator et consul Belesarius Vandalici Africani Geticique dicentur.

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Jordanes CONCLUSIONS

If Orosius’ introductory geography reflects the changing attitudes to the world engendered by the Christianization of the empire, Jordanes’ opening chapter was shaped indelibly by the shifting political compass of late Antiquity. The introduction to the Getica was undoubtedly dominated by the need to fit the resurgent gens Gothorum within the wider Weltbild of the Graeco-Roman centre. The oral traditions of the newly powerful group associated the earliest phases of Gothic history with the nebulous regions of the north, and Jordanes’ Getica may be read as an attempt to reconcile this fragmentary information with the authoritative canon of classical geographical and historical writing. Ultimately, of course, Jordanes identified Scandinavia as the most likely nurturing place of the gens, and in so doing created an origin myth that was to prove astonishingly long-lasting. Occasional allusions to Cassiodoran language within the introduction to the Getica suggest that Jordanes may not have been the first historian to draw these conclusions, but the structure of the introduction as a whole reveals the skill and determination with which the sixth-century writer defended his thesis. Upon close analysis, it seems probable that the geographical passage with which the Getica opens was composed as a coherent whole. Individual elements may have been appropriated from Cassiodorus’ lost Historia Gothorum, but the consistency of source use, authorial intervention and rhetorical structure argues strongly that the form in which they survive was largely the product of Jordanes’ own pen. Jordanes’ implicit acknowledgement that his interpretation was only one among several contrasting narratives of Gothic prehistory is essential to the understanding of his carefully wrought geographical introduction. Ultimately, the association of the gens Gothorum with Scandinavia rested on little more than Jordanes’ own reconciliation of circulating traditions with the established geographies of the Mediterranean world. The cavalcade of authorities employed by the writer in order to justify this assertion demonstrates both the importance of established thought to early medieval geography, and the shortcomings of this material for the understanding of sixth-century political reality. The geographical ambiguities of Gothic prehistory complemented the polemical drive of the Getica as a whole. The peculiar origins of the Goths add greatly to the ideological significance of the eventual union of the group and the empire, which forms the dramatic climax of the work. By suggesting that the Goths originated in a region that lay beyond even the expansive oikoumene depicted by Orosius, the heroes of his narrative are implicitly imbued with an extra-terrestrial quality of considerable 168

Conclusions rhetorical value. If Jordanes had his own political agenda within the composition, the associations of Matasuentha’s ancestors with a semiutopian island to the north would have considerably aided the panegyric qualities of the Getica. As a result, it is difficult to divorce the geographical chapter from the emotional narrative that follows. Within the broader context of early medieval society, however, it is the confrontation of the old world and the new which provides the most fascinating aspect of Jordanes’ geography. The changing political circumstances of the sixth century challenged the familiar ideas of the centre, and are vividly reflected in the opening chapters of the Getica. New historical foci rapidly emerged, away from the familiar Mediterranean, and the hazy periphery became loaded with a new significance. Increasingly, writers were forced to devote their attention to what had previously been terrae incognitae, and thereby upset the finely balanced assumptions of Antiquity. The geographical introduction of Jordanes’ Getica reveals a historian fully capable of manipulating a considerable corpus of material in the creation of something entirely new. No less importantly, it also provides a vivid illustration of the difficulties that such a process might create for a geographer writing within established traditions. The fact that Jordanes was at pains to associate his speculative geography with the fragmentary knowledge of the classical writers, and that later geographers readily imbued the Getica with its own canonical authority, reveal the tensions inherent in the description of the changing world of late Antiquity. Geographical thought was forced to evolve in response to the huge political and social changes of the period. Orosius provided a new paradigm upon which later historians could build, and Jordanes readily took the fifth-century work as his literary model. Nevertheless, it was by building upon Orosian geography, and by creating new geographical traditions, that the historians of the developing medieval world sought to define the historical changes with which they were confronted.

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Chapter 3

ISIDORE OF SEVILLE

Excepting only Augustine, Isidore of Seville was certainly the most influential, and the most prolific, Latin writer of late Antiquity. The voluminous oeuvre of the Spanish polymath would still have represented a challenge for the most intellectually voracious seventh-century audience, and his contemporaries would surely have agreed. As the later bibliography compiled by Isidore’s correspondent, Braulio of Saragossa, vividly demonstrates, the Sevillan bishop was extraordinarily prolific over the course of his eighty-year life.1 In this posthumous list, Isidore is accredited with an accomplished work of natural history, three different grammatical commentaries, five exegetical pieces of varying kinds, two pastoral rules, at least three different historical compositions and, as if to round off a startlingly productive literary career, perhaps the single most influential book of the Latin Middle Ages – the Etymologiae or Origines in twenty books. The last of these works represented the first attempt to provide an original summation of human knowledge for five and a half centuries and provided the yardstick against which all medieval encyclopaedias – and many later compositions – would be judged.2 Isidore’s productivity is all the more remarkable within the context of the world in which he lived. While Visigothic Spain was less moribund than contemporary Gaul in literary terms, and witnessed the production of a number of historical, hagiographical and theological compositions alongside the works of Isidore, the bishop of Seville remains the single outstanding figure of the period. Indeed, between Prudentius in the late fourth century and the Arab conquest in the eighth, no Spanish writer could even approach the literary prominence of the bishop.3 The 1 2

3

Braulio, Renotatio Isidori 1–17. The bibliography on the Origines is immense. See esp. Brehaut (1912); Borst (1966); Fontaine (1966), (1978) and (1986); Dı´az y Dı´az (1982); Codon˜er (1991); Oroz Reta (1987). Fontaine (1959), pp. 4–5.

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The historical writing of Isidore of Seville second and third decades of the seventh century – Isidore’s most productive period – have been identified as a Visigothic ‘renaissance’, thanks, almost exclusively, to the writings of the man himself.4 Yet in spite of this, Isidore did not work, as did both Orosius and Jordanes, in a context of vibrant literary activity. Like Bede a century later, the polymath indelibly shaped the intellectual community of the world in which he lived. Given such an impressive curriculum vitae, it is easy to overlook the contribution made by Isidore of Seville to the development of early Christian historiography. Unlike each of the other writers studied here, Isidore is not primarily remembered as a historian, and his accomplishments in the discipline have long been overshadowed by his more spectacular activity in other fields. Nevertheless, in his historical writing, as in so many other areas of literary activity, Isidore proved himself to be both versatile and prolific. The bishop composed a long continuation of the Chronicle of Eusebius-Jerome, a shorter universal chronicle as part of the Origines, a biographical continuation of the De viris illustribus of Jerome-Gennadius, and, in all likelihood, two different drafts of a narrative history of the Gothic regnum in Spain. While generic conventions certainly shaped these compositions, Isidore’s distinct voice may still be identified within each work. The writer’s forays into chronology and biography are far from slavish simulacra of existing works, and his treatment of narrative historiography within the different histories of the Goths is still more innovative. Although Isidore’s Gothic history, in its different forms, has frustrated modern scholars through the complexity of its composition and its rather summary account of the Visigothic kingdom, it undoubtedly represents a significant stage in the evolution of Christian geographical and historiographical expression. THE HISTORICAL WRITING OF ISIDORE OF SEVILLE

Isidore of Seville was both one of the more important practitioners of historiography within the early medieval period, and one of its most influential proponents. Yet remarkably little attention has been devoted to his work in the field. Isolated studies exist of Isidore’s longer Chronicon Gothorum, and of his De viris illustribus, with important implications for the study of Isidore’s other historical works.5 Similarly, individual aspects of the Histories have also been examined, often with 4 5

Fontaine (1959), pp. 863–6. On the Chronicon, see esp. Bassett (1976) and Reydellet (1970); on the De viris illustribus, see Koeppler (1936) and Codon˜er (1964).

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Isidore of Seville rewarding results, and fruitful comparisons have been drawn between Isidore and the other major historians of the Visigothic realm.6 Beyond the excellent introduction to Cristo´bal Rodrı´guez Alonso’s seminal edition of the two recensions of Isidore’s Gothic History, however, investigation of the polymath’s historical methodology has been sparing, and many of the conclusions reached within this study appear to have been ignored by subsequent scholars.7 The importance of historical concepts to the philosophy behind the Origines, and the influence of Isidore upon later historiography, renders this neglect particularly striking.8 The ideologies behind Isidore’s historiography are perhaps most fruitfully explored through reference to the different definitions of historia provided within the Origines: History is the story of what has been done, and by its means what has taken place in the past is perceived. It is called in Greek historia . . . that is from seeing (videre) and learning (cognoscere). For among the ancients no-one wrote history unless he had been present and witnessed what was to be described. For we understand what we see better than we do what we gather by hearsay.9

This initial emphasis upon autopsy as the foundation of historical enquiry is supplemented almost immediately by a subtler delineation of historical genres. Here, Isidore distinguishes between diaria and annales as appropriate methodologies, before returning to the definition of historiae: But history is a thing of many years or times, and through diligence in it the yearly commentaries are put into books. Between history and annals there is a difference, that history belongs to times which we see, and annals belong to years which our age does not know. Whence Sallust is made up of history; Livy, Eusebius and Jerome of annals and history.10

The anachronism of Isidore’s schema is immediately striking. Autopsy remained an ideological focus for historical writing within the early 6 7 8

9

10

See, for example, the excellent study of Hillgarth (1970). Rodrı´guez Alonso (1975), and cf. the short review in Fontaine (1976b), pp. 427–9. Cf. Orig. I.41.2 and the discussion in Fontaine (1959), p. 180, Borst (1965) and Reydellet (1970), p. 375. Orig. I.41.1: Historia est narratio rei gestae, per quam ea, quae in praeterito facta sunt dinoscuntur. Dicta autem Graece historia . . . id est a videre vel cognoscere. Apud veteres enim nemo conscribebat historiam, nisi is qui interfuisset, et ea quae conscribenda essent vidisset. Melius enim oculis quae fiunt deprehendimus, quam quae auditione colligimus. Orig. I.44.4: Historia autem multorum annorum vel temporum est, cuius diligentia annui commentarii in libris delati sunt. Inter historiam autem et annales hoc interest, quod historia est eorum temporum quae vidimus, annales vero sunt eorum annorum quos aetas nostra non novit. Unde Sallustius ex historia, Livius, Eusebius et Hieronymus ex annalibus et historia constant.

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The historical writing of Isidore of Seville medieval period, but the introduction of methods of textual enquiry within Eusebius’ Historia Ecclesiastica created new emphases in the analysis of historical evidence from the fourth century, as Jordanes’ painstaking discussion of source material amply demonstrates.11 Similarly, despite Isidore’s familiarity with the chronicle genre, both within his own writing and among his historical sources, the form is not dignified with a separate entry in the Origines.12 Isidore exploited the Chronicles of Hydatius and Maximus of Saragossa within his Historia Gothorum, refers to the works of Eusebius-Jerome and Julius Africanus in the preface to his longer chronicle, and includes short biographies of Victor of Tunnuna and John of Biclaro within his De viris illustribus.13 In both the De viris and the Origines, moreover, Isidore specifically praises brevity as a stylistic virtue within historical writing.14 Yet in spite of an admirable breadth of reading within the genre, and an obvious appreciation of its form, Isidore rather clumsily groups Jerome’s Chronicon with the Historia of Livy and, perhaps, the Historia Ecclesiastica composed by Eusebius: three strikingly different works.15 Given Isidore’s idiosyncratic perspective on historical composition, it should hardly come as a surprise that the writer’s own contribution to narrative history does not adhere rigidly to any familiar historiographic template, when judged either against the paradigms cited above, or against extant historical compositions from the period. The problem is exemplified by the uncertainty regarding the intended title of his longest historical composition. Frequently referred to by modern scholars as the ‘History of the Goths, Vandals and Sueves’, the work seems to have been imbued with a rather different significance in the seventh century.16 In his bibliography of Isidore’s works, Braulio of Saragossa includes a short allusion to the Historia: ‘One book on the Origin of the Goths, and the Kingdom of the Sueves, and also the History of the Vandals.’17 Braulio was a close correspondent of Isidore, and composed his bibliography shortly after the bishop’s death, with the result that several recent studies have identified his proposed title as an accurate reflection of the intentions of the Sevillan in the composition of 11 12 14 15

16

17

Cf. the discussion of Jordanes, above. Reydellet (1970), pp. 376–7. 13 Reydellet (1970), pp. 368–9. De viris illustribus 25, 31; Orig. II.7.2; cf. Fontaine (1960), p. 68, n.12; Reydellet (1970), pp. 370–1. It is possible, of course, that Isidore’s reference to Eusebius in Orig. II.7.2 was intended as an allusion to the writer’s Chronicon, rather than the Historia Ecclesiastica – a more forgivable point of comparison with Jerome. The contrast with Livy remains striking, nevertheless. Rodrı´guez Alonso (1975) entitles the work Las historias de los Godos, Vandalos y Suevos, Donini and Ford (1970) History of the Goths, Vandals and Suevi and Wolf (1990) (who omits the historical appendices) simply History of the Kings of the Goths. Braulio Renotatio Isidori 15.

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Isidore of Seville 18

the piece. The designation De origine Gothorum suggested by Braulio recalls both Jordanes’ De origine actibusque Getarum, and of course the title of Isidore’s most famous composition. The epistemological links between the History of the Goths and the Origines were certainly strong, and it seems reasonable to assume that Braulio, if not Isidore, was anxious to draw these associations closely. Whether the Sevillan bishop also intended his work to emulate Jordanes’ composition, however, or indeed Cassiodorus’ original, is rather less clear, and few echoes of either writer may be identified within the histories.19 Despite their obvious thematic similarities – after all, both works are concerned with a group identified as the gens Gothorum – the focus of Isidore’s work is substantially different from that of the sixth-century writer. Where Jordanes’ Getica focuses extensively upon Gothic prehistory, and genuinely concerns itself with Gothic origins, Isidore’s is largely an account of the recent past. Similarly, where Jordanes and Cassiodorus consciously sought to fit Gothic origins within the wider template provided by the history of Rome, Isidore effectively distanced his own work from the traditions of classical historiography. Within his writing on Gothic history, Isidore apparently replaced this loyalty to imperial ideology with an intense devotion to the Iberian peninsula. The point is illustrated most dramatically by the geographical introduction that Isidore included within one recension of his Historia. The Laus Spaniae, as it is popularly known, takes the form of a dramatic eulogy to Isidore’s homeland, and is unquestionably the most famous feature of the work, as well as being a remarkable literary composition in its own right.20 The provincial perspective implied by this emphasis, combined with Isidore’s refusal to imbue the Roman Empire with any eschatological significance, has earned considerable attention within modern scholarship, and certainly marks an important fissure within the evolution of western historiography.21 Earlier historians had long acknowledged the centrality of the empire within the human and divine past, whether explicitly, in the case of Eusebius, Orosius and Jordanes, or implicitly in the manner of Augustine and Gregory of Tours. As has been 18

19

20 21

Fontaine (1976b), p. 428. Rodrı´guez Alonso (1975), p. 172 also entitles his edition of the Long Redaction of the History De origine Gothorum, and the shorter Historia Gothorum. For the sake of clarity, and to distinguish between Isidore’s historical work, his etymological composition and the work of Cassiodorus-Jordanes, the work will be referred to here simply as the Gothic Histories, with distinction drawn between the long recension (LR) and short recension (SR). Cf. Hillgarth (1970), p. 295 and Messmer (1960), p. 86, who argues that Isidore may have been aware of Cassiodorus’ composition, if not the later Getica. On modern studies of the Laus Spaniae, see below, pp. 185–6. Rodrı´guez Alonso (1975), p. 11; compare esp. Reydellet (1981), pp. 514–23, who argues that Isidore retained a positive view of the empire.

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The historical writing of Isidore of Seville discussed, Roma aeterna offered a spatial and temporal framework that proved difficult for Christian writers to reject, even after the political fragmentation of the fifth century. Although Isidore was far from ignorant of the significance of the imperial past – and the relationship between the empire and the Goths provided a dominant theme within his work – his Gothic histories are remarkable for the confidence with which they adopt a wholly original historical perspective. As the Laus Spaniae makes abundantly clear, and as the rigid narrative focus of the work as a whole demonstrates still further, Isidore’s was a history devoted to three principal themes: the Gothic people, their new homeland in Hispania and the role played by the Church in the facilitation of this union. It is perhaps inevitable that the emphases of Isidore’s work have frequently led modern scholars to identify the Sevillan as the first proponent of a genuinely ‘national’ historiography.22 The Gothic Histories and the Laus Spaniae certainly proved influential in the evolution of ‘Spanish’ political thought in the aftermath of the Reconquista, and it is scarcely coincidental that the works received particularly assiduous attention in mid-twentieth-century Spain. The Falangist historical programme of this period sought principally to trace the origins of Spanish identity to the reign of Isabella of Castille and the fifteenth-century reformulation of the Catholic state, but Isidore’s writing provided a persuasive model of a proto-nationalist ideology for the period before the Muslim invasion.23 Influenced to a large degree by the seminal Historia de Espan˜a of Ramo´n Mene´ndez Pidal, modern Spanish historians increasingly identified Isidore’s work as a cornerstone in the ‘Nacimiento del nacionalismo moderno’.24 In many ways, the identification of Isidore as ‘el primer espan˜ol’ is an understandable and compelling one.25 As a champion of Catholicism both within his homeland and throughout medieval Europe, the Sevillan bishop seemed to typify the twentieth-century ideology that identified Spain as a chosen vehicle for divine intervention within a corrupt world.26 Within his eulogistic description of Spain itself, Isidore appeared to anticipate the intense patriotism and regional pride that so coloured nineteenth- and twentieth-century historiography, and in so doing broke firmly from the conceptual boundaries of Roman Antiquity. 22 23

24

25 26

Rodrı´guez Alonso (1975), p. 20; Romero (1947); Reydellet (1970), p. 363. On Spanish historiography under Franco, cf. the stimulating discussion in Herzberger (1995), pp. 16–36. Mene´ndez Pidal (1940), p. xxxv; cf. for example, Maravall (1958), pp. 818–22; Sa´nchez Alonso (1947), pp. 60–75; Garcı´a Villada (1940), pp. 87–8; Elorduy (1944), pp. 438–40. The phrase is that of Romero (1947), p. 6, although he employs it cautiously. Garcı´a Villada (1940), pp. 87–99 provides a particularly vivid illustration of this.

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Isidore of Seville In ostensibly limiting the attentions of his history to the clear spatial boundaries provided by the Iberian peninsula, and in celebrating the unity of the realm under a powerful and Catholic king, Isidore would seem to anticipate Franco’s famous dictum regarding ‘One Spain, One Race, One Religion’.27 As Patrick Geary’s recent study of medieval scholarship has demonstrated, however, the retrospective application of modern ideologies onto the embryonic successor states of the west is a discourse fraught with danger, and this is no less true of Isidore’s Spain than of sixth-century Frankia or the Serbia of Kosovo polje.28 The ‘nationalist’ paradigm was developed by modern commentators in an effort to make sense of later European political development, and remains the subject of considerable theoretical discussion.29 While this debate has much to contribute to the understanding of the post-Roman west, particularly on matters such as ethnicity and its role in state-formation, the uncritical application of anachronistic models is generally to be avoided. These problems are compounded by the ideological associations of terms like ‘nationalism’ within the modern world. As a result, many of the most recent studies of Isidore’s political philosophy have been extremely cautious in their use of the term.30 Rather than engage here upon a detailed discussion of contemporary theory on nationalism, and then attempt to apply it to Isidore’s writings, it would perhaps be more illuminating simply to regard the seventh-century writer against the ideology formulated by Franco. To assess, in other words, whether Isidore’s thought subscribed to the tripartite ideal of One Spain, One People, One Religion. At first glance, Isidore’s Laus Spaniae would seem to provide ample illustration of the writer’s belief in the unity and coherence of Spain, yet this assumption scarcely stands up to closer investigation. Some sense of territorial coherence is certainly implied by Isidore’s use of the singular terms Hispania and provincia within the Laus, rather than the plural Hispaniae and provinciae preferred by Roman administrative texts.31 Yet for all of its literary appeal, the use of the singular also creates a certain geographical ambiguity within Isidore’s account. His is a celebration not of the Roman Spanish provinces, but of something more abstract; a 27 28

29 30

31

Herzberger (1995), p. 36. Geary (2002), pp. 1–40. Perhaps surprisingly, Geary devotes relatively little space within his work to the Iberian peninsula, but the manipulation of Spanish history to political ends provides a striking illustration of his argument. See, for example, Anderson (1991), Smith (2000) and the discussion in Pohl (2003). Hillgarth (1966), p. 501, n.88; Romero (1947), p. 6; Va´zquez de Parga (1961), p. 105; Liebeschuetz (1998), p. 140, n.103; and note the discussion of the problem in Teillet (1984), pp. 1–6. On the uses of Hispania/e compare Maravall (1954), pp. 10–11 and Reydellet (1981), pp. 510–11.

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The historical writing of Isidore of Seville position accentuated by the omission of any physical geographical references within the passage. Naturally enough, the vast majority of later commentators on the Laus, from the Reconquista onwards, have simply equated Isidore’s Hispania with the territorial boundaries of the Iberian peninsula, yet there are dangers in making such an assumption. Hispania meant different things to the writer in different contexts, and could include regions both beyond the Strait of Gibraltar and beyond the Pyrenees.32 By employing obviously literary language within his introduction, therefore, and by omitting any definition of his terminology, Isidore actually created something rather more nebulous than has frequently been assumed. Isidore’s ethnographic assumptions, like his geographical perspective, are also more complex than they might at first seem. That the writer intended his histories to be a celebration of the Gothic past, and particularly of the contemporary Gothic state, need hardly be doubted. The gens, after all, features prominently in each of the alternative titles by which the work is known, and is itself the subject of the Laus Gothorum – a second eulogistic passage which forms a conclusion to the narrative of the text.33 Yet the very ambiguity of Isidore’s work testifies to the complexity of conceptions of ethnicity within late Antiquity. The precise significance of the terms natio and gens have been the subject of considerable study in recent years, but it seems evident that the linguistic ambiguities of the terms were as evident in the seventh century as they are today.34 In the Origines, for example, Isidore appears to have been indiscriminate in his use of such terms, and gens and natio are virtual synonyms within the work.35 Within his histories, however, Isidore would appear to have subscribed to the common definition of natio as rex et gens sua – a formulation which placed particular emphasis upon the royal line in the definition of an ethnic grouping.36 Consequently, it is the leaders of the gens, rather than the Goths as a whole, who provide the dramatis personae of Isidore’s historical drama, with the result that his work has justifiably been

32 33

34

35 36

See below, pp. 202–5. LR 66–70. Throughout the study that follows, passages appearing in the longer recension are referred to as LR, those in the shorter recension as SR. Passages common to both appear as SR/ LR. All chapter divisions are taken from the edition of Rodrı´guez Alonso. The Laus Spaniae (which only appears in the longer recension of Isidore’s history but is not provided with a chapter number by Rodrı´guez Alonso) appears as LS in the footnotes. The bibliography on late antique ethnography is too vast to enter into here, but see esp. the discussions in Pohl (1991) and (1998) and chapter 2, above. On Isidore’s use of this language, see the thought-provoking discussion of Adams (1969). Orig. IX.2.1; a point made by Claude (1998), p. 117, n.4. A definition highlighted and employed by Teillet (1984), p. 4.

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Isidore of Seville categorized as a ‘galerie des rois’.37 In many ways, the methodology of Isidore’s Historia reflects that of his earlier continuation of the De viris illustribus cycle of Jerome and Gennadius, and of his summary of the lives of the great figures of biblical history in his De ortu et obitu patrum.38 Isidore’s emphasis upon the Gothic royal line as the personification of the gens hints at the selective focus of his work. This becomes still more apparent through the writer’s almost complete omission of any reference to the indigenous inhabitants of Spain within the histories. There can be no dispute that the writer was aware of the complex ethnic collage within the peninsula; after all he describes such peoples at length within the Origines and would not have considered himself to be a Goth.39 Yet unlike Gregory of Tours, who portrayed a multi-faceted Gallic society with little reference to ethnic divisions, Isidore was deliberately reticent in depicting the context of Gothic growth in Spain. No mention is made of the relations between Goth and Hispano-Roman, and the ethnic conflicts described within the work are limited to the contact between the eponymous royal line and the Sueves, Vandals and Byzantine Romani. Within this context, Walter Goffart’s work again provides a valuable reminder that individual gentes provided a common focus for historical writing from Josephus onwards. Such histories could certainly strengthen conceptions of ethnic unity, but were not intended as prescriptive political statements to the exclusion of other groups.40 As shall be discussed, the relations between the Visigothic royal house and the indigenous gentes within Spain may have formed an important subliminal theme within the imagery of the Historia, but the text cannot be read as a simple declaration that Hispania as a whole was a region with a single ethnic composition. This is not to suggest that Isidore’s histories did not have an important political message, merely that this message was not the prescription of a monolithic ‘Gothic’ region. If the Historia privileged ‘One Race’, therefore, through the enumeration of its royal line, Isidore’s broader view of Spain, unlike Franco’s, did not. Ultimately, only the third of Franco’s ideals – that of ‘One Religion’ – has direct relevance to the world depicted by Isidore, and it is the writer’s Catholic perspective which provides the key to the understanding of the work as a whole. The explicit importance of the Church is less obvious within Isidore’s work than within Gregory’s Histories or Bede’s Historia Ecclesiastica, but is nevertheless central to the composition. If Isidore conceived of Hispania itself in slightly ambiguous terms, and was fully

37 39 40

The phrase is that of Reydellet (1981), p. 526. 38 Reydellet (1981), pp. 526–7. Orig. IX.2.1; a point made by Claude (1998), p. 117, n.4. Goffart (1988), pp. 4–6; cf. Bickerman (1952) and compare the discussion above, pp. 30–1.

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The composition of the Gothic histories aware of the other groups which lived alongside the Gothi within the region, his emphasis upon the singularity of Christian belief is rarely compromised. Within Isidore’s narrative, the gens only comes of age through its conversion to Catholicism. Prior to Reccared’s adoption of the faith, the status of the group within the wider world is ambiguous, and marked only by a confusion of internecine fighting. It is only in the period after the conversion that the gens is allowed to assume its rightful position within Hispania. Isidore’s History of the Goths is certainly the most literary of the histories considered here. Bede’s may be the more pleasing text in purely aesthetic terms, but Isidore’s composition has the greatest narrative coherence of any work of late antique historiography. The twin climaxes to the work are the Gothic conquest of Hispania and the concomitant conversion of the group to Catholicism, and much of the remainder of the composition is dedicated to providing a context for these events. Although the royal succession lends an important structural coherence to Isidore’s account, and the contemporary political situation naturally affected his presentation of the Gothic past, neither may truly be said to be the subject of the Gothic histories. The relative speed with which the author passed over the individual characters of the Gothic kings, and his virtual silence on the relations between the Goths and other inhabitants of the Iberian peninsula, demonstrate that Isidore’s historical interests lay elsewhere. This emphasis upon literary balance rather than upon ‘hard’ historical material has frustrated generations of scholars, and has led to the unfortunate neglect of Isidore’s historiographical talents.41 Yet his historical scholarship deserves to be studied, not merely for its illustration of the central role which the geographical introduction might play within the expression of historical argument, but for the light which its unique transmission history might cast upon historiographical composition in the early medieval period. THE COMPOSITION OF THE GOTHIC HISTORIES

Modern frustrations regarding the Gothic histories have been compounded by the confusion surrounding the process of their composition. The composition survives in two distinct redactions, and the relationship between them has been the subject of considerable dispute. The two 41

Demonstrated by the famous (and oft-cited) outburst of Thompson (1969), p. 7: ‘As a history it is unworthy of the famous savant who wrote it. He could hardly have told us less, except by not writing at all’, and compare Va´zquez de Parga (1961), p. 100 that Isidore: ‘no tenı´a temperamento de historiador’.

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Isidore of Seville redactions of the work are superficially similar, but differ both in chronological span and in important features of structure and content. The shorter redaction survives in three later medieval manuscripts, all of which demonstrably derive from a single source.42 It provides a succinct summary of Gothic royal history, which traces the past of the eponymous group from the early fourth century to the murder of King Sisebut in 619. Drawing extensively upon the chronological and historical information provided by the Chronicles of Hydatius and Maximus, the work also exploits Orosius at considerable length. Although this version is provided with a cursory ethnographic preface, and includes a brief allusion to the origins of the Goths, the ‘succession of consuls and kings’ provides the armature upon which the body of the redaction is constructed, and its writer rarely deviates far from this paradigm.43 The second, and longer, redaction survives in a number of separate manuscript traditions, datable to the ninth century.44 It traces the history of the gens down to 624 and the final defeat of the Byzantine army by Suinthila. This increased chronological scope is complemented by a greater rhetorical depth over the course of the text. Famously, this redaction is introduced by a long eulogy to Hispania – the Laus Spaniae – which has justifiably been regarded as one of Isidore’s finest literary passages in its own right.45 A parallel Laus Gothorum, in praise of the eponymous gens, forms a conclusion to the narrative history under the title Recapitulatio, and reprises many of the themes of the preface. Together, these passages lend coherence to the text and establish the primary themes of the work. The longer redaction of the history also provides a rather fuller account of many individual episodes within the Gothic past. The origins of the group are treated in more depth, Alaric’s sack of Rome provides the subject of a substantial digression and Gothic Arianism is discussed at length. This revised narrative is then supplemented further by extensive additions to two substantial appendices on the histories of the Vandals and Sueves: the great rivals of the Goths for the domination of Spain.46 The survival of two distinct redactions of Isidore’s Gothic history has been explained in a number of ways. The simplest of these is certainly that the shorter redaction represents a first draft of the Gothic history, written 42

43 44 45 46

On the manuscript tradition, see Rodrı´guez Alonso (1975), p. 138 and the discussion in Collins (1994), pp. 348–9. SR 1. Rodrı´guez Alonso (1975), pp. 146–61 and cf. the discussion in Collins (1994), pp. 348–9. Fontaine (2001), p. 61. On the histories of the Vandals and Sueves, see esp. the short study and Spanish translation of Romero (1944).

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The composition of the Gothic histories in around 619 or 620. Isidore is then thought to have returned to this work around five years later, in the giddy aftermath of Suinthila’s victory over the Byzantines, and to have produced a substantially revised history in the light of the new ideological climate within the kingdom. Straightforward as this interpretation might seem, it has not gone unchallenged by modern students. In the scholarly apparatus to his edition of the texts for the MGH, Theodor Mommsen argued that the two redactions are derived from a single Isidoran Historia, probably written c.625, and that neither surviving version reflects absolutely the original composition.47 The shorter redaction, Mommsen suggests, was a later attempt to create a Gothic history independently of the great bishop, with recognizably Isidoran elements, including of course the Laus Spaniae as well as the Suinthilan aspects, ruthlessly omitted. This interpretation has the virtue of explaining the very limited manuscript survival of the shorter redaction and gains further support from the observation that many of Isidore’s other works were subject to similar posthumous revision. Elements within the shorter redaction also support the argument that the text was a truncated version of a longer narrative, rather than a coherent composition in its own right. The absence of a meaningful introduction to the work, and its rather abrupt end with the illness and death of King Sisebut, certainly read like an inexpert revision, as does the inaccurate chronological summary which concludes the text. Mommsen’s position understandably gained considerable support throughout the early part of the twentieth century, and implicitly thereafter. It is perhaps partly as a reflection of the longevity of this thesis that the discrepancies between the redactions are rarely discussed within contemporary studies of Isidore’s historical scholarship. Pierre Cazier has recently refined Mommsen’s argument through reference to the unstable political environment of Visigothic Spain in the early 630s.48 Apparently hated by the Visigothic aristocracy, Suinthila was the victim of a coup under Sisenand, and was posthumously anathematized by the Fourth Council of the Spanish Church, convened by the new king in Toledo in 634, and presided over by the erstwhile champion of the fallen monarch, Isidore. Within Cazier’s reading, the revisions to the longer redaction were made by Isidore himself, rather than an anonymous scribe, and were intended to present an expurgated version of the Gothic past with the disgraced king omitted from the text. Persuasive as these suggestions undoubtedly are, neither is entirely satisfactory in explaining many of the textual differences between the 47 48

Mommsen (1894), p. 254 and compare the discussion in Rodrı´guez Alonso (1975), pp. 24–31. Cazier (1994), pp. 62–8.

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Isidore of Seville 49

two recensions. While the absence of Suinthila from the shorter redaction is readily explained by both Mommsen and Cazier, the similar omission of his predecessor Reccared II provides a more intractable problem. The short description of the king that appears within the longer text is neither conspicuously ‘Isidoran’ in its emphases, nor did it represent an unsavoury memory within the changed political landscape of the 630s.50 Political historiography, it might be remembered, works best as a reinterpretation of events, rather than through simple, uncritical effacing of offending individuals. The suspicion remains that, had Isidore wished to provide a rewritten history of the 620s, his interests would have been better served by doing precisely that, rather than by ignoring the decade completely within a revised history. The subtle but extensive changes within the wider narrative of the piece also provide substantial objections to arguments promoting the primacy of the longer recension. This is particularly apparent in the treatment of Sisebut’s forcible conversion of the Jews in 615 – an event that was to have tragic significance within the treatment of the group throughout the seventh century.51 Regarded with unmitigated favour in the shorter redaction, the same episode is treated with more caution in the longer. Here, Isidore not only questions the efficacy of imposed conversion, he also adds a short moral coda to the passage. Sisebut, he notes, was thought by many to have died from an overdose of medication – an obvious allegorical footnote within a work much given to such illustrations of divine justice.52 The dramatic difference in tone between the works is perhaps best explained by the maturing of the bishop’s attitude towards such enforced conversion over time. Within the Sententiae, for example, probably written towards the end of Isidore’s life, the bishop displays a marked scepticism towards enforced baptism.53 Within the Canons of IV Toledo, moreover, a similar resistance to state intervention in the evangelical role of the Church may also be detected.54 Although the later recension of the history probably predated each of these pieces by at least half a decade it is perhaps possible to detect within the work the embryonic form of this argument. Initially triumphant at an ostensible 49

50 52

53

54

Rodrı´guez Alonso (1975), pp. 29–31 highlights many of the textual difficulties inherent in the Mommsen thesis. Compare also the implicit ratification of these objections in Fontaine (2002), p. 169. LR 61. 51 SR 60; LR 60. LR 61; cf. also Valens’ death in SR/LR 9, and the discussion of other examples of divine vengeance, below. Sent. 2.2–4. The dating of the Sententiae to late in Isidore’s life has been persuasively proposed by Cazier (1986), pp. 377–8 and (1994), pp. 5–7. IV Toledo 57. On the treatment of Judaism within the council, cf. Orlandis and Ramos-Lisson (1986), pp. 288–92.

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The composition of the Gothic histories Christian victory, the perspective of the bishop may have changed between the circulation of the first recension of his work and the composition of the second.55 Changing attitudes to the perceived enemies of the Catholic Church may also explain the contrasting attention paid to the Arian heresy within the different recensions of the Historia. Isidore’s longer redaction expounds repeatedly, and at length, upon the Gothic conversion to Arianism, and upon the nature of the heresy itself: topics scarcely broached within the shorter version.56 Again, such a shift can scarcely be explained by the suggestion that the bishop expurgated his piece for political reasons, yet argues forcefully that the longer draft reflected changed interests on the part of the writer. Spanish Arianism was long extinguished by the early part of the seventh century, and scarcely seems to have been a pressing concern for much of Sisebut’s reign. Nevertheless, the second provincial council of Seville produced an expansive condemnation of the heresy in 619 as part of a substantial affirmation of the two natures of Christ.57 It seems probable that Isidore, who presided over the council, was sufficiently moved by this denunciation to reiterate the conciliar position within a second draft of his historical work. A theme with little contemporary relevance prior to 619 was thus granted a central position in the recension that emerged six years later. On a less dramatic level, the subtler differences between the narratives of the two drafts also suggest that the longer version was the later composition. At several points, the rather frugal narrative of the shorter redaction contrasts with the fuller and more generous treatment of events in the longer. In his description of Alaric’s sack of Rome in 410, Isidore appears to have supplemented his initial account through the addition of further Orosian material.58 Similarly, the expansive account of the Hunnic campaign within the recension of 624 contrasts sharply with the rather skeletal representation of the same event in the shorter work.59 Several of these changes may be explained by the greater thematic coherence of the longer redaction, and by Isidore’s intention to develop implicit themes more fully within his revised history. Still other elements may simply have been dictated by the historian’s reappraisal of the source material available to him: a process familiar to historians of any age.60 On the few occasions in which the shorter composition provides

55 56 57 58 60

Cf. Gonza´lez-Salinero (1998), pp. 143–9. See, for example, LR 7–8, 10, 53. For a brief discussion, cf. Rodrı´guez Alonso (1975), p. 36. Cf. Thompson (1969), p. 277; Orlandis and Ramos-Lisson (1986), pp. 253–9. Cf. SR 15; LR 15–19 and see the discussion below. 59 Cf. SR 25; LR 25–29. Rodrı´guez Alonso (1975), pp. 40–1.

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Isidore of Seville the fullest historical account, moreover, discrepancies may be explained by a similar pattern of editorial revision or by subtle changes of emphasis on the part of the historian. Changing attitudes towards Byzantium after 624, for example, may explain Isidore’s decision to omit his famous description of Leovigild’s pseudo-imperial regalia from the longer version of his work.61 Consequently, it is the simplest solution to the difficulties posed by the twin recensions that seems likely to win lasting support. The shorter redaction, which traces the history of the Goths only as far as 619, would seem to be a composition of Isidore’s earlier life, to which the writer then returned, half a decade later, after Suinthila’s final unification of Spain seemed to open a new chapter in Gothic history.62 This ‘first draft’ may compare poorly with Isidore’s more polished compositions, but it may never have been intended as a completed work. Indeed, its primary function may have been to revise and update the Spanish Chronicle of Maximus of Saragossa, as Roger Collins has recently argued, rather than to provide a wholly original work of history.63 The recognition that Isidore’s history of the Goths was composed in two distinct stages, and that each responded to different literary and historical impulses, provides an illuminating perspective on Isidore’s own historical consciousness, but one that is rarely fully appreciated. This neglect contrasts sharply with the scholarship recently devoted to the similar distortions undergone by Gregory of Tours’ Decem libri historiarum during the sixth, seventh and eighth centuries, in which the differing forms of the composition are shown to have reflected both the author’s own historical vision, and the desires of his different audiences.64 Where Gregory’s work is now habitually regarded as a many-layered text, with rewarding results, Isidore’s is too frequently dismissed as little more than a problem for his modern editors to solve. The only existing English translations of the work provide composite versions of the Historia, with little explicit attention paid to the complexities of transmission and composition.65 Despite the nuanced presentation of the text in Rodrı´guez Alonso’s Spanish edition, the simplified

61

62

63 64

65

SR 51. The passage is, of course, a famous one, but its omission from the longer recension has rarely been discussed. Hertzberg (1874), pp. 18–19 first proposed this reading of the text, which has been developed by both Rodrı´guez Alonso (1975), passim, and by Collins (1994). Collins (1994). Compare Heinzelmann (2001), pp. 192–201, Sot (1997), Reimitz (2003) and the study of Goffart (1987). Donini and Ford (1970); Wolf (1990). Wolf’s only acknowledgement of multiple editions of the Historia is at p. 14, n.8.

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The Laus Spaniae image of Isidore’s historical vision has proved to be a durable one in much modern writing, with regrettable results. Within the context of the present study, the palimpsest image of a history in the process of composition is particularly valuable. The fact that Isidore only included the Laus Spaniae and the Laus Gothorum within the later version of his Historia allows the significance of such passages to be gauged with some confidence. Crucially, although much of the narrative text of the Historia remained unchanged between the redactions, a number of significant alterations were made by the historian, all of which served to accentuate the rhetorical significance of his opening and closing passages. It is within the longer version of the Historia, and largely though the laudes themselves, that the underlying argument of Isidore’s vision of history becomes clear. It would seem to have been the concluding act of Gothic history, in other words – the final expulsion of the Byzantine occupiers from southern Spain – which inspired Isidore’s model of Gothic history. THE LAUS SPANIAE

Despite a general neglect of the Historia as a whole, the geographical introduction to the narrative – the Laus Spaniae – has been analysed in almost forensic detail, from a variety of different angles. As its popular designation suggests, the chapter itself is devoted to a celebration of Hispania, and praises both the unusual fertility of the region and its glorious history, in preparation for the longer narrative that follows. For all its apparent simplicity, however, an array of different inspirations may be detected behind Isidore’s Laus. Certainly influenced by a long classical tradition of provincial eulogy, and happy to acknowledge this through careful allusion, Isidore nevertheless augmented his principal models with extensive reference to other classical and late antique writers, in a variety of genres. No less significantly, Isidore’s decision to introduce his historical work with a geographical passage must also be read as a conscious emulation of the historiographical paradigm established by Orosius. The point may seem to be an obvious one, particularly in the context of a study such as this, but the historiographical significance of the Laus must not be lost in the dazzling light of Isidore’s erudition and rhetorical skill. What emerges from this maelstrom is certainly one of the finest examples of Isidoran prose and, arguably, one of the most accomplished short compositions of the early medieval period.66

66

An opinion expressed by Fontaine (1959), pp. 816–17.

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Isidore of Seville The generic similarity between Isidore’s praise of Spain and other Laudes of the peninsula that emerged between the first and sixteenth centuries has encouraged a somewhat teleological approach to the chapter among modern scholars. As might be expected, the dramatic celebration of mater Hispania has formed a keystone to the identification of Isidore as a proto-nationalist, but the peculiarly Spanish phenomenon of regional eulogy has afforded fecund ground for investigation, even without these modern overtones.67 Along with Italia, and its constituent provinces, which received considerable poetic and prosaic attention in the classical period, Hispania inspired a consistent outpouring of affection from the writers of the region. Martial, Columella, Seneca, Lucan, Quintilian and Prudentius all proudly proclaimed their Hispanic origins, in a variety of forms.68 Nor was the recognition of the merits of the peninsula limited to those who hailed from the westernmost fringe of the empire. Pliny, Pompeius Trogus, Claudian and Drepanius Pacatus were similarly outspoken in their praise of Hispania, and served to imbue the region with a unique significance in the field of classical geographical writing.69 Just as Isidore himself was to influence the eulogists of Spain who came after him, from the medieval period to the present, so his own Laus was built upon the foundations established during the period of imperial occupation. Significant as the parallels between Isidore’s Laus and countless other eulogies of Spain undoubtedly are, an equally illuminating point of comparison may be provided by the introduction to Jordanes’ Getica. The original title of Isidore’s composition may well have had a close affinity to that of the sixth-century De origine Getarum, and yet the opening chapters of each piece could scarcely be more different. Where Jordanes, and possibly Cassiodorus before him, sought to emphasize the significance of Gothic origins through the Scandinavian emphases of their geographical prefaces, Isidore’s resolute focus upon Hispania immediately demonstrates the writer’s principal concerns with the recent, rather than distant, past. The temporal linearity of the Getica, in which Jordanes traces the Gothic past from the timeless geography of the northern terrae incognitae, through a Scythian prehistory up to its eventual position in the 67

68

69

Madoz (1939), Maravall (1954), Alarcos Garcı´a (1965) and Ferna´ndez Valverde (1986) all demonstrate the advantages of such an approach. On the significance of the Laus as a yardstick of Isidore’s ‘nationalism’, compare Mene´ndez Pidal (1940), p. xxxvi; Garcı´a Villada (1940), p. 87; Elorduy (1944), p. 438; Maravall (1958), p. 822. On Spanish attitudes to the patria, see Bonjour (1975), pp. 211–17; Teillet (1984), pp. 29–30 and passim. Compare also Castella´n (1952) on the patriotism of Prudentius, and Fontaine (1976a) on the peculiar nature of Hispanic identity in late Antiquity. Pliny, HN XXXVII.201–2; Justin, Ep. Pomp. Trog. 44; Claudian, Laus Serena 50ff.; Pacatus 4.2–5.

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The Laus Spaniae Mediterranean present, is overturned in the structure of the Spanish work. The position of the Laus Spaniae at the start of Isidore’s Historia does not merely establish the spatial parameters of much of the writer’s enquiry, it dramatically presents the ultimate conclusion of the narrative – the Catholic union of gens and Hispania – at the very outset of the work.70 The Laus thus serves as a conclusion, as well as an introduction, to the history: a rhetorical strategy made all the more evident by Isidore’s reiteration of many of the themes of the passage at the end of his account. The literary parallels between the Laus Spaniae and the Recapitulatio or Laus Gothorum, which follows the description of the reign of Suinthila, have long been recognized, but the significance of these associations for the understanding of the Historia as a whole should not be underestimated. It is only through a close analysis of this relationship that many of the motives behind Isidore’s enigmatic composition may be discussed with confidence. One of the most important features of the Laus Spaniae has rarely received detailed attention, and it is here that the links between the introduction and the imagery of the narrative are most readily apparent. Isidore’s extensive exploitation of epithalamial motifs within both his opening chapter and the Laus Gothorum clearly defers to classical literary exemplars, and forms a central feature of his image of a renovated ‘Gothic Spain’. Indeed, it is the union of the Gothic gens with Hispania which has formed the central argument of many assertions of Isidore’s proto-nationalism.71 Despite this, and despite the fact that the epithalamial imagery occupies a substantial section of the geographical introduction, few attempts have been made to investigate this peculiar theme, a point made all the more striking by the repeated allusion to familial and nuptial ties, both within the Historia proper, and throughout the canon of Isidore’s writings.72 Broadly speaking, however, Isidore’s geographical writings have benefited from considerable scholarly attention. These studies have focused most extensively upon the long geographical and ethnographic sections of the Origines, but the Laus Spaniae has hardly suffered neglect.73 A detailed

70

71 72

73

For further discussion of this strategy, with particular reference to Isidore’s contrasting approaches to Vandal and Suevic history, see Merrills (forthcoming a). Cf. for example, Mene´ndez Pidal (1940), p. xxv; Garcı´a Villada (1940), p. 87. Cazier (1994), p. 13 entitles his stimulating discussion of the Historia ‘Le mariage des Gots avec l’Espagne’, and yet makes little reference to the nuptial themes within the work. Similarly, Fontaine (2001), p. 64 notes the importance of the nuptial theme (including it as the fifth of five rhetorical strands identified within the Laus), without exploring further. The superlative study of Isidore’s geography is certainly that of Philipp (1912). See also Lozovsky (2000), pp. 102–12; Uhden (1935); Gribaudi (1906); Me´lon (1954); Montero Dı´az (1940).

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Isidore of Seville examination of the structure and content of the opening chapter of Isidore’s Historia certainly rewards such intensive scrutiny and reveals the extent to which the writer shaped his eulogy in response to literary precedent. Not only may the generic elements that influenced Isidore be identified with some confidence, but many direct literary allusions also become apparent through such analysis. Indeed, such has been the scrutiny devoted to the intellectual heritage of Isidore’s Laus that it is occasionally difficult to appreciate the passage as anything more than a superlative expression of rhetorical skill, marked by an elaborate series of literary acknowledgements. The primary influences behind the composition of the Laus Spaniae are most clearly apparent when the constituent sections of the piece are identified. For clarity of analysis, the Laus may be divided into a number of short thematic sections. The passage opens with an apostrophe to Mater Spania and declaims both her illustrious political importance and, more ambiguously, her central geographical position within the world. A lengthy encomium of the fertility of Spain follows, which rhapsodizes over the region’s manifold grapes and olives as well as the corn, flowers, trees and fish of the peninsula. Isidore then reiterates several specific areas of praise, including the supposed centrality of Hispania and her cereal wealth, before noting the rich mineral deposits to be found in the region. As a development of these themes, a short passage then asserts the superiority of Spain over Italy and the rest of the world through resolutely classical language, and the imperial associations of the peninsula are stressed. The final section of the Laus is devoted to peculiar epithalamial imagery, first of the Roman association with the region, and finally of the fecund union of the area and the Goths. With the exception of the final section, each aspect of Isidore’s Laus may be traced with little difficulty to classical antecedents. At first, the Spanish writer seems to have broken little new ground in his regional eulogy, and appears to have deferred extensively to a small handful of classical and late antique exemplars in shaping his composition. The female personification of Hispania and the nature of the opening apostrophe betray obvious parallels to the eulogy of Italia that concludes Pliny’s Historia naturalis, and the encyclopaedist has long been identified as a primary influence behind Isidore’s Laus.74 Like Isidore, more than five centuries later, Pliny’s principal subject within his eulogy was his own homeland, but in further anticipation of Isidore, the writer of the Historia naturalis coupled his eulogy of Italia with a shorter encomium to Spain,

74

Pliny, HN XXXVII.201.

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The Laus Spaniae the location of his procuratorship under Nero.75 The juxtaposition of two of the great provinces of the west provided a paradigmatic diptych that influenced both Isidore and other late antique Spanish writers profoundly.76 In the wake of the Historia naturalis, Hispania was inexorably bound to the Italian peninsula in literary formulations of praise, and Isidore proved to be a willing proponent of this model. Pliny was not alone, however, in enjoying the attentions of the seventh-century polymath. Alongside the great first-century encyclopaedia, Isidore eagerly exploited the panegyric to the Emperor Theodosius written by Drepanius Pacatus in the late fourth century.77 A Spaniard by birth, Theodosius afforded his eulogist the ideal opportunity to digress at length upon the wonders of the emperor’s homeland, and Pacatus responded to the invitation with alacrity.78 Like Pliny, Pacatus employed a number of striking motifs – including the personification of Spain as Mater Hispania – that resurfaced in Isidore’s own composition.79 From the opening line of his Laus, Isidore emphasized his own adherence to established principles of rhetorical praise, and acknowledged his debts to two of his principal models. Further similarities between Isidore’s Laus and the eulogies penned by his predecessors are evident throughout the passage. Both Pliny, in his praise of Italia, and Pacatus, in his celebration of Theodosius’ Hispania, stress the superiority of their chosen regions over the rest of the world.80 Both also anticipate the Sevillan bishop in emphasizing the temperate climate of their subjects, as well as their spectacular fertility.81 More specific parallels are also evident between Pliny’s eulogy of Hispania and the compositions of the two later writers. All three accounts, for example, refer to the auriferous rivers of Spain, to her famed horses and to her plentiful mines.82 If the order in which these elements are enunciated is different for each writer, the thematic ties that bind the three works are undeniable. In many ways, however, the close parallels between Isidore’s account of Spain and the regional geographies penned by his principal sources are to be expected. Any region could, after all, be praised for its fertility, as the 75 76

77

78

79 80 82

Pliny, HN XXXVII.201–3. Bonjour (1975), passim discusses the peculiar prominence of Hispania and Italia within imperial ‘patriotic’ writing. For discussion of this text, see the scholarly apparatus in the editions and translations of Nixon (1986) and Rogers et al. (1994). Pacatus 4.2–5. On the praise of a subject’s birthplace within panegyric, cf. Menander Rhetor II.369. Pacatus 4.2; cf. Pliny, HN XXXVII.201 on Italia as parensque mundi, and HN III.39 terrarum . . . parens. Pliny, HN XXXVII.201; Pacatus 4.2. 81 Pliny, HN XXXVII.201–2; Pacatus 4.2–5. Pliny, HN XXXVII.203; Pacatus 4.2–5; and cf. Pliny, HN IV.115.

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Isidore of Seville foregoing discussion of Orosius’ description of Hibernia may demonstrate.83 Indeed the absence of such praise would be far more striking than its inclusion. Nor is it surprising that Isidore’s selection of uniquely Spanish phenomena within his work should conform to the precedent set by Pliny and Pacatus. The gold-bearing River Tagus, which flows through Isidore’s Laus as it does through the eulogies of his models, appears almost by default in other classical descriptions of Spain.84 Spanish horses, similarly, were hardly unique to the principal sources of Isidore, and the same may be said of the region’s olives and its imperial heritage.85 Indeed, as several modern studies have implied with little comment, the descriptions of Spain provided by Claudian, Justin, Pomponius Mela and Martial are scarcely less convincing as Isidoran models than are the eulogies of Pliny and Pacatus.86 The point becomes more pressing, moreover, when Isidore’s exploitation of several of these writers elsewhere in his oeuvre is considered. If Pacatus and Pliny seem to have occupied a focal position within the formulation of the Laus Spaniae, there is a plethora of other authors who might equally claim some credit. This is not to suggest that Isidore was not indebted to Pliny and Pacatus; his careful linguistic allusions to the writers are clear enough on that point. Instead, it should be stressed that Isidore’s primary debts are not to Pacatus and Pliny per se, but rather to the genre of regional eulogy that both expounded. Both of the imperial writers drew upon an expansive tradition of formalized geographical praise, to which the comparable passages of Martial, Claudian, Justin and others also adhered. It was upon this literary form, and not upon individual models, that Isidore based his own Laus. These debts are made particularly apparent through investigation of the small number of rhetorical handbooks to have survived from late Antiquity. The two treatises of Menander Rhetor, for example, probably composed in Laodicea during the reign of Diocletian, include substantial advice for aspiring panegyrists on the appropriate form in which places may be praised.87 While Menander wrote substantially 83 84

85

86

87

See above, pp. 94–5. Justin, Ep. Pomp. Trog. 44.1.7; Silius Italicus, Punica I.234–5. The subject is particularly common in classical verse. Cf. Juvenal, Sat. III.54–5; XIV.299; Lucan, Pharsalia VII.755; Ovid, Metamorphoses II.251; Claudian, Pan. Prob. Olyb. I.51; Ruf. I.102; Fesc. II.32–3; Pan. Man. 287; Carm. Min. 30.71; Martial, Ep. I.49.15; VII.86.7; VIII.78.5–6; X.17.4, 96.3; XXII.2.3; cf. also Panegyrici Latini V.14.1 Claudian, Laus Serena 50ff.; Pomponius Mela II.86; Exp. Tot. Mun. 59; Justin, Ep. Pomp. Trog. 44.1–4. Rodrı´guez Alonso (1975), p. 117; Ferna´ndez Valverde (1986), p. 458; Madoz (1939); Mene´ndez Pidal (1940), p. xxxv. Menander Rhetor I.2–3. On Menander, see the excellent edition and commentary of Russell and Wilson (1981).

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The Laus Spaniae after the great compositions of the imperial period, and was almost certainly unknown to the Latin-speaking Isidore three centuries later, the subjects covered within his treatises are essentially timeless.88 Drawing in part upon the exempla provided by earlier writers, Menander provides a standardized image of different panegyric forms, which is as applicable to the compositions of the early medieval west as to the works of Byzantium and classical Rome. There is no evidence to suggest that Isidore was aware of Menander’s Greek composition, but it seems clear that the Laus Spaniae was intended to be a recognizable manifestation of the tradition defined by the writer, rather than a straightforward emulation of either Pliny or Pacatus. This distinction may seem to be an unnecessarily pedantic one, but it is important for a number of reasons. As Menander stresses, and as all of the classical eulogies of Spain amply demonstrate, elaboration upon the standard themes of panegyric was positively encouraged within the genre.89 Isidore’s substantial exploitation of Virgilian imagery, midway through his Laus – a digression which has little or no precedent in any of his principal models – may thus be seen to adhere precisely to the rhetorical standards of his day. At the heart of the Laus Spaniae, Isidore eschews the systematic eulogistic form employed by Pacatus and Pliny, and allows his rhetorical impulses slighter freer rein. In the most obviously literary section of the introduction, the fauna of Spain is celebrated through direct comparison with a collection of impeccable classical exemplars: Alpheus yields to you in horses and Clitumnus in cattle, although Alpheus, regarded as sacred for his Olympic victories, exercised fleet chariots on the track of Pisa, and Clitumnus once sacrificed great oxen as victims on the Capitol. You do not need the fields of Etruria, for you have more abundant pasturage, nor do you marvel at the groves of Molorchus, for you have palm trees in plenty, nor do your horses run less swiftly than the Elian chariots. 90

The immediate inspiration behind Isidore’s peculiar avalanche of classical citation can be discerned with little difficulty. In the praise of Mantua within his third Georgic, Virgil employs the vast majority of the themes later adopted by Isidore in celebrating his own 88

89

90

On the traditional form of Menander’s rhetorical formulae, cf. Russell and Wilson (1981), pp. xxix–xxxiv. The theme is a common one within Menander’s treatises. See, for example, Menander Rhetor I.338–9. LS: Tibi cedet Alpheus equis, Clitumnus armentis, quamquam uolucres per spatia Pisaea quadrigas Olympicis sacer palmis Alfeus (sic) exerceat et ingentes Clitumnus iuuencos Capitolinis olim immolauerit uictimis. Tu nec Etruriae saltus uberior pabulorum requiris nec lucos Molorchi palmarum plena miraris, nec equorum cursu tuorum Eleis curribus inuidebis.

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Isidore of Seville 91

homeland. The Alpheus flows boldly through the Georgic as it does through the Laus, and both passages place Pisa alongside the river.92 Virgil, like Isidore, provides two different terms – quadrigae and currus – for the chariots that rattle through antique history. Both also allude to the lucos Molorchi – the pastoral refuge in which Hercules found respite before his encounter with the Nemean Lion – and both associate their subjects with victory on the Olympic field.93 Nor are Isidore’s literary debts to the third Georgic restricted to this short passage. The historian’s use of Tyrian purple to colour his illustration of the imperial associations of Spain, for example, has two different parallels in his poetic model.94 Similarly, Isidore’s solitary acknowledgement of the location of the Iberian peninsula – through his reference to the western wind Zephyrus – is an invocation of the fertilizing spring wind that blows repeatedly throughout the third Georgic, and indeed the other books of Virgil’s work.95 A number of different motives may be identified behind Isidore’s extensive exploitation of the imagery of the Georgics. Conspicuously, Virgil alludes to both the Getae and the Spanish within his third book, and although neither group is presented in wholly favourable terms, the association may have been a persuasive one for a man of letters in seventhcentury Spain.96 More broadly, Isidore may also have detected a strong thematic parallel between his own Laus Spaniae and the Georgics of the Golden Age poet. Both are concerned with the eulogistic praise of the patria, or homeland, and the second Georgic would seem to anticipate the concerns of Isidore’s passage.97 As might be expected, a number of common themes may be identified within each of the compositions. Alongside the specific praise of the Clitumnus within his second book, Virgil includes a more general declaration of the fertility of Mantua, its temperate climate and unusual mineral wealth – topics long familiar to panegyrists.98 Indeed, although the obvious quality of his verse and its slightly unusual subject matter rather detract from its conventionality, Virgil demonstrates an easy familiarity with the conventions of regional eulogy, and expresses himself in appropriate terms. As a result, several attempts have been made by modern scholars to suggest that Virgil may be placed alongside Pacatus and Pliny as a direct inspiration behind the

91 92 93 95 96 97

Virgil, Georgics III. Cf. the commentary provided by Ferna´ndez Valverde (1986), pp. 459–60. Georgics III.180, and cf. Aeneid X.179. Georgics III.19, 49, 202–3. 94 Georgics III.17, 307; Fontaine (2001), p. 64. Georgics III.273, 322. And cf. Georgics I.44; II.106; Aeneid. IV.223. Fontaine (2001), pp. 63–4. Georgics III.408, 462. And cf. Georgics III.349–50 on Scythiae gentes. Ferna´ndez Valverde (1986), pp. 458–60. 98 Georgics II.146ff.

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The Laus Spaniae composition of the Laus Spaniae.99 It would certainly be tempting to suggest that Isidore’s well-signposted use of Virgilian motif was intended as an acknowledgement of just such a literary debt, and that he sought to emulate the poet’s praise of Italia in his own celebration of Spain. While it is difficult to dismiss this notion entirely, the suggestion that Isidore sought to emulate Virgil closely needs to be treated with some caution. If the Spanish writer echoed the great poet in much of his subject matter, the order in which such topics are treated, and the structure of the Laus as a whole, bear little resemblance to the supposed exemplar provided by either the second or third Georgic.100 While thematic parallels may be identified between the works, just as they may between the Laus Spaniae and virtually any classical provincial eulogy, Isidore’s primary concern appears to have been the appropriation of individual images, rather than the emulation of the specific context in which they appeared. This interpretation is supported by the precise context of Isidore’s Virgilian allusions. Clitumnus and Alpheus, Molorchus and Zephyrus, it should be remembered, were not inserted into the Laus simply as a demonstration of Isidore’s erudition, although no doubt such considerations played their part. Instead, within the context of the eulogy as a whole, their primary function was to provide comparison between contemporary Spain and the wonders of the classical world. Both Alpheus and Clitumnus are shown as deferential to Hispania in their acknowledgement of the bounty of the westerly region. Within such a context, the invocation of specifically Virgilian imagery served a double purpose. On one level, motifs associated with Virgil might be taken as superlative features of Italia, and hence of the Roman world. By demonstrating the superiority of his own Hispania over Virgil’s Italia, therefore, Isidore expressed himself in bombastic terms. On a second level, these themes may have been complemented by the implication that, by the seventh century, Virgil represented the Italia of the past, Isidore the Hispania of the present. The use of tense throughout the passage would certainly seem to support the suspicion that Isidore exploited classical imagery as a part of his wider demonstration of the Gothic inheritance of the Roman world. Conspicuously, the beauty of Hispania is consistently proclaimed in a vivid present tense, as is the deference of the ancient sites to this wealth. The glories of Alpheus and Clitumnus, by contrast, are firmly located in the past. Where once Virgil’s locus amoenus reigned supreme, in other words, by Isidore’s day the torch had firmly been passed to the peninsula of the west. 99 100

Cazier (1994), p. 60; Ferna´ndez Valverde (1986). A point conceded by Ferna´ndez Valverde (1986), p. 459.

193

Isidore of Seville If we can assume some general familiarity with Virgilian themes on the part of Isidore and his audience, a further possible influence behind the historian’s adoption of these motifs may tentatively be identified. Broadly speaking, the Historia concerns the journey of the Goths from their ancestral homelands to their eventual patria within Hispania: an epic narrative that bears obvious comparison to the Aeneid. Motifs of travel have, of course, long been commonplace within group historical traditions, and a genealogy of such forms might be traced from Exodus and the Aeneid to the Australian Aboriginal Songlines and the oral historical patterns observed by contemporary anthropologists.101 Within a late antique context, Isidore’s image of the Gothic past has obvious parallels in Jordanes’ Getica and Paul the Deacon’s Historia Langobardorum, both of which focus extensively upon the importance of migration traditions within the formation of group identity. Where Jordanes and Paul downplay the parallels between the prehistories of their protagonists and those of the founders of Rome, however, Isidore may well have intended his opening chapter to suggest affinities between the Goths and their Roman predecessors. The suggestion that Isidore’s allusions to the Georgics and Aeneid were intended to evoke Virgilian associations on a more abstract level, rather than specific images, is supported by the peculiar associations of several of the themes. The Clitumnus did not merely stand as a symbol for pastoralism in the classical world, as Isidore’s invocation of the river might imply, but was also loaded with intensely religious significance, both within Virgil’s verse and more widely. The Younger Pliny, for example, praised not only the calm of the area around the river, within his epistolae, but also the majesty of the Clitumnus’ temples.102 Similarly, the oxen so frequently depicted along its waters, and faithfully rendered in Isidore’s later image, were consistently identified as sacrificial cattle by those who described them.103 Although the Laus Spaniae does not remain entirely silent on the subject of pagan sacrifice, and does allude to the fate of the Italian cattle, Isidore’s description is greatly toned down from the intensely religious eulogies penned by Virgil and his successors. As Jacques Fontaine has argued, the omission of a great deal of Virgil’s material on the pagan significance of the Clitumnus essentially creates a Christianized river almost by default.104 Thus, while Virgil was very probably included 101

102 103

On the importance of the migration motif within classical writing, see Hartog (2001), and the illuminating comparison with Judaeo-Christian traditions drawn at pp. 20–1; on motifs of travel within oral histories, see Finnegan (1970) and compare Chatwin (1987) for a thoughtful discussion of the Songlines. Pliny, Ep. VIII.8; and cf. Suetonius, Caligula 43. Cf. for example, Silius Italicus, Punica IV.545; VIII.448. 104 Fontaine (2001), p. 64.

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The Laus Spaniae within the Laus as a representative of a moribund and superseded classical Rome, Isidore does not appear to have been anxious to dwell at length upon the religious context of his source. Where Isidore’s enthusiastic invocation of Virgil adheres happily to the spirit of classical eulogy, if not the precise approach adopted by his predecessors, the writer’s refusal to include certain elements of praise within his Laus marks a more conspicuous deviation from established form. Both Pliny and Pacatus devote considerable space to the nature of the inhabitants of Hispania – a subject upon which Isidore is almost entirely silent.105 Had Isidore simply penned his Laus in homage to either Pliny or Pacatus, such an omission would be easily explicable – perhaps as a simple oversight on the part of the author. If it is accepted that Isidore was not simply echoing the earlier writers, but regarded his passage as a contribution to the eulogistic genre in which they wrote, his failure to include certain designated elements requires more careful explanation. Menander Rhetor stresses forcibly that both geographical information of some description and praise of the inhabitants of a region should be central features of any provincial encomium – a position justified by the regularity with which earlier writers had included such material within their own Laudes.106 Isidore’s pointed silence on both the population of Spain and the location of the country within the world must be regarded as a conscious deviation from appropriate literary form. In all classical geographical writing, whether idealized or scientific, the inhabitants of any given region were afforded a prominent place within the description of the area itself. Pliny devotes extensive space to the characteristics of both native Italians and native Spaniards within the valedictory eulogies of his Historia naturalis, as well as in the longer geographical passages that come before them.107 Justin and Pacatus, too, seek to locate their praise with a series of honorific accounts of Spanish hardiness, and their ability to rule.108 Naturally, the tone of these passages might take dramatically different forms, in response to the circumstances of composition, but human geography formed a central component of the discipline in all of its classical manifestations. Isidore was well placed to appreciate the cultural and ethnic diversity of contemporary Spain. Alongside the Visigoths, who represented a relatively late addition to the Spanish cauldron, substantial communities of Syrians, Africans, Jews and Greeks all maintained some degree of cultural autonomy over the course of the sixth and seventh centuries.109 Nor was 105 107 109

Pliny, HN XXXVII.203; Pacatus 4.5. 106 Menander Rhetor I.353–7; 364–5. Pliny, HN XXXVII.201, 203. 108 Pacatus 4.5; Justin, Ep. Pomp. Trog. 44.2. Ripoll Lo´pez (1998), pp. 155–6.

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Isidore of Seville the indigenous Spanish population a homogeneous entity, as Isidore himself clearly recognized. Within his Origines, Isidore identifies Gallaeci, Asturi and Cantabri as the major constituents of the Hispano-Roman population, distinguished in custom as well as regions of habitation.110 The arrival of the Visigoths, Sueves and Vandals, and the re-emergence of the Basques as a political force within the region, complicated an already confused social situation within the peninsula. Isidore’s reticence on precisely this subject in the introduction to his Gothic histories contrasts with the breadth of ethnographic interest evident in the Origines. The only reference within the Laus to the human population of Hispania is apparent in Isidore’s discussion of the rulers who originated in the area. Even here, the author provides scant reference to the autochthonous Hispani or to the Greek, Basque or Jewish communities cohabiting within the peninsula: ‘Yet you are as rich in purple clad rulers as you are in native gems, and, rich in imperial gifts, you are as wealthy in adorning your princes as you are blessed in producing them.’111 The most striking implication of this short passage is to emphasize the potential benefits of conquest of the region, rather than to celebrate the glories of its original inhabitants. On one level, the account of purple-clad rectores and ornamented principes was clearly intended to refer to the Spanish origins of the Emperors Trajan and Theodosius, both of whom had long been associated with the region, and there can be little doubt that the audience to the Laus would have recognized and appreciated the allusion.112 Such is the ambiguity of Isidore’s language, however, that implicit parallels are also drawn to the paraphernalia of contemporary Gothic rule, and it seems likely that the double meaning was intentional. As Isidore acknowledges in the shorter recension of the Historia, pseudo-imperial regalia had been adopted for the Visigothic monarchy under Leovigild and very probably remained in use thereafter.113 By suggesting that Hispania was a fertile breeding ground for rulers, Isidore provides an immediate parallel between the seventhcentury hegemony of the Goths and a long-celebrated period of Roman rule. The same parallel also implicitly excludes the Hispani themselves from the expression of this rule. Hispania, Isidore implies, provides a fertile ground for the perpetuation of its own subordination.

110 111

112 113

Orig. IX.2.110. LS: Alumnis igitur et gemmis diues et purpuris rectoribusque pariter et dotibus imperiorum fertilis sic opulenta es principibus ornandis ut beata pariendis. Or., Hist. VII.34; Pacatus 4.5. SR 51. For discussion, cf. Claude (1971), p. 71; Reydellet (1981), pp. 532–3.

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The Laus Gothorum THE LAUS GOTHORUM

It is within this context that the importance of the Recapitulatio or Laus Gothorum to the schema established in the opening section is most apparent. In the absence of any reference to the autochthonous Spaniards, or any extensive description of the Roman or Gothic inhabitants of Hispania, the closing Laus provides an essential complement to regional eulogy. As in the opening section, Isidore seems anxious within his second Laus to demonstrate his adherence to classical exemplars as clearly as possible. The similarities between Isidore’s summary of Gothic characteristics, and the virtues traditionally associated with the Spanish within the classical canon, make the parallel between the praise of the Goths and the eulogy of Spain particularly evident. The audiences to antique histories and geographies were assaulted with an image of the Hispani as an unusually courageous people, bellicose to the point of fault, talented in war, and particularly in cavalry engagements, and able to endure considerable physical hardship.114 In many ways, these characteristics were typical of classical perceptions of barbarians, and it is perhaps not surprising that Isidore is able to echo these virtues quite precisely with respect to the Goths or Getes.115 Like the Spanish, the Gothi are shown to be warlike and courageous, particularly skilled in horsemanship and suffering from a propensity to civil war, at least until the advent of Catholic Christianity cured them of that ill.116 As a result, the Laudes Spaniae and Gothorum, when regarded together, provide a composite image of seventh-century Spain that bears obvious comparison to the classical Spains depicted by Pliny, Pacatus and the geographers of the empire. Isidore develops this antique heritage, and further associates the Laudes Spaniae and Gothorum, through the explicit invocation of classical material within the Recapitulatio. Elsewhere within his Historia, Isidore is sparing in his exploitation of classical texts, with the result that the direct citation of poetic phrases in his closing passage is particularly resonant. On two separate occasions, the writer includes direct citation, apparently from classical sources: . . . just as the poet says about them ‘The Getae despise death while praising the wound.’ 117 . . . as the poet says ‘Where the Getan goes, he goes with his horse.’ 118 114 115

116 117 118

Cf. for example, Pacatus 4.5; Justin, Ep. Pomp. Trog. 44.2. On the standardized representations of barbaroi in classical writing, see esp. Dauge (1981), pp. 467–579; Thollard (1987), pp. 8–11; Shaw (1982/3), pp. 5–31. LR 67–9. LR 67: iuxta quod ait poeta de ipsis: mortem contemnunt laudato vulnere Getae. LR 69: unde et poeta: Getes, inquit, quo pergit equo.

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Isidore of Seville While Isidore’s unnamed poeta (or poetae) have yet to be identified, the significance of his citation is nevertheless apparent. The martial imagery employed within these quotations, and within the Laus Gothorum as a whole, is immediately striking, but the peculiar nomenclature used is equally significant. The association between the Getae and the Gothi was not a new one of course, but the identification clearly retained classical connotations, at least within Isidore’s mind.119 Conspicuously, it is only in the Laus Spaniae, in the first chapter of the long redaction of the Historia and in the Laus Gothorum, that the author employs the term Getae to refer to the eponymous group. In each of these cases, moreover, Isidore telegraphs his own debts to classical authority. Whether in the simple reference to unnamed poetae, more cryptic allusions to eruditi, or the use of familiar literary motifs, the writer made his debts to the canon abundantly clear.120 In the Laus Gothorum, like its counterpart, the invocation of classical authority clearly had a major role to play. These themes are made still more evident in the discussion of Gothic prehistory within the Recapitulatio. The passage opens with a typically Isidoran explanation of Gothic origins, interpreted through the filters of etymology: ‘The Goths originated from Magog, son of Japeth, and have proved to have a common origin with the Scythians. That is why they are not much different in name: with one letter changed and one removed, ‘‘Getae’’ becomes ‘‘Scythae’’.’121 The invocation of biblical authority for the antiquity of the Goths is a direct echo of the similar statement that appears at the very start of the Historia narrative, and may be traced further to the etymology provided in Book IX of Isidore’s Origines.122 Within the Laus Gothorum, Isidore further develops the classical ethnographic heritage, through the association of the contemporary Gothi with the Scythi of Antiquity. The Scythi were themselves shown to have a remarkable heritage in each of Isidore’s chronicles, with the result that the Gothi are simultaneously presented as a gens of great antiquity in two different historical traditions – the biblical and the classical.123 Classical literary form clearly loomed large over the construction of the Laus Gothorum, but it would be overly simplistic to regard the passage as a simple reprise of established ethnographic tradition. For the greater part of 119

120 121

122 123

On the association of the Goths and Getes, compare Jerome, Hebr. Quaest. Gen. 10.2; Or., Hist. I.16.2; and the discussion in Christensen (2002), pp. 48–50; Teillet (1984), pp. 17–24, 52–3; and above, pp. 61–2. Poeta – LR 67, 69; eruditi, LR 1. LR 66: Gothi de Magog Iapeth filio orti cum Scythis una probantur origine sati, unde nec longe a vocabulo discrepant. Demutata enim ac detracta littera Getae quasi Scythae sunt nuncupati. LR 1–2; and cf. the much shorter treatment of the same material in SR 1; Orig. IX.2.89. Orig. V.39.6; Isidore, Chron. 26.

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The Geography of Spain the Laus, Isidore highlights thematic parallels to his own works – both in the allusion to the Origines, cited above, and in the reprise of themes from the Historia narrative itself. A substantial proportion of the closing eulogy is devoted to a summary of Gothic past from prehistory to their arrival in Spain, and thus provides a straightforward and particularly dramatic pre´cis of the first half of the Gothic history.124 As the Laus progresses, the close ties between the Laudes and the historical appendices devoted to the Sueves and Vandals also become apparent: The Vandals, widely known for their own barbarity, were not so much terrified by the presence of the Goths as put to flight by their renown. The Alans were extinguished by the strength of the Goths. The Suevi, too, forced into inaccessible corners of Spain, have now experienced the danger of extermination at the hands of the Goths . . . 125

The ethnographic focus of the Laus Gothorum provides a neat foil to the regional eulogy of the Laus Spaniae, and like the earlier passage clearly had a wider structural function within the conception of the Historia as a whole. As shall be discussed, many of the most significant epithalamial themes within the introductory section are echoed by the second eulogy and subsequently developed within the body of his narrative. Bound closely together by the conventions of classical rhetoric, the two passages were also exploited within a wholly original historiographical context. THE GEOGRAPHY OF SPAIN

When considered alongside comparable chapters within late antique historiography, the relative absence of physical geographical information within the Laus Spaniae seems remarkable. Orosius, Jordanes and Bede all included geographical material that was of sufficient depth and competence to be exploited by later specialists in the genre. Even Gildas, whose physical description of Britain is far overshadowed by his exploitation of biblical and pastoral motif, sought to locate his homeland geographically before elaborating further upon its spiritual significance. Isidore, by contrast, includes almost nothing on the position and physical form of Hispania, and the few elements that the writer does include seem ambiguous to say the least. This puzzle is compounded by the fact that Isidore, unlike his near contemporaries, demonstrates his competence as a geographer within several of his other compositions. The thirteenth and 124 125

LR 66–8. LR 68: Wandalica ipsa crebro opinata barbaries non tantum praesentia eorum exterrita quam opinione fugata est. Gothorum vigore Alani extincti sunt, Suevi quoque hactenus intra inaccessos Spaniarum angulos coartati etiam nunc eorum armis periculum finis experti sunt . . .

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Isidore of Seville fourteenth books of the Origines were among the most important and influential contributions to geographical knowledge in the early medieval period. The De natura rerum, similarly, includes digressions on a number of important related topics.126 Admirably equipped with the tools of the geographer’s trade, and clearly influenced by Orosius in choosing to frame his own history with an introduction of this sort, Isidore nevertheless forewent the opportunity to locate Spain within the wider world within his own opening passage. In many ways, the limited spatial focus of the Historia exonerated Isidore from the composition of a substantial geographical introduction. His interest was primarily in Spain, and although a substantial proportion of his narrative takes place north of the Pyrenees, his introductory section comfortably encompasses the primary spatial concerns of the text. Despite this, it remains surprising that Isidore never sought to locate Hispania in relation to neighbouring regions, as did Bede, or even to provide a general impression of the position of the peninsula within the world. Where Bede refers at once to the coastal proximity of Gaul to Britain, and exploits this relationship at length within his narrative, Isidore is conspicuously silent on the presence both of Gaul across the Pyrenees from Spain, and of Africa across the Strait of Gibraltar. Instead, Isidore creates an image of a region almost entirely isolated from the rest of the oikoumene, and grants to Hispania a rather spurious physical centrality within the world. It is this concentration which has formed the foundation of many medieval and modern assumptions that the writer adopted a protonationalist position within his work, interested only in the region of the world which was to become early modern and modern Espan˜a. The similar geographical ambiguity of the Laus Gothorum makes Isidore’s reticence within the opening section still more apparent. Despite including a number of geographical allusions within the Recapitulatio, and providing a reasonably detailed spatial summary of the progression of the gens across Europe, the writer is again silent on the physical form of the peninsula itself. Repeated reference is made within the Laus Gothorum to the arrival of the Goths within Hispania, but the region itself is never delineated, and the audience to the Historia is reliant upon references within the narrative, and within Isidore’s other writings, to deduce the dimensions of the area under consideration.127 In part, this sustained ambiguity may be traced to Isidore’s deference to classical rhetorical form within the construction of his opening account. The two short allusions to the physical location of Spain, which are 126 127

Isidore, DNR XL–XLVIII. On the arrival of the Goths in Hispania, cf. LR 19, 21, 31, 66.

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The Geography of Spain included within the Laus Spaniae, betray subtle, yet audible echoes of Pliny’s Historia naturalis and Pacatus’ panegyric: Rightly are you now the queen of all provinces, from which not only the west, but also the east borrows its shining lights. 128 You are located in the most favourable region in the world; neither are you parched by the summer heat of the sun, nor do you languish under the icy cold, but girded by a temperate band of sky, you are nourished by fertile west winds.129

The deference of each of these passages to established eulogistic form is immediately evident. Emphasis upon favourable climate formed a central motif of geographical praise in Greek, as well as Latin, writing and was highlighted as a topic for suitable praise in the rhetorical handbook of Menander Rhetor.130 The universal acclaim topos, too, was almost a sine qua non of panegyric writing, within eulogies of individuals as well as within provincial accounts like those of Pliny and Pacatus.131 Yet in addition to the inclusion of such formulae, each of Isidore’s principal sources included physical geographical information of some description, which firmly tied their eulogies to the unique properties of Spain. Pliny expounds at length upon the moral strength that the desert regions of Hispania conferred upon its inhabitants, and Pacatus provides a competent, if brief, summary of the regions surrounding Theodosius’ homeland.132 Without such acknowledgement of geographical reality, Isidore’s exploitation of rhetorical topoi in praise of the favourable location of Hispania seems wilfully misleading. Aside from the brief allusion to the fertile Zephyrus, or west wind, the historian provides no suggestion that his homeland was located anywhere other than the very centre of the world.133 Indeed, if his Laus implies anything, it is that Spain is the successor to Rome not only in historical terms – a major theme of the Historia as a whole – but also in its physical centrality. In his description of the position of Spain, Isidore seems influenced, not by Pliny’s account of Hispania, but rather by his companion eulogy of Italia. In his appropriation of Italian motifs for the description of Spain, Isidore was not making a particularly original statement. Pliny had praised 128

129

130 132 133

LS: iure tu nunc omnium regina prouinciarum, a qua non occasus tantum, sed etiam oriens lumina mutuat . . .; cf. Pliny, HN XXXVII.201. LS: Tu sub mundi plaga gratissima sita nec aestiuo solis ardore torreris, nec glaciali rigore tabescis, sed temperata caeli zona praecincta zephyris felicibus enutriris; cf. Pliny, HN XXXVII.201; Pacatus 4.3. Menander Rhetor I.2.345; cf. Pacatus 4.3. 131 Menander Rhetor II.377. Pliny, HN XXXVII.203; Pacatus 4.3. On the Zephyrus as a symbol for the west, cf. Ovid, Metamorphoses I.64; Virgil, Georgics II.106; Claudian, Fesc. II.44–5; Carm. Min. 30.115. For the other symbolic resonances of the Zephyrus motif, see below, pp. 210–11.

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Isidore of Seville both Italia and Hispania – and only these regions – at the end of his Historia naturalis. The peninsulas were further bound together within the poetic writing of the imperial period through the studied ambiguity of the term Hesperia, which referred by turns to Italy, as the land to the west of Troy, and to Spain, at the westernmost part of the known world.134 At two separate points of his Origines, Isidore returns to the problem of the correct identification of Hesperia, predictably concluding on each occasion that his homeland was the appropriate holder of the designation: ‘Hispania was previously called Iberia after the river Iberus, afterwards it took its name Hispania from Hispero. This is the true Hesperia, named from the Western star.’135 In a purely physical sense, Isidore’s argument in the Origines undermines the position that he adopts in the Historia. In his encyclopaedia, Isidore emphasizes the position of Hispania at the western edge of the world, as his universal geographical scope naturally dictated. In the Historia, by contrast, the writer implies that the region is located centrally within the world – a decision made all the more remarkable by Menander Rhetor’s suggestion that association with the setting sun might provide an ideal basis for the praise of a region like Hispania.136 In fact, in each case, Isidore would seem to accentuate the importance of his homeland within the wider world, and particularly at the expense of Italia. The position of Rome at the centre of the world had been a familiar motif in classical historical writing, just as its identification with Hesperia, and hence with the inheritance of Trojan traditions, had enjoyed a poetic resonance since Virgil.137 Isidore’s adoption of two perennial motifs within the classical celebration of Rome thus accentuated his presentation of Hispania as the new political centre of the western world, and the rightful beneficiary of the Roman inheritance. Closer investigation of the geographical section of the Origines reveals that Isidore’s reticence within the Laus is likely to have been motivated by far more than merely literary impulses. As might be expected within a detailed survey of the world, Isidore devotes considerable attention to his homeland within his longest work, and describes both the physical and political geography of the peninsula: ‘Many great rivers flow through it: Baetis, Mineus, Iberus and Tagus dragging along gold, like Pactolus. It has six provinces: Tarraconensis, Cartaginensis, Lusitania, Gallaecia, Baetica

134

135

136 137

For different uses of the term, compare Virgil, Aeneid I.530; Horace, Carm. 1.36.4; 3.6.8; 4.5.38; Lucan, Pharsalia I.224; and the brief discussion of the term in Reydellet (1981), pp. 512–13. Orig. XIV.iv.28: Hispania prius ab Ibero amne Iberia nuncupata, postea ab Hispalo Hispania cognominata est. Ipsa est et vera Hesperia, ab Hespero stella occidentali dicta; cf. also Orig. XIV.4.19. Menander Rhetor I.2.344. See, for example, Vitruvius, De arch. 6.1.10–11.

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The Geography of Spain and, across the strait in the regions of Africa, Tingitania.’138 Isidore follows this passage with a description of the republican division of the peninsula, largely taken from Orosius, but one aspect of his initial delineation remains striking.139 Following the Breviarium of Rufus Festus and hence perhaps reflecting the Diocletianic reorganization at the end of the third century, Isidore includes Mauretania Tingitania among the Spanish provinces.140 Although elsewhere in his work Isidore adheres to a more familiar image of Hispania – inter Africam et Galliam – some echo of the Origines account may be detected towards the end of his Historia narrative: ‘He [Suinthila] was the first to obtain the monarchy of the entire kingdom of Spain beyond the Straits, which had not been achieved by any previous ruler.’141 Modern commentary on this passage has focused on its implications for the dating of the long recension, rather than upon its peculiar geographical specificity. The emphasis upon Suinthila’s conquests intra oceani fretum certainly implies that the passage was written after the final expulsion of the Byzantine army after 624, but also suggests that Isidore retained a residual image of Hispania stretching beyond the strait. The implications of the passage are unique within the Historia, but provide a valuable reminder that Isidore’s conception of the natural extent of Hispania may have differed importantly from those of later commentators. Alongside this rather enigmatic presentation of Hispania must be considered the political geography of the early seventh century. Gothic territorial acquisition across the Strait of Gibraltar was admittedly limited, as Isidore is happy to emphasize, but Visigothic power was by no means restricted to the Iberian peninsula. Alongside the provinces of Baetica, Lusitania, Cartaginensis, Tarraconensis and Gallaecia, Gothic hegemony extended into Septimania across the Pyrenees. While the frontiers of this region appear to have varied over the course of the sixth century, and certainly suffered from the rapacious attentions of expansionist kings to the north, the cultural differences between Gothic Septimania and Frankish Aquitaine are readily apparent within the material record.142 In common with other Spanish writers, Isidore refers to the Gothic territories north of the Pyrenees by the ambiguous Gallia Narbonensis or 138

139 140

141

142

Orig. XIV.iv.29: Interfluunt eam flumina magna: Baetis, Mineus, Iberus et Tagus aurum trahens, ut Pactolus. Habet provincias sex: Tarraconensem, Cartaginensem, Lusitaniam, Galliciam, Baeticam, et trans freta in regione Africae Tingitaniam. Orig XIV.iv.30; cf. Or., Hist. I.2.73–4. Rufius Festus 5; Philipp (1912), p. 121. On Diocletian’s reorganization of the Spanish provinces, and the significance of the African frontier within this policy, see the excellent recent discussion of Kulikowski (2004), pp. 71–6. LR 62: totius Spaniae intra oceani fretum monarchiam regni primus idem potitus, quod nulli retro principum est conlatum [modified translation]. For discussion of the archaeology of Septimania, see esp. James (1980).

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Isidore of Seville 143

simply Gallia. This nomenclature implies a conceptual separation between the two major blocs of Gothic authority, and several writers appear to have regarded the northerly province with a mixture of suspicion and distaste.144 Isidore himself consistently presents the Pyrenees as the major physical boundary of the Gothic kingdom within his History, but whether this reflected an unconscious foreshortening of the regnum or a simple reflection of the threat posed by neighbouring Aquitaine is open to dispute.145 There is little doubt, however, that Isidore regarded Septimania as a fully functional part of the Visigothic regnum. This is most clearly apparent in the writer’s condemnation of the division of the government of the realm under Liuva I: In the second year after he [Liuva] had secured his rule, he established his brother Leovigild not only as his successor, but as a partner in his kingship, appointing him to rule Hispania, while he contented himself with the rule of Gallia Narbonensis. And thus the kingdom had two rulers, despite the fact that no power willingly accepts a consort. 146

Isidore goes on to stress Leovigild’s subsequent control of both provinces, and later illustrates the authority of Reccared through reference to the king’s convocation of a council involving bishops from each area.147 Within the episcopal activities of the late sixth and seventh centuries, conciliar decrees were only deemed universal if representatives from each of the regions under Gothic rule were present.148 In political and ecclesiastical terms, Isidore and his contemporaries regarded Septimania as a constituent part of the Gothic realm.149 The concept of Hispania may thus have had a number of different associations for the historian of the Goths. Isidore would have been familiar enough with the ancient association of Hispania and Hispaniae with the parameters of the Iberian peninsula. In geographical and poetic terms, it was by these designations that classical and later medieval writers 143 144 145

146

147

148

149

LR 34, 49, 53, 54; compare John of Biclarum 91, 92; Julian of Toledo, Hist. Wamb. 5. Julian of Toledo, Hist. Wamb. 5; James (1980), pp. 224–5. The crossing of the Pyrenees is certainly afforded a prominence within Isidore’s Historia. See, for example, LR 41 and 66. LR 48: Qui secundo anno postquam adeptus est principatum, Leuuigildum fratrem non solum successorum, sed et participem regni sibi constituit Spaniaeque administrationi praefecit, ipse Galliae regno contentus. Sicque regnum duos capuit, dum nulla potestas patiens consortis sit. LR 53. And cf. also Isidore’s description of Reccared’s defence of Gallia Narbonensis from Frankish attack at SR/LR 54, which clearly demonstrates the distinction between the Frankish and Gothic regna. Orlandis and Ramos-Lisson (1986). And note, too, the Gothic dominance of metropolitan positions within Septimania, discussed by Thompson (1969), p. 291. Gibert (1956), pp. 26–8.

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Epithalamial themes referred to the region. The Laus Spaniae was evidently intended as a celebration of the peninsula and its triumphant union with the Goths, but it should not be interpreted as a programmatic statement of the emergence of a single coherent Gothic state within Spain. If rhetorical convention demanded that Isidore focus his praise, and hence much of his history, on the provinces of Mater Hispania, the historian was equally aware of the extent of Visigothic power beyond its borders. Similarly, Isidore’s other writings reveal his awareness of the different standards by which Hispania itself could be defined. The Laus Spaniae provides a compelling frontispiece for a narrative of Gothic history, but it was not intended as an exhaustive survey of the lands under their control. EPITHALAMIAL THEMES

In the final section of the Laus Spaniae Isidore introduces the themes that resonate most forcefully through the remainder of the work. Here, the writer reiterates the importance of the Goths to Spain, just as the opening section as a whole demonstrates the significance of the peninsula to the gens: Rightly did golden Rome, the head of the nations, desire you long ago. And although this same Romulean power, initially victorious, betrothed you to itself, now it is the most flourishing people of the Goths, who, in their turn, after many victories all over the world, have eagerly seized you and loved you: they enjoy you up to the present time, amidst royal emblems and great wealth, secure in the good fortune of empire. 150

Isidore links the closing paragraph of the Laus to the remainder of the eulogy through the invocation of familiar elements from the opening of the passage. The symbols of royalty and wealth included here recall the representation of regina provinciarum earlier in the Laus, just as the sustained metaphor of the femininity of the region echoes the opening apostrophe to Mater Hispania.151 This personification of Hispania and her historic suitors is further developed in the eulogy to the Goths in Isidore’s Recapitulatio.152 The final paragraph of Isidore’s eulogy effectively performs a central rhetorical role within the structure and argument of his Historia. It is through the imagery developed in the section that the historian binds the opening section most firmly to the Laus Gothorum and, as shall be discussed, to the narrative of the Historia as a whole.

150

151

LS: Iure itaque te iam pridem aurea Roma caput gentium concupiuit et licet te sibimet eadem Romulea uirtus primum uictrix desponderit, denuo tamen Gothorum florentissima gens post multiplices in orbe uictorias certatim rapit et amauit, fruiturque hactenus inter regias infulas et opes largas imperii felicitate securas. For further discussion, cf. Reydellet (1981), pp. 521–2. 152 LR 67.

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Isidore of Seville Just as Isidore’s eulogy of Spain may be traced to generic classical models of eulogies of place, so the final paragraph of the passage reveals his extensive debts to the epithalamium or marriage poem. His image of the union of Goths and Spain as a sexual or nuptial relationship, with the Gothi taking the active male role and the passive Hispania the female, conforms closely to generic requirements, despite its unusual subject matter.153 As a result, this short section, combined with the opening lines of the Laus, dramatically alters the meaning of the whole passage. Bracketed by two memorable presentations of a feminine Hispania, what would otherwise be read merely as a straightforward provincial eulogy in the manner of Pacatus and Pliny is simultaneously rendered as a panegyric in praise of a bride. Just as classical epithalamia stressed the beauty of the bride, her ornamentation and the virility of her husband, so Isidore’s description of an anthropomorphous Spain defers to similar conventions. An intriguing twist to Isidore’s image is provided by the acknowledgement of a second ‘suitor’ to the affections of Hispania. Rome, like the Gothic gens, is shown to have been captivated by the region, and to have pledged its own troth to the peninsula. Yet Isidore’s language implies, without actually stating, that the union between Rome and the region was incomplete. Imperial interest in Hispania is represented by the metaphor of betrothal – despondere – a relationship that seems particularly chaste in comparison with the vigorous imagery associated with the Goths. Each of the verbs employed to depict the Gothic occupation – rapere and amare – implies a possession entirely lacking in the previous section.154 As a result, the Gothic gens is shown to have benefited from the lauded fecundity of Spain in a manner apparently denied to Rome. Isidore develops this contrast still further in his Recapitulatio. The Gothic migration through Europe is depicted through sexual as well as martial metaphor: ‘they invaded Thrace, devastated Italy, besieged Rome and captured it, entered Gaul and, bursting through the Pyrenees, reached Spain . . . ’155 The vocabulary employed by Isidore in this catalogue of Gothic victories accentuates the oft-repeated virility of the eponymous group. A few lines later, the Romans provide a further contrast to this image: ‘They [the Gothi] waged such great wars and had such a reputation for glorious victory that Rome itself, the conqueror of 153

154

155

On classical epithalamial motifs, cf. Russell (1979); Roberts (1989); and the paradigm provided by Menander Rhetor II.399–405. For further discussion of the erotic imagery within Isidore’s account of the Gothic migration, see Merrills (forthcoming a). LR 66: Thraciam inruunt, Italiam uastant, obsessam urbem capiunt, Gallias adgrediuntur patefactisque Pyrenaeis montibus Spanias usque perueniunt . . .

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Epithalamial themes all peoples, submitted to the yoke of captivity and yielded to the Gothic triumphs: the mistress of all nations served them like a handmaid.’156 The Recapitulatio resolves several unexplored themes of the Laus Spaniae, and further develops others. The dramatic virility of the Goths is presented as a cause of the group’s eventual possession of Hispania, just as the effeminacy of Rome resulted in the loss of the peninsula. As the Recapitulatio makes clear, and as Isidore notes elsewhere in his narrative, these processes were interdependent.157 Gothic strength was exemplified, and Roman weakness demonstrated, by the victories of the Gothi over the empire, with Hispania presented as the ultimate reward. By expressing the occupation of Spain in epithalamial terms, Isidore effectively legitimates a potentially problematic episode within the Gothic past. The arrival of the gens within the peninsula is depicted, not as an anomalous event within a wider imperial narrative, nor as an illegal despoliation of a virgin province, but as the inevitable, and consenting, consummation of Gothic and Spanish history. Isidore’s decision to employ motifs from classical marriage poetry is readily explicable within this context. All of the component parts of the classical epithalamium are evident within his work, particularly when the Laus Spaniae is regarded alongside its sister passage in praise of the Goths. Typically, after a lengthy consideration of the imagery of love, classical nuptial poems would dwell extensively on the character and virtues of the wedded couple.158 The chastity and beauty of the bride would first be delineated, as an ornament of her partner, before stressing the strengths of the groom. According to this model, the Laus Spaniae may be read as a eulogy in praise of the bride, the Laus Gothorum a celebration of her masculine lover. In subject matter, the emphases of both Laudes follow closely the ideals laid out for marriage partners within the ninth book of Isidore’s Origines: ‘In the choice of a husband, four aspects are normally examined: courage, birth, beauty and wisdom . . . Likewise, in the choice of a wife, four things push the man to love: beauty, birth, wealth and good morals.’159 Within the Origines, Isidore illustrates these ideals through citation of Virgil on Dido and Aeneas, but he might easily have recalled the lovers described in Laudes Spaniae and Gothorum. Admittedly, Isidore’s choice of subject matter restricted him in the absolute

156

157 159

LR 67: Quibus tanta extitit magnitudo bellorum et tam extollens gloriosae uictoriae uirtus ut Roma ipsa uictrix omnium populorum subacta captiuitatis iugo Gothicis triumphis adcederet et domina cunctarum gentium illis ut famula deseruiret. See for example, LR 15 and SR/LR 24. 158 Menander Rhetor II.402–3. Orig. IX.7.28–9: In eligendo marito quattuor spectari solent: uirtus, genus, pulchritudo, sapientia . . . Item in eligenda uxore quattuor res inpellunt hominem ad amorem: pulchritudo, genus, diuitiae, mores.

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Isidore of Seville application of such characteristics – he struggled, for example, to ascribe any particular sapientia to the gens Gothorum – but his deference otherwise appears faithful. The great majority of the Recapitulatio is devoted to an encomium of Gothic courage, strength and physical beauty through discussion of the group’s history and the etymology of their name. The account of Hispania is likewise dominated by the themes of ‘beauty’, in the natural attributes of the peninsula, ‘birth’, through its historic importance, ‘wealth’, in the reference to the mines and gems of Spain, and, through the use of Christian literary imagery, appropriate moral behaviour. The centrality of this image to both Laudes further explains the absence of any reference to the autochthonous Spanish within the opening eulogy. Isidore did not compose his Historia in order to celebrate the union of the Gothic gens and the Hispani, in the manner ascribed to Jordanes or Cassiodorus; indeed the Spanish are conspicuous throughout the Historia for their absence.160 Instead, Isidore’s primary interest was in the celebration of Gothic union with Hispania herself – a theme which would have been compromised by extensive reference to those already within the peninsula at the time of the Gothic arrival. The recognition that the Laus Spaniae was motivated by specifically epithalamial, as well as simple eulogistic, conventions illuminates several of Isidore’s more mysterious inclusions within the passage. As has been discussed, the abrupt catalogue of classical motifs at the centre of the Laus was partly intended as a simple invocation of Virgil, and for the most part the passages chosen appear to have been natural enough. In several cases, however, Isidore’s choice of imagery reveals important erotic associations, as well as more familiar eulogistic elements, and these deserve some consideration. The extensive reference to rivers within the Laus has obvious parallels to a great corpus of Latin love poetry. Although parallels may also be drawn to the conventions of geographical writing – rivers were, after all, physical features that occur with regularity in all geographical scholarship – Isidore’s points of reference remain interesting: ‘Nor are you to be held inferior in rivers, which the brilliant fame of your fair flock ennobles. Alpheus yields to you in horses and Clitumnus in cattle, although Alpheus, regarded as sacred for his Olympic victories, exercised fleet chariots on the track of Pisa, and Clitumnus once sacrificed great oxen on the fields of the Capitol.’161

160

161

On the epithalamial motif within the Getica, compare the interpretation of Goffart (1988), pp. 68–84 and the discussion above, p. 107. LS: nec illis amnibus posthabenda, quos clara speciosorum gregum fama nobilitat. Tibi cedet Alpheus equis, Clitumnus armentis, quamquam uolucres per spatia Pisaea quadrigas Olympicis sacer palmis Alfeus exerceat et ingentes Clitumnus iuuencos Capitolinis olim immolauerit uictimis.

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Epithalamial themes Isidore’s personification of the Clitumnus and Alpheus was probably made with the Virgilian resonance of each in mind, but the peculiar associations of the rivers themselves remain noteworthy. Neither the Alpheus nor the Clitumnus was a particularly important river in purely geographical terms, but each occupies a prominent role in classical, and particularly erotic, verse. Of the two rivers, Clitumnus had the weaker erotic associations. The watercourse features in Propertius’ elegies as an appropriate locus for love, but is more frequently invoked as a pastoral idyll, as it appears in Silius Italicus and the letters of the Younger Pliny, as well as the Georgics.162 These rather slender associations are thrown into sharp relief by the great wealth of significance attached to the Alpheus within Greek and Latin literature. The watercourse was famed in Antiquity for its supposedly irrational course, and innumerable mythological traditions sought to explain its peculiar behaviour. According to classical geographers, Alpheus the sacred river ran (through caverns measureless to man), from its source in the Peloponnesus, as far as Sicily and its eventual union with Lake Arethusa.163 This phenomenon was supposedly demonstrated by the re-emergence of objects within the lake after having been thrown into the river at its source, and provided fertile ground for classical mythographers. In his Metamorphoses, Ovid explained the behaviour of the river through the identification of the Alpheus and Lake Arethusa as frustrated lovers, eternally attempting union – an image that was to prove popular as a symbol of love and devotion over the centuries that followed.164 This association of rivers with fertility and procreation may also be detected in one of the more mysterious allusions within the Laus Spaniae: ‘You are fertile with overflowing rivers, you are tawny with gold-flowing torrents, you have a spring that fathered a horse . . .’165 The origins of this fons equi genitor image are unclear. No classical geographer refers to such a stream, although the rhapsodic description of horses in Virgil’s third Georgic and the account of Spain in Justin’s epitome of Pompieus Trogus do provide parallels of a sort in their accounts of unusually fertile mares, impregnated by the wind.166 The image may also betray some debts to residual Gothic traditions, alluded to in Jordanes’ Getica, which would further develop Isidore’s fundamental

162 163 164 165 166

Propertius, Elegies II.19; Silius Italicus, Punica IV.545; VIII.448ff.; Pliny, Ep. VIII.8. Strabo VI.2.4. With apologies to Samuel Taylor Coleridge . . . Ovid, Metamorphoses V.550; cf. Ovid, Am. III.6.29 and Silius Italicus, Punica XIV.54. LS: Tu superfusis fecunda fluminibus, tu aurifluis fulua torrentibus; tibi fons equi genitor . . . Georgics III.275; Justin, Ep. Pomp. Trog. 44.3.

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Isidore of Seville interest in the numerable ties that bound the Visigoths to their new homeland.167 The most important advocate of the river as an erotic symbol is perhaps Menander Rhetor. Within his fourth-century rhetorical treatises, Menander specifically identifies the Alpheus as an appropriate motif to be employed within an epithalamium, as a symbol of the dedication of the travelled spouse to his chosen bride: You should incorporate narratives in all this: stories of rivers – e.g. how Alpheus the Pisan loves the Sicilian spring Arethusa and goes against his own nature, and, like a passionate bridegroom, goes bubbling through the sea, seething, to the island of Sicily, and falls into the lap of his beloved Arethusa and unites with her . . . 168

While Isidore is unlikely to have been directly familiar with this work, both he and the Menander worked within the same conventions of rhetorical eulogy. It seems probable that Isidore was fully aware of the nuptial connotations of his choice of imagery when he invoked the Alpheus so prominently within the Laus Spaniae. Isidore’s inclusion of the Zephyrus, or west wind, within his description of Hispania further develops this nuptial motif: ‘neither are you parched by the summer heat of the sun, nor do you languish under the icy cold, but girded by a temperate band of sky, you are nourished by fertile west winds’.169 This allusion provides one of the few geographical reference points within a chapter otherwise bereft of such orientation, but the wind also has a significance within Isidore’s wider nuptial metaphor. Conspicuously, the reference within the Laus is not Isidore’s only allusion to the wind, and the Zephyrus blows with equal force through the Origines. In his discussion of the wind itself in Book XIII, Isidore explicitly highlights its associations with fertility.170 No less importantly, the wind also rises during the writer’s discussion of adultery and excessive sexual activity in the ninth book.171 Although somewhat perplexing at first glance, Isidore’s association of the Zephyrus with intense fertility had considerable precedent, particularly in the verse of the classical period. The seasonal nature of the Zephyrus led to 167

168 169

170

Getica 38, and cf. Getica 21 on the splendid horses of the Suehans. Isidore himself refers to the superlative horsemanship of the Goths at LR 69. On equine imagery in foundation myths, see esp. O’Flaherty (1980), pp. 149–238. Isidore, however, displays remarkably little interest in the historical traditions of the Goths themselves, as is noted by Christensen (2002), pp. 313–16. Regardless of its deeper significance, the image of a fertile river remains a powerful one within the wider context of Isidore’s epithalamium. Menander Rhetor II.401. LS: nec aestiuo solis ardore torreris, nec glaciali rigore tabescis, sed temperata caeli zona praecincta zephyris felicibus enutriris. Orig. XIII.11.8. 171 Orig. IX.5.25.

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Epithalamial themes the wind being invoked on a number of occasions as a symbol of spring, and hence as a phenomenon with certain nuptial resonances.172 Although marriages within Germanic societies may well have taken place throughout the year, it seems likely that the end of winter provided the most common period for the ratification of these unions within the early medieval west.173 Within the literature that celebrated late antique marriages, seasonal imagery certainly enjoyed a prominent role. Two centuries before Isidore, the court poet Claudian included a direct invocation of the Zephyrus in his commemoration of the marriage of Honorius, as a nuptial, as well as a seasonal motif.174 Other writers, including Sidonius Apollinaris, evoked spring within their epithalamia even when the events celebrated are known to have taken place in the winter.175 Within late Latin verse, the Zephyrus was closely associated with spring, and hence with marriage. It seems likely that Isidore’s choice of imagery within the Laus was dictated to a large degree by the nuptial concerns of the passage. Given Isidore’s obvious penchant for rhetorical flourishes within the Laus, it would be easy to assume that the epithalamial motif was little more than a literary conceit: a dramatic image, intended perhaps to amuse the more widely read among his audience. Such an approach may even have had a contemporary relevance, given the relatively new legal privileges which allowed intermarriage between Goth and Roman.176 When the Laus is regarded alongside Isidore’s other writing on ethnography and family, however, the importance of the nuptial image within the writer’s political conceptions takes on a rather different dimension. Isidore discusses marriage, along with a number of seemingly unconnected subjects, in the ninth book of his Origines. Opening with an ethnographic passage, which lists the gentes to have sprung from the loins of Noah’s sons, the book goes on to discuss the organization of society and culminates in a long discussion of the familia. As Marc Reydellet’s recent studies of the book have shown, Isidore’s ostensibly erratic selection of material within the chapter was in fact motivated by a sophisticated appreciation of the close ties between familia and gens, a perspective developed from both Christian and classical approaches to 172

173

174

175

176

For use of the zephyr as a symbol of spring, see, for example, Virgil, Georgics I.44; Ovid, Metamorphoses I.108; Horace, Epist. I.7–13; Carm. IV.7.9. On the likelihood that spring was the most common period for early medieval marriage, see Ausenda (1999), p. 152, and the comments of Retamero and Heather at p. 180. Claudian, Fesc. II.44–5, and Epithalamium 61. On the use of spring imagery within late antique epithalamia in general, see Roberts (1989), pp. 345–6. See, for example, Sidonius Apollinaris, Carm. 11.126–8 – a celebration of a winter wedding which employs the traditional imagery of spring, and cf. Roberts (1989), p. 346 and Wilson (1948), pp. 38–40. Fontaine (2001), p. 66; on these privileges, see Sivan (1998), pp. 200–3.

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Isidore of Seville 177

ethnography. The ninth book both opens and closes with familiae: beginning with the first post-Diluvian family and ending with the generic form of the familia evident in the contemporary world. Throughout, Isidore stresses both the derivation of each gens from Noah’s sons, and the individual social units of which these peoples were constituted. Marriage and reproduction thus form a central motif within Isidore’s conception of individual gentes, and within his understanding of their evolution. Within the jumble of names that make up the ethnographic section of the Origines, Isidore does not at first appear to celebrate any individual gens over any other. The Romans, like the Goths and the Hispani, appear as one people among many, and are not singled out for particular praise, or discussed in any greater detail than the innumerable other peoples of the world.178 Yet close investigation of the chapter has shown that Isidore clearly conceptualized a hierarchy of gentes, organized on a number of different principles. As befits a work of etymological scholarship, these themes are largely based upon the origins of different group names. Gentes named after founding heroes are granted a particular prominence within the Origines, with those taking their names from areas of habitation slightly denigrated.179 Within this context, it is conspicuous that the Goths – supposedly named after Gog, the son of Japeth – are in the highest rank, a point twice reiterated in the Historia. The Hispani, thanks to their regional naming, are less highly regarded.180 The Romani, interestingly, fall somewhere between the two, thanks to Isidore’s uncertainty whether their nomenclature derives from Romulus – their founding father – or from Roma – their principal habitation; a reflection perhaps of the writer’s ambivalent feelings towards the group.181 This relatively simple pattern is complicated by Isidore’s emphasis upon the biblical origins of different peoples. The etymologist notes that the peoples derived from Japeth include among their number many of the more important gentes from around the world.182 Although this declaration is largely left unexplored within the Origines, its implications are significant to the understanding of Isidore’s historical philosophy. Conspicuously, the three major peoples of the Historia – the Gothi, Romani and Hispani – are all included within this exclusive family. The Goths, as might be expected, are shown by Isidore to have had the most exalted pedigree possible, but each of their near neighbours were of almost comparable stature. 177 179 180

Reydellet (1984), pp. 4–5 and (1986), pp. 338–9. 178 Reydellet (1984), p. 12. Cf. Amsler (1979), pp. 107–8 and (1989), p. 168; Reydellet (1986), pp. 342–4. Orig. IX.2.109. 181 Orig. IX.2.84. 182 Orig. IX.2.37.

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Epithalamial themes The nature of Isidore’s discussion of early Gothic history encourages further links to be drawn between the eponymous group of the Historia and the Hispani. After a declaration of Gothic independence from both Roman power and the conquests of Alexander, taken almost verbatim from Orosius, Isidore locates the first true involvement of the group within Mediterranean history in the civil wars of the first triumvirate.183 In a passage unique to the longer recension, the Goths are presented as allies of Pompey, in the struggle against Caesar.184 Although the Historia includes no mention of the role of the Hispani within this struggle, the Chronicon stresses the support enjoyed by Pompey within the Iberian peninsula. In a world divided by the power struggles of the first century before Christ, the Goths are shown lining up alongside their future neighbours. From the earliest stage of their history, the Goths are presented as the natural allies of the Spanish, albeit in rather allusive terms. It is tempting to emphasize the familial parallels between the Hispani and Gothi still more forcefully in the light of the epithalamial emphases of the Laus Spaniae. Within Isidore’s Origines schema, the Goths and Spaniards are represented as cousins, albeit cousins many times removed, due to the passage of time. As a result, the concept of a nuptial union between the groups seems entirely natural. Ethnographic studies of other primitive societies suggest that agnatic marriage and endogamy are likely to have been relatively common within seventh-century Spain.185 By marrying within the family, the wedding costs of each party could be minimized and exclusive blood-lines preserved. In a sense, therefore, the Origines may be said to have ratified the imagery later employed within the Historia – that of a nuptial union between Spaniard and Goth, to be celebrated by both parties. While certainly important, there are dangers in stretching Isidore’s familial metaphor too far. Isidore’s principal focus within the Historia was upon the union not of the Gothi and Hispani, but of the Goths and Spain. While the territory of Hispania is central throughout Isidore’s drama, the Hispani themselves occupy only the most fleeting of roles within the Laus Spaniae and within the narrative of the Historia as a whole. Isidore’s use of nuptial imagery may have been intended to reflect contemporary interest in mixed-race marriage in the aftermath of Leovigild’s legislation, and the metaphor may have had a social significance in the seventh century entirely absent in the twenty-first. Nevertheless, within the context provided by the Historia, Isidore’s principal literary motives must be sought elsewhere.

183

LR 2–3; cf. Or., Hist. I.16.

184

LR 3.

185

Ausenda (1999), pp. 137–8.

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Isidore of Seville A more persuasive, if no less speculative, suggestion is that the union between Hispania and the Goths that was celebrated in the Laus Spaniae was intended to echo the founding familial couplings outlined in the Origines. If the marriage described in the Historia was prefigured by those recounted in Genesis, and later discussed in the Origines, then the symbolic significance of the union to the Gothic gens becomes clear. Just as the original biblical couplings generated the peoples of the world, so the Spanish marriage might be seen to witness the rebirth, or renewal, of the Gothic gens. The fons equi genitor image may have been intended as a metaphorical representation of this Gothic regeneration, although the interpretation should not be pursued too far. Of rather more importance, however, are the Christian implications of such an interpretation. It was baptism that offered the single primary source of spiritual renewal within Christian thought, just as it was within Spain that the Goths found their salvation from heresy through the conversion of Reccared. If Isidore intended his relatively straightforward nuptial metaphor to carry a number of different meanings, it is to the significance of marriage within Christian thought that we must now turn. The language employed within the Laus Spaniae, particularly in the final paragraph of the passage, amply demonstrates Isidore’s debts to the genre of epithalamium. While the bishop was certainly familiar enough with classical form to invoke appropriate images from the pagan canon, however, his attitude towards marriage, and to the literary forms which celebrated the practice, was resolutely Christian. Once more, the point is demonstrated particularly vividly through reference to the Origines, and the author’s definition of the epithalamium: ‘Epithalamia are marriage poems, which are declaimed by scholiasts in honour of the groom and bride. The first of these Solomon created in praise of the Church and Christ. From him, the Gentiles have laid claim to the Epithalamium, and have adopted this type of poem.’186 Patristic interest in the epithalamial imagery of the Song of Songs was extensive and Origen’s commentary on the Old Testament work directly inspired further exegesis throughout the eastern Mediterranean. The celebration of marriage had a Christian resonance that extended far beyond the exegesis of the erotic verse of the Old Testament, however, and rapidly came to occupy an important position in the discussion of contemporary and ideal society. Augustine wrote extensively on the 186

Orig. I.39.18: Epithalamia sunt carmina nubentium, quae decantantur ab scholasticis in honorem sponsi et sponsae. Haec primum Salomon edidit in laudem Ecclesiae et Christi. Ex quo gentiles sibi epithalamium vindicarunt, et istius generis carmen adsumptum est; cf. the discussion of this passage in Fontaine (1959), p. 171.

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Epithalamial themes importance of conjugal union and its peculiar position within the Christian ideal of chastity.187 Tertullian and Jerome explored similar themes in their own exegeses, and marriage had been the subject of considerable legal and social change throughout late Antiquity, in the light of this developing thought.188 Although the direct traces of these arguments are rarely easy to identify within the Laus Spaniae itself, Christian elements most certainly are present within the passage, and the underlying Christian legitimacy of the Hispano-Gothic union is a significant theme throughout. Despite the influence of Pliny and Pacatus upon the structure of the Laus, it seems likely that Christian ideology remained paramount within Isidore’s conception, both of his introductory section and, through this eulogy, of the narrative Historia as a whole. This emphasis is particularly evident in one of Isidore’s most peculiar literary allusions. Conspicuously, the first reference to the union of Hispania and the Gothi, and one of the first literary allusions in the Laus as a whole, has a Patristic antecedent: ‘You are the pride and the ornament of the world, the more illustrious part of the earth, in which the Getic people are gloriously prolific, rejoicing much and flourishing greatly.’189 Isidore’s choice of language here closely echoes that employed by Cyprian of Carthage in his treatise On the Dress of Virgins. Like the Laus, Cyprian’s work celebrates a powerful familial bond, in this case between the throng of Christian virgins and the Church as a whole: ‘They are the flower of the tree that is the Church, the pride and ornament of spiritual grace . . . the more illustrious part of Christ’s flock. The glorious fruitfulness of Mother Church rejoices through them, and in them she flourishes greatly . . .’190 Perhaps the most remarkable aspect of Isidore’s exploitation of Cyprian’s language is the relative freedom with which he appropriates individual images into entirely new contexts. Within the simple duality of Cyprian’s metaphor, virgin and Church are shown to be in an essentially symbiotic relationship, each ennobling the other. While Cyprian expresses himself through a different familial metaphor from that of Isidore – that of mother and daughter rather than husband and wife – the thematic parallels between his account and the Laus are readily apparent, particularly given the prominence of the maternal image within each. Indeed, Isidore preserves the duality of Cyprian’s image with some fidelity. 187 188

189

190

Evans Grubbs (1995), pp. 65–71. On the social impact of Christian thought on marriage, see the excellent studies of Evans Grubbs (1995) and Herlihy (1991). LS: tu decus atque ornamentum orbis, inlustrior portio terrae, in qua gaudet multum ac largiter floret Geticae gentis gloriosa fecunditas. Cyprian, De hab. virg. 3: Flos est ille ecclesiastici germinis, decus atque ornamentum gratiae spiritalis . . . inlustrior portio gregis Christi, gaudet per illas atque in illis largiter floret Ecclesiae matris gloriosa fecunditas.

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Isidore of Seville Hispania is initially presented as an ornament of the world – ornamentum orbis – rather than of the gens Gothi, as strict adherence to Cyprian’s model would dictate, but the principal protagonists within the Laus – the Goths and the territory of Spain – remain dominant. Like Cyprian, Isidore implies a symbiosis within the relationship, and demonstrates the centrality of the two central groups, to the near exclusion of all others. It seems likely that Isidore was inspired in his borrowing, not by the precise metaphorical imagery employed by Cyprian, but rather by the conventions of Christian epithalamium that the fourth-century writer represented. The use of Pacatus’ image of Mater Hispania may have prompted Isidore’s memory of the phrase Mater Ecclesia from the African composition, and certainly makes the allusion seem a more natural one. It cannot be accidental that the image of the virgin united with the Church should have been introduced within the epithalamial structure of the Laus Spaniae. Throughout late Antiquity, the celebration of the mystical union of Church and handmaiden dominated the composition of epithalamia. Marriage poems did continue to be written in a classical form, but even the greatest champions of the secular genre, like Venantius Fortunatus in Gaul, devoted equal energy to the composition of epithalamia celebrating the fusion of the Church and its dedicated followers.191 By the early seventh century, the epithalamium had come to be associated, not only with classical rhetorical niceties, or with the erotic verse of the Old Testament, but also with the exaltation of contemporary Christian virgins. It seems reasonable to suggest, therefore, that Isidore’s own composition of an epithalamium would have been regarded as incomplete without at least passing allusion to the developing Christian canon. The argument that Isidore echoed Cyprianic passages principally as a Christian motif, and as a reminder of sacred epithalamia, provides the most satisfactory explanation for his second allusion to the Carthaginian author. In his Epistle to Donatus, Cyprian expounds at length upon divine subjects, and the transitory nature of mundane success: ‘Or do you think that even those men are safe, or at least those who are amidst honorific emblems and great wealth, secure with stable strength, whom the protection of watchful arms surrounds, in the splendour of the glittering palaces of royalty?’192 Here, Isidore exploits Cyprian’s language within a very different context. Indeed, at first glance, the implications of the Laus Spaniae and that of the 191

192

Venantius Fortunatus, Carm. VI.1 is an accomplished example of a secular epithalamium from the late sixth century. Fortunatus’ twin poems in praise of virginity, Carm. VIII.3 and VIII.4, however, display a more fluid, and perhaps more successful appropriation of the nuptial motif; cf. Merrills (1997), pp. 71–4. Cyprian, Ep. I.13: An tu vel illos putas tutos, illos saltem inter honorum infulas et opes largas stabili firmitate securos, quos regalis aulae splendore fulgentes armorum excubantium tutela circumstat?

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Epithalamial themes Letter to Donatus could scarcely be more different: ‘they enjoy you up to the present time, amidst royal emblems and great wealth, secure in the good fortune of empire.’193 Where Cyprian cautions against complacency in the mundane world, Isidore would at first appear to condone precisely that in his celebration of Gothic control over Hispania. Cyprian’s fundamental argument, however, is not that mundane gain is worthless, merely that it is empty without the Church. Only within the framework of divine contemplation, the theologian argues, can worthwhile ends and ultimate security be attained. While Isidore avoids any discussion of the permanence of the Gothic state in Spain, the implication of his allusion to Cyprian seems clear. Just as in his earlier acknowledgement of the same writer, Isidore here provides a subtle reminder of the importance of the Church within the union of the Gothi and Hispania. Without such ratification, the writer reminds his audience, Gothic success truly would be transitory. With it, however, a more lasting union may be celebrated. In this sense, Isidore’s principal motive in alluding to Cyprian was not the opportunity for clever allusion or subtle word-play, but the demonstration of a central feature of his own political philosophy: the importance of the Church within the contemporary state. Here, Isidore is seen in his most important guise, as a prominent – perhaps the prominent – spokesman of the Spanish Church during a period of considerable political upheaval. Isidore’s attempt to include the Church within the happy political union of the Goths and Spain may seem overly subtle to the modern observer, and yet betrays close links both to the narrative drive of the Historia as a whole, and to near-contemporary writing on the Visigothic state. In 580, in celebration of the admission of the Goths into the Catholic Church, Bishop Leander – Isidore’s elder brother and predecessor to the diocese of Seville – preached a sermon on the triumph that the conversion represented. Leander’s choice of metaphor within the sermon anticipated the Laus of his younger brother quite closely: Sara, although she was often desired by kings, was never stained with unfaithfulness, but Abraham became rich because of her beauty; Abraham became rich from those very kings who desired Sara. Quite properly, then, has the Catholic Church, by the glory of its faith, brought over as its gain for its bridegroom, that is Christ, the tribes which it had experienced as rivals, and by the very kingdoms by which it had been sorely troubled, it made its bridegroom wealthy. 194 193 194

LS: fruiturque hactenus inter regias infulas et opes largas imperii felicitate secura. Leander, Hom.: Et Sara dum saepe a regibus concupiscitur, nec maculam pudicitiae sentit, et Abraham causa pulchritudinis suae divitem facit; ab ipsis enim regibus Abraham ditatur a quibus Sara concupiscitur. Condigne ergo Ecclesia catholica gentes, quas sibi aemulas senserit, fidei suae decore ad sui eas Sponsi, hoc est Christi, lucra transducit et per ea regna suum virum divitem reddit, per quae se inquietari perseserit.

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Isidore of Seville If the most widely accepted calculations regarding the date of Isidore’s birth are correct, the young priest would have been about twenty years old at the time of this sermon.195 According to the fragmentary information regarding their family, Leander acted in loco parentis to his successor, and it seems likely that Isidore was present in Toledo at this, the scene of his brother and guardian’s greatest personal triumph.196 Given the centrality of the nuptial image within Isidore’s own writing, it is hard to escape the conclusion that the seminal sermon exercised a profound residual influence on the historian when he composed his own celebration of Gothic Catholicism four and a half decades later. Nor was the use of familial metaphor in the expression of Christian political ideology an innovation of the Iberian Fathers. In his rather eyewatering account of Galerius’ persecution in the early fourth century, Lactantius suggests that the tyrants of Rome treated their empire as a household – tamquam familia – in their despotic rule.197 More positively, Augustine expresses the unity of Christian belief through the same image. In the first book of his De civitate Dei, the theologian presents the Church community as a familia, which stands together in the face of temporal disaster.198 In the aftermath of Constantine’s conversion, the family proved to be a powerful ideal within patristic thought as a model for social cohesiveness and for the expression of the intimate bonds drawn between Church and state. The closest parallel to the nuptial image of the Laus Spaniae, however, is to be found in Isidore’s own political writings. The bishop’s political ideology reached its fullest fruition in the three books of Sententiae – one of the last compositions of his life – but important elements of his developing thought are equally evident in the Origines.199 It is within the latter, in his discussion of the nature of Christ’s rule on earth, that Isidore again invokes the familiar nuptial metaphor: ‘The Spouse, who descending from heaven unites with the Church, and the two are made one flesh in the peace of the New Testament.’200 The political significance of Isidore’s image becomes apparent when his presentation of Christ as the archetypal king is considered. Christus, within Isidore’s

195

196

197 199 200

Fontaine (1959), p. 6 calculates Isidore’s likely birth-date as c. AD 559 on the grounds that Canon Law forbade accession to the episcopate for those younger than forty, and that Isidore’s consecration as Bishop of Seville took place in 599. On Isidore’s early life and family, compare Fontaine (1959), pp. 6–9 and the detailed study provided by Fontaine and Cazier (1983). Lactantius, De mort. pers. 21. 198 Augustine, De civ. Dei I.29. On the dating of the Sententiae, cf. Cazier (1994), p. 5. Orig. VII.2.33: Sponsus, quia descendens de caelo adhaesit Ecclesiae, ut pace Novi Testamenti essent duo in carne una.

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Epithalamial themes etymological argument, signifies Rex in Hebrew, just as elsewhere Egyptian kings are designated Pharao, and those of Rome Augustus.201 Although other paradigms could be found for Isidore’s conception of the perfect king, most obviously within the pages of the Old Testament, it is this model of Christ united with His Church that resonates most forcefully throughout the bishop’s writings.202 Ultimately, Isidore’s political philosophy was a complex and constantly evolving one, and the Historia itself offers only a partial elucidation of many involved themes.203 Within the Sententiae, and through the pages of the Origines, Isidore expounded an image of complementary rule through the crown and the episcopate. As the idealized bishop catered for the spiritual needs of his flock, so the perfect king would offer protection and temporal solace to his familia. Both drew their inspiration from biblical exemplars, but the limits of the authority of each were firmly drawn. While a king might – indeed must – be praiseworthy for his own piety, and offer his populus the means to live an appropriately Christian life, the responsibility of the crown did not extend to the spiritual welfare of the people. In contrast to the Caesaropapist philosophy of Byzantium, the king was divinely appointed only to the extent that he offered guidance within the temporal world. Government of a Christian state could only be accomplished through the happy union of rex and ecclesia. Isidore’s more complex political arguments are considered only in abstract terms in the Sententiae and the Origines. The descriptions of Reccared and Suinthila betray an imperfect echo of the writer’s political ideals, but the Gothic history otherwise provided a poor medium for the elucidation of Isidore’s view of the state. In striking contrast to many contemporary chroniclers and historians, Isidore is almost entirely silent on the activities of the episcopate within his narrative work. Where Gregory of Tours happily included bishops within his own history, and chroniclers frequently punctuated their works with brief accounts of episcopal activity, Isidore forewent any such approach. Allusion is made to the ongoing process of Church government, through reference to the convening of councils and royal deference to their decrees, but the viri illustres of the sixth- and seventh-century Church are never allowed to shine in their own right within the Historia.204

201

202 203

204

Orig. VII.6.43. For discussion, see Barbero de Aguilera (1970), pp. 264–9 and esp. Reydellet (1981), pp. 560–1. Reydellet (1981), p. 562. The discussion of Isidore’s political philosophy here is drawn largely from the excellent studies of Cazier (1994), pp. 5–74; Reydellet (1961) and (1981), pp. 505–96; Romero (1947), pp. 5–69. SR/LR 41, 53.

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Isidore of Seville Nevertheless, the Catholic Church occupies a central role within Isidore’s Historia, and it is largely through the measured imagery of the Laus Spaniae that this importance is revealed. As has often been noted by commentators, the long recension of the Historia is provided with two distinct dramatic climaxes, both of which are built upon the union of Church and crown. In the first – the conquest of Hispania by Leovigild, and the subsequent conversion of the realm under Reccared – military victory is followed, and retrospectively justified, by the deference of the monarchy to the institutions of the Church.205 A similar pattern may be detected in the second climax, in which Suinthila first demonstrates his piety and earns a consequent success over Byzantium and the Basques, effectively reunifying the Catholic realm.206 In each case, Isidore pointedly reiterates the paradigm of Gothic rule established in his opening apostrophe. The Goths enjoy domination over, and congress with, their new homeland only through the support of the Church. Within the narrative, this relationship is exemplified through royal deference to episcopal government and the requirements of the Church. Within the Laus, the same union is Christianized through the repeated nuptial motif. Heavily laden with religious significance through Scripture, patristic thought and the historian’s own political writing, the image of marriage which opens the Historia acts as a proud declaration of Isidore’s conception of Gothic Spain as a profoundly Christian entity. NUPTIALS IN THE NARRATIVE

The image of the Gothic union with Hispania permeates the narrative text of the Historia, as well as the eulogies with which it opens and closes. Marriages and social contracts provide recurring themes throughout both the Gothic section of the history and the appended histories of the Sueves and Vandals. Significantly, it is within the longer version of the text – the recension in which the Laudes Spaniae and Gothorum are included – which develops these themes most fully. There are three references to marriage or sexual relations within the long redaction of the Historia Gothorum and a fourth within the appended history of the Vandals. All describe unsuccessful unions, three in quite dramatic terms, and each forms a contrast to the depiction of the successful union celebrated in the Laus Spaniae. Each of these passages also seems to have been substantially revised during the construction of this longer redaction, and one passage is unique to the composition of 624. It thus seems likely that Isidore’s additions to the

205

SR/LR 55–6.

206

LR 63–4.

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Nuptials in the narrative narrative of his work were dictated in part by a desire for thematic coherence and by the need to develop elements introduced in his opening eulogy, and elaborated further in the Recapitulatio. The first account of unsuccessful Gothic marriage is the most famous. Shortly after the sack of Rome in 410, the Gothic King Athaulf forcibly took Theodosius’ daughter, Galla Placidia, as his bride. In Isidore’s eyes, the repercussions of this sin were dramatic: He took as his wife (coniugem) [Galla] Placidia, the daughter of the emperor Theodosius, whom the Goths had captured in Rome. Some believed that this fulfilled Daniel’s prophecy, which says that the daughter of a king of the south would marry the king of the north, but that no children would survive from his line. The same prophet added more in his following passage, saying ‘nor shall his line continue’. Indeed, no son was born from that womb who might have succeeded to his father’s kingdom. After Athaulf left Gaul and went to Spain, his throat was cut by one of his own men in Barcelona, in the midst of friendly conversation. 207

The significance of the passage becomes more apparent when the corresponding section of the short redaction is considered: he took as his wife (uxorem) Placidia, the daughter of Prince Theodosius and sister of the emperors Arcadius and Honorius, whom the Goths had captured in Rome. None from his line survived. [Athaulf] was admonished by the patricius Constantius and left Gaul and went to Spain and his throat was cut in Barcelona in the midst of friendly conversation. 208

Both redactions are reliant upon the Chronicle of Hydatius for their account of events, but the longer recension includes substantial additional information.209 This corroborates the pattern evident elsewhere in Isidore’s descriptions of the sack of Rome. Where the shorter recension provides scant detail beyond the short section cited above, the long recension includes a substantial paraphrase of Orosius, augmented by further borrowings from Hydatius.210 207

208

209 210

LR 19: Placidiam Theodosii imperatoris filiam, quam Romae Gothi ceperant coniugem sibi adsumpsit. In quo prophetia Danihelis a quibusdam creditur esse conpleta, qui ait filiam regis austri coniungendam regi aquilonis, nullo tamen de germine eius subole subsistente. Sicut et idem in consequentibus propheta subicit dicens: nec stabit semen eius. Nullus enim de utero illius extitit genitus, qui patris in regnum succederet. Athaulfus autem dum relictis Galliis Spanias peteret, a quodam suorum apud Barcinonem inter familiares fabulas iugulatur. SR 19: ibique Placidiam, filiam Theodosii principis, Arcadii et Honorii imperatorum sororem, quae a Gothis Romae capta fuerat, uxorem sibi adsumpsit. Nullo ex ea semine subsistente. Qui dum a Constantio Romano patricio admoneretur, ut relictis Galliis Hispanias peteret, per quendam Gothum apud Barcilonem inter familiares fabulas iugulatur. Cf. Hydatius 297.15; 298.20–22. Hydatius 297.15; cf. Or., Hist. VII.40; Rodrı´guez Alonso (1975), pp. 80–1.

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Isidore of Seville The longer recension also places a particular emphasis upon the lineage of Galla Placidia – the female protagonist in the episode. First depicted as the daughter of princeps Theodosius, and the sister of his imperial sons, Placidia is introduced again, a few lines later, as the daughter of Theodosius imperator.211 This repetition seems superfluous, and could perhaps be dismissed as an authorial oversight, were it not for the specifically Spanish associations of the fourth-century emperor. In both the longer and shorter recensions, Isidore is at pains to note the origins of the great emperor, and the audible echoes of Pacatus’ panegyric within the Laus Spaniae reveal a further deference to the emperor’s Hispanic roots.212 Within the narrative of the Historia, moreover, Theodosius is presented not simply as Hispanus, but also as a particular friend of the Goths.213 As one of the great imperial patrons of the gens, and a Spaniard to boot, Theodosius forms one of the many implicit links between the gens Gothorum and their new homeland to be found within the Historia. As a result, Isidore’s emphasis upon Placidia’s lineage scarcely seems accidental. It seems likely that the historian sought to present Athaulf ’s betrayal of Theodosius, through the abduction of his daughter, as a concomitant betrayal of Spain and of God. These themes are developed more fully in the account of Athaulf ’s own death, again taken from the pages of Hydatius’ Chronicle.214 The descriptions of these events in the shorter and longer recensions are largely similar, but with one crucial difference. Only in the longer version does Isidore note that Athaulf ’s murderer was one of his own men, and in so doing, the historian departed from the authority provided by his principal source. Hydatius baldly states that the king was killed ‘by a certain Goth’ – per quendam Gothum – and thus deprives his account of the peculiar themes of betrayal later suggested by Isidore.215 For the seventhcentury historian, the assassination a quodam suorum is invested with particular significance. Struck down, not only in friendly conversation, but by a supposed friend, Athaulf ’s fate is vivid: all the more so, indeed, for being located in Spain. By investing Athaulf ’s marriage and eventual death with a peculiarly Spanish resonance, Isidore’s account of this episode is implicitly bound to the eventual homeland of the Goths. Yet it is the short discussion of Daniel’s prophecy which marks the most striking addition to the longer recension of Isidore’s history. The passage itself appears to have been taken from Hydatius and hence 211 213

214

LR 18, 19. 212 LR 11: anno imperii Theodosi Spani tertio . . . LR 11: Gothi autem proprio rege defuncto adspicientes benignitatem Theodosi imperatoris inito foedere Romano se imperio tradiderunt. LR 19; Hydatius 298.22. 215 Hydatius 298.22.

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Nuptials in the narrative indirectly from Jerome’s Commentariorum in Danielem.216 Like Hydatius, Isidore only invokes the Danielic passage rather ambiguously, and never establishes whether he regarded the identification of the episode with the prophecy to be an appropriate one. This reticence may reflect little more than Isidore’s deference to his source material, but the original context of the passage suggests otherwise. In his eleventh book, Daniel predicts not only that the union between the rulers of the north and south will be sterile, but also anticipates the subsequent decline of the northern kingdom as a whole, and the survival of the southern line.217 In consequence, it is easy to see why the invocation of direct parallels between Daniel’s prophecy and the events of the early fifth century would have seemed rather more appealing to Jerome than to the later champion of the Goths. Despite these exegetical problems, the invocation of Daniel tallies neatly with many of the broader themes of Isidore’s Historia, particularly within the longer redaction. It was only in the version of 624 that Isidore developed fully the etymological association of the Goths with Gog, and thus provided the group with a scriptural heritage, as well as a historical past.218 That the historian placed a great emphasis upon this lineage is demonstrated by his repetition of the genealogy in the Recapitulatio, as well as by its inclusion in the Origines.219 Despite explicitly invoking Ezekiel as an authority for the association, Isidore includes little on the precise context of the original prophecy, just as elsewhere he is reticent on Daniel’s predictions. As Ambrose elucidated in his long De fide, Ezekiel ultimately predicted that Gog and Magog would be destroyed by Israel – to the mind of the fourth-century bishop, an auspicious sign for Gratian’s proposed campaign against the Goths.220 Whether or not Isidore was familiar with De fide, the opposition of Church and Gog that the Old Testament work implied clearly discouraged a detailed exegesis of the passage from a historian of the Goths.221 The selective inclusion of Daniel’s prophecy in the description of the sack of Rome emphasizes the prophetic destiny of the eponymous gens, just as his etymological passages locate the group in the biblical past. The overall concerns of Daniel’s prophecy also fitted the framework of his history surprisingly well, and Isidore had already proved himself adept at the selective interpretation of difficult passages. As Daniel had predicted, 216

217 218

219

Cf. Hydatius 298.20–1. The reference to the Danielic prophecy at 298.20 prompts Hydatius into a short digression on the life and work of Jerome in the following entry. Daniel 11:6–8. LR 1. The association of Magog with the Scythians of classical Antiquity had first been made by Josephus, Ant. Jud. I.vi.1–2; the specific association of Gog with the Goths first appears in Ambrose, De fide II.16.137–8. LR 66; Orig. IX.2.89. 220 Ambrose, De fide II.16.135–43. 221 Cazier (1994), p. 16.

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Isidore of Seville the initial union of the northern people with the south was a sterile one – an image which had considerable resonance in the light of the remarkable fertility of the later Hispano-Gothic union, to which Isidore first alludes in his opening chapter. The themes that dominate Isidore’s account of Athaulf’s failed marriage reappear within the appended Historia Wandalorum. In his account of Geseric’s sack of Rome in 455, Isidore again describes the kidnap of women of the imperial family, and again refers to a consequent marriage between barbarian and hostage.222 In his description of the union of Huneric and the Roman Eudocia, however, Isidore repeatedly stresses the legality of the marriage – the only such explicit statement within the narrative of the Historia.223 It seems likely that Isidore’s unusual emphasis was dictated by a desire to clarify the moral position of his history of Huneric’s reign. Although the king suffered a suitably grisly death, it was as a punishment for his vociferous Arianism that he met his demise, and not as a result of his inappropriate nuptial arrangements. Huneric died at his ablutions, in the best Arian tradition, and not as a result of his breaching social taboos, as had so clearly happened to Athaulf. Isidore’s interest in marital imagery was surpassed by his virulent condemnation of heresy, and Huneric’s position as an Arian tyrant par excellence clearly superseded the possible implications of his marriage. Isidore alludes to a further sterile union in his short description of the reign of the Visigoth Gesalic: ‘Gesalic, the son of a previous king, born to a concubine, was made ruler of Narbonne and ruled for four years. Just as he was worthless in stock, so he excelled in ill-fortune and cowardice.’224 Again, the parallels between the narrative and the Laus are evident not merely in the allusion to marriage – in this case an illegitimate, rather than idealized union – but in the additional details provided by the historian. The Historia goes on to provide a substantial narrative of Gesalic’s reign, concluding with his death near Barcelona, but it is the characteristics of misfortune and cowardice which are granted particular prominence within Isidore’s opening summary of the king’s life. In this, the historian provides a direct and obvious contrast between the illegitimate Visigothic king and the idealized image of the Gothi provided within the Laus Spaniae. Where Gesalic is cast as infelix, thanks to his bastard origins, the Gothi are specifically identified as felix through their legitimate union with Spain. Similarly, where the ignavia of the king leads to 222 223 224

LR 77. LR 77. Isidore is explicit on the legality of the union – iure matrimonii copulauit. LR 37: Gisaleicus superioris regis filius ex concubina creatus Narbona princeps efficitur regnans annis quattuor, sicut genere uilissimus, ita infelicitate et ignauia summus.

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Nuptials in the narrative inevitable death without honour, his gens is cast as victorious through its bravery, with Hispania presented as its ultimate reward. A still more dramatic illustration of the sanctity of marriage is provided in the account of Theudegisel’s reign, a passage included only within the long recension: ‘He [Theudegisel] defiled the marriages of a great many magnates with public shame and because of this he disposed his mind to kill many of them. He was prevented by a band of conspirators in Seville. His throat was cut in the midst of a feast and he died of the fatal wound.’225 Isidore’s authority for this accusation is unknown, although the allusion to Seville may indicate that he drew upon local sources of information. As it stands, the passage has certain scriptural parallels, perhaps most obviously in David’s treatment of Uriah and Bathsheba in II Samuel, but Isidore leaves such similarities unexplored.226 Instead, the content and emphases of the short passage encourage comparison with the other nuptial sections of the Historia, and with its long introduction. The parallels between Theudegisel’s death and that of Athaulf are conspicuous, by virtue of the wounds to the throat that each suffered.227 More importantly, both are shown to have perverted the sanctity of marriage, which forms such a central motif within the Historia, and consequently, both are treated to vicious deaths at the hands of their supposed allies. Isidore makes no reference to a wholly successful and legal marriage within his work, even after the seminal reigns of Leovigild and Reccared. No doubt this was simply due in part to the moral function of Isidore’s Historia. The few kings to be treated entirely sympathetically within the long recension – Reccared, Liuva II and Suinthila most conspicuously – earned their praise through conversion, Christian innocence and piety rather than the simple expedient of marriage. The dramatic function of the Laudes, however, and the contemporary political relevance of the imagery employed, may also explain Isidore’s reticence. In both the Laus Spaniae and the Laus Gothorum, Isidore demonstrates that the final victory of the Goths over their rival Roman suitors is his principal motivation for celebration. For all the military victories of the late sixth and early seventh century, this triumph was only brought to its successful conclusion after Suinthila’s final expulsion of the Byzantine expeditionary force shortly before Isidore composed his 225

226 227

LR 44: Qui, dum plurimorum potentum conubia prostitutione publica macularet et ob hoc instrueret animum ad necem multorum, praeuentus coniuratorum manu Hispali inter epulas iugulatur confossusque extinguitur. Conspicuously SR 44 includes nothing on Theudegisel’s extra-marital activities. II Samuel 11. SR/LR 44; cf. also SR/LR 40; evidently the vivid image of throat-stabbing was a particular favourite of Isidore’s.

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Isidore of Seville work. In this context, any premature celebration of the successful union of Goth and Roman, or even of Goth and Goth, would have denigrated the dramatic importance of the focal nuptials – the union of the Gothic gens and Hispania in 624. As a result, Isidore’s greatest attentions are devoted to the demonstration of failed unions in anticipation of the ultimate triumph. CONCLUSIONS

The eulogy to Hispania with which Isidore introduces the long redaction of his History of the Goths may easily be read in isolation as a passage of considerable rhetorical merit, but to do so is to neglect the potential of the passage for the elucidation of the writer’s historical ideology, and indeed of the function of geographical prefaces within early medieval historiography more broadly. There are few such vivid examples of Isidore’s literary and linguistic skill, and as such the Laus Spaniae is fully worthy of the attention that has been lavished upon it over the course of the nineteenth and twentieth centuries. Yet opportunities to examine a historical work in the process of composition are rarer still, and the extent to which the themes of the Laus were developed in Isidore’s rewritten Gothic History demonstrate the literary coherence of the writer’s greatest historical project. When viewed from a literary perspective, the differences between the shorter and longer versions of Isidore’s Historia are immediately apparent. The longer version allows itself a freer rein in the description of certain focal events, and provides a more satisfactory account of Gothic history in the late sixth and early seventh century, yet it is also the more coherent work. Isidore appears to have taken the bald framework of his existing history, and to have woven upon it a persuasive argument regarding the centrality of the Church to the development of the Gothic regnum. The Laus Spaniae and its companion eulogy in praise of the Goths were central within this revision, but the relevance of these additions can only be appreciated when they are viewed in tandem, and in the context provided by the revised narrative of the work as a whole. This is not to suggest that the shorter redaction of Isidore’s Historia was composed without reference to literary sensibilities, merely that Isidore’s conception of the Gothic past only reached its full fruition within the second draft of his work. It was through the skilful exploitation of the ‘geographical’ introduction, therefore, that the historian was able to express himself most forcefully. The thematic links between the description of Spain and the remainder of Isidore’s work are most clearly apparent in the eulogy to the Goths that 226

Conclusions provides the principal conclusion to the Historia. The Laus Spaniae and the Laus Gothorum were undoubtedly intended as a rhetorical diptych. Both would seem to have been added to the work at the same time, and both occupy prominent positions within the Historia Gothorum. The epithalamial motifs that mark the description of Spain are reprised in the final celebration of the Gothic gens. Through the application of topoi, derived both from the classical canon and from his own interpretations of Christian marriage, Isidore effectively depicts a nuptial union between the feminine Hispania and her male Gothic suitors. These themes are then implicitly accentuated over the course of the Historia. Among his ‘galerie des rois’, the Sevillan bishop included a cautionary collection of accounts of failed marriages. Weakened through the heresy of their Germanic protagonists, or through their illegality, these marriages throw both the Catholicism and the ultimate success of the focal union into vivid relief. The audience to Isidore’s longer Historia is presented with the happy conclusion at the outset, and is repeatedly reminded, as the work progresses, of the forces which shaped the world of seventh-century Spain. Central to Isidore’s metaphor is the assumption that the successful union of Hispania and Gothia could only take place under the benevolent aegis of the Catholic Church. It was this tripartite relationship, of realm, gens and ecclesia, rather than the expression of proto-nationalist ideologies, which dominated Isidore’s composition. The Laus Spaniae, and indeed the Historia as a whole, undoubtedly reflects a new level of provincial feeling, which was doubtless accentuated by the ongoing campaign against the Byzantine Romani in the south. To an extent, this was expressed through media long-established in imperial celebrations of the provinces, and certainly went on to influence later Spanish laudes to a considerable degree. Nevertheless, it would be dangerous to regard Isidore’s geographical composition only in the continuum of Spanish provincial eulogies, and to ignore its fundamental relationship to broader patterns of Christian identity evident within late Antiquity. Where the spatial parameters of Isidore’s Spain are far from clear, his Christian loyalties are certainly apparent. His Laus Spaniae alludes not only to the imperial celebrations of Pliny and Pacatus, but also to the image of the Christian world laid out in Orosius’ Historia. Although at pains to present his homeland in isolation within the context of his historical work, the ties that bound the converted Goths to the universal faith permeate the work as a whole. Ultimately, the relationship between Gothic Spain and the wider patterns of Christian history, and the association of the new regnum with the Christian world, are left unexplored within the seventh-century history. Isidore was, after all, essentially composing a royal history of a 227

Isidore of Seville single group, from its origins to its ultimate conversion, and could relate this only implicitly to the broader patterns of Christian time. Themes evident within Isidore’s chronicle compositions were clearly felt to be out of place in a celebration of contemporary Visigothic kingship. It was only in the following century that a historian was able to enunciate the complex symbiosis of provincia and oikoumene within the Christian world, and the role that the landscape of a far-flung province might play in the resolution of divine history. It was within Bede’s Historia Ecclesiastica gentis Anglorum, therefore, that the synthesis of geography and history within a Christian world reached its fullest fruition.

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Chapter 4

BEDE

By the early eighth century, the vanguard of Christian Latin scholarship had moved far from the Mediterranean heartland of the old empire. As North Africa and Hispania were subsumed into the brighter cultural spectrum of Islam, and Frankia witnessed the birthing pangs of the Carolingian ‘renaissance’, it was Northumbria and the regions surrounding the Irish Sea – the liminal regions between Germanic and ‘Celtic’ Britain – which carried the torch of Christian Latin learning. Here the splendid ambition of Rome, brought to the island by Pope Gregory I and Augustine of Canterbury, met the quiet evangelism of the Hibernian Church and combined to form an extraordinarily vibrant Christian culture. It was within this context and in celebration of this very triumph that the Venerable Bede composed his Historia Ecclesiastica gentis Anglorum. In the brief autobiographical passage that closes the Historia Ecclesiastica, Bede declares that the simple pleasures of teaching, prayer and community had been the mainstay of his life.1 This concern with instruction and the abiding love for the foundation in which he lived are easily traced within the writer’s works, yet the sheer volume of Bede’s bibliography betrays the true breadth of his spiritual and intellectual interest. Bede was both a voracious reader and a prolific writer. Alongside a considerable body of formal exegesis, Bede devoted books to individual scriptural problems, from the precise allegorical significance of the Temple and Tabernacle to the physical description of the Holy Land. He wrote homilies for the instruction of the masses and was a tireless translator of scriptural passages into the vernacular.2 His two Lives of Saint Cuthbert and the account of the founders of his own monastery are among the most important hagiographical documents of the early English Church, and his scientific compositions – among them two treatises on time and an 1 2

HE V.24. HE V.24 and see also the moving account of Bede’s final compositions in Cuthbert, Ep. ob. Bed.

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Bede important work on natural history – deserve comparison with the works of Isidore of Seville for their innovation and influence.3 Despite the scale of this bibliography, it is for his narrative history that Bede is best remembered, and understandably so. Composed towards the end of his life in 731, the Historia Ecclesiastica provides unrivalled illumination upon a particularly dark age of British history and has consequently been plundered extensively by generations of scholars. Historically important, Bede’s composition is also a work of undoubted literary genius, which has left critics bereft of superlatives in its wake.4 This acclamation has only intensified in recent years as new critical editions and translations of Bede’s earlier compositions have allowed an ever-wider audience to appreciate the Historia Ecclesiastica in the context of its writer’s entire oeuvre. When viewed against this material, the Historia appears not merely as a remarkable example of early medieval historical writing, but as the triumphant summation of a career devoted to the study of chronology, Scripture, hagiography and the natural world.5 One remarkable aspect of the modern scholarship devoted to Bede, apart from its great volume, is the extent to which the eighth-century writer has inspired affection and feelings of great possessiveness in modern commentators. One reason for this, no doubt, is that the literary fluidity of the Historia Ecclesiastica is a model to which a historian of any period would happily aspire, and the rhetorical tools that the writer employs seem familiar, even within the world of the twenty-first century. Bede’s discussion of his sources in the preface to his work, for example, differs from the acknowledgement pages of modern monographs only in its refusal to accept responsibility for the errors that remain.6 Within the frequently derivative world of early medieval scholarship, Bede’s acknowledgement of influence also seems anachronistic. In his scriptural commentaries, marginal notes alert the reader to the arguments of Augustine, Ambrose and Jerome in remarkable 3

4

5 6

A prominence reflected in Dante’s location of the two polymaths alongside one another in Paradiso X.130–1. The near-universal respect for the Historia Ecclesiastica, as both history and literature, is exemplified by Blair (1959), p. 14: ‘Whoever the reader may be, he can rest assured that as he grows in knowledge about the Ecclesiastical History itself, about its venerable author and the world in which he lived and wrote, so he will grow in admiration for his great achievement.’ And Stenton (1971), p. 187: ‘its essential quality carries it into the small class of books which transcend all but the most fundamental conditions of time and place’. HE V.24. HE Praef. ‘I humbly beg the reader, if he finds anything other than the truth in what I have written, not to impute it to me’ (Lectoremque suppliciter obsecro ut, siqua in his quae scripsimus aliter quam se ueritas habet posita reppererit, non hoc nobis inputet); cf. Stenton (1971), p. 178; Ward (1998), p. 112.

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Bede anticipation of the modern footnote.7 When combined with Bede’s professed delight in teaching, these glimpses of a careful and self-effacing scholar evoke a historian who would not be out of place in a modern university. It is perhaps a consequence of this apparent familiarity that the personality of Bede has so frequently been invoked by commentators, and that modern scholars so often cast the historian in their own image. Charles Plummer, the great editor of the Historia Ecclesiastica, felt deeply the similarities between Bede’s world and the cloistered environment of the Oxbridge don.8 Similar sentiments may be detected in the assertion that Bede’s world was one of books, rather than political reality,9 that a ‘schoolmasterish’ personality pervades his works,10 and in the suggestion – only partly made in jest – that the compilation of the Historia Ecclesiastica from disparate sources was akin to the composition of a college magazine from the reports of its clubs and societies.11 Modern Christian writers have happily depicted Bede as a paragon of scholarly devotion filtered through a personality marked by its modesty, kindliness and piety.12 For writers in twentieth- and twenty-first-century Britain, the gentle patriotism and understated stoicism of this ‘Father of English History’ seem instinctively familiar, and something to be celebrated.13 7 8

9

10 11

12

13

On these marginalia, see Laistner (1933) and (1935); Levison (1935), pp. 362–4. Plummer (1896), I.i.ff. The affection that Plummer felt for his subject is palpable throughout his edition, and was acknowledged in moving terms: ‘It is no light privilege to have been for so long a time in constant communication with one of the saintliest characters ever produced by the Church of Christ in this island.’ See also the comments on Plummer and Bede in Wallace-Hadrill (1988), pp. xv–xviii. Mayr-Harting (1994), p. 373: ‘Bede’s real world . . . was a world of books’; cf. Wormald (1976), p. 62: ‘Socially speaking, Bede was without a background . . . [His] personal history cut him off from contemporary aristocratic society and its values and buried him, from boyhood, in books.’ Some of the implications of this image of Bede’s supposed bookishness are discussed by Goffart (1988), pp. 236–7. Mayr-Harting (1972), p. 40: ‘there is much of the schoolmaster in Bede’s works’. Mayr-Harting (1972), p. 48. At p. 49 the same writer likens Bede’s use of miracle stories to an afterdinner speech. Bonner (1973), p. 2: ‘Bede is one of the least egotistical of authors. Yet in a strange fashion, Bede reveals himself through his pages, disarming criticism and making his reader feel that he knows the writer as a man’; Barnard (1976), p. 120: ‘[Bede was] a modest and humble man’, a ‘scholar who died learning’; Carroll (1946), p. 21: ‘Bede’s proudest boast was that he was following in the footsteps of the fathers’; cf. Plummer (1896), II pp. lxxviii–lxxix: ‘the very model of the saintly scholar-priest; a type in which the English Church has never, thank God, been deficient . . . .’ Knowles (1962), pp. 17–18: ‘Simple, sane, loyal, trusting, warm-hearted and serious with that ready sense of pathos which has always been the mark of English literature . . . ’ Similar themes are introduced by Campbell (1986b), p. 47 in his reference to Bede’s ‘good taste’ and (more cynically) by Goffart (1990), p. 40: ‘We like him for being nice.’ A similar scepticism is evident in John (1996), p. 42 on historians’ contrasting attitudes towards Wilfrid and Bede: ‘Since timidity is rather commoner than outspokenness in the groves of academe, this helps to explain why Bede gets so much a better press than Wilfrid.’

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Bede Modern historians, it would seem, often see themselves in the great Northumbrian writer, and nowhere is this pattern better illustrated than by the most obvious exception to the general rule. If the Bede of Walter Goffart’s Narrators of Barbarian History appears primarily as an ingenious and subtle underminer of established orthodoxies, then this may be due in part to the defiant intellectual perspective of the scholar who created him.14 Of course, few modern historians would regard their playful identification with Bede as anything more than a colourful aside in acclaim of a much-loved work. Yet this pattern has a number of important implications for the wider interpretation of Bede’s writing. The manifold attempts made to clear the historian of accusations of credulity regarding miracles surely originate in sympathies of precisely this kind, and the case in defence of Bede has been far more vehement than that brought on behalf of (for example) Gregory of Tours.15 More importantly, the literary depth of the Historia Ecclesiastica, and its capacity to absorb any number of different interpretative strategies, has intensified the particular bond that many scholars have felt with its author. The complex interplay of different narrative strands, and the tantalizing suggestions of political and ecclesiastical disputes about which Bede can only hint, have inspired multiple readings of the history. It is a common accusation that archaeologists always find what they are looking for – and a tiresome one for many in the archaeological community – but the same charge might easily be levelled at the captains of the Bede industry, which so dominates the landscape of early Anglo-Saxon scholarship. As a result, a number of very different Bedes compete for scholarly approval. The historian appears in modern studies both as a subtle political motivator and a disinterested scholar, as a radical spokesman for the Roman Church and the defender of the Irish mission.16 The unique form of the Historia has variously been described as a piecemeal 14

15

16

Goffart (1988), pp. 235–328. Goffart’s controversial position on Bede has injected a certain note of caution in assessments of the ‘personality’ of the historian. Higham (1995), p. 9 challenges the ‘oft claimed humility, modesty and detachment’, yet still notes that ‘Bede could be, and often was, mischievous’. Compare, for example, Colgrave and Mynors (1969), pp. xxxiv–vi; Colgrave (1935); Loomis (1946), p. 418; Mayr-Harting (1994), p. 368; Rosenthal (1975); Ward (1976); Eckenrode (1981), pp. 265–6: ‘Bede . . . has the overwhelming reputation for being a level-headed and sober scholar who was much more reflective and cautious than most in accepting miracles at face value.’ And the important comments of McCready (1994), esp. pp. 21–5. The examples provide a representative selection of the different Bedes on offer: Goffart (1988) (political motivator); Wormald (1976) (disinterested scholar); Pepperdene (1958) (radical antiHibernian); Thacker (1996) (visibly pro-Hibernian). And for good measure, Higham (1955) (English imperialist), and Cowdrey (1981) and Tuge`ne (1982) (who both argue that Bede sought to depict harmony between different groups).

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Bede compilation of disparate sources and as a reflection of Bede’s view of history as the totality of all experience.17 Similarly, the work has been interpreted as the ‘national’ history of a chosen people, and a fragment of a far larger universal narrative.18 All objects of historical enquiry are shaped by the interests of those who study them, but it is a mark of the passion which Bede has inspired that the Historia Ecclesiastica appears in such a variety of different guises. These observations are not intended to criticize the voluminous and often brilliant scholarship that has surrounded Bede’s writing from Plummer to the present day. Instead, they act as a rather self-conscious vindication of my own interest in the interpretation of the Historia Ecclesiastica. The present study hopes to examine Bede’s geographical imagery in the context provided by his predecessors’ writing, and by his own broader historical ambitions. Previously, the geographical sections of Bede’s Historia have tended to be viewed in isolation from the composition in which they appeared. The description of Britain at the opening of the work has been regarded either as a straightforward and unsophisticated stage-setting for the narrative that follows, or as a complex allegorical reflection of Bede’s view of the physical world, laden with meaning but with little direct relevance to the Historia itself. Similarly, the geographical references elsewhere in the work either have been passed over with relatively little comment, or have been imbued with a single literary ‘meaning’. While these interpretations have had an invaluable role in shaping the analysis that follows, they run the risk of imposing one single reading on a composition that perpetually resists such interpretation. Within the present study, the geographical emphases of the Historia Ecclesiastica will be examined, not as an adjunct to Bede’s historical programme, but as a central element within it. Like each of the historians considered here, Bede employed temporal and spatial modes of representation in harmony. As a result, any study of Bede’s geographical writing necessitates some appreciation of the complexities and ambiguities of his historical programme. It is by first considering Bede’s understanding of the human past and his principal models in attempting to represent it, that the role of geographical description within his work may be appreciated fully.

17

18

Compare Kirby (1966), p. 371 and Stenton (1971), p. 187 (on the Historia as a synthesis of disparate source information); Kendall (1978), p. 171 (on the unity of Bede’s vision). The latter point is substantially developed by Davidse (1996) who further discusses contrasting interpretations of Bede’s historical vision. Tuge`ne (1982) (‘national’ history); Davidse (1982) (fragment of a universal historical vision).

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Bede THE HISTORIA ECCLESIASTICA

At its simplest, the Historia Ecclesiastica gentis Anglorum is an account of the expansion and consolidation of the Christian Church within Britain and Northumbria. This is accomplished through the relation of multiple, overlapping episodes, rather than through a single, dominant narrative arc. After an opening discussion of the earliest history of the Church in pre-conquest Britain, it is the Roman mission of Gregory I and Augustine of Canterbury that forms the first strand of Bede’s interwoven narrative. The mission progresses in fits and starts from the first Christian foothold in Kent, through forays into Northumbria and successive regeneration by multiple evangelical champions. Alongside this celebration of pontifical power are presented the very different heroes of the Irish Church, and their own successful and spectacular conversion of northern Britain. The climax of the Historia comes through the volatile combination of these different strains, manifested most obviously in the controversy over paschal observance which culminated in the Synod of Whitby, and then in the explosion of Christian activity which followed. The advent of a golden age in Northumbrian Church history and the associated conversions of the Pictish and Irish Churches form the climax to Bede’s narrative, which comes to its end in 716, around a decade and a half before the time of composition. The Historia Ecclesiastica focused primarily upon the Christian history of Britain, and particularly Northumbria, but Bede was at pains to present this material within its wider context. This concern is suggested by the alternative titles by which the historian labelled his composition. In its closing lines, the work is identified as Historia Ecclesiastica gentis Anglorum, the name by which it is now universally known.19 In the bibliography that appears earlier in the same chapter, however, Bede alludes first to Haec de historia ecclesiastica Brittaniarum, et maxime gentis anglorum, and later terms the work Historia ecclesiastica nostrae insulae ac gentis in libris V.20 For the purposes of the current argument, the differences between these labels are of relatively minor significance. Of more interest is the fact that each alternative title juxtaposes local concerns – whether the gens Anglorum, the Church within Britain or nostra insula – with a universal perspective implied by association with the ecclesiastical historiography of Eusebius and Rufinus.21 Eusebius and his continuators all professed to depict 19

20 21

HE V.24: Explicit Domino iuuante liber quintus Historiae Ecclesiasticae gentis Anglorum. The same phrase appears in modified form as Historia gentis Anglorum Ecclesiastica in the preface. HE V.24. On Bede’s debts to ecclesiastical historiography, see Markus (1975) and Barnard (1976).

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The Historia Ecclesiastica Christian history on the widest stage, and while few of the early ecclesiastical histories linger for long beyond the familiar world of the eastern Mediterranean, their refusal to acknowledge physical limits to their enquiry was an essential feature of the genre.22 By repeatedly designating his work Historia Ecclesiastica, Bede placed himself in this tradition, yet simultaneously mitigated this deference through the more specific focus implied by his various subtitles. Bede was the first writer to compose an ecclesiastical history that was nominally concerned with a single region of the world. In a sense, therefore, the title of his work is a paradox. The Historia Ecclesiastica gentis Anglorum is simultaneously a local and a universal history: the viewing of regional events through a wide-angled lens and the presentation of broad historical themes on a truncated geographical stage.23 Throughout Bede’s writing, geographical, chronological and eschatological themes are inextricably linked. Consequently, much of the geographical imagery within the Historia Ecclesiastica, indeed much of the Historia as a whole, may be interpreted as a negotiation between these two primary themes – between the parochial on the one hand, and the universal on the other. Britain in Christian time and space Bede employed a number of different strategies in order to demonstrate the relationship of the events recounted in the Historia Ecclesiastica to the wider world. Chief among these was his concern to locate his narrative precisely within the wider patterns of Christian time. Perhaps more than any other scholar of the early medieval period, Bede was consumed by the question of temporal calculation. Following Augustine and Isidore, Bede regarded human history as the sum of six ages, a division predicated on the six days of divine Creation and the six different stages of human life.24 Two of Bede’s earlier compositions, the De temporibus of 703 and De temporum ratione of 725 are extensively concerned with computus – the calculation of Christian time – and proved to be among the writer’s most 22 23

24

On the treatment of the periphery within Eusebius and his continuators see Merrills (2004). Tuge`ne (1982), pp. 140–2. In his thought-provoking recent study of the Historia Ecclesiastica, Tuge`ne takes this position further and discusses the further innovations inherent in naming a gens as the subject of a Historia (rather than an Origo ); see Tuge`ne (2001a), pp. 49–118. While much of this analysis is persuasive, stimulating and ground-breaking, the fundamental opposition between historiae and origines may depend on slightly anachronistic generic classification. On this point compare Goffart (1995a), pp. 22–4 and (2002), p. 36 and the discussion of the title of Isidore’s historical composition in chapter 3, above. DT 17; DTR 16–22, 66; cf. also Hom. in Gosp. I.14. On Bede’s interest in the six ages, see Tristram (1985), pp. 23–5; Archambault (1966); Landes (1988), pp. 142–9; and the excellent summary in Wallis (1999), pp. 353–66.

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influential works. Like his predecessors, Bede divided the earlier history of mankind into five ages, and regarded the contemporary world as the sixth, an era that had opened with Christ’s Passion and was to be brought to an end by His Last Judgement. Running concurrently with the six temporal eras was the seventh age, the age of the ‘perpetual sabbath’, in which all those who had died virtuously might provide inspiration to their brethren and await with them the Parousia and the dawning of the eighth age.26 In much of this scholarship, Bede adhered closely to the precedent set by Augustine. Like his predecessor, Bede refused to speculate on the timing of the coming apocalypse and rejected others’ multifarious calculations of its likely date as misguided and hubristic.27 Ironically, Bede’s outspoken position on this issue helped to fuel accusations of heresy early in his career, and precipitated a prolonged defence of both his methodology and his conclusions.28 Bede’s computus works are perhaps best remembered for their contribution to the long-standing debate over the correct calculation of Easter. At first blush, Bede’s promotion of the nineteen-year paschal tables of the sixth-century scholar Dionysius Exiguus would seem to have little direct relevance to his historical writing, beyond the apparently eccentric prominence granted to the Synod of Whitby within the Historia Ecclesiastica. But this computus scholarship was fundamental to the evolution of Bede’s historical awareness. Paschal tables took the form of long lists of dates, stretching back to the Incarnation, and forward into the far future. Following Dionysius, Bede dated his own Easter tables annus Domini – with respect, not to arbitrary political periods, but to the single, seminal event in Christian time. The paschal tables were thus far more than a crib for the correct dating of Easter; they provided nothing less than an ordered image of the sixth age, stretching from the Incarnation towards the pre-ordained future.29 They offered a chronological model that could be employed both retrospectively, in order to make sense of the confused events of the past, and as an illustration of the single, onward march of Christian time. Perhaps most significantly of all, this striking time-line of the sixth age of Man was centred upon the wondrous recurrence of the feast of Easter, the perpetual reminder of the sacrifice of God and the promise of the eighth age. 25

26 28

29

On Bede’s computus scholarship, and the DTR in particular, see the annotated translation of Wallis (1999). DTR 10, 67, 70–1. 27 DTR 67; Wallis (1999), pp. 359–63. On the heresy charge, which also derived from Bede’s use of the Vulgate in preference to the Septuagint, cf. Wallis (1999), p. 358 and Jones (1969/70), pp. 194–5. Bede’s own responses to the charge are illuminated in DTR Praef. and Ep. ad Pleg. Wallis (1999), pp. lxxi, 353.

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The Historia Ecclesiastica Both De temporibus and De temporum ratione include brief chronicles, and thereby reflect Bede’s long-standing interest in the implications of this chronological scholarship to the writing of human history.30 Yet it was in the Historia Ecclesiastica that the different streams of Bede’s chronological scholarship converged. Throughout the Historia, Bede dates events with respect to annus Domini, as well as to regnal and consular years, and this pattern reaches its climax in the brief chronological summary of events at the close of the work.31 Here, the crucial episodes of British history, already related in the main narrative body of the text, are reiterated and dated with respect to the Incarnation. Each of the stages in the development of the English Church, in other words, is related explicitly to the very fulcrum of divine history: the first time that a chronicle had been ordered in this way. Through his ground-breaking application of new methods for the measurement of time, Bede both illustrated the linear nature of post-Incarnational Christian history and clearly located his own narrative within this eschatological schema. Yet Bede’s eschatology was founded upon the writer’s conception of the physical world, quite as much as his ground-breaking chronological scholarship. Indeed, in much of the writer’s work it is impossible to separate temporal and spatial elements. In his commentary on the Song of Songs, Bede reveals how an acute awareness of his own physical location necessitated new readings of Scripture: This I have done, not for arrogant display, but with due regard for the inexperience of myself and my people, who, being born and reared far from the world, that is, on an island of the Ocean Sea, we are unable to know about the things which grow in the first parts of the world, I mean Arabia and India, Judaea and Egypt, save through the writings of those who have been there.32

The twofold nature of Britain’s isolation is encapsulated here in the ambiguity of the phrase in primis orbis partibus. On one level, of course, Arabia, India, Judaea and Egypt are the ‘first parts of the world’ by virtue of their eastern location and proximity to the rising sun, yet the phrase also implies a chronological priority. As the likely location of Eden and the events of Scripture, the eastern regions had a Christian antiquity denied to the islands of the Northern Ocean. This anxiety at the physical 30 32

DT 17–22; DTR 66. 31 HE V.24. Bede, Cant. Praef.: Feci namque hoc non arrogantiae studendo sed meae meorumque imperitiae consulendo qui longius extra orbem, hoc est in insula maris oceani, nati et nutriti ea quae in primis orbis partibus Arabiae dico et India Iudaea et Aegypto geruntur non misi per eorum qui his interfuere scripta nosse valemus. A similar anxiety regarding the effect of Britain’s isolation on the scriptural understanding of her inhabitants may also be detected in the prologue to Bede’s Apocalypse commentary, a passage that has rarely been cited within this context. Bede, Apoc. Praef. 140–6. On the significance of the writer’s reference to gens Anglorum here, see the discussion below.

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Bede removal of Britain from the heartland of the faith was tempered by a concomitant conviction of the importance of the island’s role in the latter stages of divine history. To Bede’s eyes, Scripture was peppered with references to the universal remit of the Church, each of which prefigured the eventual conversion of Britannia and determined its importance to the wider growth of Christianity. Consequently, the writer took pains to draw these allusions to the attention of his audience throughout his exegetical work.33 It was in this way that Bede bound his insula maris oceani to the ‘first parts’ of the Christian world. Indeed, this interest in the dispersal of the Christian message to a universal community of believers occupied a central role within Bede’s conception of time. In contrast to many of his predecessors, the eighthcentury writer had only a relatively desultory interest in the specific question of the Last Judgement, beyond his outspoken opposition to the hubristic calculation of its date. Instead, it was the glorious expansion of the Church throughout the sixth age, rather than the terrible dawning of the eighth, which formed the constant reference point for Bede’s chronology.34 Within this context it is unsurprising that Bede concluded the narrative of his Historia Ecclesiastica with a further invocation of Psalms, a citation which suggests the realization in recent history of the prophecies of Scripture: ‘Let the earth rejoice in His perpetual kingdom and let Britain rejoice in His faith and let the multitude of the isles be glad and give thanks at the remembrance of his holiness.’35 The identification of Britannia with the insulae multae was a natural one for Bede and allowed the writer to locate himself with respect to the great events of Scripture. Denied a place within the opening chapters of divine history, Britain’s role was nevertheless determined by these prophetic glimpses at the latter stages of the story. In Bede’s understanding, therefore, Christian time could be measured not just chronologically, through the inexorable march of linear time, but also spatially, through the growth of the Church to the edges of the world. Situated simultaneously at the end of 33

34 35

The motif of Christian universality resurfaces throughout Bede’s exegesis. Christ’s injunction to the apostles to teach ‘all of the nations’ (omnes gentes ) at Matthew 28:19 is invoked a total of eighteen times throughout his work, according to the calculations of Rollason (2002), p. 41, n. 163. As a representative sample, see also allusions to the spread of the Church at De tab. I.4 (citing Gregory, Reg. past. 2.11); II.1, II.11 (alluding to Acts 4:32); De templo I.2, 3.5, 8.6, 10.1 (citing Psalms 106.2–3), 14.1, 19.5, 20.7 (alluding to Acts 13:2); Hom. in Gosp. I.6, 14, II.13, 17 (alluding to Acts 2:1–4), 23, 25; Apoc. Praef. (citing Genesis 10:32 and 11:1), VII.3 (citing Psalms 8.1, 8.2–3), XIV.6 (citing Matthew 24:14), XIV.20, XVII.3; Cath. Ep. I Pet. 5:14 and I John 2:2 (citing Gregory, Moralia 17.29). Tuge`ne (2001a), p. 196. HE V.23: In cuius regno perpetuo exultet terra, et congratulante in fide eius Brittania, laetentur insulae multae et confiteantur memoriae sanctitatis eius; cf. Psalms. 96 (97):1, Psalms 29 (30):5.

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The Historia Ecclesiastica Christian time and at the fringes of the Christian world, the conversion of Bede’s homeland was to mark a crucial chapter within the resolution of the divine plan.36 Morality Bede’s ability to reconcile provincial and universal themes and to demonstrate the relevance of British history to the story of Christian salvation was essential to the moral programme of the Historia Ecclesiastica. In the dedicatory letter to Ceolwulf that opens the work, Bede presents his Historia as a collection of moral exempla, upon which the audience could draw in shaping their own behaviour: an ambition with obvious parallels in classical historiography.37 Bede’s intention to create a series of Christian moral paradigms necessitated a descriptive strategy which countermanded the parochial setting of the events themselves. For his didactic purpose to be accomplished, Bede had to present the events of the Historia as genuinely illuminating models for a variety of different audiences and not just as seminal episodes in the development of the early British Church. By taking care to locate his account in space and time, Bede could highlight the historic relevance of the Historia Ecclesiastica, but a process of temporal and spatial abstraction could also help to reveal the universal truths at play in the text. To this end, Bede populated his history with a great pantheon of Christian champions, and a rather smaller retinue of demonized villains. These figures are explicitly compared to biblical archetypes and thereby transcend their temporal and geographical origins. By including avatars of Saul, Christ or the apostles within his work, Bede not only highlights the piety (or otherwise) of the dramatis personae of his drama, but demonstrates their essential embodiment of the familiar characters on the great Christian stage.38 The historian also ensured that different episodes within his work were presented within a stylized spatial setting, with relevance not only to the inhabitants of Britain, but to believers throughout the world. In this way, the historian consciously draws his narrative far beyond the confines of terrestrial geography. The famous comparison of human life to the flight of a sparrow through a feasting hall and two forceful visions of the afterlife suspend

36 37

38

Davidse (1982), pp. 664–6, elaborated in Davidse (1996), pp. 12–13. HE Praef. For the assembly of moral exempla as a motive for the composition of classical history, compare for example Livy, Praef.; Diodorus Siculus I.2.1–3. Much illuminating recent scholarship has focused on Bede’s deference to biblical types. Compare, for example, McClure (1983); Olsen (1982); Tuge`ne (1982), pp. 155–62.

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Bede the narrative between the concrete temporal world of Britannia and the promise of salvation beyond.39 Fursa’s vision of a world beset by fire similarly sets Britain within a wider abstract geography, as well as recalling Orosius’ prefatory comments on a sinful Christian world.40 The posthumous miracle-working of the saints – a feature of Bede’s history which has caused some consternation to modern commentators – provides a constant reminder of the seventh age of man, free from many of the constraints of physical geography and running concurrently with the tribulations of the mundane world. At once precisely located within history, and abstracted from it, Bede’s narrative thus operated on two levels simultaneously. It was through this that the writer underscored the relevance of his work, in both historical and moral terms.41 Exegesis and the influence of Acts In this approach to history, Bede was influenced above all else by his interpretation of Scripture, and particularly by the accounts of Gentile conversion in the New Testament.42 The Acts of the Apostles provided an obvious paradigm for an account of missionary activity, but had been conspicuously understudied within the early Latin exegetical tradition. For a scholar working in a foundation dedicated to Saint Peter and Saint Paul, and living within a society in which missionary ideology remained of paramount importance, the New Testament conversion narrative was of deep contemporary relevance. Conspicuously, Acts was among the works that first interested the young scholar, and the Commentary on the book was among the earliest of his compositions.43 Bede continued to refer to Acts throughout his exegesis, and augmented this discussion of 39

40

41

42

43

HE II.13; V.12–13; and cf. the reported vision of Hell at V.14. Significantly, the first of these visions is explicitly compared to earlier episodes in the history of the Church: His temporibus miraculum memorabile et antiquorum simile in Brittania factum est. On these visions, see Wallace-Hadrill (1988), pp. 185–7; McNamara (1994), pp. 66–7; Miller (1971). HE III.19; cf. Or., Hist. I.1.15–17 and compare HE IV.23 and 25 for ‘dream geographies’ which further remove Bede’s narrative from the familiar landscape of Britannia. Similar conclusions on the abstract qualities of Bede’s work are reached by Rollason (2002) who argues that the great popularity of the Historia Ecclesiastica on the continent was determined by its abstract presentation of complex historical themes, particularly in Book V. Rollason’s argument focuses upon Bede’s interest in mission, but comparable conclusions might be drawn from his spatial imagery in the same chapter. The influence of the New Testament upon Bede’s historical scholarship has been the subject of much important analysis. See esp. Ray (1985); Tuge`ne (1982); Dickerson (1994). Of particular relevance for the present study is the recent monograph of Tuge`ne (2001a) on the scriptural and patristic influences behind Bede’s conception of ‘nationhood’. See the introduction and notes in the editions of Laistner (1983) and Martin (1989).

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The Historia Ecclesiastica the earliest Christian missionaries through further commentaries on the Epistles of Peter, John and Jude, as well as a lost summary of Augustine’s commentary on Paul’s letters.44 When, in the final years of his life, Bede had access to new Greek manuscripts of Acts and had developed his knowledge of the language sufficiently to benefit fully from them, he turned his attentions to the work once more. The Retractatio in actus apostolorum composed at this time was the work of a mature scholar, and emerged roughly contemporaneously with the Historia Ecclesiastica.45 In his exegetical writing, Bede adhered broadly to the fourfold interpretative methodology propounded by Augustine.46 Within this framework, Scripture was firstly to be read in its literal sense – as a true record of historical events. The second interpretation was allegorical, and sought within the Bible symbols of particular spiritual relevance. The third was tropological interpretation, within which the exegete drew forth moral lessons from a text. The fourth, anagogical, model identified the precognition of heavenly bliss to be found within Scripture. Bede repeats this quatrain at several points in his exegesis, but elsewhere adapts it to emphasize just three of the dominant forms of exegesis and even stresses the sevenfold interpretative framework derived from the African theologian Tyconius.47 In practice, like most commentators, Bede changed the filters through which he viewed a work in response to the peculiar features of the text under scrutiny. In much of Bede’s later exegesis, an allegorical reading predominates, and Bede certainly had a keen eye for the symbolism at play within Scripture. Within the analysis of Acts, allegorical themes are explored at length, but it is the historical, or literal, meaning of the text with which Bede was most concerned. To this end, the writer digresses at length on the specific meanings of words and the problems of translation, on the chronology of Acts, and the specific context in which events took place.48 Of particular interest here is the writer’s adherence to the maxim of Augustine that a detailed knowledge of the geography and toponymy of 44

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47

48

The exegesis of the Pauline epistles is alluded to at HE V.24: In Apostolum quaecumque in opusculis sancti Augustini exposita inueni, cuncta per ordinem transcribere curaui. Marsden (1995), pp. 218–19; Meyvaert (1976), p. 50. The fourfold method of exegesis is examined in its full context in the seminal study of De Lubac (2000). See esp. the discussion of the literal or historical reading at II, pp. 41–82. Bede’s own use is summarized with particular clarity by Jones (1969), pp. 136–8. Compare Bede, In Gen. 4; De tab. 3.130; In Prov. 8; In Sam. 2.2; and the discussion in De Lubac (2000), I pp. 92–3. On Bede’s debts to Tyconius, see Bonner (1966). The examples are manifold; compare, for example, Bede, Acts 14:2, 6–7, 10, 12b, 18:3, 28:11 (on differences between Greek and Latin recensions); 9:26, 21:27, 39 (on the specific chronology of Paul’s life); 1:13b, 8:27b, 12:1, 13:2, 15:2, 18:2, 24:27; 31:28 (on the relationship between the narrative of Acts and other historical accounts). On Bede’s particular interest in literal exegesis see esp. Meyvaert (1976), p. 61; Martin (1989), pp. xviii–xxiii. On his fascination with wordplay, see Martin (1986), esp. pp. 32–41.

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Bede Scripture is often necessary in order to understand its historical meaning.49 Over the course of his life, Bede composed a number of devotional works dedicated to the physical geography of Scripture. The longest of these, the De locis sanctis, is also the only one of Bede’s earlier compositions to be cited directly within the Historia Ecclesiastica. Heavily indebted to a work of the same title that the Ionan Abbot Adomna´n composed from the supposed testimony of a Gallic traveller, Bede’s De locis sanctis discusses the physical testimony to biblical history that could still be detected in the landscape of the Levant.50 Within his more formal exegesis, Bede returned repeatedly to geographical issues and frequently included explanatory asides in order to illuminate references to unfamiliar locations within texts.51 In his commentary on the book of Samuel, Bede took this approach to particularly conspicuous lengths and appended a comprehensive glossary of place-names to his commentary under the title Nomina locorum. This fascination with the landscape of history is particularly apparent in Bede’s analysis of Acts. The first commentary is punctuated by a number of topographical digressions, ranging in subject from Galilean dialect to the different names for Greece.52 In the Retractatio, the writer adopted a still more systematic approach to the geography of the Holy Land. Bede included the Nomina regionum as an appendix to this revised commentary, an alphabetized gazetteer that developed the model of his earlier Nomina locorum.53 Drawing upon Jerome’s Latin Onomasticon, Pliny, Orosius and Isidore of Seville, Bede’s methodology within the work is fairly straightforward. The writer first locates the region, island or settlement under consideration and adds etymological information where appropriate. To this he added the relevant historical material from Scripture, with the result that a number of brief thumbnail sketches sit happily alongside one another to form a coherent and pleasing whole. The description of Syria is typical of the work: Syria, Which is called Aran by the Hebrews. The place is between the River Euphrates and the Great Sea, and extends towards Egypt; its largest provinces are 49 50

51

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Augustine, De doc. Christ. II.27; II.29; II.39. Sections of the De locis sanctis are excerpted in HE V.16–17, purporting to be portions of Adomna´n’s original text. This may explain the omission of the work from Bede’s bibliography at V.24. On the different recensions of the DLS, see esp. O’Loughlin (1992); Bullough (1964), pp. 121–5. See, for example, Bede, XXX quaest. 15, 22; Tob. 8; De tab. II.6; De temp. XIX.3; Hom. in Gosp. II.2, 15; Apoc. III.7, XI.8, XIV.14, XVI.6; I Peter 1:1; II Peter 2:6. Bede, Acts 2:9, 20:1–2; cf. also 7:15; 8:27, 36; 12:19–20; 13:14; 18:21; 21:10, 39. Nomina regionum atque locorum de actibus apostolorum.

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The Historia Ecclesiastica Commagene, Phoenicia, and Palestine, as well as the countries of the Saraceni and the Nabathaei. It has twelve gentes.54

What emerges from this hoard of information is a genuine companion piece to Acts; a geographical crib to elucidate the occasionally dizzying scene changes that punctuate the book, for an audience far removed from the world of the Greek Mediterranean. When read alongside the Vulgate text, as was surely intended, a coherent historical narrative emerges, elucidated by appropriate topographical digressions. Bede’s audience would thus experience the clear geographical dimension to the unfolding history of Scripture. In effect, Bede’s interpretation of Acts rested on two assumptions. On one level it was to be regarded as a historical account of the earliest flourishing of the Christian faith among the Gentiles, set within the firm physical reality of the eastern Mediterranean. On another it was a text laden with signs that offered solace to the believer and prefigured the later conversion of the whole world to the adoption of Christian belief. Even more than in his other commentaries, Bede seems particularly attuned to references within Acts to the spread of Christianity throughout the world.55 To the Northumbrian exegete, the work held a moral significance that far surpassed its temporal boundaries, and was of relevance to all Christians. Bede’s interpretation of Acts, in other words, closely paralleled his own ambitions for the Historia Ecclesiastica in both content and form.56 This is illustrated particularly vividly in the preface to his commentary. Bede’s quotation of Jerome is related here to the original text of the Acts of the Apostles, but might equally be read as a summary of his own Historia: The Acts of the Apostles, as the blessed Jerome says, seems to relate an unadorned history and to weave together the infancy of the newly born church, but if we come to know that its author Luke is the physician whose praise is in the gospel, we realize that all of his words are likewise medicine for an ailing soul.57

Both Acts and the Historia Ecclesiastica were individual chapters within a divine history primarily concerned with the birth and maturity of a new Church, but both had resonances far beyond their nominal territorial 54

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NR XV.23: Syria: quae Hebraice dicitur Aran, regio est inter flumen Eufraten et mare magnum usque ad Aegyptum pertingens; habet maximas prouincias, Commagenam, Foeniciam, et Palestinam absque Sarracenis et Nabatheis quorum gentes sunt duodecim; cf. Or., Hist. I.2.24. Bede, Acts Praef. 1:8, 16; 2:3a, 11, 21; 3:1, 11; 8:26a; 9:33; 10:7, 11b, 37; 11:9; 14:8. Ray (1982), pp. 19–20; Stephens (1977), p. 13. Bede, Acts Praef.: Actus igitur apostolorum ut beatus Hieronimus ait, nudam quidem sonare videntur historiam et nascentis ecclesiae infantiam texere, sed si noverimus scriptorem eorum Lucam esse medicum cuius laus in evangelio est, animadvertimus pariter omnia verba illius animae languentis esse medicinam; cf. Jerome, Ep. 53.9.

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Bede limits. While the immediate relevance of the Historia was to the Germanic inhabitants of Britain, therefore, its implications remained universal, just as the Gospels, Acts and Epistles had been.58 In essence, Bede intended to create a continuation of Acts – the next, and perhaps final, chapter in an unfolding narrative – and to hold up a distant mirror to the New Testament.59 It was the result of this, as well as his intense grounding in Scripture, that influenced the biblical flavour of much of the Ecclesiastical History. The kings, bishops and missionaries that appear in the Historia Ecclesiastica were visibly shaped by biblical archetypes, but the impact of Scripture is still more fully felt in the very structure of the composition.60 The five constituent books of the Historia would seem to have been composed in emulation of the Pentateuch.61 The interruption of the text with unusual additions, including verbatim citation of the letters of Gregory I and a number of verses, are justified through references to similar inclusions within the Bible.62 Perhaps more importantly, Bede’s unashamed reliance upon oral testimony in the composition of the Historia contrasted with the classical preference for autopsy and exploded the tensions evident in the works of Jordanes and Isidore. Bede justified this with reference to the vera lex historiae, a phrase perhaps best translated as the ‘true spirit of history’, in which the veracity of individual oral accounts was largely immaterial when subsumed within the work’s wider moral programme.63 Jerome had employed the same formulation in rather different circumstances in his Adversus Helvidium, but it was Bede’s own allusion to the vera lex historiae in

58

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63

A point made explicitly in Bede’s commentary on Ep. I Peter 1:1: ‘But we also, if we can truly say to God with the prophet that in your sight we are dwellers on earth and travellers like our fathers, ought to believe that the letters of the blessed Peter were written to us as well and read them as having been sent to us . . . ’ Stephens (1977), pp. 8–14; O’Reilly (1995), p. xxxiv; Holder (1991), p. 150; Kendall (1979), p. 174. On the impact of Scripture upon Bede’s presentation of the Anglo-Saxon world, compare Jones (1969/70), p. 129; McClure (1983); Tuge`ne (1982), pp. 158–9; Wallace-Hadrill (1971). Cowdrey (1981), p. 108; Goffart (1988), p. 249. HE I.27 merely states that Bede regarded the inclusion of papal letters as appropriate (commodus ) within a history; IV.20 is more explicit: ‘It seems fitting to insert in this history a hymn on the subject of virginity . . . imitating the method of holy Scripture in which many songs are inserted into the history and, as is well known, these are composed in metre and verse’ (Videtur oportunum huic historiae etiam hymnum uirginitatis inserere . . . et imitari morem sacrae scripturae, cuius historiae carmina plurima indita et haec metro ac uersibus constat esse conposita). On these scriptural influences, see Ray (1976). Jones (1947), p. 83 provides the first considered assessment of the vera lex historiae. Ray (1980) contributes an important discussion of Bede’s knowledge of Jerome, and his conscious deviation from the theologian in the use of this phrase. See also Ray (1985) on the influence of Augustine in Bede’s adoption of this approach and Cosmos (1977), pp. 51–3, on the application of the vera lex historiae in Bede’s treatment of Aidan’s life at HE III.17.

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The Historia Ecclesiastica his commentary on Luke which reveals most about the historian’s intentions.64 Bede modelled his methodology upon the New Testament, and intended his Historia Ecclesiastica to create an image of the recent past that both extended the scriptural narrative spatially and chronologically, and simultaneously turned back upon its model in a maze of scriptural allusion and reflection.65 Topographical digression within the narrative: a further emulation of Acts? This last point is illustrated particularly clearly by the use of topographical digression over the course of the Historia Ecclesiastica. Like Orosius, Bede reverts repeatedly to geographical subjects and frequently interrupts his historical narrative in order to locate the individual episodes of his Historia in space. At their most detailed, these digressions encompass succinct portraits of territorial geography, with stylistic and occasionally linguistic debts to the regional descriptions of Orosius.66 In other cases, Bede contents himself with brief asides on the precise location of important events, or on local toponymy and topography. Yet these passages were far from being haphazard demonstrations of the writer’s own facility. It is conspicuous that the longest of the topographical passages all appear alongside descriptions of the spread of the Christian faith to new parts of Britain. In almost every case, the potted regional geographies are intended to elucidate a region that had recently been admitted into the Christian fold. Bede’s account of Wilfrid’s conversion of the South Saxons is typical. Before embarking upon his memorable celebration of Wilfrid’s spectacular rain miracle, and prior even to his elucidation of the political background to the conversion, Bede delineates the physical scale of the evangelist’s activity for his audience: ‘So he [Wilfrid] turned to the province of the South Saxons, which stretches south and west from Kent as far as the land of the West Saxons and contains 7,000 hides.’67 A parallel may be found in the earlier description of Mellitus’ activity among the East Saxons: 64 65 66

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Jerome, Adv. Helv. 4; Bede, Hom. in Gosp., Luke, ii.33–4. Davidse (1982), pp. 656–7; Speed (1992), pp. 142–3. Bede’s linguistic debts to Orosius are illustrated particularly clearly by his description of the Isle of Man at HE II.5: Mevanias Brettonum insulas, and II.9: Meuanias insulas. While Bede is the first writer to refer to Mevania in the plural (interpreted by Colgrave and Mynors as a reference to both Man and Anglesey), the form Mevania, rather than Pliny’s preferred Monapia /Manavia, betrays his deference to Orosius. On the significance of Mevania nomenclature see above pp. 93–5, and the discussion in Rivet and Smith (1979), pp. 410–11. HE IV.13: siquidem diuertens ad prouinciam Australium Saxonum, quae post Cantuarios ad austrum et ad occidentem usque ad Occidentales Saxones pertingit, habens terram familiarum VII milium [modified translation].

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Bede ‘[Augustine] consecrated Mellitus to preach in the province of the East Saxons, which is divided from Kent by the river Thames and borders on the sea to the east. Its chief city is London, which is on the banks of that river and is an emporium for many peoples who come to it by land and sea.’68 The consistency with which Bede included geographical material as a feature of his conversion narratives is striking. Alongside the descriptions of Sussex and Essex may be considered comparable accounts of Lindsey and Mercia, as well as short assessments of the islands of Thanet, Wight, Anglesey and Man.69 Lindsey and Wight are both delineated as they are brought into the Christian Church. Thanet is described in the opening lines of the account of Augustine’s mission, and provides a spatial reference point for the seminal conversion of Kent. Bede’s descriptions of Anglesey and Man appear as a celebration of the extensive domains of the Northumbrian King Edwin, immediately before his adoption of Christianity.70 In much the same way, the appraisal of the size and strength of Mercia appears in his assessment of the inheritance of Peada, shortly after the king’s baptism.71 In each case, Bede included his praise of the extent of these royal dominions only within the context of their Christianization. Conspicuously, Bede’s account of the twin missions of Columba and Ninian to the Picts is accompanied by a brief, and wholly original, description of Pictland.72 The use of the ‘hide’ or familia as the unit of measurement within these regional geographies has fostered considerable speculation regarding Bede’s likely sources.73 Some similarity with the descriptive form of the Tribal Hidage might be thought to imply that the writer drew upon taxation or tribute records in adding these sections.74 Others have suggested that Bede drew upon common knowledge in his description of the regions, although the suggestion that he was simply working from a school-book or comparable text deserves closer analysis.75 Although 68

69 70 73

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HE II.3: Mellitum quidem ad praedicandum prouinciae Orientalium Saxonum qui Tamense fluuio dirimuntur a Cantia, et ipsi orientali mari contigui, quorum metropolis Lundonia ciuitas est, super ripam praefati fluminis posita et ipsa multorum emporium populorum terra marique uenientium [modified translation]. Lindsey: HE II.16; Mercia: HE III.24; Thanet: HE I.25; Wight: IV.16; Anglesey and Man: HE II.9. HE II.9. 71 HE III.24. 72 HE III.4. Bede also employs the terms possessiones familia at HE III.24 (with respect to the foundation at Whitby) and terra familiae at IV.13 and V.19 (with respect to grants of land at Selsey and Stamford). For discussion of this language, see Higham (1995), pp. 240–1. On this discussion, see Charles-Edwards (1972), p. 4 and Wallace-Hadrill (1988), p. 33. For a recent reassessment of the function and date of the Tribal Hidage, see Higham (1995), pp. 74–111 and Blair (1999), who argues that the text as it stands may have been a compilation of disparate hidages that dates from the tenth or eleventh century. The possibility remains that Bede worked from a similar text. Keynes (1995), pp. 24–5: ‘Information of this kind was of general interest, and probably a matter of common report.’ John (1996), p. 15 assumes that Bede worked from a Northumbrian equivalent of the Tribal Hidage.

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The Historia Ecclesiastica the writer generally adheres to a familiar descriptive paradigm, which defines a region by its neighbours, its size and its principal cities, this pattern is by no means absolute. Indeed, no two regions are described in precisely the same way by the historian. If Bede had drawn upon a single text in his account of the constituent provinces of Britain, one might expect rather more descriptive consistency than is apparent in the Historia Ecclesiastica. Whatever the sources of Bede’s information on regional geography, the literary influences behind his use of these short passages seem clear enough. The brief asides on British geography fulfilled precisely the same function that his Nomina regionum served within his revised commentary on Acts, a work with which the writer was concerned at the same time.76 In each case, reference to physical reality at crucial points of the narrative both provided a setting for the evangelical episodes described, and allowed these victories to be located within the wider Christian world. In his use of the topographical digressions, Bede implicitly demonstrated his conviction in the similarities between his own narration of the conversion of Britain and the historical events described in Acts. Bede intended to describe the spread of the Christian word to the farthest reaches of the world, and Acts provided the natural model for such a composition. Bede’s historical vision was predicated on a series of seeming paradoxes. His history sought to be both universal and local. The stage upon which he set his narrative simultaneously represented the physical island of Britain and stood as an archetype for every Christian province, just as his history was both grounded in physical reality and explored the abstractions of other-worldly space. His conception of time embraced both the linear progression of eschatological time and the cycles of experienced human time, and he sought to represent both within his Historia, demonstrating both the universal relevance of his story and its unique role within the resolution of the divine plan.77 As a result of these contradictions and paradoxes different sections of Bede’s Historia slip into and out of focus as the work progresses, a pattern which may explain the resistance of the composition to straightforward criticism. Rather than being one simple history, Bede’s is a text that operates on multiple levels, and deliberately so. Analysis of the geographical elements within Bede’s writing offers some help in understanding these shifts in focal length, and in identifying the impulses behind the writer’s composition. 76

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McClure (1983), pp. 82–5 notes parallels between the use of topographical digression in the Historia Ecclesiastica and in Bede’s Samuel commentaries. Given the respective dates of composition, the Retractatio in Acts provides a more convincing counterpoint. Cf. Tuge`ne (2001a), p. 151.

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Bede The introductory geography provides a particularly vivid illustration of Bede’s deliberately unstable historical subject. Given the nominal concern of the Historia with the Angli, Bede’s opening chapter makes surprisingly little effort to clarify this interest. At no stage within the introduction does the historian attempt to define ‘Anglia’ in territorial terms, or restrict his description to the regions of Britain under Germanic control. Indeed at no point in the history does the writer allude to such a concept of a coherent Anglia or acknowledge such limitations on his historical enquiry. Instead, the opening description takes Britannia as its principal subject, and extends even beyond the shores of the island to incorporate elements of continental geography and, more tellingly, a substantial description of Hibernia. Nor does the human geography of Bede’s introduction sharpen this focus. The Angli do appear within the chapter, of course, but only briefly. Instead, it is the Picti, Scotti and Brettones who dominate the opening chapter, and further obfuscate any ethnographic privilege within the Historia that follows. Bede’s historical vision was immeasurably more complex than that of Orosius, Jordanes or Isidore, and considerably more ambitious than that of the British polemicist Gildas, upon whom he also drew. Consequently, whereas the dominant themes behind the geography of Bede’s predecessors may often be unpacked with relatively little difficulty, the eighth-century work places far greater demands on its critics. Orosius employed his own geographical preface in order to illustrate the great breadth of his historical enquiry. The expansive introduction to the Historiarum adversus paganos libri septem declares Orosius’ intention to surpass previous universal historians in their ambition, and to compose a history of humanity which could extend beyond the limites – both temporal and spatial – of the Roman state. Gildas’ valedictory account of British sin, by contrast, is a fiercely circumscribed narrative.78 The De excidio Britanniae is a darkly prophetic work, influenced by Isaiah, Jeremiah and Lamentations, which regarded contemporary Britain as a reflection of Old Testament Israel. Within such a schema, there was little need to present Britannia in its actual physical context, and any such superfluous geographical information would have detracted from the impact of Gildas’ polemic. The writer’s interest in chronology was minimal, beyond a broad concern with the approaching end of the world, and few temporal markers or dates of any kind are included within the work. Consequently, Gildas presented a temporally and spatially abstracted image of Britannia, in which little reference was made to its wider context. By presenting his historical and polemical drama

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On the geographical introduction to the De excidio Britanniae, see Merrills (2000), pp. 106–49.

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The geographical introduction on such a delimited stage, the polemicist emphasized the self-contained nature of his narrative. In contrast to the omnivorous breadth of Orosius’ enquiry, and Gildas’ intimate, yet abstracted historical drama, Bede’s Historia Ecclesiastica occupied an unstable middle ground, and nowhere is this clearer than in his introductory geography. The Historia Ecclesiastica tantalizes as it drifts through different geographical registers. Bede devotes loving attention to his homeland, and yet repeatedly alludes to its position within the wider world, not least through the long description of Hibernia which closes the chapter. In part intended to resolve the tensions between Bede’s pretensions to universality and his concern with the parochial, the opening geography helped to locate the narrative within the wider world, and hence illustrate Britain’s unique position within the unfolding patterns of human history. Yet the chapter also celebrated the ambiguities and paradoxes of the historian’s vision. Bede’s Britain is simultaneously the homeland of the Angli and the locus for inter-ethnic interaction, a fragment of the wider world and a microcosm of it, a unique province and a medieval ‘anyplace’. The essential timelessness of the opening chapter also challenges the audience, as it simultaneously evokes several different temporal themes that run throughout the writer’s oeuvre. There is no single ‘solution’ to Bede’s geographical chapter, therefore, any more than there is to the writer’s historical understanding. By considering Bede’s ‘historical’ and ‘geographical’ writing in tandem, however, fresh light may be cast upon a well-studied, and much-loved work. THE GEOGRAPHICAL INTRODUCTION

Bede’s introduction is a deceptively simple chapter, devoted to the physical and human geography of the British Isles. For all of their praise of Bede the historian, few modern scholars have expended much energy on the celebration of Bede the geographer, and at first glance the introduction to the Historia Ecclesiastica might seem to justify this indifference.79 An initial reading of the text, particularly of Plummer’s well-footnoted edition, encourages an interpretation of the opening geography as little more than a neatly constructed geographical cento.80 The rash of italics across Plummer’s text betrays the passages in which Bede 79

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Compare, for example, Darby (1935), p. 84: ‘neither his method nor his material was original’; Eckenrode (1971), p. 498: ‘Copied almost completely from others [Bede’s geography] showed practically no spark of fresh breakthrough.’ As Plummer himself notes at (1896) II, p. 4: ‘We could indeed heartily wish that Bede had given us more of his own observation and less of ancient writers. Bede is a good illustration of the way in which authority dominated the medieval mind.’

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Bede defers extensively to existing authority, and the sources exploited by the writer are remarkable only for their orthodoxy. The physical geography of Britain at the start of the introduction is a patchwork compilation of the work of Pliny, Orosius and Gildas. Bede then interpolates a long passage of his own on the flora and fauna of the island, before falling back upon Solinus’ Collectanea rerum memorabilium. Solinus and Gildas provide the basis for the encomium of Britain’s springs, her mineral wealth, the peculiarity of the jet that can be found on the island, and Britain’s towns. The discussion of the latitudinal divisions of the world is taken almost en bloc from Pliny, and Solinus and Isidore clearly influenced the account of Hibernia that closes the geographical introduction. This catalogue of influences appears extensive, but verbatim citation accounts for little more than one-tenth of the chapter as a whole. Rather than quote directly, Bede defers to his geographical authorities with appropriate discretion, even where he does not add a significant gloss of his own. In the initial description of Britannia, for example, the armature for Bede’s geography is taken from Pliny, but the account provided by the Historia naturalis is substantially developed through reference to other writers: Britain, once called Albion, is an island of the ocean and lies to the north-west, being opposite Germany, Gaul, and Spain, which form the greater part of Europe, though at a considerable distance from them. It extends 800 miles to the north, and is 200 miles broad, save only where several promontories stretch out further and, counting these, the whole circuit of the coast line covers 3600 miles. To the south lies Belgic Gaul, from which the city called Rutubi Portus (which the English now corruptly call Reptacaestir) is the nearest port for travellers. Between this and the closest point in the land of the Morini, Gessoriacum, is a crossing of fifty miles or, as some writers have it, 450 stadia. Behind the island, where it lies open to the boundless Ocean, are the Orkney islands. 81

Pliny provides Bede’s authority for the archaic nomenclature of the island and for its positioning within the wider world.82 The historian rejects the 81

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HE I.1: Brittania Oceani insula, cui quondam Albion nomen fuit, inter septentrionem et occidentem locata est, Germaniae Galliae Hispaniae, maximis Europae partibus, multo interuallo aduersa. Quae per milia passuum DCCC in boream longa, latitudinis habet milia CC, exceptis dumtaxat prolixioribus diuersorum promontoriorum tractibus, quibus efficitur ut circuitus eius quadragies octies LXXV milia conpleat. Habet a meridie Galliam Belgicam, cuius proximum litus transmeantibus aperit ciuitas quae dicitur Rutubi portus, a gente Anglorum nunc corrupte Reptacaestir uocata, interposito mari a Gessoriaco Morynorum gentis litore proximo, traiectu milium L siue, ut quidam scripsere, stadiorum CCCCL. A tergo autem, unde Oceano infinito patet, Orcadas insulas habet. [modified translation]. Colgrave and Mynors (1969), p. 15 translate quadragies octies LXXV milia conpleat as ‘4,875 miles’, an error corrected by Wallace-Hadrill (1988), p. 6. Compare Pliny, HN IV.102: Ex adverso huius situs Britannia insula . . . inter septentrionem et occidentem iacet, Germaniae, Galliae, Hispaniae, multo maximis Europae partibus magno intervallo adversa. Albion ipsi nomen fuit . . .

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The geographical introduction erroneous measurements of the island provided by the Historia naturalis, and includes in their place the revised dimensions provided by Gildas’ De excidio Britanniae.83 Bede defers to Orosius in his identification of Rutubi Portus as the nearest crossing place to the continent, and the same writer is also the likely influence behind the inclusion of the Orcades and the reference to the Oceanic isolation of the archipelago.84 What emerges is a competent summary of classical and early medieval thinking on the physical scale of Britain and its position within the world. The passage seems a neat one, if scarcely deserving of excessive praise. Bede complemented this very literary geographical writing with his own observations on the peculiar form of Britain. If the walls of Bede’s library sometimes seem to have obscured his view of the landscape beyond, the opening chapter nevertheless hints at the deep affection that the historian felt for his homeland. In the fond emphasis upon Britain’s maritime bounty, for example, may be heard the voice of Bede the Northumbrian, rather than Bede the scholar: It is remarkable too for its rivers, which abound in fish, particularly salmon and eels and for copious springs. Seals as well as dolphins are frequently captured and even whales; besides these there are various kinds of shellfish, among which are mussels, and enclosed in these there are often found excellent pearls of every colour, red and purple, violet and green, but mostly white. There is also a great abundance of whelks, from which a scarlet-coloured dye is made, a most beautiful red which neither fades in the heat of the sun nor exposure to the rain; indeed the older it is the more beautiful it becomes.85

Bede’s interest in the sea is apparent throughout his writing, from the discussion of tidal vicissitudes in his scientific writing to the enduring maritime tableaux of his hagiography.86 The island retreats of Iona, Lindisfarne and Farne are the nodal points of Bede’s historical narrative and the last of these is a particular locus sanctus within his hagiography.87 The ambivalent location of these foundations – between the familiar terrestrial world and the unknowable expanses of the Ocean – emphasizes 83 85

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Gildas, DEB I.3 and cf. Pliny, HN IV.102. 84 Or., Hist. I.2.78. HE I.1: fluuiis quoque multum piscosis ac fontibus praeclara copiosis; et quidem praecipue issicio abundat et anguilla. Capiuntur autem saepissime et uituli marini et delfines nec non et ballenae, exceptis uariorum generibus concyliorum, in quibus sunt et musculae, quibus inclusam saepe margaritam omnis quidem coloris optimam inueniunt, id est et rubicundi et purpurei et hyacinthini et prasini sed maxime candidi. Sunt et cocleae satis superque abundantes, quibus tinctura coccinei coloris conficitur, cuius rubor pulcherrimus nullo umquam solis ardore, nulla ualet pluuiarum iniuria pallescere, sed quo uetustior eo solet esse uenustior. On Bede’s scientific writing on the sea, see Eckenrode (1974); on references in other writing, Brown (1975) and the peculiarly maritime miracles of VC (Prose) 10, 11, 21, 36 and VC (Verse) 3, 6, 8, 9, 19. Iona: HE III.4, 21; V.9, 22; Lindisfarne: III.3, 25; IV.27; Farne: III.16; IV.27, 30; VC (Prose) 17–21 and VC (Verse) 15–20. And cf. also the description of Inishboffin at IV.4.

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Bede the other-worldly nature of their inhabitants in much the same way as the more familiar desert motif within European and North African hagiography.88 Situated as he was on the banks of the Tyne, and drawn by the powerful spiritual currents of the Irish Sea, Bede’s writing was the product of a littoral, as much as literary, environment. Bede also seems to have combined literary authority with his own experience in his description of British plenty. Allusions to abundant pasturage and viticulture were not unknown within classical accounts of Britannia, and the influence of Gildas’ De excidio Britanniae may be detected behind the more formulaic aspects of Bede’s encomium.89 No such literary precedent existed for the description of the fontes salinarum of the island, however, and here the author would seem to have turned to his own knowledge of contemporary Britain.90 The brine springs of the West Midlands were exploited fairly extensively from the seventh century, and may have been in continuous use from the late Roman period. The exceptionally pure salt of the Droitwich springs, in particular, won the attention of both the Mercian crown and the church of Worcester, and must have provided an important source of revenue, and perhaps regional pride.91 Further north, the salt wics of Cheshire appear to have flourished at around the same time, and either centre of salt production could easily have attracted the attention of Bede or his informants.92 Whether Bede’s account of Britain’s mineral wealth was influenced by a similar knowledge of contemporary conditions or by the topoi of classical encomia is rather less clear.93 Some geographical texts of the early imperial period argued that gold was to be found in the newly Roman territory, but the consensus of classical opinion otherwise suggested that the mineral deposits of the island were not great.94 In truth, this scepticism was rather

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The pervasiveness of this ideal is particularly apparent in the writer’s celebration of the foundations of Ely and Selsey at HE IV.13 and 19. Neither was an island in the literal sense, and yet Bede’s digressions on the communities established there, and upon the eels and seals which gave the foundations their names, sets each within a recognizably maritime context. Cf. for example Pomponius Mela 3.50–1. Gildas, DEB I.3 provides the most striking celebration of British plenty. On Gildas’ use of the locus . . . amoenus motif, see Kerloue´gan (1987), pp. 154–5. Bede, it would seem, had some interest in the mechanics of salt production. See the description of different methods of extraction at Bede, XXX quaest. 21. Hopkinson (1994) and the papers in Hurst (1997) provide an overview of the Droitwich salinae and their excavation; on the exploitation of the industry, cf. Berry (1975); Bestwick (1975); Hooke (1985), pp. 122–4; Adshead (1992), p. 67; Whitelock (1952), p. 115. On both the West Midlands and Cheshire, see Hill (1981), p. 109, fig. 189. HE I.1: ‘The land also has rich veins of metal, copper, iron, lead and silver’ (Quae etiam uenis metallorum, aeris ferri plumbi et argenti, fecunda gignit). Strabo IV.5.2 and Tacitus, Agricola 12 both refer to gold mining in Britain; Caesar, BG V.12 and esp. Cicero, Ep. ad Fam. 7.7 are more negative. On classical accounts of mining within Britain see Healy (1978), passim.

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The geographical introduction more justified than was Bede’s breathless reference to the rich veins of copper, iron, lead and silver beneath the surface of the island. This description of copper and silver mining may conceivably betray a knowledge of contemporary extraction of the metals in parts of North Wales, but the absence of any reference to British tin – which continued to be mined from the classical to the medieval period – suggests that Bede drew more from his imagination than from trustworthy contemporary information.95 Similarly, while Bede’s description of Britain’s kaleidoscopic array of pearls may have arisen from his own observation of the fruits of the Tyne and the North Sea, it seems more likely that the historian here engaged in some harmless exaggeration in an effort to lend colour to his account. Some classical writers had denigrated Britain’s pearls as being both colourless and valueless – an assessment with which most modern commentators have concurred.96 It seems best to regard Bede’s exaltation of these treasures as a simple, if inaccurate, refutation of a common classical denigration of his homeland. As a combination of judiciously exploited literary authority, personal observation and well-meaning exaggeration, it is tempting to regard the opening section of Bede’s geography as a Laus Britanniae.97 Bede’s account of Britain seems simpler than Isidore’s encomium of Spain, and is without the rhetorical posturing of the seventh-century work, yet has much in common with its predecessor. Like the earlier encomium, Bede’s description of Britain bears heavily the marks of classical influence, but was also shaped by the kind of provincial fondness that some Spanish commentators have detected in the Laus Spaniae. The optimistic outlook of Bede’s geography might equally be read as a prescriptive statement on the possibilities of a spiritually, if not politically, unified Britain. It is difficult to avoid the conclusion that the historian had an abiding affection for the land in which he lived, and sought to reflect this in his geographical writing. Yet Bede’s geographical introduction represents far more than a colourful combination of source deference and predictable parochialism. Orosius, Jordanes and Isidore provide an important reminder that geographical 95

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Contra Blair (1970a), p. 11. Copper may have been mined in the early Anglo-Saxon period: see Healy (1978), p. 59; Williams (1979), p. 5; Carlon (1981), p. 5; but it is unlikely to have been systematically extracted: see Hill (1981), pp. 107–11, esp. p. 111, fig. 192; Tylecote (1962), pp. 17–18, esp. fig. 2 and table 6. Britain was far better known for its tin. On which see Pliny, HN IV.104 and Solinus 23.10. For discussion, see Healy (1978), pp. 60–1; Mitchell (1983). Tacitus, Agricola 12; Pliny, HN IX.116. More positive assessments are provided by Suetonius, Caesar 47; Solinus 53:28; and Jordanes, Getica II.13. For discussion, see Plummer (1896), p. 6 and Clausen (1947), pp. 277–8 who suggests that the disparaging account in Pliny’s Historia naturalis may have been in response to the exaggeration in Suetonius’ assessment. An interpretation that is reasonably widespread. Compare Gransden (1974), p. 24: ‘In places, his work reads like a panegyric on Northumbria’, and Ray (1986), p. 78: ‘It is a restrained replica of the rhetorical set-piece, an earnest of literary pleasure to come.’

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Bede chapters had important narrative functions in the compositions in which they appeared, and this was no less true of their eighth-century successor. The need for a sensitive reading of Bede’s introduction is made all the more apparent by the presence within the chapter of several elements which neither display obvious signs of deference to classical geographical tradition, nor aid Bede in a romanticized celebration of his homeland. The peculiar ethnographic passage at the heart of the introduction is perhaps the most obvious of these, particularly given the conspicuous absence of the Angli from this section, despite their prominence within the work as a whole. The precise language employed in Bede’s description of Britannia and his hyperbolic praise of Hibernia similarly suggest that the chapter was intended as rather more than a recycling of patriotic platitudes. These surprising emphases encourage a complete reappraisal of Bede’s opening geography. Viewed as a whole, the chapter appears, not as a vapid celebration of the British Isles, but as the point at which Bede establishes the underlying assumptions upon which his whole Historia will rely. By ensuring that his homeland is located precisely within the wider world, Bede firmly establishes the position of his own narrative within human history. Isolated as it may have been, Britain had a unique role to play within Christian history, and one that was dictated by its physical position within the world. Yet simultaneously, Bede’s description of Britain, his juxtaposition of his British Laus with a still more spectacular encomium to Hibernia, and his careful emphasis upon different inhabitants of the island all help to establish the very normality of Britannia. Paradoxically, the conversion of Britain is cast both as a unique, historic event, and as a typical Christian narrative. Put in terms with which Bede himself was familiar, the history of Britain was primarily intended for a literal reading, but might also be interpreted on an allegorical, tropological or anagogical level. At once a specific province and an early medieval ‘anyplace’, the Britain described in Bede’s opening chapter determines the setting and wider relevance of the narrative history that follows. Britain at the edge of the world Bede’s concern to locate Britain within the wider world is evident from the opening line of his introductory geography – an image that forms the starting point for the whole Historia: Britain, an island of the Ocean which was once called Albion, lies to the northwest . . . 98 98

HE I.1: Brittania Oceani insula, cui quondam Albion nomen fuit, inter septentrionem et occidentem locata est . . . [modified translation].

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The geographical introduction This reference to the archaic Greek name for Britain is taken more or less directly from Pliny’s Historia naturalis.99 In one sense, the inclusion reflects little more than the writer’s obvious fascination for toponyms. Throughout the Historia Ecclesiastica Bede includes Latin translations of Germanic place-names, as well as explanatory glosses to Celtic toponyms – an obvious methodological parallel to his approach to exegesis.100 Later in his opening passage, Bede includes both the Germanic Reptacaestir and Orosius’ Latin Rutubi Portus for the same reason. The prominence of the term Albion at the start of Bede’s geography also neatly sidesteps any implication that Britannia is the exclusive preserve of the Brettones. Given the importance of the Picti and Scotti – not to mention the Angli – to Bede’s image of Britannia, the need to provide an ethnically neutral image of the island in its opening line is apparent enough. The manifestly archaic term Albion accomplishes this, while lending an air of timelessness to the geographical chapter as a whole.101 It is the prominence of Oceanus, however, which is perhaps the most revealing aspect of Bede’s opening sentence. Augmenting the language of the Historia naturalis, Bede renders Pliny’s Britannia insula as Britannia Oceani insula – an ostensibly minor change that has a considerable impact upon the presentation of the island as a whole. These subtle changes to Pliny’s syntax have formed the cornerstone of several modern attempts to interpret the introduction to the Historia Ecclesiastica as a mimesis of the divine Creation – an inspired reading of the chapter which has met with mixed success.102 On the simplest possible level, however, the syntactical shift ensures the prominence of Oceanus in the very definition of Britannia. Within classical writing, of course, the most important characteristic of Oceanus was its position at the circumference of the world, and Bede’s syntax effectively imbues his homeland with these characteristics. What appears in the Historia naturalis simply as an island, within the Historia Ecclesiastica is an offspring of the Ocean, an association that has important resonances in the narrative that follows. This concern to present Britannia as a region on the fringes of the world is developed over the course of the following section. Bede first identifies the island’s European neighbours, before stressing again its physical removal: ‘[Britain lies] opposite Germany, Gaul and Spain, which form the greater part of Europe, though at a considerable distance

99 100

101 102

Pliny, HN IV.102. See, for example, HE II.2 (Augustinaes A´c); III.1 (Denisesburn); III.2 (Hefenfelth); III.4 (Candida Casa and Dearmach); III.14 (Wilfaraesdun); III.25 (Streanaeshealh); IV.28 (Adtuifyrdi). On Albion as an archaic term, cf. Rivet and Smith (1979), pp. 247–8. See below, pp. 269–73.

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Bede 103

from them . . . ’ After a brief discussion of the principal crossing points between Britain and the continent, Bede returns to evocative geographical language in his account of the island’s neighbours to the other side: ‘Beyond the island, where it lies open to the boundless Ocean are the Orkney islands.’104 Here, Bede’s detail may equally have been drawn from Pliny, Orosius or Isidore.105 Of more interest than speculative Quellenforschung, however, is the recognition of the historian’s wider literary intention in the discussion of Britain’s geographical context. The order of Bede’s description, in which the crossing points between Britain and the continent are followed by a discussion of the Oceanic expanses beyond, emphasizes the liminal position of the island between these two extremes. Again, it is the Ocean that locates Britain most vividly, and this sense of implied isolation is accentuated through reference to the far-flung Orcades. Elsewhere in the geographical introduction, Bede reprises this theme of physical removal in a modified form. Immediately before turning his attention to the inhabitants of the archipelago, the historian provides a succinct summary of the contemporary understanding of the latitudinal divisions of the world. To this end, he compares the differing length of days and nights in Britain with the more stable patterns experienced in the Mediterranean. This motif was a common one within early medieval writing, and the short nights of the northern summer had long fascinated southern commentators. Jordanes, it might be remembered, coloured his account of Scandza with reference to the perpetual summer daylight experienced in the region.106 Bede was no stranger to this field of scholarship; two of his earliest compositions, De natura rerum and De temporibus, include short discussions of the latitudinal divisions of the world derived from Pliny’s Historia naturalis.107 The same passage was then reprised more faithfully and at substantially greater length in De temporum ratione.108 The excerpt in the Historia Ecclesiastica, therefore, may be read as a reiteration of the motif of British isolation, using a frame of reference with which Bede had long been comfortable: Because Britain lies almost under the North Pole, it has short nights in summer, so that often at midnight it is hard for those who are watching to say whether it is evening twilight which still lingers, or whether morning dawn has come, since the sun at night returns to the east through the regions towards the north without 103 104 105 107

HE I.1: Germaniae Galliae Hispaniae, maximis Europae partibus, multo interuallo aduersa. HE I.1: A tergo autem, unde Oceano infinito patet, Orcadas insulas habet. Cf. Pliny, HN IV.103; Or., Hist. I.2.79; Isidore, Orig. XIV.6.5. 106 Jordanes, Getica III.20. Bede, DT 7–8; DNR 47–8; cf. Pliny, HN II.187. 108 Bede, DTR 31–3, esp. 31.

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The geographical introduction passing below the horizon. For this reason the summer days are extremely long. On the other hand the winter nights are also of great length, namely eighteen hours, doubtless because the sun has then departed to the region of Africa. In summer too the nights are extremely short; so are the days in winter, each consisting of six standard equinoctial hours, while in Armenia, Macedonia, Italy, and other countries in the same latitude the longest day or night consists of fifteen hours and the shortest nine. 109

Although ostensibly similar to the passage in De temporum ratione, the discussion of latitudinal divisions within the Historia Ecclesiastica differs in one important respect. Within the earlier work, Bede cites Pytheas of Marseilles (via Pliny), Pliny himself and Solinus in identifying Thule as the most northerly region of the world.110 In his exegesis, similarly, Bede referred to the mysterious island as the symbolic marker-post of the world’s end.111 Given this, Bede’s omission of the same island from the description of latitudinal divisions in the Historia Ecclesiastica seems significant. The effect of this silence is to intensify the implied isolation of Britain, placing Britannia itself at the theoretical limit of the known world and implicitly investing it with the characteristics of the semi-mythical Thule. Bede thus situates Britain both in ‘human’ terms – through reference to its neighbours and convenient crossing points – and through the scientific conventions beloved of much classical geographical scholarship. In each case, the writer stresses the isolation of Britain, but does this not by focusing exclusively upon the island, but by stressing its precise location within the wider world. Bede’s discussion of the hours of daylight experienced within Britain was not simply an expression of spatial isolation, however. Within De temporum ratione, the discussion of latitudinal divisions formed a platform for the discussion of solar and lunar cycles, which were subjugated in turn to the wider question of calendrical calculation and the Christian computus. The division of the world into latitudinal zones was thus predicated upon a recognition of the interdependence of space and time. By evoking this passage in his description of Britain, Bede introduced a new aspect to his conception of the island’s position within divine history. As has been noted, the presentation of Britain at the end of the world had important 109

110 111

HE I.1: Et quia prope sub ipso septentrionali uertice mundi iacet, lucidas aestate noctes habet, ita ut medio saepe tempore noctis in quaestionem ueniat intuentibus, utrum crepusculum adhuc permaneat uespertinum an iam / aduenerit matutinum, utpote nocturno sole non longe sub terris ad orientem boreales per plagas redeunte; unde etiam plurimae longitudinis habet dies aestate sicut et noctes contra in bruma, sole nimirum tunc Lybicas in partes secedente, id est horarum XVIII; plurimae item breuitatis noctes aestate et dies habet in bruma, hoc est sex solummodo aequinoctialium horarum, cum in Armenia Macedonia Italia ceterisque eiusdem lineae regionibus longissima dies siue nox XV, breuissima VIIII conpleat horas. Bede, DTR 31; cf. Solinus 22.9, Pliny, HN II.187, IV.104 and Isidore, Orig. 14.6.4. Bede, XXX quaest. 25.

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Bede implications given Bede’s view of eschatological time, but in his discussion of the changing hours of daylight the historian also links the island to more cyclical patterns of temporal reckoning.112 For Bede, time could be regarded both as an inexorable linear progression and as a ceaseless cycle of years, and both modes are spatially represented in the introduction of the Historia Ecclesiastica. It was the feast of Easter that lay at the intersection between the two modes of reckoning: the annual celebration of the seminal event in Christian time and the perpetual reminder of the coming salvation. As an accomplished chronologer, living on the spiritual frontier between the worlds of Roman and Hibernian Christianity, it is hardly surprising that the dispute over the correct dating of Easter proved to be a matter of enduring interest to Bede. The subject recurs repeatedly over the course of the Historia Ecclesiastica, and at several separate points the historian interrupts his narrative in order to clarify the causes and correct resolution of the dispute.113 The Synod of Whitby, at which the question was finally resolved within Northumbria, is described in more detail than almost any other event within the history of the English Church and acts as a turning point within Bede’s narrative.114 From that point on, the Angli are depicted no longer as the willing recipients of God’s word, but as evangelists in their own right, responsible for taking correct observance to the Churches of the Irish and the Picts. Thereafter, it is the conversions of Iona and the Pictish kingdom that form the twin dramatic climaxes of the Historia.115 Quite whether Bede’s concern for the correct observation of Easter was shared by many of his contemporaries is a moot point, but the issue was indisputably a central one within the composition of the Historia.116 At issue was not merely the inconvenience or embarrassment of differing dates of the observation of the greatest Christian feast. For Bede, the celebration of Christ’s passion represented the crux of the Christian year. It was through recognition of this great sacrifice that the cyclical pattern of human time was bound to the promise of the eighth age and the ultimate salvation of humankind.117 Incorrect observation of the feast entailed, therefore, not a simple difference of liturgical opinion, but a severance from the very essence of Christian time itself. Bede’s obsession with the paschal question, some seventy years after its resolution in Northumbria and a full generation after the conversion of Nechtan’s Picts, determined its crucial position within his view of 112

113 115

The importance of temporal themes and links to computus in HE I.1 is stressed by Wallis (1999), pp. lxvii–lxviii. Compare, for example, HE II.2, 4, 19; III.3, 4, 17, 28, 29; IV.5; V.18, 19. 114 HE III.25. HE V.21, 22. 116 Thacker (1996), pp. 41–2. 117 Ward (1998), p. 28.

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The geographical introduction history. Moreover, in Bede’s carefully structured view of Christian history, the issue of the correct calculation of Easter had not been fully resolved. The Brettones, after all, remained contumacious on the question of orthodox observation. This recalcitrance left the gens beyond the embrace of the universal Church, and in some senses left them outside Christian history. It is a measure of the interdependence of spatial and temporal themes in Bede’s mind that the discussion of the paschal dispute within the main body of the Historia Ecclesiastica is frequently expressed in geographical language. When Saint Wilfrid, one of the more ambivalent figures within the Historia, puts the case for orthodox observance of Easter, his argument is expressed in physical, rather than moral, doctrinal or chronological terms: The Easter we keep is the same as we have seen universally celebrated in Rome, where the apostles St Peter and St Paul lived, taught, suffered, and were buried. We also found it in use everywhere in Italy and Gaul when we travelled through these countries for the purposes of study and prayer. We learned that it was observed at one and the same time in Africa, Asia, Egypt, Greece, and throughout the whole world, wherever the Church of Christ is scattered, amid various nations and languages. The only exceptions are these men and their accomplices in obstinacy, I mean the Picts and the Britons, who in these, the two remotest islands of the Ocean, and only in some parts of them, foolishly attempt to fight against the whole world.118

Later in the same chapter, the point is reiterated in Wilfrid’s direct address to Colman, the champion of the Irish dating: ‘For though your fathers were holy men, do you think that a handful of people in one corner of the remotest islands is to be preferred to the universal Church of Christ which is spread throughout the world?’119 Bede’s account of the Synod of Whitby provides two particularly clear examples of this contrast between periphery and centre, but the same motif resurfaces throughout the Historia. References to irregular observance within Britain and Ireland are repeatedly prefaced by a statement of the regions’ isolation and particularly their location within Oceanus.120 Bede, then, was anxious to

118

119

120

HE III.25: Pascha quod facimus . . . uidimus Romae, ubi beati apostoli Petrus et Paulus uixere, docuere, passi sunt et sepulti, ab omnibus celebrari; hoc in Italia, hoc in Gallia, quas discendi uel orandi studio pertransiuimus, ab omnibus agi conspeximus; hoc Africam, Asiam, Aegyptum, Greciam et omnem orbem, quacumque Christi ecclesia diffusa est, per diuersas nationes et linguas uno ac non diuerso temporis ordine geri conperimus, praeter hos tantum et obstinationis eorum conplices, Pictos dico et Brettones, cum quibus de duabus ultimis Oceani insulis, et his non totis, contra totum orbem stulto labore pugnant. HE III.25: Etsi enim patres tui sancti fuerunt, numquid uniuersali, quae per orbem est, ecclesiae Christi eorum est paucitas uno de angulo extremae insulae praeferenda? Cf. for example, the similar language employed in HE II.4, 10; V.15, 21. And note the similar approach employed by Bede at HE II.19 in his description of Priscillianism.

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Bede recount the inspiring story of the conversion of the British Isles, but was at pains to demonstrate that the events that he related were part of a far greater story. Indeed, it was precisely Britain’s position within the wider Christian world that dictated the eventual outcome of the Whitby Synod. Hibernia The last section of Bede’s introductory geography, comprising perhaps a fifth of the chapter as a whole, is devoted to the description of Hibernia. This section may be read as a further example of the historian’s intention to set Britannia within its wider geographical context. Equally, it might be seen as an illustration of the writer’s conviction that the story of the Church within Britain could not be told without adequate acknowledgement of its vibrant neighbour to the west. While Bede evidently appreciated the role that Hibernia had played within the conversion of his homeland, however, the praise that he heaps on the island initially seems anomalous in a passage ostensibly devoted to the celebration of Christian Britain. The description of the power of Irish soil to repel serpents is arguably the most famous image within the introduction and typifies an almost hyperbolic account of Hibernian wonders. Elsewhere, the island is praised for its abundance of milk, honey and vines in obvious evocation of Canaan – a scriptural parallel that far surpasses anything in the description of Britain.121 Evidently, Bede’s description of Ireland was as complex and multi-faceted as any aspect of his opening chapter. In fact, it is this very celebration, and the precise form in which it is presented, which explains the inclusion of this passage within the introduction. Disproportionate as Bede’s praise may seem, his description of Ireland performs a central function within his opening chapter, and has important implications for the writer’s view of Britain’s role within the wider world. The physical description of Hibernia contains no direct citations of classical sources, but the influences behind Bede’s geography of the island remain relatively easy to identify. His account is again built upon a foundation provided by Solinus’ Collectanea rerum memorabilium, and augmented through reference to Isidore’s Origines.122 The Collectanea 121

122

Scriptural references to the land of milk and honey are, of course, manifold. See esp. Exodus 3:8, 17; 13:5; 33:3; Leviticus 20:24; Numbers 13:20; 14:8–9; 16:14; Deuteronomy 6:3; 11:9; 26:8; 27:3; 31:20; Joshua 5:6; Jeremiah 11; 32:22–3; Ezekiel 20:6–7, 15. It should be noted that the milk and honey motif appears in classical historiography as a marker of alterity, Justin, Ep. Pomp. Trog. II.2.8, but it seems that Bede’s primary influence here was biblical. Indeed, Bede’s reference to the honey, milk and vines of Hibernia itself has precedent in Scripture at Numbers 16:14 and Sirach 39:26. Solinus 22.2–3; Isidore, Orig. XIV. 6.6.

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The geographical introduction was, of course, primarily a work of wonder-literature and placed particular emphasis upon the prodigious fertility of Hibernia, and upon the peculiar absence of snakes, birds and bees from the island. The outline of Solinus’ account may be traced within the Historia Ecclesiastica, but much of its detail was changed; Bede’s description refers to the copious honey of Hibernia and identifies abundant bird-life as a particular wonder of the island. Similarly, while Isidore remained a constant point of reference within Bede’s Irish geography, the Origines is never directly cited within the passage. As elsewhere, Bede exploited his sources freely, and deviated from them where he saw fit. At first glance, this serpent-free, deer-infested land of milk and honey would seem ripe for an allegorical reading, but such an interpretation risks obscuring the more fundamental geographical themes at play within the passage. The image of Hibernia presented by Bede is in fact a surprisingly consistent one. Within his description, the historian alludes repeatedly to Britain, and it rapidly becomes apparent that the description of Hibernia was largely intended to be read as a counterpoint to the larger island. This is first made clear in the initial discussion of the scale of Hibernia: ‘Now Ireland is the largest island of all next to Britain, and lies to the west of it. But though it is shorter than Britain to the north, yet in the south it extends far beyond the limits of that island and as far as the level of North Spain, though a great expanse of sea divides them.’123 Both the location of Hibernia and its dimensions are explained only with respect to Britain. The same comparison is implicit in Bede’s further description of the island: ‘Ireland is broader than Britain, is healthier and has a much milder climate, so that snow rarely lasts there for more than three days. Hay is never cut in the summer for winter use nor are stables built for their beasts.’124 Britannia, then, is the standard against which Hibernia is to be measured, and the attention of his audience never strays far from the coast of the larger island. While Bede’s description of Irish fertility recalls Pomponius Mela, Solinus and Orosius, and echoes Diodorus Siculus, the context in which this material is presented is new.125 Within the 123

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125

HE I.1: Est autem Hibernia insula omnium post Brittaniam maxima, ad occidentem quidem Brittaniae sita sed, sicut contra aquilonem ea breuior, ita in meridiem se trans illius fines plurimum protendens, usque contra Hispaniae septentrionalia quamuis magno aequore interiacente peruenit. HE I.1: Hibernia autem et latitudine sui status et salubritate ac serenitate aerum multum Brittaniae praestat, ita ut raro ibi nix plus quam triduana remaneat; nemo propter hiemem aut faena secet aestate aut stabula fabricet iumentis. Pomponius Mela III.53; Solinus 22.2; Or., Hist. I.2.80–1. The closest parallel to Bede’s interest in harvests is Diodorus Siculus V.21–2 on Prettanike, which describes the harvest only of the ears, and British subsistence through the daily collection of the grain needed for each day. It seems unlikely that Bede knew this work directly, although the emphasis upon crop collection remains interesting. Contrast this with the sagacity of Proverbs 6:8.

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Bede eighth-century work, Hibernia is presented primarily as a counterpoint to Britannia, rather than as a source of wonder in its own right. The shadow cast by Britannia extends beyond Bede’s account of the physical geography of Hibernia and includes many of the fantastic features associated with the island. Memorable as Bede’s descriptions of Irish prodigies certainly are, it is their relevance to Britain that explains their inclusion within the Historia Ecclesiastica. It is only through the presence of the larger island that the famous serpent prodigy is effected, for example: ‘No reptile is found there nor could a serpent survive; for although serpents have often been brought from Britain, as soon as the ship approaches land they are affected by the scent of the air and quickly perish.’126 The point is immediately reiterated with respect to the circulation of miraculous manuscript leaves: In fact almost everything that the island produces is efficacious against poison. For instance we have seen how, in the case of people suffering from snake-bite, the leaves of manuscripts from Ireland were scraped, and the scrapings put in water and given to the sufferer to drink. These scrapings at once absorbed the whole violence of the spreading poison and assuaged the swelling.127

Although Bede does not explicitly state where these miracles took place, his use of the first person strongly implies that he is referring to Britain. Irish codices may have exhibited similar curative properties in Hibernia or elsewhere, but the account would seem to place particular emphasis upon their efficacy within Britannia. Similarly, Irish soil is only repellent to snakes brought to Hibernia from outside. In describing these prodigies, Bede suggests the spiritual symbiosis of the two islands; it is only through contact with Britain that the miraculous properties of Ireland manifest themselves. Bede actively manipulated his sources in order to accentuate this miraculous association between Hibernia and Britannia. Solinus’ Collectanea, like Isidore’s Origines, which it influenced substantially, makes only passing reference to the phenomenon of the snakes: ‘There are no snakes there, few birds and people who are unfriendly and warlike.’128 This is followed by a brief description of the repellent qualities of Irish soil to foreign bees.129 No less importantly, both Solinus and Isidore 126

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HE I.1: nullum ibi reptile uideri soleat, nullus uiuere serpens ualeat. Nam saepe illo de Brittania adlati serpentes, mox ut proximante terris nauigio odore aeris illius adtacti fuerint, intereunt . . . HE I.1: quin potius omnia pene quae de eadem insula sunt contra uenenum ualent. Denique uidimus, quibusdam a serpente percussis, rasa folia codicum qui de Hibernia fuerant, et ipsam rasuram aquae inmissam ac potui datam talibus protinus totam uim ueneni grassantis, totum inflati corporis absumsisse ac sedasse tumorem. Solinus 22.3: Illic nullus anguis, avis rara, gens inhospita et bellicosa. 129 Solinus 22.4.

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The geographical introduction also refer to the comparable power of the Kentish island of Thanet over snakes: ‘[Thanet] rejoices in fertile plains and a rich soil, which is beneficial not only to itself, but to other places too: for whereas it is crawled over by no snakes, earth brought from it to any other place kills snakes.’130 Isidore develops this account further through examination of the macabre etymology of Thanatos – the land of the dead.131 In each of Bede’s principal sources, the absence of snakes in Ireland was noted, but active repellent powers were associated either with bees or with the island of Thanet. Bede evidently took from Solinus and Isidore the simple assertion that Ireland was bereft of snakes, and adds from the Thanet tradition the suggestion that this power could be transferred abroad. His description represents a fairly straightforward conflation of three different traditions within a single geographical location. For Solinus and Isidore, Thanet was every bit as exotic as Hibernia: all the more so, indeed, because of the macabre associations of its name. For Bede, who relied heavily upon Kentish sources and whose likely audience included many who would have had personal familiarity with Thanet, the uncritical propagation of such traditions would have been more difficult. Bede’s caution in relating miraculous anecdotes has been well documented, and if his sources mentioned nothing of this legend, it seems reasonable to suppose that the historian saw fit to exercise some discretion on the matter.132 Consequently, when the historian included a brief description of Thanet later in the Historia Ecclesiastica, he included nothing on the snake miracles.133 A reluctance to exploit this particular tradition did not prevent Bede from celebrating Britain’s own indigenous form of snake-repellent. Rather than associate the remedy with any specific region, Bede emphasizes the quality of the jet ( gagates) found throughout the island: ‘It produces a great deal of excellent jet, which is glossy and black and burns when put into the fire, and, when kindled, it drives away serpents;

130

131

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Solinus 22.8: felix frumentariis campis et gleba uberi, nec tantum sibi verum et aliis salubris locis: nam cum ipsa nullo serpatur angue, asportata inde terra quoquo gentium invecta sit angues necat: cf. Isidore, Orig. XIV. 6.3: Dicta autem Tanatos a morte serpetum, quos dum ipsa nesciat, asportata inde terra quoquo gentium vecta sit, angues ilico perimit. A further distortion of the same tradition is evident in Pan. Lat. VI.9.2, which notes the absence of snakes within Britain as a whole. Isidore, Orig. XIV.6.3. On Isidore’s etymology of Thanatos, see Cassidy (1969), p. 39 and compare Burn (1955) and Thompson (1980) on the circulation of similar traditions in sixth-century Byzantium. On the absence of miracles in Bede’s Historia abbatum, cf. Brown (1987), p. 83; Loomis (1946), p. 418. On his deference to Kentish sources, cf. Kirby (1992), pp. 4–7; Whitelock (1976), pp. 29–30. HE I.25.

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Bede when it is warmed by rubbing it attracts whatever is applied to it, just as amber does.’134 This description is derived from Solinus but with one, crucial difference.135 The description of the power of jet over snakes is without precedent in the third-century work, and was instead taken verbatim from Isidore’s Origines chapter on precious stones.136 Again, Bede conflates two separate accounts, this time to introduce a British myth, which perhaps originated in Whitby: a major source of production for the stone.137 Given the sources employed by Bede, it seems likely that the writer consciously emphasized the unusual properties of British jet in order to rectify his omission of the Thanet myth and to counterbalance the qualities associated with Irish soil. A location-specific tradition was directly replaced with a more general, but scarcely less important, British wonder. All of this ties into a general presentation of the spiritual interdependence of Britannia and Hibernia. The miraculous properties of one island are reprised in the other, and each attains its fullest potential only through contact with its neighbour. This theme continues over the course of the Historia Ecclesiastica. Almost exactly halfway through his work, Bede provides a precise counterpoint to the encomium of Irish codices, this time in celebration of the posthumous miracles of Oswald: ‘Not only did the fame of this renowned king spread through all parts of Britain but the beams of his healing light also spread across the Ocean and reached the realms of Germany and Ireland.’138 This assertion is illustrated by an Irish miracle story, focused upon a negligent scholar who realizes his sins upon the approach of death. Eventually, the individual is cured, but only after imbibing a draught of water in which had been soaked fragments of the stake upon which Oswald’s head had once been impaled. The form in which Oswald’s relics are administered to the Irish penitent immediately recalls the description of the sacred codices in the opening chapter, but it is the reciprocation of the transmission of relics across the Irish Sea that forms the more significant parallel. Where Irish soil might repel or kill British serpents, so British jet has its own power over snakes; where the scrapings of Irish codices might cure snake-bite in Britain, so chips from 134

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137 138

HE I.1: et lapidem gagatem plurimum optimumque; est autem nigrogemmeus, et ardens igni admotus, incensus serpentes fugat, adtritu calefactus adplicita detinet aeque ut sucinum. Solinus 22.11. Cf. Isidore, Orig. XVI. 4.4: incensus serpentes fugat, a borrowing that seems to have escaped Plummer’s notice. Blair (1970a), p. 11. HE III.13: Nec solum inclyti fama uiri Brittaniae fines lustrauit uniuersos, sed etiam trans Oceanum longe radios salutiferae lucis spargens Germaniae simul et Hiberniae partes attigit.

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The geographical introduction Oswald’s stake proved equally effective in return. What Bede is describing here is not two islands locked in a spiritual rivalry, but rather two Christian regions which attain their fullest potential by expanding beyond their own provincial boundaries. Both islands had their miraculous qualities, but it was only on a wider geographical stage that their true impact could be felt. On a more basic level, the image of codices providing miraculous cures within Britain prefigures the prominent role of the Irish mission to Northumbria within Bede’s narrative. The associations of the codex with monasticism and of snake venom with heresy or religious ignorance would have been obvious enough to most readers, and those members of Bede’s audience familiar with the conventions of allegorical exegesis would have found much else in the description of Hibernia to support this interpretation. Many of the features that Bede identifies within Ireland seem to intensify this image of the island as a hotbed of evangelism. The description of the animals of the island is a case in point: ‘It is also noted for the hunting of stags and roedeer.’139 The stag (ceruus) and roe (caprea) are the only Irish animals to be named specifically within Bede’s opening geography, and this seems significant. As several commentators have pointed out, the deer had long been regarded as the natural enemy of the snake and appears as such in the writing of Pliny, Solinus and Isidore.140 Although this characteristic would have been of limited value in an island entirely bereft of serpents, Bede’s reference acts as an obvious intensification of a major theme of the passage. The animals associated with Ireland had not always been viewed in such a positive light, however. In a letter to his former student Heahfrith, who had recently returned from a six-year sojourn in northern Hibernia, Aldhelm invoked the creatures as an illustration of the victory of Christian education over the island’s impious barbarism:141 ‘where once the crude pillars of the same foul snake and stag were worshipped with coarse stupidity in profane shrines, in their place dwellings for students, not to mention holy houses of prayer, are constructed skilfully by the talents of the architect’.142 If it is assumed that Bede was aware of this letter, or the pagan practices to which it alludes, his own description of the animals of the island might best be regarded as a refutation of this image of a barbarous 139 140

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HE I.1: sed et ceruorum caprearumque uenatu insignis. Pliny, HN VIII.118; Solinus 19.15; Isidore, Orig. XII.1.18; for discussion, cf. Andre´ (1986), p. 51, n. 27; Kendall (1979), p. 182. On the context of this letter, see the discussion in Lapidge and Herren (1979), pp. 145–6. Aldhelm, Ep. 5: ubi pridem eiusdem nefandae natricis ermula cervulusque cruda fanis colebantur stolidate in profanis, versa vice discipulorem gurgustia, immo almae oraminum aedes architecti ingenio fabre conduntur. I am indebted to John Blair for bringing this reference to my attention.

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Bede and impious island. Stags, particularly in tandem with roes, had a longstanding allegorical significance in their own right. In his commentary on Acts, a discussion of the etymology of the name Dorcas leads Bede into a discussion of the symbolism of deer: The deer and fallow deer are animals which are similar in nature, though different in size. They dwell on high mountains and they see all who approach, no matter how far away they may be . . . so it is with saints. As they dwell on high by the merits of their works, through mental contemplation they simultaneously direct their attention with wisdom toward things above, while always watching out for themselves with prurient discretion.143

Bede exploits Isidore extensively both within this section, and in the passage that follows, in which emphasis is placed upon the cleanliness of the animals.144 So successful was this interpretation that Bede returned to it, in similar terms, in his interpretation of the appearance of the same animals within the Song of Songs.145 In each of these passages the symbolic association between deer and Christian saints is heavily stressed. Consequently, the reprise of this image in the description of the homeland of the Irish saints seems straightforward enough. The concept of a land in which snakes could not survive is a far more common one than many modern British or Irish commentators might appreciate, raised as they are on the traditions of Saint Patrick. In many cases, traditions of this sort are associated with a single heroic figure, and the absence of serpents within a region is cited as enduring testimony to the patronage of this hero. Patrick’s own expulsion of the snakes from Ireland is perhaps the most famous example of this tradition in the British Isles, but the first textual association of saint and wonder is relatively late. Although stories of the kind may have circulated in Bede’s day, the first known record of the miracle is in the writing of Gerald of Wales in the late twelfth century, and even then the story was recounted only with considerable caution.146 Of more certain date are the miracle stories that ascribed to Columba the expulsion of the snakes from Iona, and Bede would certainly have been familiar with this material.147 143

144 146

147

Bede, Acts 9:36: Dammula quippe vel caprea animalia sunt natura similia sed magnitudine differentia quae morantur in excelsis montibus et, quamuis de longinquo, uident tamen omnes qui ueniunt . . . Sic nimirum sancti meritis operum in excelsis habitantes mentis contemplatione et supernis sagaciter intendunt et suimet cauta circumspectione semper invigilant. Isidore, Orig. XII.1.18. 145 Bede, Cant. I.ii.7–10; II.ii.17; III.iv.5; V.viii.14. Gerald of Wales, Top. Hib. 21; for discussion see Boivin (1993). The first written work to present the tradition uncritically was the Patrician vita of Jocelyn of Furness; cf. Bartlett (1982), pp. 139–40; Ford (1983). At p. 39, Ford also suggests that the Patrician tradition itself may have been in circulation as early as the eighth century. Adomna´n, VC II.28; III.23.

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The geographical introduction The Patrician stories, however, represent little more than a Hibernian interpretation of a long-standing mythological trope. Comparable traditions abound in Christian and classical literature. In his Geographica, Strabo alludes to an Erythraean cult of Heracles the ‘worm-killer’, which developed in response to the hero’s spectacular deeds in the region.148 Diodorus Siculus associates the same figure with the repulsion of the snakes from Crete, and modern Cretan myth ascribes the same deed to Saint Paul.149 This Pauline tradition seems particularly important in the light of Bede’s obvious reliance upon the Acts as a template for his Historia. Acts 28 describes Paul’s defeat of a viper on the island of Mellita, after impressing his shipmates with his immunity to the creature’s poison.150 Bede’s commentary on the passage regards the episode as an allegory of the obstacles facing teachers of the word – an obvious enough interpretation within the evangelical context both of the first-century Acts and of eighth-century Northumbria.151 It seems possible, therefore, that the eighth-century writer intended his repeated references to British and Irish victory over serpents to evoke a famous apostolic image, and that the most famous passage in his opening geography was simply intended as the first of many allusions to Acts. While dynamic elements are not entirely absent from Bede’s opening chapter, his description of the repulsion of snakes differs substantially from the classical, apostolic and Patrician traditions. The movements of Irish codices and British snakes across the Irish Sea recall earlier heroic narratives, but Bede does not ascribe the repulsion of serpents to a single champion, nor does he suggest this victory was a thing of the past. Instead these marvels are presented as a living feature of the eighthcentury world, and a manifestation of an ongoing triumph over religious ignorance. No less importantly, it is the ongoing contact between Hibernia and Britannia that occupies the foreground of Bede’s account; it is only through the perpetuation of these links that the powers of each island can be fully effected. The suggestion that Bede intended this short passage as a light satire upon Isidore’s credulity thus seems difficult to sustain.152 Bede’s attitude

148 149

150 152

Strabo XIII.1.64; cf. Krappe (1947), p. 323. Diodorus Siculus IV.17.3; cf. Wildhaber (1976), p. 500; on modern Cretan myth, cf. Krappe (1947), p. 323; Schmidt (1871), p. 43. Acts 28:3–6. 151 Bede, Acts 28:3a–28:5. An argument proposed by Mayr-Harting (1972), p. 50: ‘a witty parody of this sort of nonsense’; cf. Meyvaert (1976), p. 50, n. 55 and McCready (1994), p. 47 who deny this forcibly (and persuasively), and Shanzer (2003), p. 39 who simply notes that the passage may have been intended humorously. By way of comparison, Gregory of Tours included a description of the curing power of codices (which was certainly meant seriously) at VP VIII.12.

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Bede to Isidore elsewhere within his writing is consistently deferential, and where he questions the authority of the Spanish writer, it is rarely without good reason.153 It seems likely that Bede’s familiarity with local religious traditions would only confirm Isidore’s fantastic description of Hibernia. His addition of further information must be regarded as an attempt to supplement this material and shape it in response to his own historical ambitions, rather than to make a pastiche of it. Like the other sections of the introduction, Bede’s description of Hibernia operated on a variety of different levels, but all supplemented the broader argument of the Historia Ecclesiastica. Crucial to the understanding of the passage is the recognition that Bede’s description of the island was made with constant reference to its neighbour, whether with respect to the physical dimensions, fertility or more unusual characteristics of the island. This emphasis was no doubt partly dictated by the narrative that follows, and the symbolically laden accounts of Irish deer and miraculous codices certainly anticipate the great Irish missions that were so important to the growth of Christian Northumbria. Yet Bede’s insistence upon the interdependence of Britannia and Hibernia was no less important, and the writer repeatedly demonstrates that miraculous aid – whether the curing of the ills of one sinner or the conversion of an entire gens from error – was always to be reciprocated. Finally, the parallel accounts of the two islands provided a vivid illustration of Bede’s conviction that his homeland was not uniquely privileged in the eyes of God. Like Britannia, Hibernia had its own miraculous properties that could only be appreciated fully when viewed within a much wider context. In this sense, Hibernia also stands for every other province within the Christian world, all of which were equal beneficiaries of divine support, and all of which were dependent upon their neighbours. The description of Ireland, then, was a reminder to Bede’s audience that the narrated events of British history had ramifications far beyond its shores. A mimesis of Creation? Hexameral themes The description of Hibernia is not the only section of the introduction that holds forth promise for an allegorical reading in the light of Bede’s scriptural commentaries. The celebration of Britain’s colourful pearls, for example, recalls a common Christian symbol that appears within the

153

See McCready (1995a) and (1995b) who refutes convincingly the long-standing fallacy that Bede was sceptical of many of Isidore’s conclusions. On this tradition, cf. for example, Ray (1980), p. 17.

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The geographical introduction writer’s own exegesis.154 The indelible scarlet dye of the island’s whelks evokes the sins of Israel and her salt springs the covenant made by Elisha in II Kings.155 The enumeration of Britain’s metals echoes the divine condemnation of Israel in Ezekiel and the fortifications of its cities the defences of Judah in Chronicles.156 Indeed, so thoroughly immersed was Bede in the language of Scripture that a student could happily spend months unpacking the different meanings that his manifold imagery may hold.157 Yet such a haphazard approach can reveal little about Bede’s geographical understanding, or his wider rhetorical ambitions. The recognition that Bede’s famous serpent imagery was intended to augment his wider presentation of British and Irish interdependence provides a timely reminder that the identification of broader thematic undercurrents offers a more rewarding approach to the understanding of the writer’s symbolism than the ad hoc enumeration of different scriptural echoes. The most coherent modern allegorical reading of the opening geography does precisely this, and while it is not without some serious problems, the implications of the reading remain important. This interpretation takes as its starting point the somewhat unusual form of Bede’s description of the mineral wealth of Britain. The section is obviously structured in emulation of Solinus’ Collectanea, but what makes it remarkable is Bede’s named citation of one of his sources – the only point in the introduction in which this occurs. Midway through his paraphrase of Solinus, Bede inserts a reference to the Hexaemeron of Basil of Caesarea, known to the historian through the Latin translation of Eustathius Afer: ‘For water, as St Basil says, acquires the quality of heat when it passes through certain metals, so that it not only becomes warm, but even scalding hot.’158 This rather pointed interpolation is easy enough to explain when Solinus’ original text is compared: ‘Over these springs, the divinity of Minerva presides and in her temple the perpetual fires never whiten to ash, but when the flame declines it turns it into rocky lumps.’159

154 155

156 157

158

159

Cf. Bede, Apoc. XXI.21– Christ as margarita singularis. II Kings 2:21, and Bede, DLS 9.3; cf. Hegesippus, Hist. 4.17. On salt as a symbol of covenant in the Old Testament, compare Numbers 18:19 and II Chronicles 13:5. Ezekiel 22:18 and 22:10; II Chronicles 14:7; cf. Gildas, DEB I.3.2. And I speak from experience. For an ambitious symbolic exegesis of HE I.1, see Merrills (2000), pp. 274–91. I thank Dick Whittaker and particularly Simon Loseby for pointing out that ingenious argument doesn’t always make intelligent historical analysis. But I was very proud of the bit about the rainbows. On Bede’s own caution in employing allegory within his historical writings, see Holder (1989), esp. p. 131; McCready (1994), pp. 48–9. HE I.1, after Eustathius, Hex. IV.6: Aqua enim, ut sanctus Basilius dicit, feruidam qualitatem recipit, cum per certa quaedam metalla transcurrit, et fit non solum calida sed et ardens. Solinus 22.10: quibus fontibus praesul est Minervae numen, in cuius aede perpetui ignes numquam canescunt in favillas, sed ubi ignis tabuit vertit in globos saxeos.

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Bede Clearly, pagan deities could have no place within Bede’s Britannia, and the invocation of Basil in place of Minerva rendered Solinus’ account palatable to a Christian audience. As an exponent of hexameral literature, Basil provided an ideal authority for Bede’s project. Like all writers in the genre, Basil sought to explain the natural world through reference to the Creation myth of Genesis. His work was structured around the sevenfold Creation of the world, and included theological discussion as well as natural history cribbed from secular authors. Alongside Basil, Ambrose of Milan had been an influential proponent of the genre and Bede himself had penned a short hexameral composition as the opening section to his commentary on Genesis.160 In an inspired reading of the text, Calvin Kendall has suggested that the rather pointed citation of Basil was intended to highlight a hexameral structure that underlay Bede’s introductory geography, a theory later embellished by Diane Speed.161 Their interpretations argue that the order in which Bede introduced the different elements of British geography was a deliberate echo of the Creation paradigm of the first book of Genesis, and consequently that the geographical introduction as a whole was intended to be read in a hexameral vein. The account of the separation of the Ocean and the land with which Bede opens the chapter might be read as a straightforward echo of the Creation of the earth. It is within this context, Speed argues, that the writer’s interpolation of Oceanus into the opening phrase of the Historia must be regarded.162 Indeed, had Bede reproduced Pliny’s language without any alteration, the hexameral strains of the opening geography would have been entirely lost. Bede’s subsequent treatment of the crops of Britain, her sea animals and her birds also parallels the order in which living things are created, and the account of the inhabitants of the island might be associated with the creation of man on the sixth day. Both Kendall and Speed conclude that Bede thus intended to propound Edenic themes within his work, and suggest that the copia motif that dominates the accounts of both Britannia and Hibernia must be read as an evocation of a terrestrial, prelapsarian paradise.163 Although undeniably compelling, this thesis is not without its problems. As Speed herself admits, the inclusion of British cities within the introduction scarcely fits with the hexameral tradition. Cities only feature in Genesis after the Deluge, and so fit poorly within a schema based 160 161

162

On Bede’s hexameral writing, cf. esp. Fox (1997); Jones (1969/70); Robbins (1912). Kendall (1979), pp. 175–82; Speed (1992). The argument is also followed (rather more cautiously) by Ward (1998), pp. 116–17. Speed (1992), p. 146. 163 Speed (1992), pp. 150–1; Kendall (1979), p. 180.

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The geographical introduction around the six days of Creation.164 Perhaps more importantly, the description of Hibernia in the introduction has posed considerable problems, particularly in the light of its description as a ‘land of milk and honey’. Kendall proposed that Britannia might be read as an evocation of Eden, Hibernia as Canaan, but such an interpretation has little immediate relevance to the narrative themes of the Historia.165 Speed’s argument that Britannia represented a mundane paradise and Hibernia an eternal one encounters similar problems when set within the text of the Historia Ecclesiastica as a whole.166 It does not seem likely that Bede intended his account of either of the British islands to be a straightforward evocation of paradise.167 No single element within the chapter points towards an Edenic mimesis. The suggestion that Hibernia could not harbour snakes at least recalls Genesis, but a region without serpents could hardly be thought to represent the prelapsarian paradise.168 Even Bede’s exaltation of the plenty of the islands is understated in contrast with Gildas’ earlier celebration, and never exceeds the boundaries of secular idealization established by Solinus. When Bede does set out to describe a paradisaical landscape, moreover, he proves himself fully capable of doing so clearly and unambiguously. In the final book of the Historia Ecclesiastica, Bede describes a vision of the world inhabited by those who had died virtuous, but who had not yet attained heaven. The idyllic landscape evoked, with expansive use of light imagery and the classical motif of the locus amoenus, far surpasses anything in the opening chapter in grandeur, and no doubt this contrast with the mundane world was deliberate.169 Hibernia may have enjoyed abundant harvests, but it was scarcely to be compared with the lands that awaited the virtuous after death. Bede’s geographical descriptions, then, were of a mundane, not a celestial world. Yet there are compelling reasons for identifying a hexameral strain within Bede’s opening chapter. The days of divine Creation are, of course, the prefiguration of the six ages of man, as they appear in Augustinian philosophy and in Bede’s own writings on time.170 Bede’s reference to the solar and lunar cycles elsewhere in his introduction 164 165

166 167 169

170

Speed (1992), p. 150. Kendall (1979), pp. 180–1. This image of Bede’s Britain as a ‘promised land’ has a considerable heritage; cf. Jones (1969/70), pp. 125–6; Howe (1989), p. 59; also Kirby (1992), p. 1 (with respect to the description of episcopal dioceses at V.23). Speed (1992), pp. 150–1 and compare the comments of McCready (1994), pp. 48–9. Contra Kirby (1992), p. 1. 168 McCready (1994), p. 49. HE V.12; compare also the use of the locus amoenus motif in the description of Eden itself at In Gen. I.888–92 and I.2284–5, and the discussion in Jones (1969/70), pp. 115–17 and Fox (1997), pp. 84–5. DTR 10.

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Bede highlights the author’s concern to introduce temporal themes into his description of British geography, and the hexameral undercurrents of his opening section may represent something similar. Given the importance of eschatological themes to Bede’s conception of history, the allusion to Creation within the opening lines of his Historia seems a neat enough conceit. The hot springs of Britain could easily have been described without reference to patristic or scriptural writings, as a near-contemporary composition makes clear.171 Instead, the historian included a pointed reference to a hexameral author in a chapter otherwise bereft of such explicit deference to authority. As a result, it seems reasonable to assume that the allusion to Basil was intended as a signpost to hexameral elements within the introduction, but the implications of this reading require further scrutiny. Early in her analysis, Diane Speed notes that the application of the Creation model within the introduction need not imply immediate associations with Eden, an important observation which she subsequently seems to abandon.172 Indeed, overemphasis upon the Fall is unusual within hexameral literature, which sought rather to demonstrate the validity of Genesis as a model for the understanding of the physical world as a whole, rather than just the lost earthly paradise. If it is assumed that Bede included his reference to Basil in an effort to associate his work with a thriving body of Christian scientific thought, to which he had himself contributed elsewhere, it seems unnecessary to overstate his allegorical intentions with regard to the presentation of an idealized Britain. The hexameral interpretation certainly makes more sense within the wider context of Bede’s work when divorced from the erroneous assumption that the writer wished to evoke directly conceptions of a terrestrial paradise. The implication of this Creation model is not that Britain might be regarded as a reflection of Eden, but rather as representative of the created world.173 Once more, Bede’s straightforward addition of the genitive Oceani to his opening sentence seems significant, here in presenting Britannia as a microcosm of the oikoumene. Like the inhabited world as a whole, Britain was surrounded by Ocean, and was replete with a representative variety of flora and fauna. By presenting the island in these terms, Bede also drew out the grand themes manifest within the 171

172 173

Witness, for example, the secular explanation for hot springs found in one of the Genesis commentaries composed under Theodore and Hadrian, Canterbury Gen-Ex-EvIa 15; Bischoff and Lapidge (1994), p. 390, and commentary p. 500. Here, a comparable phenomenon is explained in purely secular terms. Speed (1992), p. 149. A point noted by Speed (1992), p. 149, and hinted at by Kendall (1979), p. 174, neither of whom adequately explores the potential of this interpretation to the understanding of Bede’s geography.

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The geographical introduction British past. It is through this imagery that the universal aspirations of Bede’s Historia Ecclesiastica are at their most apparent. The suggestion that Bede’s hexameral language was intended to emphasize the universal relevance of his geography, rather than to celebrate the paradisaical nature of his homeland, casts further light upon the juxtaposition of Britannia and Hibernia within his opening chapter. The two islands together, of course, offer a poor microcosm of the world as a whole, but they do supply a secondary symbolic significance to Bede’s geographical representation. If Britannia is regarded as a terra usitata or early medieval ‘anyplace’, the idyllic themes evident within Bede’s description may be seen to reflect not Britain’s status as a region of particular sanctity within the writer’s view of the world, but rather its very typicality. The island is the recipient of divine favour, to be sure, but this is not to the exclusion of other regions within the world, a point highlighted by the spectacular celebration of its nearest neighbour. Within such a geographical setting, the events narrated in Bede’s account have a specific Christian importance in their own right, but by implication are reflected in any of the other Christian regions throughout the oikoumene, including, of course, Hibernia. Each island exhibited spectacular evidence of God’s love, Bede implies, but only in their capacity as fragments of the created world. Again, the historian is at pains to stress the importance of English history as one smaller part of a wider Christian story, but one whose typicality rendered its history all the more illuminating to the world as a whole. Bede’s physical geography thus operates on several levels at once, and reflects his multi-faceted presentation of the region’s history. On one level, Britain is presented as a single region of the world, and one which has a particular relevance because of its physical location. Located at the edge of the world and hence at the end of Christian time, Britain had its own role to play within the final resolution of human history. Yet to regard Bede’s Britain as a specific province, and the history that unfolded there as unique to the island, is to miss much of the power of the writer’s careful stage-setting. Through his evocation of scriptural topography, his exploitation of hexameral motifs and not least his juxtaposition of Britannia with a celebrated portrait of Hibernia, Bede demonstrated the wider resonances of his narrative. Britain is depicted within a broad network of sanctity, one region among many that simultaneously stands as a unique province, an early medieval ‘anyplace’ and a microcosm of the world as a whole. It is this presentation of the island across a variety of different geographical registers that lends the work much of its impact, and Bede was to return to this approach still more forcefully in his treatment of the inhabitants of the islands. 273

Bede ETHNOGRAPHY

The Historia Ecclesiastica gentis Anglorum has often been read as the history of a chosen people. The prominence of the gens Anglorum both within the work’s title and throughout its narrative has encouraged the straightforward assertion that Bede’s was essentially a history of the Angli, the ‘Anglo-Saxons’ or the ‘English’.174 Yet the straightforward ethnographic focus of early medieval continental writers bears little direct relation to Bede’s multi-faceted composition. Just as he manipulated the conventions of physical geographical description in order to display his homeland within its wider spatial and temporal setting, so Bede adapted the conventions of ethnographic writing to ensure that his eponymous protagonists did not stand alone on their island stage. For much of its length, the Historia is an ensemble piece. Despite the prominence of the Angli within the work, it is the conversion of the Scotti and the Picti to Roman orthodoxy which provides its climax, and the recalcitrance of the Brettones in doing the same that forms a major moral leitmotif across the work as a whole. In his treatment of the Angli themselves, moreover, Bede distorts the conventions of contemporary ethnographic writing and thereby creates a uniquely structured image of the birth and growth of a gens. Bede was not blind to the significance of the gens as the subject of historical enquiry, but it is the interdependence of different gentes that forms a primary theme of the writer’s narrative, and not the development of a single group in isolation. The inhabitants of Britain dominate the heart of Bede’s introductory geography. Much of this section is taken up with the more or less fantastic accounts of the origins and prehistories of the Britons, Picts and Scots: the neighbours of the Angli within Britain. It is Bede’s first reference to the human geography of Britannia that reveals most clearly the historian’s abiding concerns. In anticipation of the themes of harmony and interdependence which run throughout the Historia, Bede alludes simply to the ties that bound the neighbouring peoples together: At the present time, just as the divine law is written in five books, there are five languages in Britain, all devoted to seeking out and setting forth one and the same kind of wisdom, namely the knowledge of sublime truth and of true sublimity. 174

Howe (1989), p. 5; Jones (1969/70), pp. 125–7. On the problems of nomenclature within modern scholarship, see esp. Reynolds (1985). For clarity the term ‘Angli’ or the phrase ‘Germanic inhabitants of Britain’ is used here with respect to the groupings of the eighth century. The term ‘English’ is used only with respect to later accounts which could, and did, draw upon Bede. The term ‘Celtic’ is here used as a generic reference to the Picts, Irish and Britons of Bede’s account, in deference to common modern usage. On the difficulties associated with this label, see esp. Collis (2003).

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Ethnography These are the English, British, Irish, Pictish, as well as Latin languages; through the study of the scriptures, Latin is in general use among them all. 175

The most important observation to make about this description of the languages of Britain, brought to unity through ecclesiastical Latin, is that it adheres closely to the same scriptural models that dominate the work as a whole. In Acts 2:6–12, a similar image of multiple tongues brought to unity by the miraculous speech of the apostles sets the scene for the later conversion of the Gentiles: Now there were dwelling at Jerusalem, Jews, devout men, out of every nation under heaven. And when this was noised abroad, the multitude came together, and were confounded in mind because that every man heard them speak in his own tongue. And they were all amazed, and wondered, saying: Behold are not all these that speak Galileans? And how have we heard, every man our own tongue wherein we were born? Parthians, and Medes, and Elamites, and inhabitants of Mesopotamia, Judaea and Cappadocia, Pontus and Asia, Phrygia, and Pamphylia, Egypt and the parts of Libya about Cyrene, and strangers of Rome, Jews and Proselytes, Cretes and Arabians: we have heard them speak in our tongues the wonderful words of God.176

Bede does not allude to this passage directly within the Historia Ecclesiastica, but its implications resound throughout the work. As Georges Tuge`ne has recently argued, the pentecostal miracle of Acts and the twin passages in Genesis which describe first the nations descended from Noah’s sons, and then their fragmentation into mutual incomprehension after the fall of the Tower of Babel, provided the foundation for a great body of early medieval thought on language and the relations between the different peoples of the world.177 For the vast majority of early medieval commentators, it was the division of mankind represented in Genesis that formed the more fruitful field for study. For these writers, linguistic diversity represented an obstacle to be overcome by the expanding Christian Church, and the miracle of Acts was invoked 175

176

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HE I.1: Haec in praesenti iuxta numerum librorum quibus lex diuina scripta est, quinque gentium linguis unam eandemque summae ueritatis et uerae sublimitatis scientiam scrutatur et confitetur, Anglorum uidelicet Brettonum Scottorum Pictorum et Latinorum, quae meditatione scripturarum ceteris omnibus est facta communis [modified translation]. Acts 2:5–11: erant autem in Hierusalem habitantes Iudaei viri religiosi ex omni natione quae sub caelo sunt | facta autem hac voce convenit multitudo et mente confusa est quoniam audiebat unusquisque lingua sua illos loquentes | stupebant autem omnes et mirabantur dicentes nonne omnes ecce isti qui loquuntur Galilaei sunt | et quomodo nos audivimus unusquisque lingua nostra in qua nati sumus | Parthi et Medi et Elamitae et qui habitant Mesopotamiam et Iudaeam et Cappadociam Pontum et Asiam | Frygiam et Pamphiliam Aegyptum et partes Lybiae quae est circa Cyrenen et advenae romani | Iudaei quoque et proselyti Cretes et Arabes audivimus loquentes eos nostris linguis magnalia Dei. Tuge`ne (2001a), pp. 293–330. The brief discussion here can only summarize many of the important points raised in this valuable study.

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Bede as an illustration of the unifying powers of this vibrant institution. Exegesis of the passage itself principally focused upon whether the miracle had occurred in the mouths of the apostles or in the ears of their audience.178 For Bede, however, the variety of Christian tongues held a new significance and deserved celebration in its own right. In a bold development of Gregorian thought on the same subject, Bede saw the multiplicity of human languages as a reflection of the great diversity of the Church, rather than as a challenge to be overcome.179 Bede does not directly cite the pentecostal miracle in his opening chapter, but the themes of harmony between peoples and unity through diversity are readily apparent both here and throughout the Historia Ecclesiastica. The historian’s paraphrase of Gregory’s Moralia in Iob, for example, embraces the paradox of the barbarous tongues honouring Christ at the time of the Augustinian mission to the island.180 Elsewhere, Bede refers repeatedly to the role of translators in spreading the word of God, and takes particular delight in describing the means by which the obstacles to conversion posed by linguistic differences were overcome.181 Different miracles recount the sensitive curing of a mute boy through praise of Christ, and the divine inspiration granted to Caedmon in his translations of Scripture into perfect English verse.182 Bede’s discussion of different languages in his opening chapter was far more than a simple literary conceit, therefore, and represented a deeply held conviction regarding the variety at the heart of the Christian experience. Bede’s comparison between the five languages of Britain and the five books of the Pentateuch represents a second, and more direct scriptural parallel within this passage. As several scholars have noted, the statement may have been intended as a simultaneous reference to the five constituent books of the Historia Ecclesiastica.183 Bede was fascinated by numerological themes within Scripture and it seems unlikely that the parallel would have been accidental, even if it is difficult to sustain a further argument that the books of the Historia were each intended to echo thematically the first five ages of man.184 However the statement is

178 179

180

181 183

Tuge`ne (2001a), pp. 302–3. Bede’s Acts and Retractio 2.2–6 and cf. Gregory, Hom. in Ev. 30.4 and Moralia 38.2. Tuge`ne (2001a), pp. 313–14 and cf. Crepin (1976), pp. 176–83 on the theme of language within the Historia Ecclesiastica. HE II.1; cf. Gregory, Moralia 27.11 and for discussion, see Henderson (1980), p. 10 and Tuge`ne (2001a), pp. 141–3. Gregory’s use of the image is the subject of a thoughtful discussion in Stancliffe (1999), pp. 112–13. See, for example, HE I.23, 25; III.3, 14, 25; V.21. 182 HE V.2; IV.24. See n. 61 above 184 Ward (1998), pp. 114–15.

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Ethnography interpreted, it does imply a further thematic significance to the gentes and linguae of Britain. The implicit analogy between the ethnographic balance of Britain and the form of Bede’s historical work renders the Historia as a whole structurally mimetic of the complex religious world that it describes. Just as five languages are used to celebrate God within Britain, so the Historia that describes this celebration is itself composed of five books. The image of interdependent peoples was a crucial one to Bede’s elucidation of the history of the Church. Yet even without reference to Scripture, the reference to the Picts, Irish and Britons within the opening chapter of Bede’s work testifies to their importance within the writer’s historical understanding. This immediate emphasis declares volubly that the Historia Ecclesiastica gentis Anglorum will have a breadth of enquiry stretching beyond its eponymous gens. Nor did this prove to be an empty promise. Although Bede was certainly subject to uneven information about different regions and inhabitants of Britain – particularly those beyond Germanic authority – he remained interested in regions under British and Pictish control, and included geographical, political and ecclesiastical information on these areas where available.185 Bede’s ethnographic emphases within the opening chapter are analogous to his use of physical geography in their exploration of the relationship between Britannia and the wider world, and between parochial and universal history. Just as Bede was at pains to locate his narrative within the physical world, so he seems reluctant to allow his historical actors to appear in complete isolation. Again, a marked contrast is evident between Bede’s interest in the wider ethnographic context of his narrative and the strategies employed by his predecessors. Orosius was largely silent on the question of ethnic interaction, while Jordanes, Isidore and Gildas employed a peculiar dislocation in their monogamous concern with individual groups. Bede’s polyphonic landscape seems immeasurably richer than the silence of Isidore’s pre-Gothic Spain, or the besieged Britannia described by Gildas. Both earlier writers accentuated the dramatic impact of their accounts by depicting their protagonists on an almost empty stage. Isidore had little to say on the Romani – the unwelcome guests at the wedding of the Goths and Hispania. Gildas did refer at some length to the neighbours of his focal Brettones, but the caricatures of the De excidio Britanniae are far removed from the harmonious gentes presented by his successor. Within Gildas’ work, the Picti and Scotti (and subsequently the Saxones) are depicted as rootless and without a meaningful context of their 185

Pictish elements resurface throughout the Historia. See, for example, HE III.1, 3, 4, 26, 27; IV.26; V.9, 21–2.

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Bede own. Throughout the De excidio, Gildas retains a studied ambiguity regarding the origins of the Pictish and Scottish raiders and describes the groups simply as transmarinas – as coming from across the sea.186 While this description may reflect the maritime raiding patterns of the fifth century, it also associates the groups, not with the physical reality of British geography, but with the implied terrors of the Ocean beyond. By including only the vaguest references to the habitation of the Picts and Scots, Gildas effectively retains the sense of other-worldly space within which his polemic operates. Bede relied heavily upon Gildas in the composition of the earlier parts of his Historia Ecclesiastica, and consequently many of the earlier writer’s geographical assumptions found their way into the work. It is conspicuous, however, that Bede sought to clarify Gildas’ ambiguous geography wherever possible. While the transmarinas . . . gentes do appear within the Historia Ecclesiastica, Bede provided an appropriate gloss for his audience: ‘We call them races from over the waters, not because they dwelt outside Britain, but because they were separated from the Britons by two long and wide arms of the sea, one of which enters the land from the east, the other from the west, although they do not meet.’187 This short aside simultaneously serves as an apologia for Gildas’ emotive language, and refutes the most dramatic overtones of the polemicist’s abstracted geography. The geographical detail of Bede’s account, and his subsequent discussion of the location and etymology of Giudi and Alcluith, provides a further reminder that the remit of the Historia Ecclesiastica extends beyond the myopic focus of the De excidio.188 Much the same impulse may be detected in Bede’s detailed discussion of the building of northern walls and in the clarification of Gildas’ famously obtuse statement of Scottish and Pictish settlement ad murum usque, elsewhere in the same chapter.189 The historical accuracy of Bede’s attempted reconstruction of these fortifications has been called into question, but the writer’s anxiety to locate the Picts and Scots within the physical and historical world, rather than the unreal space of the De excidio, remains telling.190 While Bede acknowledged the terror and destruction caused by the Pictish and

186

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188 189

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Gildas, DEB I.14.1. On this rhetoric, see Wright (1984), p. 100; Merrills (2000), pp. 120–1; it is worth noting that Gildas also depicts heresies as originating from beyond the sea at DEB I.12.3. HE I.12: Transmarinas autem dicimus has gentes non quod extra Brittaniam essent positae, sed quia a parte Brettonum erant remotae, duobus sinibus maris interiacentibus, quorum unus ab orientali mari, alter ab occidentali Brittaniae terras longe lateque inrumpit, quamis ad se inuicem pertingere non possint. HE I.12; cf. Wallace-Hadrill (1988), p. 17; Alcock (1988); and esp. Miller (1975), pp. 242–3. On Gildas’ ambiguous geographical language in this passage, compare Thompson (1979/80), p. 214; Wright (1984), pp. 90–2. See esp. the illuminating comments of Miller (1975), pp. 243–6.

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Ethnography Scottish raids, he also stressed the humanity of the groups, and incorporated them into his history as recognizable gentes, not as demonized outsiders. It was this position which his opening chapter established. Bede includes four groups within his introductory enumeration of the peoples of Britain: the Angli, the Brettones, the Scotti and the Picti. In his subsequent description of the groups’ settlements within the island, however, the historian omits the Angli entirely. Where Jordanes and Isidore, Fredegar and Paul the Deacon all open their historical narratives with the migration travelogues of focal groups, Bede turns his full attention to the back-stories of his supporting cast. This makes chronological sense, of course; after all, the Angli were the last of the four peoples to arrive in Britain, and their migration might justifiably be regarded as a historic, rather than prehistoric event. But the strategy also serves a dramatic function. By first emphasizing the centrality of the gens Anglorum to the resolution of divine history within Britain, and then withholding the appearance of the group until midway through his first act, Bede effectively whets the appetite of his audience for the arrival of his star turn. Perhaps more importantly, the same strategy also allows Bede to present the prehistory of the Angli in rather different terms from the origin myths of their neighbours. Bede returns to the fourfold division of Britain at several stages over the course of his narrative. A celebration of Oswald’s authority includes a clear echo of the opening chapter: ‘In fact he held under his sway all the peoples and kingdoms of Britain, divided among the speakers of four different languages, British, Pictish, Irish and English.’191 This short encomium recalls the synthesis of political and religious eulogy propounded by Eusebius in the first Historia Ecclesiastica.192 For the most part, however, Bede appears to have been reluctant to adhere to Eusebius’ model of divinely informed kingship, and rarely presents political domination within Britain as a desirable goal in itself.193 The more ambitious proponents of royal and episcopal authority within late seventh-century Northumbria may not have shared Bede’s ambivalence towards Anglian hegemony over the North Sea, as Thomas Charles-Edwards has recently argued.194 Wilfrid, in particular, seems to 191

192

193

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HE III.6: Denique omnes nationes et prouincias Brittaniae, quae in quattuor linguas, id est Brettonum Pictorum Scottorum et Anglorum, diuisae sunt, in dicione accepit. On Eusebius’ political theology, see now the thought-provoking study of Dagron (2003). On Bede’s refusal to engage with similar issues, compare Davidse (1982), pp. 676–82. The only obvious exception being the description of Edwin’s power at HE II.9. On Bede’s pointed allusion to Edwin’s power over the islands Anglesey and Man, cf. Sims-Williams (1985), p. 118 who suggests that this may reflect a British motif of universal rule as is implied in HB 8. Charles-Edwards (2000), pp. 432–5; cf. Campbell (1989), p. 4.

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Bede have sought episcopal authority over the region previously dominated by Iona, and may have been supported in this claim by the recent campaigns of Oswiu and Ecgfrith.195 Yet Bede displays a resolute hostility to Ecgfrith’s expansionism within Hibernia and Pictland, notes the opposition of both Ecgbert and Cuthbert to these expeditions, and ultimately depicts them as a direct cause for the eclipse of Northumbrian power.196 Consequently, when Bede turns his attention to Wilfrid’s embassy to Rome, his account of the bishop’s appeal is divorced from its political context. The bishop’s image of the faith within northern Britain appears as an account, not of Germanic aggrandizement, or the forcible expansion of the English Church, but rather of social and religious harmony brought about by Christianity. Britannia appears emphatically as an island of four peoples, and four Churches: being appointed to sit in judgement in the synod with one hundred and twenty five other bishops, has confessed the true and catholic faith on behalf of the whole of the northern part of Britain and Ireland, together with the islands inhabited by the English and British races, as well as the Irish and Picts, and has confirmed it with his signature.197

Important as this rhetoric of universal acclaim was, it was in the complex symmetries of Bede’s overlapping narratives that the potential of this carefully constructed model of interdependent British peoples was most fully realized.198 The processes of conversion and re-conversion between the indigenous inhabitants of Britannia form an important narrative motif for the writer, and one that ultimately leads to the great moral conclusion of the Historia Ecclesiastica. Alone among the four gentes of Britain, the Brettones never spread the word of God to their neighbours. The Scotti, of course, carried the word into Northumbria and Pictland, leaving behind a network of the faith that survived into Bede’s day. The Picti, while somewhat peripheral within this schema, are similarly partially credited for the initial conversion of the 195

196 197

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Charles-Edwards (2000), pp. 432–3. Stephanus, VW 20–1 asserts Wilfrid’s support of Ecgfrith’s campaigns, and the expansion of ecclesiastical jurisdiction that went with them, placing the appeal to Rome at VW 53 in the context of this ‘crusade’ against heresy. His reading of Vitalian’s letter to Oswiu at HE III.29 as a possible papal ratification for these campaigns perhaps overstates the significance of the plural insulae in the citation from Isaiah 49:1, but adds to a provocative interpretation of the text, and of Bede’s possible misrepresentation of its implications. HE IV.26; cf. the commentary in Wallace-Hadrill (1988), p. 169. HE V.19: et cum aliis CXXV coepiscopis in synodo in iudicii sede constitutus, et pro omni aquilonali parte Brittaniae et Hiberniae, insulis quae ab Anglorum et Brettonum necnon Scottorum et Pictorum gentibus incoluntur, ueram et catholicam fidem confessus est, et cum subscriptione sua corroborauit. Charles-Edwards (1983), pp. 42–5.

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Ethnography English. The Angli themselves, of course, are the great recipients of the faith throughout the opening section of the Historia, but are transformed in the aftermath of the Whitby Synod into evangelists themselves; it is the dispute over paschal observance which defines the role of the English within the full conversion of their homeland.199 Thereafter, the patterns of missionary dependence are reversed; Bede describes the re-conversion of the Scotti and the Picti to Roman observance, and brings his narrative to a triumphant conclusion with the final absorption of Iona and Pictland into the orthodox fold. The Brettones stand outside this happy symbiosis, as a result of their failure to convert the Angles and Saxons to Christianity when the invaders first arrived within the island. The magnitude of this sin in Bede’s eyes is suggested by the persistence with which he returns to the theme over the course of his work. At several points, Bede levels his accusations against the Brettones explicitly.200 Elsewhere, as is most evident in the description of Augustine’s meeting with the British bishops at Augustinaes A´c, the historian treats his audience to an extended metaphor in illustration of this point, in which the Britons prove incapable of curing an unnamed Englishman of his blindness.201 Finally, in the conclusion to the Historia Ecclesiastica, Bede reiterates his theme explicitly: The Picts now have a treaty of peace with the English and rejoice to share in the catholic peace and truth of the Church universal. The Irish who live in Britain are content with their own territories and devise no plots or treachery against the English. Though, for the most part, the British oppose the English through their inbred hatred, and the whole state of the catholic Church by their incorrect Easter and their evil customs, yet being opposed by man and God alike, they cannot obtain what they want in either respect.202

To Bede’s mind, the British rejection of the joys of this spiritual symbiosis represented a wilful perversion of divine will. His expression of this in structural as well as narrative terms only serves to drive this point home. Just as British sinfulness represented a final hurdle for the spread of the faith throughout Britannia, so Bede’s own Historia is left unresolved as a mark of this recalcitrance. The imbalance of Bede’s account provides

199 201 202

Tuge`ne (2001a), p. 112. 200 Compare HE I.22; II.4, 20. HE II.2. On this passage, and its possible origins in British sources, see Stancliffe (1999), pp. 124–8. HE V.23: Pictorum quoque natio tempore hoc et foedus pacis cum gente habet Anglorum, et catholicae pacis ac ueritatis cum universali ecclesia particeps existere gaudet. Scotti qui Brittaniam incolunt, suis contenti finibus, nil contra gentem Anglorum insidiarum moliuntur ad fraudium. Brettones, quamuis et maxima ex parte domestico sibi odio gentem Anglorum, et totius catholicae ecclesiae statum pascha minus recto moribusque inprobis inpugnent, tamen et diuina sibi et humana prorsus resistente uirtute in neutro cupitum possunt obtinere propositum . . .

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Bede silent but compelling support for the great moral message of the Historia Ecclesiastica. THE ORIGIN MYTHS

The second part of Bede’s description of the gentes of Britain is devoted to the origins of three of the groups – the Brettones, Picti and Scotti. In the absence of any over-arching political unity among the Britons, Picts and Irish, it was through the identification of common origin myths that Bede sought to demonstrate the ethnic coherence of each of the three groups.203 The historian assembled these short passages from a disparate array of sources, including, in all likelihood, annalistic material from the Irish foundation at Iona, circulating British and perhaps Pictish traditions and the ambiguous account of the Picti and Scotti provided by Gildas.204 Other than the De excidio Britanniae, few of Bede’s sources have survived in contexts that can be examined with great confidence, but it seems clear that the historian represented only a single stage in an ongoing tradition of origin writing among these communities. Bede did not compose the prehistories of the Brettones and their neighbours from scratch, but nor did he inherit fully formed origin myths from his sources.205 Although the ethnic divisions within the island appear to have been established by the time of Gildas’ composition, the precise identities of these groups were in a constant process of negotiation. Bede’s consistent use of the plural gentes Scottorum to describe the Irish, for example, may betray a more complex sense of social cohesion than is otherwise suggested by his short account of the group’s migration.206 By the same token, Bede’s likely access to a number of different origin traditions provided the writer with some leeway in his own interpretation of earliest histories of the groups. Consequently, the narratives that appear in the Historia Ecclesiastica represent a compromise between the material available to the writer and the wider ambitions of his Historia. Previously, scholarly interest in these passages has focused upon the identification of likely sources behind their composition, in the hope of providing a more

203 204

205

206

Rollason (2003), p. 104. For a persuasive argument that much of Bede’s material on the northern British peoples derived from Ecgbert’s contact with the region during the conversion of Nechtan, c. 713–14, see Duncan (1981); cf. Kirby (1973), pp. 23–4; Charles-Edwards (2000), pp. 303–4. A point illustrated particularly vividly by the different forms taken by the Pictish origin legend within insular texts, discussed by MacEoin (1964). Although Bede’s description of Pictish exogamy is recognizably related to these traditions, and is the earliest extant source on matrilinear succession, it represents a relatively minor branch of a complex system. Thacker (1996), p. 33.

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Origin myths accurate image of the societies that the historian described. Rewarding as this approach has been, it seems more relevant here to consider how Bede’s modifications to his material aided the literary ambition of his work. In part deferential to his sources, in part willing to adapt them to the wider rhetorical aims of the Historia Ecclesiastica, the ethnographic discussion within Bede’s opening chapter is analogous to his treatment of authorities on physical geography. Picti Of the three groups considered in the introduction, Bede devotes the greatest space to the Picts, and this emphasis probably reflected a genuine fascination with the near-neighbours of the Northumbrian kingdom.207 Bede’s description of the group’s earliest history fits into a tradition of writing that may be traced with little difficulty to the migration myths of continental Europe and to the origin stories of republican Rome. The migration of the group from Scythia is in a small number of warships – a familiar enough trope from Herodotus to Jordanes – and proceeds by luck and by judgement to their eventual resting place in northern Britain.208 A further topos sees the development of the gens aided by intermarriage with a neighbouring tribe and the emergence of a society marked by political idiosyncrasies. Although it is surely correct to regard Bede’s description of the group’s endogamy as reflective of circulating Pictish and Irish traditions, the parallels between it and established myths of Roman origins should not be neglected.209 Bede further dramatizes his account through the liberal use of direct speech and thereby lends the passage as a whole a striking intimacy.210 The closest parallel to Bede’s description of the Pictish migration in both form and content is the account of Gothic origins in the Getica of Jordanes. Although Bede seems not to have been familiar with the works of the Gothic historian, the impulses that shaped their compositions were 207

208

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Hughes (1980), p. 38, contra Tuge`ne (2001a), p. 21. Plummer (1896), II p. 332 notes that Bede may have had a personal role in the Pictish conversion, which may explain both the prominence of the episode as the conclusion to the Historia Ecclesiastica, and the author’s evident fascination with the group elsewhere in his account. See the discussion in Kirby (1973). Herodotus IV.110; Jordanes, Getica IV.25. And of course the description of the Saxon invasion at Gildas, DEB 23.3 and HE I.15. On the presence of these motifs in other recensions of the Pictish origin myth, see MacEoin (1964), pp. 140–3, but note also the thematic parallels with (for example) the rape of the Sabine women in Livy I.9–13, Ovid, Fasti 3.167–258, Cicero, De re 2.6.12 and Dionysius of Halicarnassus 2.30.5–6, discussed by Dume´zil (1970), I pp. 5–7 and Miles (1992) and the various traditions regarding the marriage alliance between the Trojans and Latins discussed in Gruen (1992), pp. 31–8. MacEoin (1964), p. 151.

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Bede similar. Both worked with established, yet ultimately fluid, stories, and sought to reconcile these traditions with the wider ambitions of their histories. This is particularly apparent in Bede’s discussion of the geographical origins of the Picti – a passage that has caused considerable consternation among modern scholars: After they [the Britons] had got possession of the greater part of the island, beginning from the south, it is related that the Pictish race from Scythia sailed out into the ocean in a few warships and were carried by the wind beyond the furthest bounds of Britain, reaching Ireland and landing on its northern shores. There they found the Irish race and asked permission to settle among them, but their request was refused . . . 211

This association of the Picti with Scythia is unique to the Historia Ecclesiastica, and is likely to have been the invention either of Bede or of his source. Anxious to explain what would seem to be a mistake on the part of the historian, scholars have suggested that the myth had its origins in a false etymological link between the Scotti and Scythia, and a subsequent confusion of the Scotti and Picti.212 Interestingly, while Isidore of Seville was ignorant of any possible link between the Scotti and the northern region, the encyclopaedist does partially conflate the Scotti and Picti; he suggests that the former group derived their name from their penchant for tattoos and elsewhere notes that the latter were also known for their body art.213 Sellar and Yeatman, then, were not the first historians to be confused by the complex migrations and name-changes of the Picti and the Scotti.214 While Bede would certainly be in good company in confusing the two peoples, the account in the Historia Ecclesiastica need not be dismissed as a simple mistake on the part of the historian or his source. Moreover, there is little to recommend the parallel suggestion that Bede further confused Scythia with Scandza – the southern tip of the Scandinavian peninsula.215 Whatever its origins, the linking of the Picti and Scythia had a particular

211

212 214

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HE I.1: Et cum plurimam insulae partem incipientes ab austro possedissent, contigit gentem Pictorum de Scythia, ut perhibent, longis nauibus non multis Oceanum ingressam, circumagente flatu uentorum, extra fines omnes Brittaniae Hiberniam peruenisse, eiusque septentrionales oras intrasse atque, inuenta ibi gente Scottorum, sibi quoque in partibus illius sedes petisse, nec inpetrare potuisse. Duncan (1981), p. 4. 213 Isidore, Orig. IX.2.103 and cf. XIV.23.7. But their account remains the most succinct expression of the confusion. Sellar and Yeatman (1930), p. 13: ‘The Scots (originally Irish, but by now Scotch) were at this time inhabiting Ireland, having driven the Irish (Picts) out of Scotland; while the Picts (originally Scots) were now Irish (living in brackets) and vice versa. It is essential to keep these distinctions clearly in mind (and verce visa).’ Plummer (1896), II. p. 8, an assumption repeated (with more caution) by Wallace-Hadrill (1988), p. 8.

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Origin myths resonance within the Historia Ecclesiastica and should not simply be dismissed as a mistake on the author’s part. As the discussion of Jordanes has suggested, the principal challenge facing historians in their accounts of alien migration myths was the reconciliation of geographically indistinct traditions with the written geographies of the classical world. Bede, like Jordanes, was charged with the duty of fitting barbarian prehistory into a comprehensible framework, both geographically and ideologically. Within this context, the association between the Picti and Scythia seems an eminently reasonable one. Scandza, after all, was little known to late classical geographers, even after Jordanes had reinscribed the island within the Mediterranean Weltbild. Scythia, by contrast, was a barbarian land par excellence within classical writing and provided a natural point of origin for Bede’s northerly group.216 At the heart of Bede’s account of Pictish prehistory is a discussion of the matrilineal succession employed within the kingdom: the earliest datable description of the practice.217 Bede locates the origins of this custom in Pictish marriage alliance with the Scotti, and stresses its continuation down to the time of writing. As might be expected, this passage has been the subject of considerable scholarly scrutiny, which it would be superfluous to repeat here. Broadly, the prominence of the Scotti within the tradition recounted by Bede has encouraged the suspicion that the historian drew upon an Ionan tradition within the composition of his work, possibly via an English intermediary.218 Of equal significance is the fact that Bede does not, in fact, describe a uniform process of matrilineal succession, but rather states that the female royal line took preference over the male only ‘in cases of doubt’.219 It seems likely that Bede combined contemporary knowledge with the Irish mythological tradition in his composition of the passage. Here, perhaps more than anywhere else, the student is reminded that much of Bede’s information about the Picti emerged from the heady contacts that accompanied the conversion of the evangelical hive of Iona to orthodox observance of Easter.220 While this context hardly instils confidence in Bede’s account as an accurate record of Pictish prehistory, it does illustrate admirably the

216 217 218

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On the associations of Scandza and Scythia in classical geography, see chapter 2, above. MacEoin (1964), p. 151. I follow here the interpretation proposed by Duncan (1981), pp. 20–42. For further studies of the same passage, in the light of comparable ‘Celtic’ source material, compare MacEoin (1964); Kirby (1976), esp. p. 297; Miller (1982). HE I.1: ut ubi res . . . in dubium . . . A point noted by Smyth (1984), pp. 60–1. On the broader context of Bede’s Pictish passages, see esp. the stimulating studies of Duncan (1981), Kirby (1973) and Bullough (1982), who notes at pp. 82–4 that Bede may also have had access to Pictish sources.

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Bede different filters through which origin myths and social traditions could pass before they were committed to paper. Each of these different recensions left its own mark upon the form of the myth that survives, and it seems likely that Bede made his own subtle modifications to the tradition that came down to him. Uniquely among the different interpretations of the Pictish origin myth, Bede’s account places particular emphasis upon the friendliness of the marriage alliance with the Scotti – a theme to which he later returns in his description of the Irish settlement in Britain.221 The contrast between this theme of amicability and the more hostile accounts that appear in the Irish tradition encourages the suspicion that the addition was original to Bede; the modification would certainly be an apposite one in the light of the historian’s wider interest in the harmonious relationship between the peoples of Britain. Bede, of course, may have included this material on the Picts for simple antiquarian reasons. Had he been familiar with early examples of the type of Pictish regnal lists that survive from the late ninth century, the writer might also have felt that an explanation of the group’s peculiar patterns of succession were entirely relevant to a work of historical scholarship.222 On the simplest level, however, this emphasis upon the unusual social organization of the Picts also intensified Bede’s image of them as an alien group that he developed in the description of the group’s earliest prehistory. Within Bede’s introduction, the Picts are given many of the trappings of a classical barbarian gens. Their origins are traced to a land that the writer elsewhere describes as being both geographically distant and among the oldest inhabited regions of the world.223 Their social organization is marked by its alterity, and in their earliest appearances within the Historia the Picts are presented as destructive and semi-human barbarians. In this, of course, Bede drew heavily upon Gildas’ polemic, but this demonization only intensifies the historian’s deeper message. By accentuating their societal difference, and thereby implying the removal of the Picti from the familiar world of the centre, Bede also accentuated the triumph of the climactic Anglian conversion of the group.224 Just as Jordanes indirectly praised Justinian by placing Gothic origins at the furthest reaches of the world, so Bede celebrated the expansion of the Christian Church by stressing the remote origins of its most recent converts.

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MacEoin (1964), p. 151. 222 On the regnal lists, see esp. Miller (1982), pp. 136–48. Bede, DTR 66.1819. Miller (1982), p. 158 rightly stresses the organization and normality of the Pictish kingdom as it appears in HE V.21. The impact of this passage is surely partially predicated on the very strangeness of the group in the opening chapter of the Historia.

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Origin myths Scotti In contrast to his account of their Pictish neighbours, Bede passes over the Scots with relative brevity in his opening chapter. Like the Picti, the Scotti were a relatively recent addition to the classical ethnographic canon. A number of different Irish groups appear alongside the Picti in the fourthcentury corpus of Latin panegyrics, and thereafter were commonly evoked as representatives of the barbarian fringe beyond the Roman frontier.225 The inhabitants of Hibernia appear in different guises in earlier geographical writing, but never with any discussion of the likely origins of the groups. When Bede sought to explain the origins of the Scotti, therefore, and particularly the background to their establishment within Britain, he turned to insular, rather than classical sources.226 Archibald Duncan has suggested that the emphasis upon Dal riada, and particularly the spelling of the term daal argue strongly for an Ionan source, which was almost certainly written and not oral.227 The extent to which Bede elaborated upon this material is, of course, unclear, but a number of recognizable motifs remain worthy of note: In course of time Britain received a third tribe in addition to the Bretonnes and the Picti, namely the Scotti. These came from Hibernia under their leader Reuda, and won lands among the Picti either by friendly treaty or by the sword. These they still possess. They are still called Dalreudini after this leader, Daal in their language signifying a part.228

Bede includes nothing here on the exotic origins of the Scotti, in Scythia or elsewhere. In his simple assumption that the gens was indigenous to Hibernia, Bede had some precedent in the geography of Orosius, which includes surprising detail on the Irish habitation of Hibernia and the smaller islands.229 In the absence of an exotic migration tradition, Bede nevertheless makes reference to the leader under whom their journey to Britain took place, alludes to the difficulties of settlement within the 225

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Rivet and Smith (1979), p. 46. The Panegyrici Latini allude repeatedly to the inhabitants of the British north as a reflection of imperial power. Compare VI (VII) 7.2, VIII.11.4 and the unnamed groups at VIII.20.5. Pacatus is the first author in the corpus to refer to the Scotti by name: Pacatus 5.2. The two groups also appear alongside one another at: Ammianus Marcellinus XX.1.1; XXVI.5.6; XXVII.8.4; Claudian VII.54–5; VIII.32–3; XXII.254; XXVI.417–18; Sidonius Apollinaris, Carm. VII.90; Gallic Chronicle of 452 a.379.4. On Bede’s Irish origin myth in the context of later traditions, see Cummins (1995), pp. 50–6. Duncan (1981), pp. 2–3. HE I.1: Procedente autem tempore Brittania post Brettones et Pictos tertiam Scottorum nationem in Pictorum parte recepit, qui duce Reuda de Hibernia progressi uel amicitia uel ferro sibimet inter eos sedes quas hactenus habent uindicarunt; a quo uidelicet duce usque hodie Dalreudini uocantur, nam lingua eorum daal partem significat [modified translation]. Or., Hist. I.2.81–2.

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Bede island and provides a final discussion of the etymology of the group name: all common motifs within early medieval ethnography. Like the Picti, therefore, the Scotti are presented as a distinct and somewhat alien group, albeit in slightly less striking terms. Like that of their neighbours, moreover, the Irish conversion occupies a prominent position within the Historia Ecclesiastica. Less spectacular perhaps than the conversion of the Scythian Picts, the entry of the Scotti into the Church, first under Palladius and then again under the English, nevertheless represents a Christian triumph on the fringes of the known world. Brettones Bede’s account of the origins of the Brettones is again much shorter than that of the Picti, but its composition involved a greater engagement with the traditions of classical writing. The geographers of the Mediterranean had long contemplated the inhabited islands of the Ocean with some fascination. As might be expected, classical writers were almost unanimous in their assertions of the barbarity of the inhabitants of Britain, but no such consensus existed regarding the origins of the island’s gentes. Several geographers suggested that the Brettones were the autochthonous inhabitants of the islands that bore their name.230 Others were more circumspect. In the absence of firm evidence on the prehistory of these barbaric peoples, Caesar and Tacitus both deduced that at least some inhabitants of Britannia were likely migrants from the continent in the light of their customs and physical appearance.231 For the majority of writers, however, debates over the precise origins of the Britanni were largely academic and the defining feature of the group was not their point of origin, but their spectacular barbarism.232 With the composition of the De excidio Britanniae, the Brettones found their own historical voice. While Gildas was far from sympathetic in his treatment of the gens, the Brettones nevertheless take centre stage within his work. Within the polemic, British normality is contrasted with Pictish, Scottish and Saxon barbarism, and it was this perspective that Bede adopted within his Historia Ecclesiastica. Where the Picti and Scotti are marked by their peculiarity in Bede’s work, the Brettones initially appear to be unremarkable. Their origins are traced to a familiar – and proximate – part

230 231

232

See, for example, Diodorus Siculus V.21; Isidore, Orig. IX.2.102. Caesar, BG V.12; Tacitus, Agricola 11. Tacitus’ account is reproduced by Jordanes, Getica II.13–14, on which see pp. 138–9 above. The barbarism of Britain was a common trope within classical geography. Compare Caesar, BG V.14, Tacitus, Agricola passim; Pomponius Mela III.51–2; Strabo IV.5.2.

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Origin myths of the world, they betray no obvious social differences, and their migration to Britain is unproblematic. Indeed, the imposition of their name upon the island provides a firm declaration of their very normality: ‘To begin with, the inhabitants of the island were all Britons (Brettones), from whom it receives its name; they sailed to Britain, so it is said, from the land of Armorica, and appropriated to themselves the southern part of it.’233 Several influences may be detected behind Bede’s identification of Armorica as the homeland of the Brettones. The inhabitants of Britain and those of north-western Gaul had long been associated, in indigenous as well as continental tradition.234 Linguistic and cultural similarities have been cited by modern scholars as evidence of a lasting homogeneity within the littoral communities of western Britain and northern Gaul.235 Ongoing contact between the communities is likely to have been particularly evident during times of crisis, and major population shifts may have occurred as recently as the late fifth century, as communities in Britain sought refuge among their neighbours during a period of military uncertainty.236 Bede’s identification of Armorica may simply have been intended to lend geographical precision to an indistinct, but long-standing recognition of the ties that bound the Brettones to the communities of the Gallic coast.237 Given the strength of this tradition, it is easy to overlook the other associations of Bede’s Armorica. Midway through the first book of the Historia, shortly after his description of the Germanic adventus, Bede turns his attention back to Armorica. During a bleak period in the history of the island, in which the moral weaknesses of the Brettones led to political and military disaster, the Armorican Saint Germanus provided succour for the beleaguered gens.238 Drawing upon Constantius’ Vita of the saint, Bede presents Germanus as the first of the many evangelical heroes within his history. His mission is punctuated by miracles, and reaches its climax with the salvation of the British army in the famous ‘Alleluia’ victory.239 Thereafter, however, the saint returns to the pastoral care of his flock, and the Brettones return to their sinful ways encapsulated by their failure to convert the Germanic invaders.240

233

234

235 236

237 238

HE I.1: In primis autem insula Brettones solum, a quibus nomen accepit, incolas habuit; qui de tractu Amoricano, ut fertur, Brittaniam aduecti australes sibi partes illius uindicarunt. At Carm. VII.90 Sidonius Apollinaris used the term Britanni to refer to the inhabitants of both continental and insular parts of the Atlantic seaboard. Miller (1982), p. 134 and see also the discussion in Cunliffe (2001b), esp. pp. 460–5. Cf. Goffart (2002), p. 24. Gildas may allude to such a forced migration at DEB I.25.1: alii transmarinas petebant regiones . . . , although his loaded use of the term transmarinas elsewhere in the text cautions against a literal reading of his image of Psalm-singing refugees. A suggestion made by Miller (1982), p. 134. HE I.18–21. 239 HE I.20. 240 HE I.22.

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Bede Shared geographical origins could form a powerful bond between a gens and their patron saint. Within his Decem libri historiarum, Gregory of Tours ascribed Pannonian origins both to the Franks and to Saint Martin, and thereby emphasized the peculiar intensity of their relationship.241 For Bede, however, the potential strength of the tie between Germanus and the Brettones only accentuates the moral failings of the gens. In contrast to their neighbours, the Britons were well-positioned geographically, and were the beneficiaries of tireless evangelical patronage. Their background was that of a civilized people, and they had been introduced at an early stage in their history to the teaching of the Church. Bede’s Brettones would thus appear to have been ideally positioned to propagate the Christian word throughout the British Isles. That they did not, and that they refused to accept the orthodox observance later offered to them by the Angli, is the great tragedy of Bede’s Historia Ecclesiastica.242 The contrasts with the Scotti, Picti and ultimately Angli could scarcely be more marked. THE HISTORIA ECCLESIASTICA AND THE ANGLI

Bede’s accounts of the origins of the Picti, Scotti and Brettones do much to thicken the texture of his history. Just as the physical geography of the Historia Ecclesiastica highlights the wider resonance of the narrative’s themes, so the ethnographic passages of the opening chapter further situate Bede’s history of the Angli against a well-populated background. Yet the easy clarity with which the origins of the ‘Celtic’ groups are discussed also throws the earliest history of the Angli into particularly sharp relief. Bede’s role in the formulation of English identity has been the subject of a considerable body of recent scholarship.243 During the seventh and early eighth centuries, the political and cultural identity of the Germanic newcomers to Britain was under a constant process of negotiation. Different royal houses propagated their own interpretations of the recent past through genealogies and king lists, the lasting effects of which may be traced in the nebulous and often contradictory accounts of the migration period within the Anglo-Saxon Chronicle.244 Famously,

241 242

243

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LH I.36; II.9. Stancliffe (1999), pp. 108–9, 130–1, although I am less convinced by her statement at p. 108 that British sinfulness was necessary to Bede’s historical programme as a precondition of the English inheritance of the island for the reasons outlined below. Perhaps the most important and influential works within this debate are Tuge`ne (1982); Wormald (1983); Richter (1984); Brooks (2000); and now Tuge`ne (2001a). The scholarship of David Dumville has been central in the appreciation of the political function of genealogies and king lists within the early Anglo-Saxon and ‘Celtic’ worlds. See esp. the stimulating overview of Dumville (1977a) and cf. Dumville (1976) and (1977b); Sisam (1953);

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The Historia Ecclesiastica and the Angli this heterogeneity in historical perspective was reflected in the different ethnographic labels attached to the new settlers. Variously identified with respect to their settlements within Britain and their supposed points of origin on the continent, it was only from the latter part of the eighth century that Bede’s adoption of the preferred Byzantine term Angli became widespread as a generic designation for the inhabitants of lowland Britain. Bede composed a history of a group that was still very much in the process of defining itself. Indeed, the growing pains that accompanied this punctuated evolution in the sixth and seventh centuries are apparent throughout the Historia Ecclesiastica.245 Bede’s allusion to the effacement of anathematized kings from the Northumbrian regnal list provides some hint of the fluid nature of these compositions, and of their manipulation for political purposes.246 A careful scrutiny of other sections of the work betrays further traces of this process of perennial reinterpretation of social groupings. As Ian Wood has recently noted, Bede’s allusion to the changing status of the Gewissae during the seventh century may reflect a fundamental repositioning of the group with respect to its past.247 The historian’s reference to residual traces of Jutish identity in the regions of mainland Wessex opposite Wight may also hint at archaic identities all but lost in the evolution of different polities.248 That the Historia Ecclesiastica had an important role to play within the transformation of these disparate cognitive foci into a more coherent ‘English’ identity is not to be doubted, and later writers certainly drew extensively upon Bede’s work. Yet the eighth-century writer devoted relatively little attention to the migration traditions and secular origin myths of the Germanic inhabitants of Britain. Where later English authors from Alcuin to Wulfstan placed considerable emphasis upon the continental heritage of their gens, historians like Jordanes, Isidore and Paul the Deacon afforded prominent positions to the prehistories of the Goths and Lombards within their respective accounts, and even Bede himself implied that the geographical genesis of the Picts, Britons and Irish was central to the identity of each of these groups, the account of AngloSaxon origins within the Historia Ecclesiastica betrays very different

245 246

247 248

Moisl (1981); Sims-Williams (1983), pp. 26–41. For recent discussion of the impact of these traditions upon the composition of the Chronicle, cf. Bredehoft (2001), esp. pp. 3–60 and the bibliography therein. On which subject see the recent study of Tuge`ne (2001b). HE III.1. Alongside the Northumbrian list, Bede certainly had access to similar texts for the Kentish and East Saxon dynasties. See HE II.5, 15. HE III.7; IV.15, 16; Wood (1997), p. 50 and compare Kleinschmidt (1997). HE I.15. On the complexities of political formation in southern Hampshire, and the traces of this in the written record, see the brilliant exposition of Yorke (1989).

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Bede emphases. Bede discusses the Germanic adventus, of course, midway through his first book, but the passage in which he does so is a remarkably confused one. It is only with the conversion of the gens in the second book of the Historia that the Angli truly emerge as a coherent group. When compared with the construction of secular identities elsewhere in the early medieval west, and in Bede’s own opening chapter, the significance of this strategy becomes apparent. Conspicuously, much of the recent scholarship surrounding the Traditionskerne of continental Europe has concentrated upon a number of specific points of conflict. As the foregoing discussions of Jordanes and Isidore may demonstrate, attention has focused upon the historical authenticity of accounts of ‘Germanic’ prehistory, over the indebtedness of historians to circulating oral tradition, the importance of literary concerns to the authors themselves, and ultimately to the efficacy of such historical narratives to the formation of identity within the period.249 It is here that the contrasts between Bede’s accounts of English origins and those propounded by his continental counterparts are most evident. The discussion of the origins of the ‘Celtic’ inhabitants of Britain within the opening chapter demonstrates that Bede was fully capable of employing more or less coherent migration narratives where he saw fit, but this impulse is almost entirely lacking within his exploration of the prehistory of the Angli. It is Bede’s refusal to transform his variegated source material into a single consistent account of the Germanic invasion that reveals most about his own conception of the Anglo-Saxon past and the formulation of an ‘English’ identity. His description of the conquest demonstrates that it was not to a shared military past, or to any perceived notion of an English ‘new Israel’ to which the historian turned in identifying the moment at which the gens was born. Instead, his account of the migration would seem to have been written with precisely the opposite end in view. The migration narrative Bede’s most obvious debts within the description of the Germanic adventus are to the De excidio Britanniae.250 Although the historian supplements 249

250

For bibliography surrounding the Traditionskern or ‘ethnogenesis’ model of historical analysis, see above, pp. 108–12. To a large extent, Anglo-Saxon England has remained peripheral to a scholarly conflict that has largely been fought in Gothic and Lombard Italy, Frankish Gaul and (especially) early medieval Bavaria. The essays of Moisl (1981) and Pohl (1997b) provide rare (and cautiously propounded) applications of these models to the Anglo-Saxon world. It is worth noting, however, that the essence of the Traditionskern theory (under a different name) may be detected in the work of Chadwick (1907), passim but esp. p. 174. Sims-Williams (1983), pp. 5–6, 15–16.

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The Historia Ecclesiastica and the Angli this material considerably, much of his account is coloured by a moral tone familiar from Gildas’ polemic: At that time the race of the Angles or Saxons, invited by the aforementioned king, came to Britain in three warships and by his command were granted a place of settlement in the eastern part of the island, ostensibly to fight on behalf of the country, but their real intention was to conquer it. First they fought against the enemy who attacked from the north and the Saxons won the victory.251

Bede’s additions to Gildas’ testimony largely concern matters of detail. The ‘aforementioned king’ in this section refers to Uurtigernus, or ‘Vortigern’, to whom Bede refers in the previous chapter, and who replaces the anonymous superbus tyrannus of the De excidio.252 Vortigern had previously figured in Bede’s De temporum ratione as Uertigernus, and the same individual appears as Wyrtgeorn in the Anglo-Saxon Chronicle and as Guorthigirnus in the Historia Brittonum.253 Perhaps most significant are the references to Uortigerno and Guthigerno in later medieval manuscripts of the De excidio.254 Quite what role Bede played in the perpetuation of the Vortigern tradition is open to question. It seems possible, however, that the historian derived the personal name from an annotated manuscript of the De excidio, perhaps originating in Canterbury in the seventh or early eighth century.255 Similar influences may also explain Bede’s second correction to Gildas’ text in this section, an alteration that is somewhat surprising for an author so interested in language. Where Gildas refers to the Saxon warships by their ‘Germanic’ name cyulis, Bede contents himself with the Latin form nauibus.256 Whatever the origins of these additions, there can be little dispute that the overall tone of the passage remains that of a pessimistic British commentator, rather than a triumphant Germanic historian. The same tone recurs in the latter stages of the migration narrative, in which Bede returns to Gildas and the Vita Germani of Constantius.257 Throughout 251

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HE I.15: Tunc Anglorum siue Saxonum gens, inuitata a rege praefato, Brittaniam tribus longis nauibus aduehitur et in orientali parte insulae iubente eodem rege locum manendi, quasi pro patria pugnatura, re autem uera hanc expugnatura suscepit. Initio ergo certamine cum hostibus, qui ab aquilone ad aciem uenerant, uictoriam sumsere Saxones. HE I.14; cf. Gildas, DEB 23.1. DTR 66.4403; HB 31. For discussion, see esp. Dumville (1977a), pp. 184–5. Dumville (1977a), p. 183 and Miller (1975), pp. 252–3 for discussion. Dumville (1977a), pp. 183–5; Miller (1975), pp. 252–3 argues that the Celtic influences behind the DTR variant Uertigernus contrast with the form Uortigernus, reproduced in the Historia. Consequently she suggests that the historian may have obtained access to a second written source of Anglo-Saxon origin between the composition of the two works. DEB 23.3. HE I.15–16, 20–2. On the conflation of Gildas and Constantius within this section of the Historia Ecclesiastica, see esp. Miller (1975), pp. 255–9.

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Bede these passages, the invaders are referred to as Saxones in deference to Gildas. With the exception of Hengist and Horsa, who will be discussed shortly, the only named individuals within the description of the conquest are the British leaders ‘Vortigern’ and Ambrosius Aurelianus and the only toponym is mons Badonicus, the site of the famous British victory.258 The Germanic invaders themselves occupy only a supporting role in what purports to be the story of their first conquests within the British Isles. Throughout, it is the wretched Brettones and not the triumphant Germanic warriors who form the focus of the episode. Where divine activity is invoked, as it is repeatedly throughout the passage, it is British sin rather than the worthiness of their opponents which prompts this intervention. If Bede drew inspiration from the Old Testament in his expansion of Gildas’ polemic, therefore, his touchstone was not Exodus, as one might expect in an account of the origins of a chosen people, but the dark prophecies of Jeremiah and Lamentations.259 While this emphasis may be explained easily enough by the proclivities of Bede’s sources, the readiness with which the historian adopted the moral standpoint of Gildas and Constantius remains remarkable. Only one short section of Bede’s description of Germanic origins can confidently be ascribed to a Germanic source. The genealogy that nestles at the heart of this passage contains many tropes familiar from contemporary origin myths, and clearly originated in Kent. Here, the historian goes some way towards redressing the imbalance of the remainder of his account: Their first leaders are said to have been two brothers, Hengist and Horsa. Horsa was afterwards killed in battle by the Britons, and in the eastern part of Kent there is still a monument bearing his name. They were the sons of Wihtgisl, son of Witta, son of Wecta, son of Woden, from whose stock the royal families of many kingdoms claimed their descent.260

The prominence of two heroic brothers within the genealogy immediately recalls a raft of other traditions, from Romulus and Remus to Ibor and Agio in Paul the Deacon’s History of the Lombards, to say nothing of the innumerable fraternal pairings in the Anglo-Saxon genealogical 258 259

260

Cf. Gildas, DEB 26.1 for Bede’s authority on mons Badonicus. Pace Hanning (1966), pp. 71–2; Howe (1989), p. 59; Neville (1999), p. 167; Stancliffe (1999), p. 108. The assumption that Bede’s image of the Angli as a chosen people was predicated upon the migration of the group and Gildas’ description of the invasion is perpetuated by Smith (2003), pp. 144–5. HE I.15: Duces fuisse perhibentur eorum primi duo fratres Hengist et Horsa, e quibus Horsa postea occisus in bello a Brettonibus hactenus in orientalibus Cantiae partibus monumentum habet suo nomine insigne. Erant autem filii Uictgisli, cuius pater Uitta, cuius pater Uecta, cuius pater Uoden, de cuius stirpe multarum prouinciarum regium genus originem duxit.

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The Historia Ecclesiastica and the Angli 261

tradition. Several commentators have also noted that both Hengest and Horsa are names that are recognizably derived from Germanic terms for horses.262 While the significance of this observation remains the matter of some dispute, the prominence of equine motifs in the origin myths of several different groups reflects the extent to which these traditions drew deeply upon a shared stock of literary tropes.263 There can be little doubt that Bede’s source for this passage originated in Canterbury. The historian alludes to this lineage in his discussion of Æthelbehrt’s imperium elsewhere in the Historia, and his reference to the monument to Horsa in east Kent places the attribution beyond reasonable doubt.264 Of equal importance, however, is the historian’s explicit acknowledgement that other kingdoms could also trace their origins to Woden – an assertion that would seem to be justified by the prominence of the god within the later eighth century ‘Anglian’ collection of genealogies.265 The reappearance of this Germanic god in a variety of Christian contexts has naturally prompted some speculation on the status of Woden within early Anglo-Saxon England, whether as a god, a heroic ancestor or as a symbolic means of defining royalty.266 Of more immediate relevance here is the implication that the Kentish lineage – the only authentically ‘Germanic’ element in the whole of Bede’s migration narrative – is to be regarded as just one historical tradition among many. Where contemporary continental historians privileged one royal lineage, and one interpretation of the past above all others in their invention of Germanic tradition, Bede would seem to acknowledge the presence of contrasting origin myths. Hengest and Horsa, he seems to imply, were not the only possible champions of the Anglo-Saxon invasion. Equally striking is the historian’s relative silence on the two Germanic champions whom he does name. Later historians, of course, considerably developed the roles of Hengest and Horsa – and indeed Vortigern – in order to lend a historical verisimilitude to their accounts. The Historia Brittonum describes the agreement between ‘Guorthigernus’ and the exiled Germanic heroes, and different recensions of the Anglo-Saxon Chronicle discuss the treaty, the settlement of the invaders and their eventual victory at Ægælesþrep.267 The influence of the Historia 261

262 263 264

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Livy, I.4–8; Paul, HL I.3, 7; for discussion of these parallels (and further examples) see TurvillePetre (1953–7), pp. 274–6. Turville-Petre (1953–7), pp. 277–8. On horse myths in early medieval origin myths, see the discussion above, pp. 126–7, 209–10. HE II.5: ut supra retulimus; Turville-Petre (1953–7), p. 273; Miller (1975), p. 254; Tuge`ne (2001a), pp. 96–7. Dumville (1976), pp. 30–7. 266 Miller (1975), p. 254, n. 1 and cf. John (1992), pp. 132–3. Compare HB 31 and Anglo-Saxon Chronicle A.449–455; E.449–55.

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Bede Ecclesiastica upon the scholarship that followed is readily apparent, but the temptation to read later narrative elaborations into Bede’s original text should be resisted.268 In Bede’s account, the Kentish heroes appear as little more than names, associated only by implication with Vortigern’s disastrous rule and deprived of much of their mythological status by the ambivalent terms in which Bede frames his account.269 Given Bede’s location at the time of writing, and the likely political sympathies of a substantial proportion of his audience, the writer’s failure to include any allusion to Northumbrian perspectives on the adventus is also worthy of some comment.270 If Ceolwulf and his court came to the Historia expecting the roots of their kingdom to be traced to the invasion, they were to be sorely disappointed. Indeed throughout his work, Bede seems to have been reluctant to perpetuate Northumbrian traditions of this kind, preferring instead to justify royal authority in the kingdom through its Christian, rather than secular heritage.271 The net result of this studied indifference to local migration myth was to undermine the importance of the adventus as a seminal moment in the political and cultural evolution, not only of the Northumbrian kingdom, but of the Germanic polities of Britain more broadly. The third section of Bede’s migration account bears the fewest traces of a politicized standpoint. The passage, which first identifies the dominant groups within the migration and then locates their later habitation within Britain, is among the most famous sections of the Historia Ecclesiastica: They came from three very powerful Germanic tribes, the Saxons, Angles and Jutes. The people of Kent and the inhabitants of the Isle of Wight are of Jutish origin and also those opposite the Isle of Wight, that part of the kingdom of Wessex which is today called the nation of the Jutes. From the Saxon country, that is, the district known as Old Saxony, came the East Saxons, the South Saxons, and the West Saxons. Besides this, from the country of the Angles, that is, the land between the kingdoms of the Jutes and the Saxons, which is called Angulus, came the East Angles, the Middle Angles, the Mercians, and all the Northumbrian race (that is, those people who dwell north of the River Humber) as well as the other Anglian tribes. Angulus is said to have remained deserted from that day to this.272 268 269

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On these elaborations, see Turville-Petre (1953–7), p. 286. It might also be noted that the brief allusion to the migration at HE II.5 hints at a still different migration tradition: ‘[Oisc’s] father was Hengest who with his son Oisc first entered Britain at the invitation of Vortigern . . . ’ (cuius pater Hengist, qui cum filio suo Oisc inuitatus a Uurtigerno Brittaniam primus intrauit . . . ) Rollason (2003), pp. 105–6 notes that references to the secondary migration of Octha and Ebissa at HB 38 may represent the traces of a Northumbrian origin myth of this kind. Tuge`ne (2001a), pp. 93–7. HE I.15: Aduenerant autem de tribus Germaniae populis fortioribus, id est Saxonibus, Anglis, Iutis. De Iutarum origine sunt Cantuarii et Uictuarii, hoc est ea gens quae Uectam tenet insulam, et ea quae usque hodie in prouincia Occidentalium Saxonum Iutarum natio nominatur, posita contra ipsam insulam Uectam.

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The Historia Ecclesiastica and the Angli Bede’s elucidation of the geography of the settlement within Britain is both systematic and persuasive. His suggestion that the invaders were divided into three groups was perhaps influenced by the three ships identified by Gildas, but the passage otherwise displays its own internal organization. The occupation patterns of the different groups are considered in order, listing the different regions from south-east to northwest, starting his account with the Jutish kingdom of Kent and ending it in Anglian Northumbria. Modern scholarship is now almost universal in the recognition that the divisions within this passage reflected the political geography of the eighth century, rather than ethnographic distinctions in the fifth, but its systematic approach has been widely praised.273 It is, at first glance, a classic justification of contemporary political division with respect to the past. Yet certain elements within the passage repay closer investigation. The reference to Occidui and Meridiani Saxones, rather than Bede’s preferred Occidentales and Australes, suggests that the historian derived the passage from elsewhere. Coherent as the British geography within the passage might seem, moreover, the relationship between the different AngloSaxon kingdoms and their continental archetypes is never fully explained, nor is the precise form that this tripartite migration is supposed to have taken.274 The correlation between the threefold migration discussed here, the two phases of the Vortigern episode and the expeditionary force led by Hengest and Horsa remains obscure. Perhaps most tellingly, Bede’s references to the continental origins of the three peoples seem cursory, particularly in the light of the obvious emphasis upon geography elsewhere in the Historia. The origins of the Angli and Saxones are passed over quickly, and no reference is included to the homeland of the Iutae. In the light of these anomalies, it seems likely that Bede’s settlement passage represented either a close borrowing or a verbatim citation from another source.275 Although the exact origin of the passage must remain speculative, Bede’s return to the subject of the Germanic origins of the

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De Saxonibus id est ea regione quae nunc Antiquorum Saxonum cognominatur, uenere Orientales Saxones, Meridiani Saxones, Occidui Saxones. Porro de Anglis, hoc est de illa patria quae angulus dicitur, et ab eo tempore usque hodie manere desertus inter prouincias Iutarum et Saxonum perhibertur, Orientales Angli, Mediterranei Angli, Merci, tota Nordanhymbrorum progenies, id est illarum gentium quae ad boream Humbri fluminis inhabitant, ceterique Anglorum populi sunt orti. Stenton (1971), p. 9; Gransden (1974), pp. 23–4; Kleinschmidt (1997), p. 67. For a useful overview of the archaeological corroboration for Bede’s tripartite model, see Hines (1990) and now Hills (2003), pp. 103–7. Pohl (1997b), p. 14; Hines (1994), p. 50. A deduction made by Campbell (1979), p. 3, n. 9, further discussed by David Dumville in Hines (1997), p. 59 and elaborated upon in John (1992), p. 129. In John (1996), pp. 4–7, this position is taken as read, and the passages are identified as the work of ‘the Bede interpolator’.

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Bede Anglo-Saxons later in his narrative perhaps provides some context for this reassessment of their continental homeland. The fifth book of the Historia Ecclesiastica celebrates the maturity of the Church in Britain, and considerable space is devoted to the expansion of the faith beyond the island. Here, Bede describes the late seventh-century missions that tightened the religious bonds between Britannia and the continent. The historian knew of a succession of projects of this kind, from Wilfrid’s opportunistic preaching in Frisia to the systematic evangelism undertaken by Wihtbert, Willibrord, Swithberht and the two Hewalds.276 It is Ecgbert, however, whom Bede identifies as the inspiration behind the first expression of this evangelical fervour. Ecgbert was an exile at the foundation of Rathmelsigi who first envisaged a triumphant Christian reconquest of the continent, but who was unable to contribute personally to its success. Of particular interest here is Bede’s account of how a sense of Germanic origin helped to justify the mission itself: He knew that there were very many peoples in Germany from whom the Angles and Saxons, who now live in Britain, derive their origin; hence even to this day they are by a corruption called Garmani by their neighbours the Britons. Now these people are the Frisians, Rugians, Danes, Huns, Old Saxons and Boruhtware; there are also many other nations in the same land who are still practising heathen rites to whom this soldier of Christ proposed to go . . . 277

The first point that must be made here is that Ecgbert’s assessment of the relation between contemporary Anglo-Saxon society and the communities of the continent differs markedly from that presented in HE I.15. The Angli, Saxones and Iutae of the earlier chapter have been replaced by the Angli uel Saxones, and their continental context redefined to include the Bructeri, Frisians, Rugians, Danes and – improbably enough – the Huns. It is unclear from the passage cited whether Ecgbert, or indeed Bede, would have included these groups among the gentes who colonized Britannia, or simply listed them among the peoples to be converted by virtue of their former status as neighbours to the Angli and Saxones.278 The 276

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Wilfrid’s mission is described (in passing) at Stephanus, VW 26 and by Bede at HE V.19. The later missions are described at HE V.9–11. For discussion, see Levison (1946), pp. 51–93 and the useful overview in Wood (2001), pp. 43–4. HE V.9: Quarum in Germania plurimas nouerat esse nationes, a quibus Angli uel Saxones, qui nunc Brittaniam incolunt, genus et originem duxisse noscuntur; unde hactenus a uicina gente Brettonum corrupte Garmani nuncupantur. Sunt autem Fresones, Rugini, Danai, Hunni, Antiqui Saxones, Broctuari. Sunt alii perplures hisdem in partibus populi paganis adhuc ritibus seruientes, ad quos uenire praefatus Christi miles . . . Compare Campbell (1986c), pp. 123–4 and the comments by Wood, Pohl, Dumville and Charles-Edwards in Hines (1997), pp. 55–9.

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The Historia Ecclesiastica and the Angli issue has been clouded somewhat by the common modern assumption that groups from Frisia were probably included in the migration, and the certainty that the Huns were not.279 As it stands, the simple listing of different peoples, the improbable inclusion of the Hunni within that list, and the somewhat ambiguous reference to alii . . . populi all encourage the suspicion that the passage was intended to accentuate the ambition of the planned mission, rather than to reflect accurately the historic origins of the insular Anglo-Saxons.280 Like Boniface in the mid-eighth century, Ecgbert turned to Germanic prehistory in order to stress the ties that bound the inhabitants of Britain to their ancestral homelands and thereby justified his own missionary ambitions on the continent.281 While the differences between the two passages remain, there are some surprising points of contact between them. As a result, it certainly seems possible that Bede’s account of the settlement patterns in the fifth century was informed by the rhetoric that surrounded the continental missions of the seventh and eighth. Both chapters provide an impressionistic account of continental geography, intended primarily to provide a background to the ethnographic ties that bound Britannia to the region, rather than to delineate continental geography in any detail. Significant too are the omissions within the second description. Modern critics have noted the absence of both the Iutae and the Angli from Ecgbert’s list of names, among a smorgasbord of other Germanic peoples.282 Yet this may have some justification in the light of the continental geography provided in HE I.15. Here, no reference is made to the homeland of the Iutae, and it is clearly stated that Angulus ‘is said to have remained deserted from that day to this’.283 The only one of the ‘three most powerful tribes’ to be associated with a specific, populated region in I.15 is the only group to be included in the list of peoples to be converted at V.9. The relationship between the description of Anglo-Saxon settlement at I.15 and Ecgbert’s fantasy of European conversion at V.9 is a complex one. Ultimately, the chapters represented the manipulation of the past to different ends, and consequently provide contrasting impressions of the 279

280

281

282

Interest in Frisian participation has been prompted by Procopius’ reference to Angı´loi, Frı´ssones kaı` Brı´ttones in his account of the invasions at Bella VIII.xx and by the remarkable linguistic parallels between Frisian and modern English. Stenton (1971), p. 9 regarded the linguistic connection as ‘the first certain fact in English history’ and see also Campbell (1982), p. 31. For a convincing refutation of this assumption, compare Bremmer (1990). Bremmer (1990), pp. 357–9; Wood (1997), p. 41. Tuge`ne (2001a), p. 122 notes that the pointed inclusion of the Huns and the Slavic Rugi alongside the Germanic peoples may have been a conscious invocation of the universality of the post-Gregorian missionary impulse. Cf. Boniface, Ep. 21, 50, 73, 75, 131. Discussed by Howe (1989), pp. 124–42 and Richter (1984), pp. 110–13. Bremmer (1990), p. 359. 283 HE I.15: ab eo tempore usque hodie manere desertus . . .

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Bede migration itself. The former passage was evidently composed in an attempt to explain the divisions of eighth-century Britain through early Germanic history, whereas the latter sought to justify the burgeoning conversion of continental Europe with respect to the ancestral origins of the Anglo-Saxon peoples. Both, of course, may have been compositions original to Bede, but the unusual geographical terminology in one passage and the explicit association of the other with the figure of Ecgbert imply that each of the two sections was inherited by the historian in a reasonably coherent form. Quite whether the passages may be traced to a common source is still more problematic, but the subtle congruences in the continental geography do support this interpretation. The eighth-century Church, it seems, was developing its own impression of the Germanic migration in defence of its own missionary interests across the North Sea.284 The different uses to which the migration episode was put also highlight the varied filters through which later scholars viewed the Anglo-Saxon past. Alongside the British and Kentish perspectives on the invasion, therefore, Bede would seem to have been aware of at least one evangelical interpretation of the episode, and perhaps included this view within his own account of the Germanic invasion. Bede’s ethnic terminology: a problem? Bede left his own mark upon the account of the adventus provided by the Historia Ecclesiastica. The dating of the event to 449 by both the Incarnation and the imperial reigns of Marcian and Valentinian bears the unmistakable imprint of Bede’s own scholarship.285 Similarly, the occasional authorial asides that punctuate the passage hint at the care that went into its compilation. Yet for the most part, the account of the Anglo-Saxon invasion within the Historia Ecclesiastica seems an atonal cacophony of different historical voices. Much of Bede’s narrative information was taken from Gildas and Constantius, and retained the British perspective of these sources. The only Germanic individuals to be named within the account were influenced by a Kentish source, although Bede acknowledged that alternative traditions also existed. Finally, the historian may have taken his description of the distribution of Germanic settlement from a Church source of the late seventh, or early eighth century, and was certainly aware of at least one such tradition.

284

285

On the similar strategies employed by Boniface to justify his own continental missions in the 730s, see esp. Howe (1989), pp. 124–42. On the influence of this date, see Howe (1989), p. 55–7.

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The Historia Ecclesiastica and the Angli When compared with the accounts of Gothic, Frankish and Lombard history circulating on the continent, or with Bede’s own descriptions of Pictish and British origins, the most striking aspect of the migration episode in the Historia Ecclesiastica is its very lack of a narrative focus. The Germanic incomers are provided with the most unprepossessing of founding fathers, their point of origin is left ambiguous and the religious impulse that drove the invasion was dictated by the sins of others, and not their own virtues. Bede includes no reference to the popular etymological associations of the term Saxones, in circulation at the time of composition, and beyond his short allusion to the ‘very strong’ peoples of the continent is silent on the martial glories of his eponymous gens.286 Bede’s account of the adventus ‘provides many of the crucial components necessary for ethnogenesis’, but the historian seems to have resisted the temptation to assemble these pieces into a convincing account of Germanic prehistory.287 Later writers, like Alcuin, the Chronicle authors and Wulfstan, took the fragments of Bede’s historical record and fashioned from them a series of migration stories. For these scholars, the migration was anticipated in Exodus and the Aeneid, and itself foretold of the triumphant future for the English.288 Rightly, the migration myth might be regarded as a dominant trope in the later literature of the island. Yet this image of a coherent origin was entirely absent in Bede’s piecemeal account. Instead, the historian describes a muddled episode, viewing it as if in a hall of mirrors, and refusing to clarify the manifold reflections of the mid-fifth century. Bede’s slippery use of ethnographic terminology exacerbates this confusion. At no stage in his treatment of Germanic prehistory is this language employed with any certainty. In the prelude to the episode, the Germanic mercenaries are termed Saxones, in deference to Gildas.289 When Bede describes the first contact of the group within Britain, they have become Anglorum siue Saxonum gens – ‘the gens of the Angles or the Saxons’. The subsequent victory over the Picts and Scots is won by the 286

287

288

289

Compare Alcuin, De patr. reg. 46–8: Est antiqua, potens bellis et corpore praestans | Germaniae populos gens inter et extera regna | duritiam propter dicti cognomine Saxi (‘Between the ancient peoples of Germany and the outlying realms there is an ancient race, powerful in war, of splendid physique, called by the name of ‘‘rock’’ because of its toughness’). And see the discussion of Bede’s silence on this etymology in Tuge`ne (2001a), pp. 27–8. The phrase is taken from Brooks (2000), p. 5. John (1996), p. 4 provides a succinct summary of the influence of Bede’s uncertain migration tradition upon historical scholarship down to Stenton and beyond: ‘it is an interpretation to which constant repetition has given canonical authority’. For a stimulating discussion of the material, see Howe (1989), with the cautionary comments of Crick (1993), p. 695. For the reasons discussed, I disagree with Howe’s interpretation of Bede’s Historia as the starting point of this Exodus tradition. HE I.14.

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Bede Saxones, but by the time the historian turns to the settlement of the invaders, they have transformed into tribus Germaniae populis fortioribus, id est Saxonibus, Anglis, Iutis – ‘three very powerful Germanic peoples, the Saxons, Angles and Jutes’. Thereafter, Bede does not name the group except to note that the Saxones later allied with the Picts, and to upbraid the Britons for their failure to convert the gentes Saxonum siue Anglorum.290 In Ecgbert’s invocation of the Germanic settlement, as a point of comparison, the group is identified as Angli uel Saxones – ‘Angles or Saxons’.291 This variety is all the more notable in the light of the consistency of Bede’s ethnic terminology elsewhere in his writing. As several modern studies have demonstrated, Bede most commonly refers to the Germanic inhabitants of Britain by the term Angli.292 The writer refers to his compatriots as gens Anglorum in the preface to his Explanatio apocalypsis, a work that he probably composed between 710 and 716, and a similar perspective of the group as a single people infuses his exegetical oeuvre as a whole.293 From the start of the second book of his Historia, Bede again employs the term Angli with some consistency, and the few deviations from this pattern may be explained with little difficulty. Over the course of his narrative, the writer occasionally employs the term Saxones in direct citation from other sources, but his identification of individuals as ‘Saxon’ or ‘Jutish’ is otherwise restricted to contexts in which some geographical clarity was appropriate.294 Bede used ‘Jute’ and ‘Saxon’ much as a contemporary English writer would employ ‘Lancastrian’ or ‘Yorkshireman’: to add regional colour and to aid with spatial comprehension, rather than to draw significant cultural or ethnic boundaries.295 It is with this purpose, too, that Bede adds to his pantheon of Germanic groups over the course of his Historia, and alludes at different point to Hwicce and the West Saxon Gewissae.296 Elsewhere, however, the newest inhabitants of Britain are termed simply Angli. Bede’s unusual choice of the term Angli as his ethnic designation has also been the subject of some considerable scholarship. During the 290 292

293

294

295

HE I.20; I.22. 291 HE V.9. On Bede’s ethnic terminology, see esp. Wormald (1983) and (1992); Richter (1984); Brooks (2000). Apoc. Praef., lines 140–4 which also stresses Gregory’s role in converting the gens. On the date of this work, see Ward (1998), p. 51. Tuge`ne (2001a), pp. 45–6, 146–9 highlights the frequency with which Bede employs the first person plural in alluding to his own gens within his exegesis. While the phrase gens Anglorum is employed only rarely within these texts, the author’s sense of a single shared identity among the new inhabitants of Britain is palpable. Compare HE III.7, 20, 22, 30; IV.6, 13, 14, 16; V.23; and note the thoughtful discussion of Tuge`ne (2001a), pp. 40–1. At HE III.29 and V.7 Bede reproduces Roman references to Saxones. Hines (1994), p. 51. 296 Hwicce: HE II.2; IV.23; Gewissae: III.7; IV.15, 16.

302

The Historia Ecclesiastica and the Angli seventh and early eighth centuries, the term Saxones appears to have been the more common generic term, although the historian also cites the term Garmani as the label by which indigenous groups referred to the invaders.297 Bede’s unusual choice of language has been variously regarded as a reflection of his own Northumbrian (and hence ‘Anglian’) origins, a firm declaration of his Roman affiliations, and a refusal to employ the term Saxones, which had been muddied in the polemical literature of Gildas and his British contemporaries.298 There can be little doubt, however, that it was the influence of Gregory I that loomed largest over Bede’s choice of nomenclature.299 The Angli are consistently labelled as such throughout Gregory’s writing, and make their earliest insular appearance in the anonymous Whitby Life of the great missionary pope.300 Bede had evidently conceptualized the Germanic inhabitants of Britain as a coherent group since long before the composition of the Historia Ecclesiastica. Where he provided this group with a name, he evidently felt Angli to be the most appropriate label.301In his description of the migration of the Germanic peoples, however, no such consistency is evident. At precisely the point at which continental historians would stress the coherence of their focal groups, in other words, Bede would seem to do precisely the opposite. His account of the invasion bears many of the hallmarks of an origin myth, therefore, but it lacks the crucial sense of ethnic cohesion and narrative coherence upon which such traditions depended. The most generous reading of the Historia Ecclesiastica might argue that Bede did little more here than sustain the confusion of his sources and the multiple and shifting identities of his own time. From this perspective, blame should no more be levelled at the eighth-century writer than at modern historians who similarly couch their accounts in qualifications and expressions of uncertainty. In part, no doubt, this was true; Bede was evidently a careful and conscientious historian. Yet the suspicion remains that Bede refrained from providing the Germanic inhabitants of Britain with a coherent origin myth and a consistent nomenclature at the point of migration, because the true birth of the

297

298 299 300

301

On the form Saxones, see Richter (1984), pp. 105–7. Bede’s allusion to the term Garmani appears at HE V.9: unde hactenus a uicina gente Brettonum corrupte garmani nuncupantur. Cf. Wormald (1983), pp. 121–3; Richter (1984), pp. 113–14; Higham (1995), p. 252. Richter (1984), pp. 105–10; cf. Wormald (1983), pp. 122–3. Anon., VG 6, 12 and see Richter (1984), pp. 100–5 and Tuge`ne (2001b), pp. 87–8. Pohl (1997b), p. 19 notes astutely that Gregory’s choice of nomenclature may have been derived from the Byzantine Angı´loi, and reflect the period of the pope’s earlier career spent at the Constantinopolitan court. Contra John (1966), p. 5.

303

Bede gens – the point at which the Angli uel Saxones became simply the Angli – occurred slightly later in their history.302 The true metamorphosis of Bede’s Angli takes place with their conversion to Christianity, and not with the migration. The point is vividly illustrated by the passage that introduces the account of Gregory and the Augustinian mission. After further venting his frustration at the failure of the Britons to introduce the gens to the word of God, Bede offers a glimmer of hope to his audience: ‘Nevertheless God in His goodness did not reject the people whom He foreknew, but He had appointed much worthier heralds of the truth to bring this people to the faith.’303 The sub-clause quam praesciuit certainly implies that God regarded Bede’s people with favour, but it is the context of this declaration that is particularly revealing. This assertion of divine recognition is intended, not to provide retrospective justification for the conquest of Britain, or to draw direct parallel between the migration and the Israelite inheritance of Canaan, but rather as an anticipation of the forging of the gens through the medium of the Gregorian mission.304 Indeed, the use of praesciuit implies precisely that the plebs or gens of the Angli remained unformed at the stage of the narrative in which the passage appears. Nor need the statement imply that the Angli were the exclusive recipients of divine favour. Bede’s aside was intended to herald the next, and crucial, stage within his narrative; it did not seek to lend coherence to the confusion of identities elsewhere in the opening section of the Historia. The crucial shift within Germanic identity is clearest in the second book of the Historia Ecclesiastica. It is with the arrival of the Christian mission in the island that Bede consistently refers to the Angli both by their most familiar name and in the inclusive first person plural. Bede’s reference to Gregory – nostram gentem fecit ecclesiam Christi – typifies the transformation of his narrative from the impersonal and disinterested account of ‘their’ invasion to the ecclesiastical history of ‘our’ unified people.305 The identification of this shift has formed the focal point of Nicholas Brooks’ argument that Bede’s use of ethnic labels was intended to accentuate the religious message behind his work, and the elaboration 302 303

304

305

Cf. Crick (1993), p. 695. HE I.22: Sed non tamen diuina pietas plebem suam, quam praesciuit, deseruit; quin multo digniores genti memoratae praecones ueritatis, per quos crederet, destinauit. I am indebted to John Blair (pers. comm. 2004) for the observation that the statement at I.22 casts important light upon Bede’s conception of the Angli, although my interpretation differs substantially from his own. The same shift may be identified in the Chronica Maiora at DTR 66. When describing the adventus at DTR 66.4410, the writer refers to gens Anglorum siue Saxonum. The gens has become simply the Angli at DTR 66.4557. The consistency of Bede’s system of nomenclature is further demonstrated by his allusion to Antiqui . . . Anglorum populi at DTR 15.

304

The Historia Ecclesiastica and the Angli of the same position by Georges Tuge`ne that the historian’s entire ethnographic understanding was predicated upon the missionary ideology propounded by Gregory.306 Important as these conclusions undoubtedly are, the precise form in which Bede describes the background to the Gregorian mission may allow these arguments to be taken further. Within his discussion of the conversion and its champion, Bede employs many of the tropes of foundation mythology familiar from his own opening chapter and from the ‘ethnogenesis’ narratives of early medieval Europe. By refraining from presenting his account of the migration in similar terms, the historian emphatically demonstrates the true Christian birth of his eponymous gens. Of crucial importance here is the well-known account of Gregory and the Anglian slaves in the market-place at Rome: perhaps the most famous joke in early medieval history. The passage is located prominently within the Historia Ecclesiastica: at the opening of the second book, as the climax to the description of Gregory’s life. The passage clearly had its origins in a Deiran tradition, and obvious parallels may be traced between the Historia account and that provided in the anonymous Whitby Life.307 Nevertheless, Bede clearly shaped his own interpretation of events considerably: We must not fail to relate the story about St Gregory which has come down to us as a tradition of our forefathers . . . It is said that one day, soon after some merchants had arrived in Rome, a quantity of merchandise was exposed for sale in the market place. Crowds came to buy and Gregory too amongst them. As well as other merchandise he saw some boys put up for sale, with fair complexions, handsome faces and lovely hair. On seeing them he asked, so it is said, from what region or land they had been brought. He was told that they had come from the island of Britain, whose inhabitants were like that in appearance . . . Again he asked the name of the race. He was told that they were called Angli. ‘Good’, he said, ‘they have the face of angels, and such men should be fellow-heirs of the angels in heaven’ . . . So he went to the bishop of Rome and of the apostolic see, for he himself had not yet been made pope, and asked him to send some ministers of the word to the race of the Angles in Britain to convert them to Christ.308

306

307 308

Brooks (2000); Tuge`ne (2001a), esp. pp. 145–60; cf. also Meyvaert (1962) on the Gregorian influence upon Bede’s thought. Anon., VG 9. HE II.1: Nec silentio praetereunda opinio, quae de beato Gregorio traditione maiorum ad nos usque perlata est . . . Dicunt quia die quadam, cum aduenientibus nuper mercatoribus multa uenalia in forum fuissent conlata, multi ad emendem confluxissent, et ipsum Gregorium inter alios aduenisse, ac uidisse inter alia pueros uenales positos candidi corporis ac uenusti uultus, capillorum quoque forma egregia. Quos cum aspiceret, interrogauit, ut aiunt, de qua regione uel terra essent adlati; dictumque est quia de Brittania insula, cuius incolae talis essent aspectus . . . Rursus ergo interrogauit, quod esset uocabulum gentis illius.

305

Bede Bede did far more in this passage than recycle a number of bad papal puns. In effect, the passage, which stands proudly in the opening chapter of Bede’s second book, provided the Angli with their own origin myth. The reference to the traditione maiorum in the opening line recalls the hoary oral myths of Jordanes and Paul the Deacon.309 Like the historians of the Goths, Bede locates his myth in a geographically distant place, thereby setting the scene for the evangelical ‘migration’ narrative that follows. Like many contemporary groups, the Angli are provided with a founding hero, responsible for the initiation of this great journey, who has a defining role to play in the later succession of power within the group. In common with classical ethnographic writing, Bede refers here (and only here) to the unusual physical appearance of the Angli, and notes that the slaves before Gregory were entirely typical of their atypical gens. The peculiar speech of the Angli – a further marker of distinction in classical writing – is the subject of particular attention, and the passage famously concludes with Gregory’s laboured word-play – an exploration of the etymology of the group-name which has direct antecedent in a great many early medieval origin myths, not least those provided in Isidore’s Origines.310 Perhaps most important of all, Bede’s myth had a direct relevance to the society for which it was written, as a statement of cultural, social and especially religious unity. As Patrick Wormald memorably noted, ‘Symbolically at least, Napoleon’s nation of shopkeepers began in Gregory’s market-place in Rome’.311 No other English origin story has such resonance, as the later attempts to reconstruct migration narratives and the peculiar longevity of Gregory’s Angli joke both demonstrate.312 Yet the full implications of this observation for the understanding of the Historia Ecclesiastica have not been fully appreciated.313 Until the opening of the second book of his

309

310 312

313

Responsum est quod Angli uocarentur. At ille: ‘Bene’ inquit; ‘nam et angelicam habent faciem, et tales angelorum in caelis decet esse coheredes . . . Accedensque ad pontificem Romanae et apostolicae sedis (nondum enim erat ipse pontifex factus) rogauit ut genti Anglorum in Brittaniam aliquos uerbi ministros, per quos ad Christum conuerteretur, mitteret . . . cf. Anon., VG 9 and the comments in Richter (1984), pp. 100–2. Cf. Jordanes, Getica III.38; Paul, HL I.8. Blair (1970b), p. 202, Wormald (1983), p. 124 and Howe (1989), p. 119 all interpret the reference to traditione maiorum as a reflection of Bede’s scepticism regarding the authenticity of the story, and suggest that the story ‘belonged to popular hagiography, rather than ecclesiastical history’. For the reasons discussed, I can only regard the chapter (and the reference to ‘ancestral’ tradition) as a central feature of Bede’s account, regardless of his own impressions of its accuracy. Cf. Wormald (1983), p. 124. 311 Wormald (1983), p. 129. The longevity of the Angli joke is testified by its reformulation by Sellar and Yeatman (1930), p. 14. But see Brooks (2000), for full discussion of the religious foundations of Bede’s conception of the Angli.

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Conclusions Historia, Bede’s Angli are a half-formed gens. His opening chapter includes nothing on their nature or origins. His description of the adventus includes details of settlement, but little on their history, and actively challenges an image of the group as a coherent whole. In contrast to their neighbours within Britain, the group has an anomalous identity at the time of their belated occupation. It is only with the mythologized account of Gregory’s wisecracking that the Angli step fully onto Bede’s stage. The Angli are thus a gens whose very definition is dependent upon the unifying role of the Church. Just as Isidore manipulated the conventions of epithalamium in order to emphasize the position of the Church within Hispano-Gothic society, so Bede suggested that the very coherence of the Angli was dependent upon their conversion. It is a mark of the historian’s skill that he could manipulate the conventions of contemporary secular history to create a very different type of origin myth as an ornament to a wholly new form of history. CONCLUSIONS

The Historia Ecclesiastica was influenced by a variety of different traditions – scriptural, ecclesiastical and classical – but was moulded by its author into one of the most original literary compositions of the first millennium. After Bede came a deluge of histories, which took as their stage the Britain that the eighth-century writer described, and as their subject the very gens that he helped to define. The influence of the great Northumbrian can be felt throughout the histories of the central Middle Ages, from Orderic Vitalis and Geoffrey of Monmouth to Gerald of Wales and Henry of Huntingdon. Bede provided a paradigm for the generations of British historians who followed, and it is often difficult to regard this ‘Father of English history’ away from his innumerable descendants. Influential as his scholarship proved to be, it is only through the filters of Bede’s own historical and geographical understanding that his work may be viewed in an appropriate light. In purely literary terms, the Historia Ecclesiastica gentis Anglorum is certainly the densest and most complex of the histories considered in the present study. Bede has been the subject of particularly intense and possessive scholarship over the past century, and the very depth of his most famous composition simultaneously challenges interpretation and welcomes theorizing on the most elaborate level. It would be disingenuous to pretend, therefore, that the use of geographical imagery within Bede’s historical writing may be deconstructed with the confidence engendered by Orosius, Jordanes or Isidore. Bede’s predecessors may all be seen to have exploited spatial imagery with relatively straightforward literary aims in mind, and their 307

Bede introductions may be identified as focal components of their narratives. This is not to suggest that geography occupied any less central a role within the Historia Ecclesiastica (indeed spatial elements had a fundamental role to play within the writer’s entire oeuvre), merely that Bede’s multifaceted narrative was predicated upon an equally complex view of the world. Bede’s Historia was at once a universal history and a local history: a narrative that could be read as a fragment of a far greater story, or as a microcosm in which all of the elements of Christian triumph could be found. Ultimately, this is demonstrated by the author’s refusal to adopt a specific physical or ethnographic focus within his work, and by the ease with which he moved between different fields of enquiry. The Historia Ecclesiastica, of course, is predominantly concerned with Britain and particularly with Northumbria, but the opening geography belies these limitations and the narrative as a whole shifts constantly between different frames of reference. At times Bede’s is a narrative of royal and episcopal politics in Bernicia and Deira, at others a wider history of evangelism and alliance throughout Britain, and elsewhere it appears as little less than a series of moral tableaux for the instruction of the wider Christian community. His interest in the Church extends from the sympathetic portrayal of local saints for local people, to a widespread anxiety regarding the congruences of British belief and that practised in the rest of the world. Bede’s work derives much of its eclectic impact and literary strength from its refusal to adhere to a single subject, whether defined territorially, ethnographically or thematically. There is no territorial ‘Anglia’ in Bede’s work, and instead his geography has fuzzy edges; his enquiry stretches beyond the regions of Germanic control and back again as the rhythm of his account dictates. Likewise, Bede’s refusal to limit his account to the Angli is established through the strong supporting cast who occupy the stage from the outset, and the peculiar distortion that the historian provides of the traditional motifs of the origin myth. Eventually, of course, the Angli come of age within Bede’s narrative, but the historian stresses throughout the dependence of the group upon their neighbours in making the transformation from different peoples, grown from the same stirps, to a single Christian gens. Bede’s is a Historia that denies straightforward categorization, and his geography is central to this elusive quality. Bede’s conception of the interdependence of historical and geographical themes – of the interdependence of spatial and temporal elements in the resolution of human history – represents the most sophisticated approach to the subject within later Antiquity. Nevertheless, many of the themes which are fused within the Historia Ecclesiastica may be seen to 308

Conclusions have originated in the earlier compositions of the period, and in the historical writing of Scripture and the classical world. The representation of the spread of Christianity in spatial terms, for example, and the introduction of an almost eschatological geography, reaches its fullest fruition in Bede’s work, but originated first in Acts and later Rufinus’ Historia, and was substantially developed in the seminal geography of Orosius. Bede’s interest in the spiritual growth of an individual people might also be traced back to the first century, and Josephus’ Jewish Antiquities, but was indirectly informed by the increased focus upon individual gentes within other early medieval historiography. Although Bede subverted the expectations of this historiographical approach, the very subversion was itself an acknowledgement of debt. Ultimately, Bede emerges from the present study as a writer intimately concerned with the unity of spatial and temporal themes, and anxious to elucidate this relationship both in his geographical introduction and within his narrative as a whole. Yet modern historians often see in Bede precisely what they wish to find. It is with appropriate caution, therefore, that the Historia Ecclesiastica gentis Anglorum is presented as the most accomplished union of historical and geographical themes in late antique writing, and as an appropriate conclusion to the study of this historiographical form.

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CONCLUSIONS

The geographical writing of late Antiquity was as complex and multifaceted as the historiography of the same period. The De nuptiis of Martianus Capella, Isidore’s Origines and the work of the anonymous Cosmographer of Ravenna all provide snapshots of the state of geographical learning between AD 400 and 750, but to regard their surveys as typical of contemporary responses to the world would be a gross oversimplification. In the absence of any formally defined geographical discipline, descriptions of the world were fitted into the literary moulds provided by a host of different genres. Works of exegesis and poetry, hagiography and political rhetoric all incorporated geographical themes, and all proved to be invaluable to the transmission of geographical knowledge. It was within historiography that geographical thought in late Antiquity found its most natural medium. The long description of the world which opened Orosius’ fifth-century Historia both represented one of the most influential geographical compositions of the post-Roman period, and established a precedent for the inclusion of such prefaces within works of Christian historiography. The relationship between historical and geographical thought has always been a close one, and in presenting his own description of the world so prominently, Orosius merely highlighted the symbiosis between the two disciplines. Yet the significance of Orosius’ innovation should not be underestimated. In the aftermath of the Spanish presbyter, descriptive geography, quite as much as narrative history, became an essential tool of the historian’s craft. The historians of late Antiquity were responsible for many of the most influential geographical compositions of the period. Orosius’ image of a Christian oikoumene proved to be hugely influential in the millennium after his death. Jordanes’ image of Scandza proved authoritative far beyond the sixth century, and Isidore’s celebration of Hispania provided the model for a plethora of later geographies of the peninsula. Yet each of 310

Conclusions these geographical compositions was shaped indelibly by the historical works in which they appeared. Geography has always had a historical aspect. When late antique historians wrote descriptions of the physical world, therefore, their own historical interests naturally shaped their geographical perspectives. As Christian writers, Orosius and his successors inevitably detected new meanings within the world from those identified by their classical forebears. Orosius himself regarded the vast expanses of the unknown periphery as a proud declaration of the potential scope of Christianity – a spiritual hegemony which could extend far beyond the limites of even the most successful secular empire. Bede, by contrast, focused his attentions more narrowly, and yet detected within the landscape of Britain indelible proof of the role that the island might play within the wider workings of divine history. Jordanes and Isidore may have worn their Christian convictions more lightly in their descriptions of the physical world, and yet their accounts of the frozen north and the bountiful west reflected their own understanding of the patterns of Gothic, as well as human history. Yet Orosius and his successors were not thoughtless commentators on the world around them. Like all such writers, the historians of the period exploited an array of literary devices in the construction of their works. In many ways, the histories of the Goths penned by Jordanes and Isidore may each be read as a travel narrative or migration story, the latter with elements of erotic fiction also thrown in for good measure. Orosius’ Historia is an explicit, and occasionally clumsy, juxtaposition of an idealized present with a denigrated past, replete with a cacophony of rhetorical tropes. Bede presents his own Historia as a fragment of a triumphant narrative of Christian evangelism, based loosely upon Acts and the muscular evangelist philosophy of Gregory the Great. Geography had a central role to play within the elucidation or development of each of these arguments. Jordanes’ Goths would be less mysterious were it not for his spectacular geographical opening, and the eventual unification of Isidore’s gens with Hispania would not be as sweet without his Laus Hispaniae. When the historians of the period described the physical stage upon which their narratives would be set, they did so in the hope of illuminating and explaining for their audiences the dramatic events that they recounted. Eleven hundred years after Orosius first propounded his Christian interpretation of the world, and long after the advances of the Renaissance introduced Europe to the wonders of Arabic cartography, writers continued to ponder the symbiosis of geography and history. The epigraph to this study was provided by one of their number, the muchneglected geographer of the early seventeenth century, Samuel Purchas. 311

Conclusions It seems appropriate to return to the writer to provide a few concluding words: How great errors schollers may fall into by want of that so-much-neglected study of Geography, without which, history, that delectable study, is sick of a half-dead palsie . . .1

Purchas himself was disdainful of early medieval geography, but his declaration serves as a useful footnote to any study of the historiography of the period. For much of the past century, modern scholars have sought to demonstrate the validity of historical writing in a period that witnessed a sharp decline in classical influence. Attention has been focused upon the theological depth, the rhetorical sophistication and the literary strengths of the works that have survived. Rarely is this vibrancy better demonstrated than in the imagination and skill with which the historians of the period exploited geography within their work. For all their perceived weaknesses, the histories composed by Orosius, Jordanes, Isidore and Bede are far from being examples of a discipline on its death bed. Through their varied use of geographical themes, Orosius and his successors propounded a history that was very much alive. 1

Samuel Purchas, Pilgrimage, p. 508.

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Appendix A

THE GEOGRAPHICAL INTRODUCTION TO THE HISTORIARUM ADVERSUS PAGANOS LIBRI SEPTEM OF OROSIUS. OROSIUS, HIST. I .1–106

TRANSLATION TAKEN FROM ROY DEFERRARI, OROSIUS. SEVEN BOOKS OF HISTORY AGAINST THE PAGANS, FC,

50 (WASHINGTON, DC, 1964), PP. 7–20

(1) I Our ancestors fixed a threefold division of the whole world surrounded by a periphery of ocean, and its three parts they called Asia, Europe and Africa, although some have thought that there should be two, that is Asia and then Africa to be joined with Europe. (2) Asia, surrounded on three sides by the Ocean, extends across the entire region of the east. (3) This towards the west on its right touches upon Europe, beginning at the north pole, but on the left it leaves Africa; yet near Egypt and Syria it is bounded by Our Sea which we generally call the Great Sea. (4) II Europe begins, as I have said, in the north at the Tanais River, where the Rhipaean Mountains turned away from the Sarmatian Sea, pour forth the Tanais flood. (5) This river, flowing past the altars and boundaries of Alexander the Great located in the territory of the Rhobasci, swells the Maeotic Marshes, whose immense overflow spreads afar to the Euxine Sea near the city of Theodosia. (6) Thence, near Constantinople, a long strait flows forth until the Sea which we call Ours receives it. (7) The Western Ocean forms the boundary of Europe in Spain precisely where the Pillars of Hercules are viewed near the Gades Islands and where the Ocean tide empties into the mouth of the Tyrrhenian Sea. (8) III The beginning of Africa is the territory of Egypt and the city of Alexandria, where the city of Paraetonium is located above the Great Sea which washes all the regions and lands in the centre of the earth. (9) From here through the places which the inhabitants call Catabathmon, by no means far from the camp of Alexander the Great and above lake Chalearzus, then passing near the lands of the Upper Avasitae across the deserts of Ethiopia, Africa reaches the Southern Ocean. (10) The boundaries of Africa toward the west are the same as those of Europe, that is, the mouth of the Strait of Gades.

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Appendix A (11) The farthest boundaries are the Atlas Range and the islands which the people call Fortunatae. (12) IV And since I have given briefly the general divisions of the tripartite world, I shall take care, as I promised, to point out the regions of the parts themselves. (13) V Asia has at the centre of its eastern boundary on the Eastern Ocean, the mouth of the Ganges River, on the left the Promontory of Caligardamana, to the south-east of which lies the island of Taprobane, at which point the Ocean begins to be called the Indian Ocean. (14) To the right of the Imavian Mountains, where the Caucasian Mountains end, is the Promontory of Samara, at the base of which lies the mouth of the Ottorogorra River, at which point the Ocean is called the Serian Ocean. (15) VI In this territory is India, with the Indus River on the west which empties into the Red Sea, and the Caucasian Range on the north; the rest of India, as I have said, is bounded by the Eastern and the Indian Oceans. (16) This country has forty-four peoples, apart from the island of Taprobane with its ten cities and the numerous other inhabited islands. (17) VII From the Indus River which is on the east, up to the Tigris River which is to the west, are the following regions: Arachosia, Parthia, Assyria, Persida, and Media, in a mountainous and rough territory. (18) These have the Caucasian Mountains on the north, the Red Sea and the Persian Gulf on the south, but in between flow the principal rivers, the Hydaspes and the Arbis. (19) In these regions there are thirty-two peoples. Moreover, this territory is in general called Parthia, although Holy Scripture often calls the entire area Media. (20) VIII From the Tigris River up to the Euphrates River is Mesopotamia, beginning in the north between the Taurian and Caucasian Mountains. (21) To the south of this, we have in order, Babylonia, then Chaldaea, and lastly Arabia Eudaemon, which, between the Persian and Arabian Gulfs, extends toward the east in a narrow tract of land. (22) In these lands there are twenty-eight peoples. (23) IX From the Euphrates River which is on the east, up to Our Sea which is on the west, then from the north, that is, from the city of Dagusa which is located on the boundary between Cappadocia and Armenia, not far from the place where the Euphrates rises, down to Egypt and to the end of the Arabian Gulf, (24) which extends southward in a long and narrow furrow abounding in rocks and islands from the Red Sea, that is, from the Ocean in a westerly direction, is the territory generally called Syria. Its largest provinces are Commagene, Phoenicia, and Palestine, not including the countries of the Saraceni and the Nabathaei. There are twelve nations in this territory. (25) X At the head of Syria is Cappadocia, which has Armenia as its boundary on the east and Asia on the west, on the north-east the Themiscyrian plains and the Cimmerian Sea, and on the south the Taurian Mountains. At the base of these mountains lie Cilicia and Isauria extending to the Cilician Gulf, which faces towards the island of Cyprus. (26) XI Asia Regio, or, to speak more correctly, Asia Minor, except for the eastern part where it approaches Cappadocia and Syria, is surrounded on all sides by water: on the north by the Euxine Sea, on the west by the Propontis and the Hellespont, to the south by Our Sea. Here stands Mount Olympus.

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The geographical introduction to Orosius’ Historia (27) XII Lower Egypt has Syria and Palestine on the east, Libya on the west, Our Sea on the north, and on the south a mountain called Climax, Upper Egypt and the Nile River. (28) This River seems to rise from the shore where the Red Sea begins at a place which is called Mossylon Emporium; then flowing some distance and forming an island in its midst called Meroe; finally bending to the north, swollen by seasonal floods, it waters the plains of Egypt. (29) Some authors say that this river has its source not far from mount Atlas and straightaway disappears in the sands, (30) and, after a short interval, gushes forth into an enormous lake and then flows eastward through the Ethiopian Desert to the Ocean, and again turning to the left descends to Egypt. (31) XIII Indeed, it is true that there is a great river which has such a source, and begets all the monsters of the Nile. The barbarians near its source call it the Dara, but the other inhabitants call it the Nuhul; (32) but here in the region of the peoples who are called Libyo-Egyptians, by no means far from that River, which we have said rushes forth from the shore of the Red Sea, it is received and swallowed up in a huge lake; (33) unless perchance, by a hidden course, it erupts into the bed of that river which descends from the east. (34) XIV Upper Egypt extends far into the east. On the north, it has the Arabian Gulf; on the south, the Ocean. From the west, it begins with Lower Egypt, and on the east it is terminated by the Red Sea. Here there are twenty-four peoples. (35) XV Since we have described the southern part of Asia, it remains for me to explain the part that is left, from the east to the north. (36) XVI The Caucasian Range rises first among the Colchi who dwell above the Cimmerian Sea, and among the Albani who are near the Caspian Sea. Indeed, up to its eastern end it seems to be one ridge, but it has many names. (37) XVII Many would wish these mountains to be considered as belonging to the Taurian Range, because in fact the Parcohatras Mountains of Armenia between the Taurian and Caucasian are thought to make the Taurian continuous with the Caucasian; (38) but the Euphrates River shows this not to be so, for pouring forth from the base of the Parcohatras Mountains, directing its course to the south, it keeps itself to the left and the Taurian Mountains to the right. (39) So the Caucasus between the Colchi and the Albani, where they also have passes, are called the Caucasian Mountains; (40) From the Caspian passes to the Armenian Gates, or to the source of the Tigris River between Armenia and Iberia, they are called the Acroceraunian Mountains. (41) From the source of the Tigris River to the city of Carrhae between the Massagetae and the Parthi, the mountains become the Ariobarzanes. (42) From the city of Carrhae to the town of Cathippus between the Hyrcani and the Bactriani, the mountains become the Memarmalian, where amomum grows. The nearest range here is called the Parthau. (43) From the town of Cathippus to the village of Saphri between Dahae, Sacaraucae, and the Parthyenae are the Oscobares Mountains, where the Ganges River rises and the assafoetida grows.

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Appendix A (44) From the source of the Ganges to the sources of the Ottorogorra River which are from the north, where the Paropamisadae Mountains lie, is the Taurian Range. (45) From the sources of the Ottorogorra to the city of Ottorogorra between the Chuni Scythians and the Gangaridae are the Caucasian Mountains. (46) The farthest range, between the Eoae and the Passyadrae is the Imavus, where the Chrysorhoas River and the Promontory of Samara meet the Eastern Ocean. (47) XVIII So from the Imavus Mountains, that is, from the tip of the Caucasian Range and the right division of the east, where the Serian Ocean extends, to the promontory of Boreum and the Boreum River, and thence to the Scythian Sea which is on the north and to the Caspian Sea which is on the west, and to the extended range of the Caucasus which is on the south, there are forty-two nations of the Hyrcanians and Scythians, who wander widely because of the widespread barrenness of the land. (48) XIX The Caspian Sea rises from the Ocean in the region of the north-east, and its shores and lands in the vicinity of the Ocean are thought to be desert and uncultivated. From here toward the south, it extends through a long channel until, spread out over a wide expanse, it terminates at the base of the Caucasian Mountains. (49) So in the territory from the Caspian Sea which is toward the east, along the edge of the northern Ocean up to the Tanais River and the Palus Maeotis which are to the west, along the shores of the Cimmerian Sea which is from the south-west, to the heights and passes of the Caucasus which are to the south, there are thirty-four peoples. (50) The nearest region is generally called Albania; the more distant region, near the sea and the Caspian Mountains, is called the land of the Amazons. (51) XX The territory of Asia has been described as briefly as possible. Now I shall wander over Europe with my pen to the degree that is granted to the knowledge of man. (52) XXI Europe begins from the Rhipaean Mountains, the Tanais River and the Palus Maeotis, which are toward the east, extends along the shore of the Northern Ocean to Gallia Belgica and the River Rhine which flows from the west, thence to the Danube. This last river is also called the Hister; it comes from the south and flowing toward the east empties in the Pontus. (53) On the east is Alania; in the centre Dacia, where also is Gothia; then there is Germania where the Suebi possess the largest part. Among all these are fifty-four peoples. (54) Now I shall explain the territory which the Danube separates from the land of the barbarians in the direction of Our Sea. (55) XXII Moesia has on the east, the mouth of the Danube River; on the southeast, Thrace; on the south, Macedonia; on the south-west, Dalmatia; on the west, Histria; on the north-west Pannonia; and on the north, the Danube. (56) XXIII Thrace has on the east, the Gulf of the Propontis and the city of Constantinople which was formerly called Byzantium; on the north it has part of Dalmatia and a gulf of the Euxine Sea; on the west and on the south-west, Macedonia; and on the south, the Aegean Sea. (57) XXIV Macedonia has on the east, the Aegean Sea; on the north-west Thrace; on the south-east Euboea and the Macedonian Gulf; on the south, Achaia; on the west, the Acroceraunian Mountains in the narrows of the Adriatic Gulf, which

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The geographical introduction to Orosius’ Historia mountains are opposite Apulia and Brundisium; on the west, Dalmatia; on the northwest, Dardania; and on the north, Moesia. (58) XXV Achaia is almost entirely surrounded by water, for it has on the east the Myrtoan Sea; on the south-east, the Cretan Sea; on the south, the Ionian Sea; on the south-west and the west, the islands of Cephalenia and Cassiopa; on the north, the Corinthian Gulf; and on the north-east, a narrow ridge of land by which it is joined to Macedonia, or rather to Attica. This place is called the Isthmus on which is Corinth, with the city of Athens not far away to the north in Attica. (59) XXVI Dalmatia has Macedonia on the east; Dardania on the north-east; Moesia on the north; Histria, the Liburnian Gulf, and the Liburnian islands on the west; and on the south the Adriatic Gulf. (60) XXVII Pannonia, Noricum and Raetia have Moesia on the east, Histria on the south, the Poenean Alps on the south-west, Gallia Belgica on the west, the source of the Danube and the boundary that separates Germany from Gaul between the Danube and Gaul on the north-west, and the Danube and Germany on the north. (61) XXVIII The territory of Italy extends from the north-west to the south-east, having on the south-west, the Tyrrhenian Sea; on the north-east the Adriatic Gulf. That part of Italy which is common and contiguous with the continent is walled in by the barriers of the Alps. (62) These, rising from the Gallic Sea above the Ligurian Gulf, first limit the territory of the Narbonese, then Gaul and Raetia, until they drop in the Liburnian Gulf. (63) XXIX Gallia Belgica has on the east, the River Rhine and Germany as its boundaries; on the south-east, the Poenean Alps; on the south, the province of Narbo; on the west, the province of Lugdunum; on the north-west the Britannic Ocean; on the north, the island of Britain. (64) XXX Gallia Lugdunensis, extended very long and consistently very narrow, half surrounds the province of Aquitania. (65) On the east, this has Belgica, and on the south, part of the province of Narbo, where the city of Arles is located and the Rhone River is received into the Gallic Sea. (66) XXXI The province of Narbo, a part of the Gauls, has on the east, the Cottian Alps; on the west, Spain; on the north-west, Aquitania; on the north, Lugdunum; on the north-east, Belgica Gallia; on the south, the Gallic Sea, which is between Sardinia and the Balearic Islands, with the Stoechades Islands in front where the Rhone River empties into the sea. (67) XXXII The province of Aquitania is made into a circle by the slanting course of the Liger River, which for the most part forms the boundary of the province. (68) It has on the north-west, the ocean which is called the Aquitanian Gulf; on the west, Spain; on the north and the east, Lugdunum; and on the south-east and south, it touches the province of Narbo. (69) XXXIII Spain, taken altogether by its natural contour is a triangle, and is almost made an island by the surrounding Ocean and Tyrrhenian Sea. (70) Its first corner, looking towards the east, pressed in on the right by the province of Aquitania, on the left by the Balearic Sea, is inserted within the territory of the Narbonese. (71) The second corner extends towards the north-west, where Brigantia, a city of Gallaecia, is located and raises its towering lighthouse, one of the few memorable structures, toward the watchtower of Britain.

317

Appendix A (72) Its third corner is where the Gades Islands, facing the south-west, look upon the Atlas mountains with the Gulf of the ocean intervening. (73) XXXIV The Pyrenaean forest-pastures form the boundary of Hither Spain, beginning on the east and extending on the northern side to the Cantabri and Astures, and thence through the Vaccaei and the Oretani, whom it has on the west; Carthage, situated on the shore of Our Sea, fixes its boundary. (74) XXXV Further Spain has the Vaccaei, Celtiberi, and Oretani on the east; on the north, the Ocean; on the west, the Ocean; and on the south, the strait of Gades; from here our Sea, which is called the Tyrrhenian Sea, flows in. (75) XXXVI Since the Ocean has islands which are called Britain and Ireland and which are located opposite the Gauls in the general direction of Spain, these will be described briefly. (76) XXXVII Britain, an island in the Ocean, extends for a long distance northward; to the south, it has the Gauls. A city which is called Portus Rutupi affords the nearest landing place in this country for those who cross over; thence, by no means far from Morini, it looks upon the Menapi and the Batavi in the south. (77) This island is eight hundred miles in length and two hundred miles in width. (78) Moreover, in the rear whence it lies open in a limitless ocean, rest the Orcades Islands, of which twenty are uninhabited and thirteen inhabited. (79) XXXVIII Next we have the island of Thule, which, separated from the other by an indefinite space and situated in the middle of the Ocean toward the north-west, is known to barely a few. (80) XXXIX Ireland, an island located between Britain and Spain, extends at greater length from south to north. (81) Its nearer parts in the direction of the Cantabrian ocean look from afar over a broad expanse upon Brigantia, a city of Gallaecia, which extends from the south-west to the north-west, from that promontory particularly where the mouth of the Scena River is and the Velabri and Luceni are established. This is rather close to Britain and narrower in expanse of territory, but more useful because of its favourable climate and soil. It is inhabited by the tribes of the Scotti. (82) XL Mevania also is very close to Britain and is itself not small in extent and is rich in soil. It is, likewise, inhabited by the tribes of the Scotti. These are the boundaries of all Europe. (83) XLI As I have said, when our ancestors explained that Africa should be accepted as a third part of the world, they did not follow measurements of space but computations of divisions. (84) Indeed, this Great Sea, which rises from the Ocean on the west, turning more to the south, has limited and made the boundary of Africa narrower between itself and the Ocean. (85) Therefore, some also, although believing it to be equal in length yet much narrower, think it unfitting to call it a third part but rather allot Africa to Europe, that is, they have preferred to call it a portion of the second part. (86) XLII Furthermore, since much more land is uncultivated and unknown in Africa because of the heat of the sun than in Europe because of the severity of the cold, for almost all animals and plants become more lastingly and endurably adapted to the severest cold than to the severest heat, this evidently is the reason why Africa seems smaller in every respect as to location and people, for because of its nature, it

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The geographical introduction to Orosius’ Historia has less space and because of its bad climate more desert. The description of Africa by provinces and nations is as follows. (87) XLIII Libya Cyrenaica and Pentapolis are in the first part of Africa, next to Egypt. (88) This region begins at the city of Paraetonium and the Catabathmon Mountains and from here extends along the sea as far as the Altars of the Philaeni. The territory behind it up the southern Ocean, the Libyo-Ethiopian and Garamantian peoples inhabit. (89) Egypt is on the east of this region, the Libyan Sea on the north, the Greater Syrtis and the land of the Troglodytes on the west, opposite which is the island of Calypso, and on the south is the Ethiopian Ocean. (90) XLIV The province of Tripolis, which is also called Subventana or the land of the Arzuges, where the city of Leptis Magna is located, although they are generally called Arzuges throughout the long limits of Africa, has on the east, the Altars of the Philaeni between the Greater Syrtis and the Troglodytes; on the north, the Sicilian Sea or rather the Adriatic Sea and the Lesser Syrtis; on the west, Byzacium as far as the Lake of Salinae; on the south, the barbaric Gaetuli, Nathabres, and Garamantes, stretching to the Ethiopian Ocean. (91) XLV Byzacium, Zeugis and Numidia. Now first we find that Zeugis was not the name of one conventus, but a general name for the whole province. (92) So Byzacium where the city of Hadrumentum is, Zeugis with Magna Carthago, Numidia with the cities of Hippo Regius and Rusiccada, have on the east the Smaller Syrtis and the Lake of Salinae; on the north, Our Sea which faces the islands of Sicily and Sardinia; on the west, Mauretania Sitifensis; on the south, the Uzarae Mountains, and behind these extending as far as the Ethiopian Ocean, the nations of the Ethiopian peoples. (93) XLVI Mauretania Sitifensis and Mauretania Caesariensis have Numidia on the east; on the north, Our Sea; on the west, the River Malva; on the south, Mount Astrixis which separates the fertile soil and the sands that stretch as far as the Ocean in which the Gangines Ethiopes roam. (94) XLVII Mauretania Tingitana is the last part of Africa. This region has the Malva River on the east; Our Sea on the north as far as the strait of Gades which is hemmed in between the two opposite promontories of Abyla and Calpe; on the west, the Atlas Mountains and the Atlantic Ocean; on the south-west, the tribes of the Autolodes who are now called Galaules and occupy the territory as far as the Western Ocean. (95) XLVIII Here is the boundary line of the whole of Africa. I shall now describe the locations, names, and extent of the islands which are in Our Sea. (96) XLIX The island of Cyprus is surrounded on the east by the Syrian Sea which is called the Gulf of Issus, on the west by the Sea of Pamphylia, on the north by Aulon of Cilicia, and on the south by the Syrian and Phoenician seas. Its extent is one hundred and seventy-five miles in length and one hundred and twenty-five miles in width. (97) L The island of Crete is bounded on the east by the Carpathian Sea, on the west and north by the Cretan Sea, and on the south by the Libyan Sea which is also called the Adriatic. It is one hundred and seventy-two miles long and fifty miles wide. (98) LI The islands of the Cyclades, of which the first is Rhodes on the east, Tenedos on the north, Carpathus on the south, and Cythera on the west, are bounded on the east by the shores of Asia; on the west by the Icarian Sea; on the

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Appendix A north by the Aegean Sea; and on the south by the Carpathian Sea. Moreover, all the Cyclades amount to fifty-four in number. These islands have an extent from north to south of five hundred miles, from east to west of two hundred miles. (99) LII The island of Sicily has three promontories, one of which is called Pelorus and faces the north-east, the nearest city of which is Messana; the second, which is called Pachynum at which is the city of Syracuse, faces toward the south-east; and the third, which is called Lilybaeum where the city of the same name is located, is pointed toward the west. (100) The distance from Pelorus to Pachynum is one hundred and fifty-nine miles, and from Pachynum to Lilybaeum one hundred and eighty-seven miles. This island is bounded on the east by the Adriatic Sea, on the south by the African Sea which is located opposite the Subventani and the Lesser Syrtis, and on the west and on the north it has the Tyrrhenian Sea, extending on the north to the eastern strait of the Adriatic Sea, which divides the Tauromenitani of Sicily and the Bruttii of Italy. (101) LIII Sardinia and Corsica are islands divided by a narrow strait of twenty miles in width. Of these Sardinia has on the south opposite Numidia, the Caralitani; opposite the island of Corsica, that is, toward the north, it has the Ulbienses. (102) It possesses in length an expanse of two hundred and thirty miles; in width, eighty. This island is bounded on the east and the north-east by the Tyrrhenian Sea which faces the harbour of the city of Rome, on the west by the Sardinian Sea, on the south-west by Balearic Islands located far away, on the south the Numidian Gulf, and on the north, as I have said, Corsica. (103) LIV The island of Corsica, because of its many promontories is full of corners. On the east, it has the Tyrrhenian Sea and the harbour of the City; on the south, Sardinia; on the west, the Balearic Islands; and on the north-west and north, the Ligurian Gulf. Moreover, it is one hundred and sixty miles in length and about twenty-six miles in width. (104) LV The Balearic Islands are two, the larger and the smaller, on each of which are two towns. The larger toward the north has the city of Tarracona facing it in Spain; the smaller Barcelona. The island of Ebusus lies nearer the larger. Then on the east, these islands face Sardinia; on the north-east, the Gallic Sea; on the south and south-west, the Mauretanian Sea; and on the west the Iberian Sea. (105) LVI These are the islands situated throughout the entire Great Sea from the Hellespont to the Ocean which, from both their culture and their history, are held to be the more famous. (106) I have, as briefly as possible, completed a survey of the provinces and islands of the whole world. I shall now cite the local misfortunes of the individual nations, just as they arose incessantly from the beginning, and how and by whom they came into being, insofar as I am equal to the task.

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Appendix B

THE GEOGRAPHICAL INTRODUCTION TO THE DE ORIGINE ACTIBUSQUE GETARUM OF JORDANES. GETICA I .4– V .38

TRANSLATION TAKEN FROM CHARLES C. MIEROW, THE GOTHIC HISTORY OF JORDANES

(PRINCETON,

NJ,

1915),

PP.

52–60

I (4) Our ancestors, as Orosius relates, were of the opinion that the circle of the whole world was surrounded by the girdle of Ocean on three sides. Its three parts they called Asia, Europe and Africa. Concerning this threefold division of the earth’s extent there are almost innumerable writers, who not only explain the situations of cities and places, but also measure out the number of miles and paces to give more clearness. Moreover they locate the islands interspersed amid the waves, both the greater and also the lesser islands, called Cyclades or Sporades, as situated in the vast flood of the Great Sea. (5) But the impassable farther bounds of Ocean not only has no one attempted to describe, but no man has been allowed to reach; for by reason of obstructing seaweed and the failing of the winds it is plainly inaccessible and is unknown to any save to Him who made it. (6) But the nearer border of this sea, which we call the circle of the world, surrounds its coasts like a wreath. This has become clearly known to men of inquiring mind, even to such as desired to write about it. For not only is the coast itself inhabited, but certain islands off in the sea are habitable. Thus there are to the East in the Indian Ocean, Hippodes, Iamnesia, Solis Perusta (which though not habitable, is yet of great length and breadth), besides Taprobane, a fair island wherein there are towns or estates and ten strongly fortified cities. But there is yet another, the lovely Silefantina, and Theros also. (7) These, though not clearly described by any writer, are nevertheless well filled with inhabitants. This same Ocean has in its western region certain islands known to almost everyone by reason of the great number of those that journey to and fro. And there are two not far from the neighborhood of the Strait of Gades, one the Blessed Isle and another called the Fortunate. Although some reckon as islands of Ocean the twin promontories of Galicia and Lusitania, where are still to be seen the Temple of Hercules on one and Scipio’s Monument on the other, yet since they are joined to the extremity of the Galician country, they belong rather to the great land of Europe than to the islands of Ocean. (8) However, it has other islands deeper within its own tides, which are called the Baleares; and yet another, Mevania, besides the Orcades, thirty-three in number, though not all inhabited.

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Appendix B (9) And at the farthest bound of its western expanse it has another island named Thule, of which the Mantuan bard makes mention: ‘And Farthest Thule shall serve thee.’ The same mighty sea has also in its arctic region, that is in the north, a great island named Scandza, from which my tale (by God’s grace) shall take its beginning. For the race whose origin you ask to know burst forth like a swarm of bees from the midst of this island and came into the land of Europe. But how or in what wise we shall explain hereafter, if it be the Lord’s will. II (10) But now let me speak briefly as I can concerning the island of Britain, which is situated in the bosom of Ocean between Spain, Gaul and Germany. Although Livy tells us that no one in former days sailed around it, because of its great size, yet many writers have held various opinions of it. It was long unapproached by Roman arms, until Julius Caesar disclosed it by battles fought for mere glory. In the busy age which followed it became accessible to many through trade and by other means. Thus it revealed more clearly its position, which I shall here explain as I have found it in Greek and Latin authors. (11) Most of them say it is like a triangle pointing between the north and west. Its widest angle faces the mouths of the Rhine. Then the island shrinks in breadth and recedes until it ends in two other angles. Its long doubled side faces Gaul and Germany. Its greatest breadth is said to be over two thousand three hundred and ten stadia, and its length not more than seven thousand one hundred and thirty-two stadia. (12) In some parts it is moorland, in others there are wooded plains, and sometimes it rises into mountain peaks. The island is surrounded by a sluggish sea, which neither gives readily to the stroke of the oar nor runs high under the blasts of the wind. I suppose this is because other lands are so far removed from it as to cause no disturbance of the sea, which indeed is of greater width here than anywhere else. Moreover Strabo, a famous writer of the Greeks, relates that the island exhales such mists from its soil, soaked by the frequent inroads of Ocean, that the sun is covered throughout the whole of their disagreeable sort of day that passes as fair, and so is hidden from sight. (13) Cornelius also, the author of the Annals, says that in the farthest part of Britain the night gets brighter and is very short. He also says that the island abounds in metals, is well supplied with grass and is more productive in all those things which feed beasts rather than men. Moreover many large rivers flow through it, and the tides are borne back into them, rolling along precious stones and pearls. The Silures have swarthy features and are usually born with curly black hair, but the inhabitants of Caledonia have reddish hair and large loose-jointed bodies. They are like the Gauls or the Spaniards, according as they are opposite either nation. (14) Hence some have supposed that from these lands the island received its inhabitants, alluring them by its nearness. All the people and their kings are alike wild. Yet Dio, a most celebrated writer of annals, assures us of the fact that they have all been combined under the name of Caledonians and Maeatae. They live in wattled huts, a shelter used in common with their flocks, and often the woods are their home. They paint their bodies with iron-red, whether by way of adornment or perhaps for some other reason. (15) They often wage war with one another, either because they desire power or to increase their possessions. They fight not only on horseback or on foot, but even with

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The geographical introduction to Jordanes’ Getica scythed two-horse chariots, which they commonly call essedae. Let it suffice to have said this much on the shape of the island of Britain. III (16) Let us now return to the site of the island of Scandza, which we left above. Claudius Ptolemaeus, an excellent describer of the world, has made mention of it in the second book of his work, saying: ‘There is a great island situated in the surge of the northern Ocean, Scandza by name, in the shape of a juniper leaf with bulging sides that taper down to a point at a long end.’ Pomponius Mela also makes mention of it as situated in the Codan Gulf of the sea, with Ocean lapping its shores. (17) This island lies in front of the river Vistula, which rises in the Sarmatian mountains and flows through its triple mouth into the northern Ocean in sight of Scandza, separating Germany and Scythia. The island has in its eastern part a vast lake in the bosom of the earth, whence the Vagus river springs from the bowels of the earth and flows surging into the Ocean. And on the west it is surrounded by an immense sea. On the north it is bounded by the same vast unnavigable Ocean, from which by means of a sort of projecting arm of land a bay is cut off and forms the German Sea. (18) Here also there are said to be many small islands scattered round about. If wolves cross over to these islands when the sea is frozen by reason of the great cold, they are said to lose their sight. Thus the land is not only inhospitable to men but cruel even to wild beasts. (19) Now in the island of Scandza, whereof I speak, there dwell many and divers nations, though Ptolemaeus mentions the names of but seven of them. There the honey-making swarms of bees are nowhere to be found on account of the exceeding great cold. In the northern part of the island the race of the Adogit live, who are said to have continual light in midsummer for forty days and nights, and who likewise have no clear light in the winter season for the same number of days and nights. (20) By reason of this alternation of sorrow and joy they are like no other race in their sufferings and blessings. And why? Because during the longer days they see the sun returning to the east along the rim of the horizon, but on the shorter days it is not thus seen. The sun shows itself differently because it is passing through the southern signs, and whereas to us the sun seems to rise from below, it seems to go around them along the edge of the earth. There also are other peoples. (21) There are the Screrefennae, who do not seek grain for food but live on the flesh of wild beasts and birds’ eggs; for there are such multitudes of young game in the swamps as to provide for the natural increase of their kind and to afford satisfaction to the needs of the people. But still another race dwells there, the Suehans, who, like the Thuringians, have splendid horses. Here also are those who send through innumerable other tribes the sappherine skins to trade for Roman use. They are a people famed for the dark beauty of their furs and, though living in poverty, are most richly clothed. (22) Then comes a throng of various nations, Theustes, Vagoth, Bergio, Hallin, Liothida. All their habitations are in one level and fertile region. Wherefore they are disturbed there by the attacks of other tribes. Behind these are the Ahelmil, Finnaithae, Fervir and Gauthigoth, a race of men bold and quick to fight. Then come the Mixi, Evagre, and Otingis. All these live like wild animals in rocks hewn out like castles. (23) And there are beyond these the Ostrogoths, Raumarici, Aeragnaricii, and the most gentle Finns, milder than all the inhabitants of Scandza. Like them are the

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Appendix B Vinovilith also. The Suetidi are of this stock and excel the rest in stature. However, the Dani, who trace their origin to the same stock, drove from their homes the Heruli, who lay claim to pree¨minence among all the nations of Scandza for their tallness. (24) Furthermore there are in the same neighborhood the Grannii, Augandzi, Eunixi, Taetel, Rugi, Arochi and Ranii, over whom Roduulf was king not many years ago. But he despised his own kingdom and fled to the embrace of Theodoric, king of the Goths, finding there what he desired. All these nations surpassed the Germans in size and spirit, and fought with the cruelty of wild beasts. (The United Goths) IV (25) Now from this island of Scandza, as from a hive of races or a womb of nations, the Goths are said to have come forth long ago under their king, Berig by name. As soon as they disembarked from their ships and set foot on the land, they straightway gave their name to the place. And even to-day it is said to be called Gothiscandza. (26) Soon they moved from here to the abodes of the Ulmerugi, who then dwelt on the shores of Ocean, where they pitched camp, joined battle with them and drove them from their homes. Then they subdued their neighbors, the Vandals, and thus added to their victories. But when the number of the people increased greatly and Filimer, son of Gadaric, reigned as king – about the fifth since Berig – he decided that the army of the Goths with their families should move from that region. (27) In search of suitable homes and pleasant places they came to the land of Scythia, called Oium in that tongue. Here they were delighted with the great richness of the country, and it is said that when half the army had been brought over, the bridge whereby they had crossed the river fell in utter ruin, nor could anyone thereafter pass to or fro. For the place is said to be surrounded by quaking bogs and an encircling abyss, so that by this double obstacle nature has made it inaccessible. And even to-day one may hear in that neighborhood the lowing of cattle and may find traces of men, if we are to believe the stories of travellers, although we must grant that they hear these things from afar. (28) This part of the Goths, which is said to have crossed the river and entered with Filimer into the country of Oium, came into possession of the desired land, and there they soon came upon the race of the Spali, joined battle with them and won the victory. Thence the victors hastened to the farthest part of Scythia, which is near the sea of Pontus; for so the story is generally told in their early songs, in almost historic fashion. Ablabius also, a famous chronicler of the Gothic race, confirms this in his most trustworthy account. (29) Some of the ancient writers also agree with the tale. Among these we may mention Josephus, a most reliable relator of annals, who everywhere follows the rule of truth and unravels from the beginning the origin of causes; – but why he has omitted the beginnings of the race of the Goths, of which I have spoken, I do not know. He barely mentions Magog of that stock, and says they were Scythians by race and were called so by name. Before we enter on our history, we must describe the boundaries of this land, as it lies. V (30) Now Scythia borders on the land of Germany as far as the source of the river Ister and the expanse of the Moesian Swamp. It reaches even to the rivers Tyra, Danaster and Vagosola, and the great Danaper, extending to the Taurus range – not

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The geographical introduction to Jordanes’ Getica the mountains in Asia but our own, that is, the Scythian Taurus – all the way to Lake Maeotis. Beyond Lake Maeotis it spreads on the other side of the straits of Bosphorus to the Caucasus Mountains and the river Araxes. Then it bends back to the left behind the Caspian Sea, which comes from the north-eastern ocean in the most distant parts of Asia, and so is formed like a mushroom, at first narrow and then broad and round in shape. It extends as far as the Huns, Albani and Seres. (31) This land, I say, – namely, Scythia, stretching far and spreading wide, – has on the east the Seres, a race that dwelt at the very beginning of their history on the shore of the Caspian Sea. On the west are the Germans and the river Vistula; on the arctic side, namely the north, it is surrounded by Ocean; on the south by Persis, Albania, Hiberia, Pontus and the farthest channel of the Ister, which is called the Danube all the way from mouth to source. (32) But in that region where Scythia touches the Pontic coast it is dotted with towns of no mean fame: – Borysthenis, Olbia, Callipolis, Cherson, Theodosia, Careon, Myrmicion and Trapezus. These towns the wild Scythian tribes allowed the Greeks to build to afford them means of trade. In the midst of Scythia is the place that separates Asia and Europe, I mean the Rhipaeian mountains, from which the mighty Tanais flows. This river enters Maeotis, a marsh having a circuit of one hundred and forty-four miles and never subsiding to a depth of less than eight fathoms. (33) In the land of Scythia to the westward dwells, first of all, the race of the Gepidae, surrounded by great and famous rivers. For the Tisia flows through it on the north and northwest, and on the southwest is the great Danube. On the east it is cut by the Flutausis, a swiftly eddying stream that sweeps whirling into the Ister’s waters. (34) Within these rivers lies Dacia, encircled by the lofty Alps as by a crown. Near their left ridge, which inclines toward the north, and beginning at the source of the Vistula, the populous race of the Venethi dwell, occupying a great expanse of land. Though their names are now dispersed amid various clans and places, yet they are chiefly called Sclaveni and Antes. (35) The abode of the Sclaveni extends from the city of Noviodunum and the lake called Mursianus to the Danaster, and northward as far as the Vistula. They have swamps and forests for their cities. The Antes, who are the bravest of these peoples dwelling in the curve of the sea of Pontus, spread from the Danaster to the Danaper, rivers that are many days’ journey apart. (36) But on the shore of Ocean, where the floods of the river Vistula empty from three mouths, the Vidivarii dwell, a people gathered out of various tribes. Beyond them the Aesti, a subject race, likewise hold the shore of Ocean. To the south dwell the Acatziri, a very brave tribe ignorant of agriculture, who subsist on their flocks and by hunting. (37) Farther away and above the Sea of Pontus are the abodes of the Bulgares, well known from the wrongs done to them by reason of our oppression. From this region the Huns, like a fruitful root of bravest races, sprouted into two hordes of people. Some of these are called Altziagiri, others Sabiri; and they have different dwelling places. The Altziagiri are near Cherson, where the avaricious traders bring in the goods of Asia. In summer they range the plains, their broad domains, wherever the pasturage for their cattle invites them, and betake themselves in winter beyond the Sea of Pontus. Now the Hunuguri are known to us from the fact that they trade in marten skins. But they have been cowed by their bolder neighbors.

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Appendix B (38) We read that on their first migration the Goths dwelt in the land of Scythia near Lake Maeotis. On the second migration they went to Moesia, Thrace and Dacia, and after their third they dwelt again in Scythia, above the Sea of Pontus. Nor do we find anywhere in their written records legends which tell of their subjection to slavery in Britain or in some other island, or of their redemption by a certain man at the cost of a single horse. Of course if anyone in our city says that the Goths had an origin different from that I have related, let him object. For myself, I prefer to believe what I have read, rather than put trust in old wives’ tales.

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Appendix C

THE LAUS SPANIAE OF ISIDORE OF SEVILLE

TRANSLATION TAKEN FROM KENNETH BAXTER WOLF, CONQUERORS AND CHRONICLERS OF EARLY MEDIEVAL SPAIN, TRANSLATED TEXTS FOR HISTORIANS, PP.

9 ( L I V E R P O O L , 1990),

81–3

Of all the lands from the west to the Indies, you, Spain, O sacred and always fortunate mother of princes and peoples, are the most beautiful. Rightly are you now the queen of all provinces, from which not only the west, but also the east borrows its shining lights. You are the pride and the ornament of the world, the more illustrious part of the earth, in which the Getic people are gloriously prolific, rejoicing much and flourishing greatly. Indulgent nature has deservedly enriched you with an abundance of everything fruitful. You are rich with olives, overflowing with grapes, fertile with harvests. You are dressed in corn, shaded with olive trees, covered with the vine. Your fields are full of flowers, your mountains full of trees, and your shores full of fish. You are located in the most favourable region in the world; neither are you parched by the summer heat of the sun, nor do you languish under the icy cold, but girded by a temperate band of sky, you are nourished by fertile west winds. You bring forth the fruits of the fields, the wealth of the mines, and beautiful and useful plants and animals. Nor are you to be held inferior in rivers, which the brilliant fame of your fair flock ennobles. Alpheus yields to you in horses and Clitumnus in cattle, although Alpheus, regarded as sacred for his Olympic victories, exercised fleet chariots on the track of Pisa, and Clitumnus once sacrificed great oxen as victims on the Capitol. You do not need the fields of Etruria, for you have more abundant pasturage, nor do you marvel at the groves of Molorchus, for you have palm trees in plenty, nor do your horses run less swiftly than the Elian chariots. You are fertile with overflowing rivers, you are tawny with gold-flowing torrents, you have a spring that fathered a horse. You have fleeces, dyed with native purples, that glow with Tyrian crimson. You have rock, shining in the shadowy depths of the mountains, that is aflame with radiance like the sun. Yet you are as rich in purple clad rulers as you are in native gems, and, rich in imperial gifts, you are as wealthy in adorning your princes as you are blessed in producing them. Rightly did golden Rome, the head of the nations, desire you long

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Appendix C ago. And although this same Romulean power, initially victorious, betrothed you to itself, now it is the most flourishing people of the Goths, who, in their turn, after many victories all over the world, have eagerly seized you and loved you: they enjoy you up to the present time, amidst royal emblems and great wealth, secure in the good fortune of empire.

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Appendix D

THE DESCRIPTION OF BRITAIN IN BEDE, HISTORIA ECCLESIASTICA I .1

TRANSLATION TAKEN FROM BERTRAM COLGRAVE AND R. A. B. MYNORS, BEDE’S ECCLESIASTICAL HISTORY OF THE ENGLISH PEOPLE

( O X F O R D , 1969),

PP.

14–20

Britain, once called Albion, is an island of the ocean and lies to the northwest, being opposite Germany, Gaul and Spain, which form the greater part of Europe, though at a considerable distance from them. It extends 800 miles to the north, and is 200 miles broad, save only where several promontories stretch out further and, counting these, the whole circuit of the coast line covers 4,875 miles. To the south lies Belgic Gaul, from which the city called Rutubi Portus (Which the English now corruptly call Reptacaestir) is the nearest port for travellers. Between this and the closest point in the land of the Morini, Gessoriacum, is a crossing of fifty miles or, as some writers have it, 450 stadia. Behind the island, where it lies open to the boundless ocean, are the Orkney islands. The island is rich in crops and trees, and has good pasturage for cattle and beasts of burden. It also produces vines in certain districts and has plenty of both land- and waterfowl of various kinds. It is remarkable too for its rivers, which abound in fish, particularly salmon and eels and for copious springs. Seals as well as dolphins are frequently captured and even whales; besides these there are various kinds of shellfish, among which are mussels, and enclosed in these there are often found excellent pearls of every colour, red and purple, violet and green, but mostly white. There is also a great abundance of whelks, from which a scarlet-coloured dye is made, a most beautiful red which neither fades in the heat of the sun nor exposure to the rain; indeed the older it is the more beautiful it becomes. The land possesses salt springs and warm springs and from them flow rivers which supply hot baths, suitable for all ages and both sexes, in separate places and adapted to the needs of each. For water, as St Basil says, acquires the quality of heat when it passes through certain metals, so that it not only becomes warm but even scalding hot. The land also has rich veins of metal, copper, iron, lead and silver. It produces a great deal of excellent jet, which is glossy black and burns when put into the fire and, when kindled, it drives away serpents; when it is warmed by rubbing it attracts whatever is applied to it, just as amber does. The country was once famous for its twenty-eight noble cities as well as innumerable fortified places equally well guarded by the strongest of walls and towers, gates and locks.

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Appendix D Because Britain lies almost under the North Pole, it has short nights in summer, so that often at midnight it is hard for those who are watching to say whether it is evening twilight which still lingers, or whether morning dawn has come, since the sun at night returns to the east through the regions towards the north without passing below the horizon. For this reason the summer days are extremely long. On the other hand the winter nights are also of great length, namely eighteen hours, doubtless because the sun has then departed to the region of Africa. In summer too the nights are extremely short; so are the days in winter, each consisting of six standard equinoctial hours, while in Armenia, Macedonia, Italy, and other countries in the same latitude the longest day or night consists of fifteen hours and the shortest of nine. At the present time, there are five languages in Britain, just as the divine law is written in five books, all devoted to seeking out and setting forth one and the same kind of wisdom, namely the knowledge of sublime truth and of true sublimity. These are the English, British, Irish, Pictish, as well as Latin languages; through the study of the scriptures, Latin is in general use among them all. To begin with, the inhabitants of the island were all Britons, from whom it receives its name; they sailed to Britain, so it is said, from the land of Armorica, and appropriated to themselves the southern part of it. After they had got possession of the greater part of the island, beginning from the south, it is related that the Pictish race from Scythia sailed out into the ocean in a few warships and were carried by the wind beyond the furthest bounds of Britain, reaching Ireland and landing on its northern shores. There they found the Irish race, and asked permission to settle among them but their request was refused. Now Ireland is the largest island of all next to Britain, and lies to the west of it. But though it is shorter than Britain to the north, yet in the south it extends far beyond the limits of that island and as far as the level of North Spain, though a great expanse of sea divides them. The Picts came to this island, as we have said, by sea and asked for the grant of a place to settle in. The Irish answered that the island would not hold them both; ‘but’, said they, ‘we can give you some good advice as to what to do. We know of another island not far from our own, in an easterly direction, which we often see in the distance on clear days. If you go there, you can make a settlement for yourselves; but if anyone resists you, make use of our help.’ And so the Picts went to Britain and proceeded to occupy the northern part of the island, because the Britons had seized the southern regions. As the Picts had no wives, they asked the Irish for some; the latter consented to give them women, only on condition that, in all cases of doubt, they should elect their kings from the female royal line rather than the male; and it is well known that the custom has been observed among the Picts to this day. In the course of time Britain received a third tribe in addition to the Britons and Picts, namely the Irish. These came from Ireland under their leader Reuda, and won lands among the Picts either by friendly treaty or by the sword. These they still possess. They are still called Dalreudii after this leader, Dal in their language signifying a part. Ireland is broader than Britain, is healthier and has a much milder climate, so that snow rarely lasts there for more than three days. Hay is never cut in the summer for winter use nor are stables built for their beasts. No reptile is found there nor could a serpent survive; for although serpents have often been brought from Britain, as soon as the ship approaches land they are affected by the scent of the air and quickly perish. In fact almost everything that the island produces is efficacious against poison. For instance, we have seen how, in the case of people suffering from snake-bite, the leaves

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The description of Britain in Bede of manuscripts from Ireland were scraped, and the scrapings put in water and given to the sufferer to drink. These scrapings at once absorbed the whole violence of the spreading poison and assuaged the swelling. The island abounds in milk and honey, nor does it lack vines, fish and birds. It is also noted for the hunting of stags and roedeer. It is properly the native land of the Irish; they emigrated from it as we have described and so formed the third nation in Britain in addition to the Britons and the Picts. There is a very wide arm of the sea which originally divided the Britons from the Picts. It runs for miles into the land from the west. Here there is to this day a very strongly fortified British town called Alcluith. The Irish whom we have mentioned settled to the north of this arm of the sea and made their home there.

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INDEX

Ablabius 120, 124, 151, 156–7, 162 Acts of the Apostles 28, 240–2, 275–6, 309, 311 Acts (apocryphal) 28 Aelius Aristides 87 Aeneas 103, 149, 207 Aeneid see Virgil, Aeneid Africa 49, 79, 82, 200, 202, 229, 257, 259, 330 Appian on 13, 65 exploration of in Antiquity 82, 83 Gibbon on 13 Orosius on 1, 39, 53, 66, 75–7, 79, 86, 87, 313–14, 318–19 Ptolemy on 85 Roman occupation of 59, 65 Agathias 130 Agrippa Map, later texts influenced by dimensuratio and divisio 70, 71 Orosius 6, 73, 74, 77, 79 Pliny 71, 78 likely form of 72, 158 continental divisions within 76, 77 display purpose of 73 imperial chauvinism of 72–3 likely absences within 78, 79, 88, 96 oceanic islands within 93, 94 prominence of measurements within 72 Al-Masudi 18 Alans 163, 199 Alaric 43, 62 sacks Rome 1, 38, 41–2, 54, 61, 102, 180, 183 Alcuin 291, 301 Aldhelm 265–6 Alexander Indian campaigns of 49–50, 53, 55, 56, 58, 88, 89–90, 313 influence upon classical geography 25, 26, 72–3 surpassed by Christian missions 28 Itinerary of 90 pillars of 67, 313 unable to conquer Goths 61, 213 Alexandria 79, 313

Alpheus, River 191, 193, 208–9, 210, 327 Alps 67, 160 Amalasuentha 103 Amals and the Gothic past 113 fluidity of oral tradition 109 genealogies of 102, 103, 112–13 modern debates concerning 110, 111 Jordanes and 163, 164 Justinian’s victory over 167 marriage alliance with Anicii 104 Amazons 49, 50, 56, 100, 111 Ambrose 80, 223, 230, 270 Ammianus Marcellinus Res Gestae 5, 6, 18, 149, 287 attitude towards the Roman Empire within 21, 29 ethnographic digressions within 2, 18, 50 Gothic history within 108, 111 importance of autopsy within 24 Anecdoton holderi see Ordo generis Cassiodorum Anglesey 246, 279 Angli in Bede’s Historia Ecclesiastica 280, 281, 290–307 as chosen people? 274, 294 Gregory I and 304–7 identity in the process of formation 290–1 migration myths of 292, 296, 297, 298, 301, 303–4, 305–7 missions of 258, 281, 298–300 nomenclature of 274, 291, 301–7, 303 peripheral in opening geography 248, 254, 279 political expansion of 279 relations with Britons 290 settlement of 292–7 viewed alongside other peoples 249, 255, 308 invasion of 15 Anglo-Saxon Chronicle 290, 293, 295, 301 Angulus 296, 299 Anicii 104

373

Index Appian Historia Romana Alexander within 72 four empires within 51 geographical introduction of 2, 11–12, 13–14, 18, 64–5, 165 Roman authority within 21, 65 universal history and 44, 46, 47 Arianism 43, 180, 183, 224 Aristotle 82 Armenia 64, 70, 89, 257, 314, 330 Armorica 289 Arrian 90, 91 Asia (continent) 157, 159–60, 259 classical geographers on 90 Divisio on 70 Orosius on 66, 314–16 as constituent part of the world 74, 79, 313 Caucasus Range and 88, 92 imperial expansion within 49, 59 see also Caucasus Mountains, India Athalaric 102–3 Athaulf 43, 221–4, 225 Atlas Mountains 79, 81, 83, 84, 87 Attila 111 Augustine 39, 76, 80, 170, 214 De civitate Dei 22, 37–8, 39, 40, 42, 218 classical sources for 38, 40, 43, 65 history within 38, 40, 43–4, 54 influence of 35, 63, 230, 244 Rome within 56–7, 62–3, 174 scope of 38 De doctrina Christiana 7, 10, 29, 241 exegetical methods of 241 mentor of Orosius 35, 37–8, 39, 40, 48, 57, 68, 97, 99 scholarship on Christian time 22, 30, 235, 236, 271–3 Augustine of Canterbury 241, 281 English mission of 229, 234, 245, 246, 276, 304 Augustus 44, 58, 59, 61, 71 Orosius’ emphasis upon 49, 57–8 autopsy 23, 24, 126, 172–3, 244 Babylon 66–7, 77 Baetica 202, 203 Balearics 133–4, 320, 321 Balkans eastern emperors from 163 Getica on Gothic occupation of 100, 112, 163, 167 Jordanes’ origins in 113 Balthi 113 Basil of Caesarea 269–70, 272, 329

Basques 196, 220 Bavaria 112, 292 Bede 229 accusations of heresy against 22 De locis sanctis 229, 242, 269 De natura rerum 256 De temporibus 235, 237, 256 De temporum ratione chronicle within 237, 293 computus scholarship and 22, 235–7, 237–9, 271 latitudinal zones within 256, 257–8 hagiography of 229, 251 Historia Ecclesiastica See Bede, Historia Ecclesiastica gentis Anglorum Isidore of Seville and 228, 267–8 minor works 236, 241, 242, 252, 257, 263 scriptural commentaries exegetical method in 241–2 geographical themes within 27, 29 Homilies on Gospels 235, 238, 242 influence Bede’s conception of nationhood 240 on Acts 240–2, 242–4, 247, 266, 267, 276; Nomina regionum 242–3, 247 on Apocalypse 237, 238, 242, 269, 302 on Epistles 238, 241, 242, 244 on Genesis 241, 270, 271 on Luke 245 on Proverbs 241 on Samuel 241, 242, 247 Nomina locorum 242 on Song of Songs 237–8, 266 on the Tabernacle 238, 241, 242 on the Temple 238, 242 on Tobias 242 Bede, Historia Ecclesiastica gentis Anglorum 63, 312 Angli within 290–307 as a chosen people? 233, 274 Gregory of central importance to 304–7 Historia central to the definition of 291, 307 missionary activity of 298–300 nomenclature of 301–7 origin myths of 32, 291–2, 295, 296, 303–4, 305–7 settlement of 292–7, 301 broad ethnographic focus of 30, 277–8 Christian emphasis of 178, 234 geographical digressions within 95, 245–7 geographical introduction of 2, 33, 249, 329–31 bound to the Historia narrative 6, 254 classical influences upon 249–51 description of Britain 311; isolation of 254–60; personal elements within

374

Index 251–2, 253; placed within wider context 200; typicality of 271–3 description of Ireland 259; snakes wonder 3 ethnographic passages within 248, 274; Bretonnes 278–9, 280–2, 288–90, 330; origin myths in 282–3; Picti 283–6, 330; Scotti 287–8, 330 exploited by later geographers 3, 199 modern scholarship on 3, 233, 249–50, 268–9, 269–73 scriptural influences upon 270–3, 311 influences upon 234–5, 308–9 language as a theme within 274, 275–6, 276–7 literary merit of 33, 179, 230, 307–8 miracle stories within 231, 232, 240 modern scholarship on 230–3 moral elements within 239–40, 308 prominence of Easter within 258–9 scriptural elements within 239, 243, 244–5, 247 shifting geographical focus of 239–40, 247, 248, 249, 308 source use of 230 vera lex historiae and 244–5 Berig Gothic migration under 118–20, 124, 125, 131, 138, 139, 155, 324 lent authority by classical citation 122–3 Boniface, Saint 299, 300 Braudel, Fernand 16–17 Braulio of Saragossa 170, 173–4 Brigantium lighthouse 136, 317 Britain Appian on 65 Bede on 2, 3, 30, 200, 248, 249–73, 308, 311, 329–31 Albion 250, 254–5 ambiguous focus of 247, 249, 273 Angli within 290–307 Edenic themes within? 270–1 hexameral themes within? 269–73 importance of Christianity to 234 juxtaposed with Hibernia 260, 261–5, 268 as microcosm 272–3 mineral wealth of 252–3 motifs of isolation within 237–9, 254–60 pearls of 253 personal elements within 251–2, 253 population of 278–9, 280, 283–6 Psalms and 238 typicality of 271–3 wider context of 239, 244, 247, 254, 255, 256–8 Collingwood on 5, 15 Defoe on 4, 5

Gildas on 2, 3, 199, 248, 277 Jordanes on 116, 118, 128, 136, 137, 137–42, 322–3 classical citation within 121, 122 compared with Scandza 117, 118, 123, 137–8, 139, 141–2, 142, 143, 146, 147, 153, 154 compared with Scythia 116, 156, 157 Goths and 121, 124, 125, 126, 138 population of 138–9, 149 Roman authority and 141–2, 165, 165–6 Orosius on 66, 71, 73, 93, 94–5, 318 function within Orosius’ narrative 42, 48 Roman conquest of 60, 61 classical geographical knowledge and 26, 78, 92, 93, 166, 167 Thule and 95 Britons Bede on 274, 280, 287, 330 Germanus’ mission to 289–90 origin myths of 282–3, 288–90, 291, 301 perspective on Anglian settlement 294, 298, 300, 302 prominence in opening geography 248, 255, 274, 275, 279, 280–2, 290, 304 religious recalcitrance of 259, 274 Gildas on 277 Burgundians 61, 118 Byzantium (city) see Constantinople Caesar, Julius campaigns of 142, 165, 166, 167, 213, 322 Gallic War 5, 93, 94 description of Britain within 252, 288 geographical introduction of 1, 2, 18 Callisthenes 25, 82 Canaan 120, 271, 304 Canterbury 293, 295 Canterbury Commentaries 272 Cartaginensis 202 Caspian Sea 88, 89, 91, 147, 157, 158 popularly viewed as an Oceanic gulf 56, 90, 316 Cassiodorus Anecdoton on 102 bibliophilia of 101 Chronicle of 101, 106 Historia tripartita of 101–2, 106 Institutiones of 101, 102, 131, 145 lost Gothic History of 101–2, 119, 120, 164, 166, 174, 186, 208 Ablabius and 156 ethnogenesis scholarship and 109–10 historical context of 102–5, 111 ideological value of 112

375

Index Cassiodorus (cont.) influences upon 111, 140–1, 142 Jordanes’ Getica and 100–1, 101–5, 107–8, 112–13, 114, 127–32, 153; geographical introduction and 114–15, 127, 128–9, 130–1, 143, 145, 147, 149, 152–3, 155, 158, 159, 162, 168; Scandza migration original to Jordanes 162 Jordanes’ humility towards 105, 130 literary impulses within 33 national history? 30 oral traditions and 108, 110 title of 102 political career of 101, 102 Variae of 101, 102, 113, 128 Amal genealogies and 103, 108 Cassius Dio 83 influence upon Jordanes’ Getica confused with Dio Chrysostom 122, 139–40 description of Britain 116, 122, 138, 139–40, 141, 142, 143, 322 Castalius 113, 127–8, 148 Caucasus Mountains Jordanes on 157 Orosius on 67, 74, 77, 87–92, 95, 97, 98, 315–16 methodology within 89 within Historia narrative 88 symbolic status of 87–8 Ceolwulf 239, 296 Chronicles, Book of 269 Cicero 6, 7, 14, 65, 252, 283 Claudian Picti and Scotti in the verse of 287 Spain in the verse of 186, 190 Zephyrus in the verse of 201, 211 Claudius 166 Clitumnus, River 191, 192, 193, 194–5, 208–9, 327 Collingwood, Robin George 5 Columba 246, 266 Constantine 41, 91, 218 Constantinople 162, 165, 166, 184, 191, 219, 303, 313, 316 cosmopolitan nature of 162–3 Gothic traditions circulating within 114, 126, 167 scholarly community within 163 ethnographic scholarship in 100, 129–30, 153 influence of Ptolemy within 145 Jordanes writing in 2, 129, 152 Constantius 289, 293, 294, 300

Corippus 166 Cosmas Indicopleustes 28, 80, 145 Curtius Rufus, Q. 72, 90 Cuthbert, Saint 229, 280 Cyprian of Carthage 215–16, 216–17 Dacia 124, 156, 160–1, 316, 325 Dalriada 287 Dani 152 Daniel, Book of 51–2, 53, 221, 222–4 Danube 67, 126, 158, 161, 316, 325 as frontier of civilization 67, 88, 120, 156, 316 Deuteronomy, Book of 260 Dicaearchus 96 Dicuil 50, 70 Dimensuratio provinciarum 88 Britain and northern islands within 78, 93, 94 descriptive methodology of 70–1, 72 imperial chauvinism in 72–3 likely debts to the Agrippa Map 71, 72 Orosius and 70, 73 Dio Chrysostom 122, 139–40 Diocletian 60, 190 Diodorus Siculus geographical digressions of 164, 261, 267, 288 universal history of 44, 45, 46, 47, 239 Dionysius Exiguus 236 Dionysius of Halicarnassus 51, 283 Divisio orbis terrarum 88 Britain and northern islands absent from 78, 94 descriptive methodology of 70–1 division of the world in 71, 75 imperial chauvinism of 72–3 likely debts to the Agrippa ‘Map’ 71, 72 Orosius and 70, 73 Droitwich 252 Ecgbert 280, 282, 298–300, 302 Ecgfrith 280 Eden medieval geographical writing and 29, 80, 237 not evoked in Bede’s image of Britain 270, 271, 272 Edwin 246, 279 Egypt 28, 79, 237, 242, 259, 275 Bowman on 9 Herodotus on 19 Orosius on 313–20 River Nile and 81, 82, 83, 86, 315 Ely 252 Ephorus 53 epithalamia conventions of in Christian writing 214–15, 216

376

Index conventions of in classical writing 206, 210–11 Isidore of Seville influenced by 205–19, 307 Eratosthenes 90, 96 Ermanaric 111 Erythraean periplus 82 Essex 245–6, 291 Ethiopia 313 Christian missions to 28 Mossylon Emporium in 66, 84 River Nile and 79, 81, 83, 85, 87 Ethiopians 55, 319 ethnogenesis Anglo-Saxon history and 292, 301, 305 Gothic history and 109–10 scepticism regarding 110–11 Eudocia 224 Euphrates, River 80, 89, 242, 314, 315 Europe 66, 129, 154, 159–60 Appian on 13 constituent part of the world 75–7, 79, 313 Gibbon on 13 Gothic migration in 116, 120, 122, 124, 132, 148 Orosius on 316–18 Roman authority within 59, 73 Eusebius 26, 28, 44, 173 Cassiodorus’ Institutiones on 131 Chronicle see Eusebius-Jerome, Chronicle Historia Ecclesiastica continuators of 35, 101, 234–5 Rufinus translation of 101–2 use of written sources within 23–4, 173 Isidore’s Origines on 172, 173 Onomasticon 28, 29 political philosophy of 23–4, 52, 57, 58, 174, 279 Eusebius-Jerome, Chronicle 10 influence of 99 upon Cassiodorus 101 upon Isidore 171, 173 upon Jordanes 106 upon Orosius 45–6, 52 originality of 22–3 universality of 45, 47, 99 Euthymenes of Marseilles 83 Eutropius 106 Exodus, Book of 111, 194, 260, 294, 301 expositio totius mundi 190 Ezekiel, Book of 223, 260, 269 Febvre, Lucien 16, 17 Filimer 120 Fortunate Islands 134, 154, 314

Four Empires classical writers on 51 Jewish writers on 51–2 Orosius on 40, 50–6, 58–60 spatial understanding of 52–4, 67, 68–9, 76, 77 Franco historiography under 175 odious view of Spain 176, 178 Frankia 176, 204, 229 frankische Vo¨lkertafel 129, 153 Franks 32, 60, 118, 290 Freculphus 118 Fredegar 279 Frisia 298, 299 Galla Placidia 221–2 Gallaecia 134–5, 136, 202, 203 Gallia Narbonensis 203 see also Septimania Gallic Chronicle of 452 287 Ganges, River 80, 90, 314 Gaul 1, 67, 216, 221, 259, 317 Britain and 141, 200, 250, 255 Britons and 289 Franks in 170, 292 Goths in 113, 206 Spain and 200 Genesis, Book of 29, 80, 214, 270–3, 275–6 Geoffrey of Monmouth 4–5, 307 geographical introductions content shaped by historical concerns 11 literary pretension within 5 medieval historiography and 3–4, 6 modern historiography and 4–5, 9 narrative function of 5, 11 stage metaphor and 5, 14, 16 geography Christian assumptions towards 27–8, 29 difficulties of definition with respect to history 6, 8, 19 description rather than narrative? 7, 10–11 space rather than time? 7 temporal stasis rather than change? 7 interdependence of geography and history 2, 8, 9–10, 310, 311 Anglophone scholarship and 14–16 Annales scholarship and 18 classical historiography and 19, 20–1, 24, 310 Islamic historiography and 18 late antique writing on 3, 6–7 importance of written authority to 24–6, 26–7 Gepids 161, 164, 325

377

Index Gerald of Wales 266, 307 Germanus, Saint 289–90 Germanus (the Elder) 103, 104, 107, 166 Germany 32, 141, 250, 255, 264, 298 Gesalic (Visigothic king) 224–5 Getae 140, 197, 198 Goths associated with 100, 111, 121, 142, 198 poetic accounts of 192, 197–8 Gewissae 291, 302 Gibbon 4, 11–13, 13–14, 19, 29 Gibraltar, Strait of 177, 200, 203 Gildas, De excidio Britanniae 288, 289 Bede’s debts to ethnographic 278–9, 282, 283, 286 geographical 248–9, 250 historical 292–4, 300 description of Britain abstracted image of Britain within 278 Christian elements within 27, 199, 269 dimensions of 251 as encomium 3, 252, 271 Orosius and 2, 4 scholarship on 3 ethnographic elements in 277, 301, 303 Gog 212, 223 Gothia 161 Goths beyond Roman authority in Orosius and later historians 61–2, 88, 142, 166 Cassiodorus and genealogy of in Variae 102 importance of to Gothic identity? 100, 111, 112 genealogical traditions of 104, 109 Getes identified with 61, 121, 198 Isidore on Gothic authority beyond Spain 179, 203–4; in Septimania 203–4 Gothic Histories on 171, 173–7, 177–8, 179–85; affinities with Hispani within 213; Arianism of 180, 183; erotic language in migration account 206–7, 220–2; importance of conquests within 179; importance of conversion within 179, 197, 214; origins of group within 174, 194, 198, 209, 223; responses to Romans 193; royal rule within 177–8, 196; union with Spain crucial 187, 188, 194, 205–8, 213, 214, 215, 217–18, 220–2, 224–5, 226, 227, 277, 328 Laus Gothorum 177, 196–9, 200; Goths as groom within 208; Spanish elements within 197 Origines on 212

Visigothic marriage legislation and 211, 213 Italian kingdom of 109, 111, 128 Justininianic campaign against 165, 166–7 Jordanes’ Getica on 2, 31, 32, 100, 103, 162, 163, 311 Ablabius in 156 amongst competing versions of Gothic past 113–14, 126–7, 138, 139, 167, 168 exploitation of Gothic oral traditions within? 108–12, 119–20, 120–1 exploitation of Gothic written sources within? 108 Germanus/Matasuentha as union of Goth and Roman? 104 Scandinavian migration within 116, 117, 118–20, 154, 186, 286, 291, 324; classical citation used to justify 122–3, 123–4, 165; controversy of 119; Jordanes’ invention of 118–26, 121–2, 150–1, 162, 168; literary motifs within 147–9, 168–9, 283–4, 311; places the Goths within the classical Weltbild 168; political importance of 167 secondary and tertiary migrations within 112, 116, 121, 124–5, 155, 156, 157, 160, 163, 167, 324, 326 written in the context of the Gothic War 166–7 Leander on 217 Orosius on 43, 50, 61–2, 64 Gothic Christianity in 41, 42–3 sack of Rome in 41–2, 54, 61 Theodosius and 222 see also Amals, Getae, Ostrogoths, Visigoths Greece 259 Gregory I, pope English mission of 229, 234, 244, 299 centrality of to Bede’s view of the Angli 303, 304–7, 311 Hom. in ev. 276 Moralia in Iob 238, 276 Regula pastoralis 238 Gregory of Tours Histories of 50 attitude to Rome in 174 breadth of 178, 219 Frankish origins in 32, 290 miracles within 232, 267 religious themes within 178 scholarship on 184 not a national historian 30 Halirunnae 111 Hegesippus 268–9

378

Index Heliodorus 81 Hengist 294–6, 297 Henry of Huntingdon 4, 307 Hercules 192, 267 Herodotus 5, 19, 51, 283 autopsy and 24, 126 geographic and ethnographic digressions within 2, 18, 19, 50, 56 River Nile within 79, 81 Heruli 126–7, 128, 152 Hesperia 202 Hibernia Bede on 3, 203, 248, 249, 254, 259, 269, 280, 287, 330–1 counterpoint to Britain 260, 261–5, 268, 273 missionary themes within 229, 258, 259, 265 not intended as evocation of Canaan 260, 271 not intended as evocation of Eden 271 Scotti in 287 snakes and 260, 262–4 sources for 250 classical geographers on 92 Jordanes omits 133, 137 Orosius on 78, 90, 93–5, 97, 189, 318 Hippodes 115, 133 Historia Brittonum 293, 295, 296 historical geography 15–16 history difficulty of definition with respect to geography 6, 7 historical change rather than stasis? 7 narrative rather than description? 7, 10–11 time rather than space? 7 interdependence of history and geography 2, 8, 9–10, 19, 36, 64, 310 Anglophone scholarship and 14–16 Annales scholarship and 18, 19 classical historiography and 19, 20–1, 24 Islamic historiography and 18 late antique historiography 20, 29, 31–2, 33 Holy Land 27–8, 39, 80, 242 Homer 25, 26, 28, 111, 164 Horace 149, 202, 211 Horsa 294–6, 297 horses 128, 130, 150, 152, 189, 190, 197 prominence of in origin myths 124, 125, 126–7, 209–10, 214, 295, 326 Huneric 224 Huns 183, 298, 325 barbarism of 56, 61, 87–8 English mission to? 298, 299 Goths and 111, 157, 164

origin myths of 100, 108, 126 Hydatius 62, 173, 180, 221, 222–3 Hyperboreans 56, 147, 153 Iamnesia 115, 133 Ibn Khalduˆn 18, 19 imperial mapping projects 69, 70–3 see also Agrippa Map, Dimensuratio provinciarum, Divisio orbis terrarum Incarnation 41, 47, 59, 60, 61, 64 turning point in Orosius’ Historia 41, 42, 47, 57–8 India Christian geography and 1, 26–7, 28, 237, 314 classical geography and 25, 26, 49, 71, 72, 89 Indians 55, 56 Indus, River 49 Inishboffin 251 Iona 251, 280 Columba expels snakes from 266 converted to orthodox observance 258 possible source for Bede on northern history 282, 285, 287 Isaiah, Book of 248, 280 Isidore of Charax 91 Isidore of Seville 2, 3, 170–228 bibliography of 170 birth of 217 chronicles 171, 173, 198, 213 De natura rerum 200 de ortu 178 De viris illustribus 171, 173, 178 Historia 33, 171, 219, 228, 235, 244 compared with other histories of the period 174, 186–7, 194, 292, 307 different redactions of 179–85, 226 ethnographic elements within 62, 277 idiosyncratic nature of 173–7, 235, 311 influences upon 184 literary merit of 33, 179, 311, 312 modern scholarship on 171–2, 179 narrative of: conversion of Goths focal 179, 217–18, 220; Gothic migration within 194, 279, 291; nuptial themes within 220–2, 227; union of Goths and Spain climactic 187, 188, 207, 213, 307 proto-nationalist elements within? 30, 31, 175–9, 185–6, 227 provincial loyalty in the work of 174–6 religious themes within 178–9 Rome within 174–5 royal focus of 177–8, 196, 228 Suinthila’s victories inspire 180, 181, 185, 203, 220, 225, 227 title of uncertain 173–4

379

Index Isidore of Seville (cont.) Vandal and Suevic appendices 187, 199, 224 historical scholarship of 171–9 Laus Gothorum 177–8, 180, 185, 196–9, 200, 223 epithalamial elements within 205, 206–8, 221 Laus Spaniae 2, 174, 180, 185–96, 230, 248, 253, 327–8 ambiguous human geography within 195–6 ambiguous physical geography within 176–7, 199–205, 227 Christianity of 215–16, 216–17, 220 epithalamial elements within 187, 205–19, 311 influence of 36, 220, 310 influences upon 4, 36, 187, 190–1, 191–5, 227 literary merit of 6, 188 modern scholarship on 6, 187–8 narrative function of 220, 225–6 paralleled to Laus Gothorum 187, 226–7 proto-nationalist elements within? 176, 200, 227 Origines 36, 170, 171, 174, 187, 199, 210–11, 264, 265, 266, 267–8 epithalamia within 207, 214–19 ethnography within 178, 211–12, 214, 306; on British peoples 284, 288; on Goths 198, 213, 223; on Hispani 195–6, 213 geography within 27, 200, 310; British Isles 250, 256, 257, 262–3; Hibernia 250, 260, 261; influence of 242; influences upon 27; Spain 178, 202 historia within 172–3 political themes within 177, 218–19 prominence within the Spanish Church 181, 183, 217, 218, 219 Sent. 218–19 islands classical writing on 164–5 Indian Ocean 115, 118, 132–3, 134, 154, 165 Mediterranean Appian on 13, 165 Jordanes on 133–4 Orosius on 71, 72, 73, 319–20 Northern 165, 237, 288 Appian on 13 Jordanes on 2 Orosius on 74, 77, 78–9, 92–7, 98, 318 Italy 49, 63, 257, 259, 292, 330 compared with Spain 188, 189, 201–2 descriptions of

Orosius 317 Paul the Deacon 4, 34 Pliny the Elder 188, 189–90 Virgil 193 Wickham 9 Gothic occupation of 100, 101, 104, 111, 112, 206 Getica and 100, 150, 163 war with Byzantium 100, 103, 113, 127, 163 Laudes of 31, 186 Japeth 198, 212 Jeremiah, Book of 248, 260, 294 Jerome 52, 172, 173, 215, 223, 230, 242, 243, 244 De viris illustribus 171, 178 Ep. 39, 87 Hebr. quaest. Gen. four rivers of paradise in 80 identification of Goths and Getes 62, 121, 198 translation of Eusebius’ Chronicon 35, 44 influence upon Orosius 39, 52, 53 see also Eusebius-Jerome, Chronicle Jerusalem 80 Synod of 39 jet 263–4, 329 John of Biclarum 173, 204 Jordanes career and background of 163 Getica 32, 174, 253, 307 Ablabius and 120, 156–7, 162 authorial interjections within 131–2 Cassiodorus and; Getica composed by Jordanes 113; Getica more than a celebration of the Amals 113–14; humility towards 105, 127; overshadowed by 106; pointed allusions to 130, 158; relationship to lost Gothic History 100–1, 107–8, 110, 112–13, 127–32, 186–7; Scandinavian ethnography dependent upon? 149, 155, 168 Constantinopolitan context of 163, 171 geographical introduction 2, 33, 100–69, 199, 248, 321–6; citation of classical sources within 121–3; coherence of 115–17, 131–2; description of Britain in 137–42, 253, 288, 322–3; description of Scandza in 142–55, 256, 277, 311, 323–4; description of Scythia in 115, 116–17, 155–62; description of small islands in 95, 132–7, 154, 321; description of Spain within 134–6, 321; description of

380

Index Thule in 165, 322; exploited by later geographers 3, 117–18; influence of Julius Honorius upon 132–3, 134; influence of Orosius upon 4, 6, 33, 121, 131, 132, 133, 134, 135–6, 137, 147, 154, 158, 159–62, 169, 321; influence of Pomponius Mela upon 135, 136, 137; influence of Ptolemy upon 144–5; rhetorical function of 153–4; use of textual sources, rather than map in composition 132, 133–4, 137 Goths within 100, 279, 311; follows Orosius on Gothic independence 62, 166; genealogy of 103; Italian kingdom of neglected 103–4, 113; Scandinavian origins of original to Jordanes 121–2, 162; Scythian and Balkan occupation of 103–4, 112–13; war with Byzantium 103, 166–7 modern scholarship on 6, 100, 109–10 narrative coherence of 33, 162–7, 194, 208, 311, 312 national history? 30, 31 oral traditions within 110, 113–14, 124–6, 173, 244, 291, 292, 306; incompatibility with classical traditions 119–26, 168; migration topoi within 111, 209, 283–4, 285 political position of 111, 174; praise of Justinian within 103, 166–7, 286 preface of 105–6, 127–8, 148 Romana 106–7, 130, 131 Josephus 21, 80, 223, 324 influence of 23, 80, 122, 309 national history and 31, 46, 178 Juba II, King of Mauretania 83 Julian of Toledo 204 Julius Honorius 37, 95 influence on Jordanes’ Getica 122, 131, 132–3, 134, 137 Justinian 100, 162, 163, 167 Getica celebrates 100, 103, 166–7, 286 Jutes 291, 296, 297, 299 see also Angli Juvenal 93, 96, 190 Kent 245, 246, 263 Augustine’s mission in, 234, 246 Bede exploits sources from, 263, 291, 294–6, 300 Jutes settle in 296, 297 Ladoga, Lake 147 Lamentations, Book of 248, 294 Leander of Seville 217–18

Leovigild 220, 225 marriage legislation of 213 regalia of 184, 196 Septimania and 204 Lindsey 246 Livy 20, 173 erroneously cited on Britain by Jordanes 121, 123, 138, 143, 322 influence of 38, 40, 172, 173 moral themes within 239 origin myths in 283, 295 locus . . . amoenus 193, 252, 271 Lombards Paul the Deacon on 34, 118, 291, 294 Procopius on 126, 128 Lucan 93, 186, 190, 202 Lusitania 134–5, 136, 202, 203 Maeotis, Lake 124, 156, 157, 159, 160 Magog 198, 223, 324 Mantua 191, 192 maps 10, 72, 73, 132, 137, 144–5 Marcellinus Comes 100, 163 Martial 186, 190 Martianus Capella 7, 27, 83, 96, 98, 310 Martin, Saint 32, 290 Matasuentha 169 marriage of 103, 104, 107, 166 Mauretania Tingitania 203 Maximus of Saragossa 173, 180, 184 Megasthenes 25, 72 Menander Rhetor treatises of 189, 190–1 epithalamia in 206, 207, 210 regional celebrations in 195, 201, 202 Menapi 93, 318 merchants’ reports 26, 69 Caucasus 90, 91 Nile 82, 86 Scandinavia 117, 151–2 Mercia 246, 252 Meroe 81, 82, 83, 85, 315 Mevania 95, 137 Bede on 245, 246, 279 Jordanes on 133–4, 136–7, 321 Orosius on 78, 93–5, 97, 137, 318 military activity and geographical knowledge 25–6, 73, 86, 89, 95, 96 missionary activity 28 Moesia 124, 128, 156, 160, 161, 316 monsters (of the Nile) 78, 83, 84 moral themes in history 21, 55–6, 201, 225, 239–40 Morini 93, 250, 318, 329 Mossylon Emporium 66, 81, 82, 84, 315

381

Index national histories 30–1, 175–9 Nechtan 258, 282 Nero 28 Nicolaus of Damascus 45, 46 Niger, River 83, 85 Nile, River 9, 85 classical geographers on 80–1, 83–4, 85, 86 medieval thought regarding 29, 80 Orosius on 1, 74, 77, 78–9, 79–87, 89, 91, 92, 95, 97, 98, 315 Ninian 246 Ninus 45, 46, 47, 54, 56 conquests of 49, 55, 61 noble savage 56 Northumbria 279, 280, 283, 291 Bede and 229, 234, 253, 303, 308 Easter dispute within 258 migration traditions in 296, 297 Numbers, book of 260, 269 numerology 54, 60 Numidia 65 Ocean as metaphor 60 Bede on Britain defined by 250, 254, 255, 256, 270, 272, 288 as hagiographical motif 251 as rhetorical motif 237, 259, 264 Gildas on 278 Jordanes on Britain and 143, 166 Justinian’s domination of 167, 203 Scandza and 143, 145, 146, 149 Scythia and 157, 158 small islands in 115, 116, 133–4 Spain and 134, 135 Orosius on 74, 75, 83, 85, 313 Alexander’s expansion to 49, 58 Christian expansion beyond 26, 68 islands in 77, 93, 95 Roman expansion limited by 57–8, 60 Pytheas and 24 Odessa 140 Oium 120–1, 122, 125, 324 Olympus, Mount 66 oral traditions comparative studies of 108–9, 209, 292 English 244, 306 Gothic 119 Ablabius and 156 competing myths 114, 126–7 Jordanes and 100–1, 113–14, 119–20, 124–6 modern disputes over 108–12

Irish 287 see also horses, prominence of in origin myths; origin myths Orcades 61, 133 Bede on 250, 256, 329 Jordanes on 136–7, 321 Orosius on 93, 166, 251, 318 Orderic Vitalis 307 Ordo generis Cassiodorum 102 Origen 105, 214 origin myths Angli and 295, 305–7 Celtic groups and 279, 282–3, 286 Goths and 119–26, 126–7, 167, 168 Heruli and 126–7 Huns and 126 literary conventions within 282–3 Origo gentis Langobardorum 118 Orosius Augustine and as Orosius’ mentor 35, 40, 63, 171 influence upon Historia 37–8, 40, 43–4, 54, 57, 62–3 early life of 39 Historia 35, 39, 48, 49–50, 54, 80 ambition of 45–6 audience of 40, 86 chronology of 46–7 classical historians influence 40 four empires philosophy of 40, 49–50, 50–6; ambiguous position of Rome within 30, 51, 54, 55, 56–7, 58–60, 60–1, 61–2, 174; Augustus/ Incarnation as turning point 41; chronology of 45–6, 68; influence of Eusebius upon 57, 58; influence of Jerome upon 52, 53, 54; spatial representation of 37, 51, 52–4, 64, 67–8, 76; universal Christianity within 26, 68–9 geographical introduction 1, 10, 25, 33, 34, 35–99, 115, 121, 196, 199, 313; Appian and 65; authorial intervention within 74, 78; authority of 3, 35–6, 37; continental divisions within 74–7; description of Africa 74, 75, 86, 87; description of Caucasus 74, 87–92; description of Nile 74, 79–87, 315; description of Northern Islands 73, 92–7, 137, 141, 142, 146, 165, 189, 256, 261, 277, 287, 318; descriptive style of 147, 154, 158, 159–62; imperial geographical projects and 6, 36, 65, 69, 70–3, 74, 78–9; influence of 2, 3–4, 6, 19, 33, 35–6, 69, 98–9,

382

Index 310–11; modern scholarship on 3, 6, 36–7, 69–70; narrative and 37, 48, 65–6, 66–7, 88; originality of 64, 74; periphery prominent within 91–2; Ptolemy and 69, 90; religious elements absent from 80; Sallust and 65, 66, 76–7; universality of 47–9, 68–9, 73, 79 Goths within 42–3, 61–2, 64, 111; Arianism of 43; Getes identified with 121, 198; independence from Rome 61–2, 88, 142, 166; sack of Rome 41–2, 183 Greek, knowledge of 65 humour in the work of 40 influence upon later writers: Bede 240, 242, 243, 245, 248, 249, 250, 251, 253, 255, 307, 309; Cassiodorus 131; Isidore 180, 183, 185, 200, 203, 213, 221, 227; Jordanes 115, 121, 122, 131, 132, 133, 134, 168, 169 literary coherence of 33, 37, 39–43, 47, 51, 311, 312 moral elements within 55–6 optimism of 40–3, 62–3 popularity of in medieval Europe 35, 37 topographical digressions within 50 Spain, origins in 42, 52, 55, 74, 94, 135–6, 203 structural difficulties for 40, 44–5 Liber apologeticus 39 Ostrogoths 109, 111, 113, 163 Cassiodorus and 101, 112, 152 occupation of Italy 100, 111, 112, 113 Oswald 264–5, 279 Oswiu 280 Ottorogorra 66 Ovid 209 Fasti 20, 283 Metamorphoses 190, 201, 209 Pacatus, Drepanius Panegyric of Theodosius 196, 206, 215, 216, 222, 227 Isidore’s use of 189–90, 191, 192 Picts and Scots within 287 Spanish ethnography within 195, 197 Spanish geography within 186, 201 Palestine see Holy Land Palladius 288 Panegyrici Latini 96, 190, 263, 287 Pannonia 32, 161, 290, 317 Paschal calculations 234, 236, 258–60 Passio Sancti Sigismundi Regis 118 Patrick, Saint 266 Paul the Deacon

geographical introduction of 3, 4, 34 nationalist elements within? 30, 60, 279 origin myths within 194, 291, 294, 306 Pausanias 67 Pax Augusta 58, 59 Orosius emphasizes eschatological significance of 41, 57–8, 64 pearls, British 251, 253, 268, 329 Pelagianism 39 periploi 152 see also merchants’ reports Philo 23, 80 Pictland 246, 280 Picts Bede on 278–9, 286, 287, 288, 290, 301, 302, 330 among four constituent gentes of Britain 248, 255, 274, 275, 279, 281 Easter dispute and 259, 280 missions of 280 missions to 234, 246, 258, 274, 281, 286 nomenclature of 274 origin myths of 282–3, 283–6, 291, 301 passages relating to 277 regnal lists of 286 succession patterns of 282, 283, 285 Gildas on 277–8, 278–9 Scotti confused with 284, 287 Pirenne, Henri 17 Pliny (the Elder) Agrippa map and, 70, 71, 72, 78 geography of 67, 88, 93, 150, 151, 206, 215, 227, 265, 270 Britain 93, 253, 255, 256 dependence upon military reports, 25, 86 divisions of the world within 76, 256 Italy 188–9, 195, 201–2 moral elements within 201 Nile 83–4, 86 small islands 95, 117, 133, 137, 245 Spain 186, 188, 195, 197, 201 Thule 96, 257 influence of 27, 98 upon Bede, 242, 250–1, 257 upon Isidore of Seville, 189–90, 191, 192 Pliny (the Younger) 194, 209 Polybius 20, 24, 45, 51 geographical passages within, 18, 19, 76, 96 Pompeius Trogus, Justin’s epitome of universal history of 31, 46, 260 Augustine’s debts to, 38 Orosius’ debts to, 40, 46–7 Spanish geography within, 186, 190, 195, 197, 209 Pomponius Mela chorographia and 6

383

Index Pomponius Mela (cont.) geography of 151, 160, 162 Britain 26, 137, 141–2, 252, 288 divisions of the world within 76 Hibernia 94, 261 Nile 83, 86 Scandinavia 117, 143, 145–6, 323 small islands 133 Spain 135, 190 Thule 96 influence of 122, 135–6, 154, 190 Pontic Sea 156, 159 Portus Rutupi 66, 93, 250, 251, 255, 318, 329 Procopius 100, 103, 163, 299 ethnography of 130, 153 Baltic region 128–9, 151, 153 Heruli 126–7 prodigies 42, 50 Prudentius 170, 186 Psalms, Book of 238 Pseudo-Aethicus 37 Ptolemy geography of 9, 69, 111, 137, 157 Britain 93 Caucasus 90 divisions of the world within 76 Hibernia 94 Nile 85, 86 Scandinavia 116, 117, 122, 143, 144–5, 150, 151, 323 small islands 95, 137 Thule 96 influence of 90, 154 Latin recensions of 90, 144–5 space and time within 8–9 Pyrenees 204, 206 boundary of Spain 177, 200, 203 Pytheas 24, 95–6, 257 Ravenna 111, 128, 140 Ravenna Cosmography 117, 310 Reccared 204, 219, 225 conversion of 179, 214, 220 Reconquista 175, 177 Red Sea 49, 50, 79, 82, 84, 314, 314 Rhine 141, 143 Roduulf 128–30, 152 Rome 54, 71, 166, 191, 194 Appian on 64 Augustan revival of 20, 44 Augustine on 56–7 Bede on 259, 275, 280, 305 Cassiodorus on 102, 111 eternal Rome 20–1 Christian writers and 21, 26, 29–30

foundation myths of 47, 48, 149, 194, 283 Isidore on 174–5, 193, 194, 201, 202, 212, 219 Goths and 206–7 sacks and the City 180, 183, 206, 221, 223, 224 Spain and 205, 206 Jordanes on 106, 134, 141–2, 165–6 geographical knowledge and military expansion and Thule 165 in Britain 92, 94, 95, 141–2, 165–6 Orosius on 51, 54 absence in geographical introduction 66–7, 77 ambiguous attitude towards 51, 52, 54, 55, 56–7, 58–60, 60–1, 61–2, 62–3, 68–9, 77 sack of 1, 30, 38, 41–2, 54, 61, 62 universal rule of 31 Christian writers and 24, 26 eclipse of 32 Romulus 103, 212, 294 Rufinus 28, 102, 105–6, 234, 309 Rufus Festus 203 Rutilius Namatianus 38 Rutupi Portus see Portus Rutupi Sabine women 283 Sahara Desert 73, 75, 86, 87, 92 Sallust geography in Bellum Jugurthinum digressions within 67 divisions of the world within 75, 76–7 introduction 1, 2, 18, 65, 66 historical assumptions of 21 influence of 29, 35, 38, 40, 65, 149, 172 moral themes within 40 Sarmatians 149, 161 Saxo Grammaticus 4 Saxons 60, 296, 297, 298, 301 see also Angli Scandinavia classical writers on 117, 144–5, 145–6 Cassiodorus’ ethnography of 128–9, 130–1, 149 Gothic origins associated with 2, 100, 116, 118, 164, 167, 168, 186 association original to Jordanes 121–2, 162, 164–5 geographical introduction of Getica tailored to explain 117, 119, 122, 147–9, 154 persistence of Scandinavia myth 127, 150–1 Jordanes’ description of 323–4 beyond limits of Roman hegemony 165, 166 compared with Britain 121, 123–4, 137–8, 139, 141–2, 143, 146, 147, 153, 154

384

Index compared with Scythia 116, 155, 156, 157, 162, 164 compared with small islands 165 compared with Thule 118, 121, 122–3 Gothic origins located in: ethnography of 143, 147, 149–55; influence of 3, 117–18, 310; oral traditions and 119; paradoxical characteristics of 148, 153–4; physical description of 116, 142–55, 256 later peoples trace their origins to 32, 118 Picts do not trace their origins to 284, 285 Roduulf and 129 Scotti Bede on 278–9, 285, 286, 288, 290, 301, 330 among four constituent gentes of Britain 248, 255, 274, 275, 281, 290 Easter dispute and 280 missions of 234, 280 missions to 234, 274, 281, 288 nomenclature of 274 origin myths of 282–3, 285, 291 Gildas on 277–8, 278–9 confused with Picts 284 Orosius on 94, 318 Scythia Ablabius and 156, 162 classical writers on 19, 96 Getes and 62 Goths and 100, 121, 124–5, 149 Jordanes’ description of 115, 116–17, 122, 124–5, 146, 147, 155–62, 324 function within Getica 155 Gothic migrations shape 155, 156, 157, 186 identified with Oium 120–1 tailored to Scandza account 117, 162 origin myths and 283, 284–5, 287, 330 Orosius on 49, 56 Scythians 88, 159, 192 barbarism of 56 Goths and 164, 198 Magog and 223 nomadic nature of 78, 91–2, 149, 316 Selsey 246, 252 Seneca 96, 186 Septimania 203–4 Seres 157, 158 Sicily 42, 49, 53 Sidonius Apollinaris 91, 211, 287, 289 Silefantina 133, 154 Silius Italicus 96, 190, 194, 209 Sisebut 180, 181, 182, 183 Sisenand 181

snakes Ireland and, 3, 260, 262–4, 264–5, 269, 271, 330–1 other traditions 265, 266–8 Socrates Scholasticus 28, 63, 101 Sodom 41, 50 Solinus geography of 148, 151, 160, 265 Britain 253, 269–70, 271 Hibernia 94, 250, 260–1, 262–3 Nile 83 small islands 133 Thule 96, 257 influence of 27, 98, 250 Solis Perusta 115, 133, 154 Sozomenus 101, 126 Spain 26, 49, 229 Bede on 250, 255 Church councils in 181, 182, 183, 204, 219 Isidore on 2, 171, 175, 199, 210, 221, 222 Byzantine occupation of 180, 181, 185, 203, 220, 225, 227 description of, 189, 190, 199–205, 310; ambiguous 176–7, 178, 203, 227 ethnography of 178, 179, 180, 195–6, 197, 208, 212, 213 Gothic union with Spain 179, 187, 188, 205–8, 213, 214, 215, 217–18, 220–2, 224–5, 226, 227 Laus Spaniae 185–96, 253, 311, 327–8 laus tradition nomenclature of 176 proto-national history of? 174–6, 175–9 Italy often compared to 188, 189, 193, 201–2 Jordanes on 134–6, 154, 163, 321 Orosius on 1, 49, 53, 63, 313 barbarian attack upon 55, 56 description of 50, 74, 135–6, 317–18 Spanish homeland of 39, 42, 52, 94 Virgil and 192 Visigothic kingdom in 100, 103, 113, 170–1, 181, 194, 203–4 marriage legislation within 213 Statius 96, 149 Stephanus 298 Stephanus of Byzantium 129–30, 145 Stilicho 38 Strabo geography of 93, 165, 209, 267 Britain 122, 138, 322 Caucasus 90 divisions of the world within 76 Hibernia 94 India 25, 90 Nile 82, 85

385

Index Strabo (cont.) Spain 134 Thule 95, 96 historical concerns of 19, 45, 46, 53 Homeric geography and 25 political assumptions of 21, 65 Pytheas and 24, 96 influence of 19, 29 space and time within 19 Suehans 151, 323 horses and 128, 130, 150, 152, 210 Suetonius 40, 194, 253 Sueves 61, 178, 180, 196 Isidore’s brief History of 173, 199, 220 Suinthila 181, 182, 219, 225 victory over Byzantines inspires Isidore 180, 181, 184, 203, 220, 225 Sulpicius Severus 22 Sussex 245, 246 Syria 28, 242–3

Thuringians 128, 130, 152 Tigris, River 80, 314, 315 Toledo 181, 182, 218 Traditionskern theory see ethnogenesis Trajan 196 Tribal Hidage 246 Tyconius 241 universal history 43–50

Tabula Peutingeriana 10 Tacitus 40, 50 Agricola British geography in 116, 122, 141, 143, 252, 322 British ethnography in 139, 288 British pearls in 253 Hibernia in 94 Thule in 96 use of Livy 123, 138–9 historical assumptions of 21 Tagus, River 135, 136, 190, 202 Tanais, River 79–80, 91, 156, 159–60, 313, 316, 325 Taprobane 133, 154 Tarraconensis 202, 203 Thanet 246, 263, 264 Theoderic 101, 102, 113, 128–9, 130 Theodosius 60, 189 Galla Placidia and 221, 222 Spanish origins of 196, 201 Theudegisel 225 Thrace 124, 156, 160, 161 Thucydides 18, 20, 23, 164 Thule Bede on 257 classical writers on 95–7 Jordanes on 115, 122, 136, 154, 165, 322 as counterpoint to Scandza 117, 118, 121 mythic status of 96 Orosius on 1, 93, 95, 318 Procopius on 126–7 Pytheas and 95–6 Virgil on 115, 122–3, 165

Vagus, fluvium 146, 147, 149, 323 Valens 43, 182 Vandals 61, 164, 178, 180, 196 Isidore’s brief History of, 173, 187, 199, 220 Virgil Aeneid Hesperia in 202 Isidore’s allusions to 191–5, 207, 208, 209 model for later migration myths 111, 194, 301 Orosius’ allusions to 48, 60, 62 Roma Aeterna in 20 Eclogues Constantine’s allusions to 91 Georgics 201, 209, 211 Isidore’s allusions to 191–5, 208, 209 Jordanes’ allusions to 144 Thule in 96, 115, 121, 122–3, 164, 165 Visigoths histories of Ablabius? 156 Isidore 171 other writers 163, 171–2, 217 Spanish kingdom of 100, 163, 171, 181, 195, 196, 203–4, 210–11 royal rule in 178, 196 see also Goths Vistula, River 156, 158, 160 Scandza and 143, 144, 146, 323 Vitruvius 83 Vivarium 101 Vortigern 293, 294, 295–6, 297 Wessex 245, 291, 296 Whitby 246, 264, 303, 305 Synod of 234, 236, 258, 259–60, 281 Wight 246, 291, 296 Wilfrid 231, 245, 259–60, 279, 280, 298 Woden 295 Wulfstan 291, 301 Zephyrus 193, 201

386

Cambridge Studies in Medieval Life and Thought Fourth series TITLES IN SERIES

1 The Beaumont Twins: The Roots and Branches of Power in the Twelfth Century D. B. CROUCH 2 The Thought of Gregory the Great1* G. R. EVANS 3 The Government of England under Henry I1* JUDITH A. GREEN 4 Charity and Community in Medieval Cambridge1* MIRI RUBIN

5 Autonomy and Community: The Royal Manor of Havering, 1200–15001* MARJORIE KENISTON MCINTOSH

6 The Political Thought of Baldus de Ubaldis JOSEPH CANNING

7 Land and Power in Late Medieval Ferrara: The Rule of the Este, 1350–14501* TREVOR DEAN

8 William of Tyre: Historian of the Latin East1* PETER W. EDBURY AND JOHN GORDON ROWE 9 The Royal Saints of Anglo-Saxon England: A Study of West Saxon and East Anglian Cults SUSAN J. RIDYARD 10 John of Wales: A Study of the Works and Ideas of a Thirteenth-Century Friar1* JENNY SWANSON

11 Richard III: A Study of Service1* ROSEMARY HORROX

12 A Marginal Economy? East Anglian Breckland in the Later Middle Ages MARK BAILEY

13 Clement VI: The Pontificate and Ideas of an Avignon Pope DIANA WOOD

14 Hagiography and the Cult of Saints: The Diocese of Orle´ans, 800–1200 THOMAS HEAD

15 Kings and Lords in Conquest England ROBIN FLEMING

16 Council and Hierarchy: The Political Thought of William Durant the Younger1* CONSTANTIN FASOLT

17 Warfare in the Latin East, 1192–12911* CHRISTOPHER MARSHALL

18 Province and Empire: Brittany and the Carolingians JULIA M. H. SMITH 19 A Gentry Community: Leicestershire in the Fifteenth Century, c. 1422–c. 1485 ERIC ACHESON

20 Baptism and Change in the Early Middle Ages, c. 200–1150 PETER CRAMER

21 Itinerant Kingship and Royal Monasteries in Early Medieval Germany, c. 936–10751* JOHN W. BERNHARDT 22 Caesarius of Arles: The Making of a Christian Community in Late Antique Gaul WILLIAM E. KLINGSHIRN 23 Bishop and Chapter in Twelfth-Century England: A Study of the Mensa Episcopalis EVERETT U. CROSBY 24 Trade and Traders in Muslim Spain: The Commercial Realignment of the Iberian Peninsula, 900–15001* OLIVIA REMIE CONSTABLE

25 Lithuania Ascending: A Pagan Empire Within East-Central Europe, 1295–1345 S. C. ROWELL 26 Barcelona and Its Rulers, 1100–12911* STEPHEN P. BENSCH 27 Conquest, Anarchy and Lordship: Yorkshire, 1066–11541* PAUL DALTON

28 Preaching the Crusades: Mendicant Friars and the Cross in the Thirteenth Century1* CHRISTOPH T. MAIER 29 Family Power in Southern Italy: The Duchy of Gaeta and Its Neighbours, 850–1139 PATRICIA SKINNER

30 The Papacy, Scotland and Northern England, 1342–13781* A. D. M. BARRELL 31 Peter des Roches: An Alien in English Politics, 1205–12381* NICHOLAS VINCENT

32 Runaway Religious in Medieval England, c. 1240–15401* F. DONALD LOGAN 33 People and Identity in Ostrogothic Italy, 489–554 PATRICK AMORY

34 The Aristocracy in Twelfth-Century Leo´n and Castile1* SIMON BARTON

35 Economy and Nature in the Fourteenth Century: Money, Market Exchange and the Emergence of Scientific Thought1* JOEL KAYE

36 Clement V SOPHIA MENACHE

37 England’s Jewish Solution, 1262–1290: Experiment and Expulsion1* ROBIN R. MUNDILL 38 Medieval Merchants: York, Beverley and Hull in the Later Middle Ages JENNY KERMODE

39 Family, Commerce and Religion in London and Cologne: A Comparative Social History of Anglo-German Emigrants, c. 1000–c. 1300. JOSEPH P. HUFFMAN 40 The Monastic Order in Yorkshire, 1069–1215 JANET BURTON

41 Parisian Scholars in the Early Fourteenth Century: A Social Portrait WILLIAM J. COURTENAY 42 Colonisation and Conquest in Medieval Ireland: The English in Louth, 1170–1330 BRENDAN SMITH

43 The Early Humiliati FRANCES ANDREWS

44 The Household Knights of King John S. D. CHURCH 45 The English in Rome, 1362–1420: Portrait of an Expatriate Community MARGARET HARVEY

46 Restoration and Reform: Recovery from Civil War in England, 1153–1165 GRAEME J. WHITE 47 State and Society in the Early Middle Ages: The Middle Rhine Valley, 400–1000 MATTHEW INNES

48 Brittany and the Angevins: Province and Empire, 1157–1203 JUDITH EVERARD

49 The Making of Gratian’s Decretum ANDERS WINROTH

50 At the Gate of Christendom: Jews, Muslims and ‘Pagans’ in Medieval Hungary, c. 1000–c. 1300 NORA BEREND

51 Making Agreements in Medieval Catalonia: Power, Order, and the Written Word, 1000–1200 ADAM J. KOSTO

52 The Making of the Slavs: History and Archaeology of the Lower Danube region, c. 500–700 FLORIN CURTA

53 Literacy in Lombard Italy c. 568–774 NICHOLAS EVERETT

54 Philosophy and Politics in the Thought of John Wyclif STEPHEN E. LAHEY 55 Envoys and Political Communication in the Late Antique West, 411–533 ANDREW GILLETT

56 Kings, Barons and Justices: The Making and Enforcement of Legislation in Thirteenth-Century England PAUL BRAND

57 Kingship and Politics in the Ninth Century: Charles the Fat and the End of the Carolingian Empire SIMON MACLEAN

58 In the Shadow of Burgundy: The Court of Guelders in the Late Middle Ages GERARD NIJSTEN

59 The Victors and the Vanquished: Christians and Muslims of Catalonia and Aragon, 1050–1300 BRIAN A. CATLOS 60 Politics and History in the Tenth Century: The Work and World of Richer of Reims JASON GLENN

61 The Reform of the Frankish Church: Chrodegang of Metz and the Regula canonicorum in the Eighth Century M. A. CLAUSSEN 62 The Norman Frontier in the Twelfth and Early Thirteenth Centuries DANIEL POWER

63 Seeing and Being Seen in the Later Medieval World: Optics, Theology and Religious Life DALLAS DENERY II

64 History and Geography in Late Antiquity A. H. MERRILLS

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