The Journal of Medieval Latin, Volume 16 (2006)

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THE JOURNAL OF MEDIEVAL LATIN 16 (2006)

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THE JOURNAL OF MEDIEVAL LATIN

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Volume 16 (2006)

A Publication of the North American Association of Medieval Latin

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Contents

287 Louis Faivre D’Arcier. Histoire et géographie d’un mythe: la

290 293

ARTICLES 1 BERNICE M. KACZYNSKI, The Authority of the Fathers: Patristic Texts in Early Medieval Libraries and Scriptoria 28 JUNE-ANN GREELEY, Raptors and Rebellion: The Self-Defence of Theodulf of Orleans 76 JAMES GRIER, Biblical and Classical Imagery in the Liturgical Poetry of Adémar de Chabannes (989–1034) 95 SCOTT G. BRUCE, Nunc homo, cras humus: A Twelfth-Century Cluniac Poem on the Certainty of Death (Troyes, Médiathèque de l’Agglomération troyenne 918, fols. 78v–79v) 111 REBECCA STEPHENSON, Ælfric of Eynsham and Hermeneutic Latin: Meatim Sed et Rustica Reconsidered 142 JOHN HAINES, Lambertus’s Epiglotus 164 DAVID A. TRAILL, More Poems by Philip the Chancellor 182 TOM LICENCE, Goscelin of St Bertin and the Life of St. Eadwold of Cerne 208 ISTVÁN P. BEJCZY AND MICHIEL VERWEIJ, An Early Medieval Treatise on the Virtues and Vices Rediscovered 227 NICHOLAS EVERETT, The Interrogationes de littera et de singulis causis: An Early Medieval School Text

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circulation des manuscrits du De excidio Troiae de Darès le Phrygien (VIIIe–XVe siècles). (Richard Morton) Carla DeSantis, ed. Folchini de Borfonibus, Cremonina (Grammatica, orthographia et prosodia). (Susan J. Noakes) Jean-Pierre Gerzaguet, Stéphane Lebecq, Jean-Luc Chassel, Simone Collin-Roset, and Hubert Collin, ed. Retour aux sources: Textes, études et documents d’histoire médiévale offerts à Michel Parisse. (D. Starostin) Norbert Klaus Larsen, ed. Hildeberti Cenomanensis Episcopi Vita Beate Marie Egiptiace. (Joseph Pucci) Katherine O’Brien O’Keeffe and Andy Orchard, eds. Latin Learning and English Lore: Studies in Anglo-Saxon Literature for Michael Lapidge. (Andrew Scheil) María Adelaida Andrés Sanz, ed. Isidori Hispalensis Episcopi, Liber Differentiarum II; and José Carlos Martín, Scripta de Vita Isidori Hispalensis Episcopi. (Roger Wright) (VOJMMB 4ÃWCPSH, ed. Epistole tardive di Francesco Petrarca. (Frank Coulson) Agneta Sylwan, ed. Petri Comestoris Scolastica Historia, Liber Genesis. (Michael W. Twomey)

REVIEWS 276 Rainer Berndt, ed. Schrift, Schreiber, Schenker: Studien zur Abtei Sankt Viktor in Paris und den Victorinern. (Timothy Budde) 279 Susan Boynton, Shaping a Monastic Identity: Liturgy and History at the Imperial Abbey of Farfa, 1000–1125. (M.A. Claussen) 282 Jean-François Cottier. Anima mea: Prières privées et textes de dévotion

du Moyen Âge latin. Autour des Prières ou Méditations attribuées à saint Anselme de Cantorbéry (XIe–XIIe siècle. (Rachel Fulton) continued…

The editors wish to acknowledge York University, the University of Toronto, and the Faculty of Humanities, McMaster University, for their continuing support of The Journal of Medieval Latin and the activities of the Medieval Latin Association of North America.

THE JOURNAL OF MEDIEVAL LATIN

THE JOURNAL OF MEDIEVAL LATIN A publication of The Medieval Latin Association of North America Secretary: Clare Orchard Editor: Michael W. Herren, York University and University of Toronto Review Editor: Bernice M. Kaczynski, McMaster University Associate Editors: Ross G. Arthur John Magee Greti Dinkova-Bruun C.J. McDonough Andy Orchard Carin Ruff David Townsend Gernot Wieland

York University University of Toronto Pontifical Institute of Mediaeval Studies University of Toronto University of Toronto Cornell University University of Toronto University of British Columbia

Advisory Board: Walter Berschin James P. Carley Michael Lapidge Claudio Leonardi A.G. Rigg Brian Stock Haijo J. Westra Jan M. Ziolkowski

University of Heidelberg York University Clare College Cambridge University of Florence University of Toronto University of Toronto University of Calgary Harvard University

Editorial Assistant: Clare Orchard General Editors, Publications of The Journal of Medieval Latin: Michael W. Herren and C.J. McDonough The Journal of Medieval Latin appears yearly in the autumn. It is published by Brepols N.V. on behalf of The Medieval Latin Association of North America. All articles should be mailed to Prof. Michael W. Herren, The Journal of Medieval Latin, 710 Atkinson College, York University, 4700 Keele St., Toronto, Ontario, Canada M3J 1P3. Please send books for review to Prof. Bernice M. Kaczynski, Department of History, McMaster University, Hamilton, Ontario, Canada L8S 4L9. Those interested in joining the Association should contact the Secretary, Dr. Clare Orchard, The Provost’s Lodge, Trinity College, 6 Hoskin Avenue, Toronto, Ontario, Canada M5S 1H8. Membership in the Association entitles individuals to a 40% discount on the regular price of The Journal of Medieval Latin. All subscriptions should be directed to Brepols Publishers, Begijnhof 67, B-2300 Turnhout (Belgium). Individual members of the Association should mention their membership status to have the advantage of the reduced rate. A complete table of contents of volumes published to date, The Journal’s style sheet, and subscription information are available on our website: www.chass.utoronto.ca/medieval/ – click on “Publications.”

THE JOURNAL OF MEDIEVAL LATIN A Publication of the Medieval Latin Association of North America

Volume 16 2006

BREPOLS

© 2006, Brepols Publishers n.v., Turnhout, Belgium. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the prior permission of the publisher.

D/2007/0095/167 ISBN 978-2-503-52099-5 Printed in the E.U. on acid-free paper

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Contents

287 Louis Faivre D’Arcier. Histoire et géographie d’un mythe: la

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ARTICLES 1 BERNICE M. KACZYNSKI, The Authority of the Fathers: Patristic Texts in Early Medieval Libraries and Scriptoria 28 JUNE-ANN GREELEY, Raptors and Rebellion: The Self-Defence of Theodulf of Orleans 76 JAMES GRIER, Biblical and Classical Imagery in the Liturgical Poetry of Adémar de Chabannes (989–1034) 95 SCOTT G. BRUCE, Nunc homo, cras humus: A Twelfth-Century Cluniac Poem on the Certainty of Death (Troyes, Médiathèque de l’Agglomération troyenne 918, fols. 78v–79v) 111 REBECCA STEPHENSON, Ælfric of Eynsham and Hermeneutic Latin: Meatim Sed et Rustica Reconsidered 142 JOHN HAINES, Lambertus’s Epiglotus 164 DAVID A. TRAILL, More Poems by Philip the Chancellor 182 TOM LICENCE, Goscelin of St Bertin and the Life of St. Eadwold of Cerne 208 ISTVÁN P. BEJCZY AND MICHIEL VERWEIJ, An Early Medieval Treatise on the Virtues and Vices Rediscovered 227 NICHOLAS EVERETT, The Interrogationes de littera et de singulis causis: An Early Medieval School Text

297 299

304

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circulation des manuscrits du De excidio Troiae de Darès le Phrygien (VIIIe–XVe siècles). (Richard Morton) Carla DeSantis, ed. Folchini de Borfonibus, Cremonina (Grammatica, orthographia et prosodia). (Susan J. Noakes) Jean-Pierre Gerzaguet, Stéphane Lebecq, Jean-Luc Chassel, Simone Collin-Roset, and Hubert Collin, ed. Retour aux sources: Textes, études et documents d’histoire médiévale offerts à Michel Parisse. (D. Starostin) Norbert Klaus Larsen, ed. Hildeberti Cenomanensis Episcopi Vita Beate Marie Egiptiace. (Joseph Pucci) Katherine O’Brien O’Keeffe and Andy Orchard, eds. Latin Learning and English Lore: Studies in Anglo-Saxon Literature for Michael Lapidge. (Andrew Scheil) María Adelaida Andrés Sanz, ed. Isidori Hispalensis Episcopi, Liber Differentiarum II; and José Carlos Martín, Scripta de Vita Isidori Hispalensis Episcopi. (Roger Wright) (VOJMMB 4ÃWCPSH, ed. Epistole tardive di Francesco Petrarca. (Frank Coulson) Agneta Sylwan, ed. Petri Comestoris Scolastica Historia, Liber Genesis. (Michael W. Twomey)

REVIEWS 276 Rainer Berndt, ed. Schrift, Schreiber, Schenker: Studien zur Abtei Sankt Viktor in Paris und den Victorinern. (Timothy Budde) 279 Susan Boynton, Shaping a Monastic Identity: Liturgy and History at the Imperial Abbey of Farfa, 1000–1125. (M.A. Claussen) 282 Jean-François Cottier. Anima mea: Prières privées et textes de dévotion

du Moyen Âge latin. Autour des Prières ou Méditations attribuées à saint Anselme de Cantorbéry (XIe–XIIe siècle. (Rachel Fulton) continued…

The editors wish to acknowledge York University, the University of Toronto, and the Faculty of Humanities, McMaster University, for their continuing support of The Journal of Medieval Latin and the activities of the Medieval Latin Association of North America.

kaft_journal_volume16

26-11-2007

08:20

Pagina 2

Contents

287 Louis Faivre D’Arcier. Histoire et géographie d’un mythe: la

290 293

ARTICLES 1 BERNICE M. KACZYNSKI, The Authority of the Fathers: Patristic Texts in Early Medieval Libraries and Scriptoria 28 JUNE-ANN GREELEY, Raptors and Rebellion: The Self-Defence of Theodulf of Orleans 76 JAMES GRIER, Biblical and Classical Imagery in the Liturgical Poetry of Adémar de Chabannes (989–1034) 95 SCOTT G. BRUCE, Nunc homo, cras humus: A Twelfth-Century Cluniac Poem on the Certainty of Death (Troyes, Médiathèque de l’Agglomération troyenne 918, fols. 78v–79v) 111 REBECCA STEPHENSON, Ælfric of Eynsham and Hermeneutic Latin: Meatim Sed et Rustica Reconsidered 142 JOHN HAINES, Lambertus’s Epiglotus 164 DAVID A. TRAILL, More Poems by Philip the Chancellor 182 TOM LICENCE, Goscelin of St Bertin and the Life of St. Eadwold of Cerne 208 ISTVÁN P. BEJCZY AND MICHIEL VERWEIJ, An Early Medieval Treatise on the Virtues and Vices Rediscovered 227 NICHOLAS EVERETT, The Interrogationes de littera et de singulis causis: An Early Medieval School Text

297 299

304

307 310

circulation des manuscrits du De excidio Troiae de Darès le Phrygien (VIIIe–XVe siècles). (Richard Morton) Carla DeSantis, ed. Folchini de Borfonibus, Cremonina (Grammatica, orthographia et prosodia). (Susan J. Noakes) Jean-Pierre Gerzaguet, Stéphane Lebecq, Jean-Luc Chassel, Simone Collin-Roset, and Hubert Collin, ed. Retour aux sources: Textes, études et documents d’histoire médiévale offerts à Michel Parisse. (D. Starostin) Norbert Klaus Larsen, ed. Hildeberti Cenomanensis Episcopi Vita Beate Marie Egiptiace. (Joseph Pucci) Katherine O’Brien O’Keeffe and Andy Orchard, eds. Latin Learning and English Lore: Studies in Anglo-Saxon Literature for Michael Lapidge. (Andrew Scheil) María Adelaida Andrés Sanz, ed. Isidori Hispalensis Episcopi, Liber Differentiarum II; and José Carlos Martín, Scripta de Vita Isidori Hispalensis Episcopi. (Roger Wright) (VOJMMB 4ÃWCPSH, ed. Epistole tardive di Francesco Petrarca. (Frank Coulson) Agneta Sylwan, ed. Petri Comestoris Scolastica Historia, Liber Genesis. (Michael W. Twomey)

REVIEWS 276 Rainer Berndt, ed. Schrift, Schreiber, Schenker: Studien zur Abtei Sankt Viktor in Paris und den Victorinern. (Timothy Budde) 279 Susan Boynton, Shaping a Monastic Identity: Liturgy and History at the Imperial Abbey of Farfa, 1000–1125. (M.A. Claussen) 282 Jean-François Cottier. Anima mea: Prières privées et textes de dévotion

du Moyen Âge latin. Autour des Prières ou Méditations attribuées à saint Anselme de Cantorbéry (XIe–XIIe siècle. (Rachel Fulton) continued…

The editors wish to acknowledge York University, the University of Toronto, and the Faculty of Humanities, McMaster University, for their continuing support of The Journal of Medieval Latin and the activities of the Medieval Latin Association of North America.

The Authority of the Fathers: Patristic Texts in Early Medieval Libraries and Scriptoria1 by Bernice M. Kaczynski In the 1100s Bernard of Chartres described himself and his contemporaries in words that have since become familiar. He said they enjoyed a legacy bequeathed to them by earlier generations: “We are like dwarfs perched on the shoulders of giants. We can see more and farther than our predecessors, not indeed because of the acuteness of our own vision or bodily size, but because we are lifted up and raised on high by their gigantic stature.”2 Over time this vivid image came to describe what many have viewed as a characteristically “medieval” attitude towards authority, particularly towards the authority of the Fathers of the Church. Medieval scholars have often been seen as no more than guardians of an inherited tradition, content to perch comfortably on the shoulders of greater men – on the shoulders of Ambrose, Augustine, Jerome, Gregory the Great, and other writers of Christian Antiquity. 1

This is a revised and annotated version of a paper with the same title, given as the Thirteenth Annual J.R. O’Donnell Memorial Lecture in Medieval Latin Studies at the University of Toronto on 24 March 2006. I thank Michael Herren and his colleagues at the Centre for Medieval Studies for the opportunity to present this work, which is part of a series of inquiries into the production and circulation of patristic texts in the Carolingian Empire. I am also grateful to Prof. Dr. Ernst Tremp, Stiftsbibliothekar, and his colleagues in the Stiftsbibliothek St. Gallen, for assistance in obtaining photographs and for permission to publish them here. The topographical map (Plate 1) was designed by David Arthur. 2 John of Salisbury (ca. 1115–1180), addressing the contemporary debate on the proper relationship between antiqui and moderni, gives the quotation. See the Metalogicon 3.4, ed. J.B. Hall and K.S.B. Keats-Rohan, CCCM 98 (1991), p. 116: “Dicebat Bernardus Carnotensis nos esse quasi nanos gigantum umeris insidentes, ut possimus plura eis et remotiora uidere, non utique proprii uisus acumine aut eminentia corporis, sed quia in altum subuehimur et extollimur magnitudine gigantea.” The literature on the topos is vast. See Édouard Jeauneau, “Nani gigantum humeris insidentes. Essai d’interprétation de Bernard de Chartres,” Vivarium 5 (1967), 79–99; repr. in Jeauneau, “Lectio Philosophorum.” Recherches sur l’École de Chartres (Amsterdam, 1973), pp. 51–73. For more recent discussion, see Tobias Leuker, “‘Zwerge auf den Schultern von Riesen’ – Zur Entstehung des berühmten Vergleichs,” MJ 32 (1997), 71–76.

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But this assumption can be challenged. Early medieval scholars, far from being heirs to a tradition, might more readily be seen as its creators. Books were not simply gifts one generation handed to the next. The transposition of the textual culture of late antiquity to the libraries and writing-rooms of early Europe was complex; it was sustained and of long duration. Throughout the seventh, eighth, and ninth centuries, books moved northward across the Alps, in erratic and often incomprehensible patterns.3 These were important years in the cultural history of the West, and they were formative in the determination of patristic authority. It is clear that the scholars of early medieval Europe did not inherit the arrangement of Latin Fathers familiar to us now – that is, Ambrose, Augustine, Jerome, and Gregory the Great, nor did they inherit a list of works that made up a canon. In their own time, the writers of Christian antiquity had been a quarrelsome lot, and each had had his critics. The language used to describe them was varied: “Fathers,” “Teachers,” “Doctors,” “Defenders of the Faith.” The ways of classifying them were varied too. In a letter of about 600 written by Bishop Licinianus of Cartagena to Pope Gregory the Great, it was Hilary of Poitiers, Ambrose, Augustine, and Gregory of Nazianzus who were called “the holy ancient Fathers, the teachers and defenders of the Church.” Elsewhere, in about 680, a Milanese bishop wrote a letter to the emperor mentioning four Greek and four Latin witnesses to the faith. He placed in the first group Athanasius, Basil the Great, John Chrysostom, and Cyril of Alexandria; and, in the second, Hilary, Ambrose, Jerome, and Augustine.4 The Venerable Bede seems to have been the first to have arranged the Latin Fathers in a distinctive group of four: Ambrose, Augustine, Jerome, and – of special interest to the English – Pope Gregory the Great. Bede put forward the fourfold arrangement in his commentaries on the Gospels of Luke and Mark, written in the early 700s.5 The texts circulated widely in 3

For a stimulating account of the phenomenon, see L.D. Reynolds, “Introduction,” in Texts and Transmission: A Survey of the Latin Classics (Oxford, 1983), pp. xiii–xliii (with an emphasis on classical texts). 4 For references to the sources mentioned here and for further discussion of the terminology, see Johannes Quasten, Patrology, 4 vols. (Westminster, MD, 1950–1986), 1: 9– 12, and Berthold Altaner and Alfred Stuiber, Patrologie: Leben, Schriften und Lehre der Kirchenväter, 8th ed. (Freiburg, 1978), pp. 3–6. See also the essential discussion of Henri de Lubac, Exégèse médiévale: Les quatre sens de l’écriture, 2 vols. in 4 (Paris, 1959–64), 1:26– 32. 5 On this theme, see Bernice M. Kaczynski, “Bede’s Commentaries on Luke and Mark and the Formation of a Patristic Canon,” in Anglo-Latin and its Heritage: Essays in Honour

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England and on the continent, but Bede’s was not the only such list, and the inclusion of Gregory, especially, was variable. The process of canon formation was the work of generations of scholars. It is part of the story of the textualization of Latin Christianity, of the efforts of so many very different kinds of people who studied and commented on Sacred Scripture. A consensus emerged over time. Bede’s notion of four Fathers, calqued on the list of the four Evangelists, spread through writingrooms and libraries in the monasteries of the Frankish kingdoms. By the eleventh century, it had become commonplace for writers to associate the four Fathers with the four major prophets, the four senses of Scripture, the four cardinal virtues. Indeed, the quaternary symbols of the Bible came to be applied quite generally, to four rivers, four winds, four shores, four corners of the world.6 In a decretal of 20 September 1295, Pope Boniface VIII gave them official recognition when he instructed the faithful to celebrate Ambrose, Augustine, Jerome, and Gregory the Great as “preeminent Fathers of the Church.”7 The scholars of the early Middle Ages, then, did not inherit a patristic canon. They helped to shape it. What they received from their predecessors was an abundance of texts. Some sense of this can be gleaned from the eleven volumes of the paleographer E.A. Lowe’s collection of Latin manuscripts copied before 800 and supplemented by Bernhard Bischoff, Virginia Brown, and James J. John.8 About 2,000 Latin manuscripts and of A.G. Rigg on his 64th Birthday, ed. Siân Echard and Gernot R. Wieland, Publications of The Journal of Medieval Latin 4 (Turnhout, 2001), pp. 17–26. 6 The Glossa ordinaria confirms the symbolism. See de Lubac, Exégèse médiévale, p. 29. 7 Corpus iuris canonici, Liber sextus decretalium, lib. 3, tit. 22, cap.1: “Egregios quoque ipsius Doctores ecclesiae, beatos Gregorium, qui meritis inclytis sedis apostolicae curam gessit, Augustinum et Ambrosium, venerandos antistites, ac Hieronymum, sacerdotii praeditum titulo, eximios confessores summis attollere vocibus, laudibus personare praecipuis et specialibus disponit honoribus venerari.” Cited by Eugene F. Rice, Jr., Saint Jerome in the Renaissance (Baltimore, 1985), p. 218. 8 E.A. Lowe, Codices Latini antiquiores: A Palaeographical Guide to Latin Manuscripts Prior to the Ninth Century, 11 vols. and Supplement (Oxford, 1934–71); Bernhard Bischoff and Virginia Brown, “Addenda to Codices Latini antiquiores ,” Mediaeval Studies 47 (1985), 317–66; Bernhard Bischoff, Virginia Brown, and James J. John, “Addenda to Codices Latini antiquiores ,” Mediaeval Studies 54 (1992), 286–307. To the 1884 items listed by the editors of CLA, we may add at least twenty-nine papyri from Herculaneum described by Paolo Radiciotti, “Osservazioni paleografiche sui papiri latini di Ercolano,” Scrittura e Civiltà 22 (1998), 353–70. For a survey of the manuscripts in their cultural context, see Bernhard Bischoff, Latin Palaeography: Antiquity and the Middle Ages, trans. Dáibhí ó Cróinín and David Ganz (Cambridge, 1990), pp. 190–201 (“The Early Middle Ages”).

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manuscript fragments from this early period survive today. Of course it is impossible to give exact statistics of authors and works, but the pattern seems consistent from one volume of CLA to the next. The largest group of surviving manuscripts comprises the works of Latin Church Fathers. Patristic writings make up over 50 percent of the items. They are followed by large groups of biblical and liturgical manuscripts, with secular works forming a very small proportion of the whole. Smaller still is the proportion of classical literary texts.9 These statistics are not new, but they are worth considering. The sheer size of the patristic deposit, I think, has made modern scholars wary of approaching it. The long lists of names and works, the problems of attribution and misattribution, the nuisance of distinguishing complete works from fragments, the arcane and endless permutations of texts in the florilegia – these things are discouraging. And it can be difficult even to enumerate the items in medieval booklists with any precision. Descriptive terms like volumen, codex, and liber may be absent, or may shift in meaning, even within the catalogues of a single library.10 Patristic materials are particularly susceptible to misinterpretation, because they are transmitted in so many variable forms – Jerome’s prologues along with the relevant biblical books, as well as separate sets of his commentaries, for example, or collections containing one or two letters of Augustine along with other patristic works. Sometimes, too, patristic sources come to us through the mediation of figures who seem strange and remote – remoter even than the Fathers themselves. What are we to make, for instance, of Eugippius and his massive compendium of extracts from the writings of Augustine?11 Such works

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For some interesting calculations of the survival of classical works, see Reynolds, Texts and Transmission, pp. xv–xvi. 10 On this problem, see Johannes Duft, “Die Handschriften-Katalogisierung in der Stiftsbibliothek St. Gallen vom 9. bis zum 19. Jahrhundert,” in Beat Matthias von Scarpatetti, Die Handschriften der Stiftsbibliothek St. Gallen: Codices 1726–1984 (14 –19. Jahrhundert), (St. Gall, 1983), 9*–99*, at p. 14*. See Michael Lapidge, The Anglo-Saxon Library (Oxford, 2006), pp. 58–60, for a comparison of the descriptive terminology in continental and AngloSaxon booklists. 11 Eugippius (ca. 455–ca. 535) collected extracts from Augustine’s writings and arranged them in a way that emphasized their use in the exposition of Scripture. It was a massive work, some one thousand pages in length. The Excerpta ex operibus sancti Augustini, ed. P. Knöll CSEL 9.1 (1885), is now sadly outdated, and a new critical edition would be welcome. On Eugippius generally, see James J. O’Donnell, “Eugippius,” in Augustine through the Ages: An Encyclopedia, ed. Allan D. Fitzgerald (Grand Rapids, MI, 1999), pp. 338–39. Also of interest in this context: Joseph T. Lienhard, “Florilegia,” in Augustine through the Ages, pp. 370–71.

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present another set of complications.12 It is the very exuberance of the manuscript transmission, however, that makes the point. People in the early Middle Ages preserved and copied and reworked the texts because they were stimulated by them. In Frankish society, in Anglo-Saxon society, there was genuine engagement with the works of Christian Antiquity. The Frankish emperor himself was interested in Augustine. As Einhard famously observed in his Life of Charles the Great, Charles was fond of Augustine’s books, “especially the one entitled The City of God,” and liked to have it read to him as he ate his dinner.13 Nowadays, of course, the mention of Church Fathers probably makes more people think of duty than of pleasure. Perhaps it should not be surprising that many scholars content themselves with generalities. E.A. Lowe himself, surveying the items in CLA, remarks that they reflect “the usual medieval predilection for the Church Fathers.”14 Medievalists very often resort to such phrases as “the usual patristic texts” when, for example, they summarize the contents of libraries. But it is evident that, in the matter of patristic texts, the Carolingians had literally hundreds of choices available. So in fact it is perfectly reasonable to ask: who were “the usual” authors? What were “the usual” texts? And how did they become so? One way to move beyond generalities is to look at the manuscripts. It has long been commonplace for scholars surveying centres of Carolingian learning to attempt to tabulate the presence of patristic material. And certainly, modern editions of patristic texts draw attention to the important Carolingian books. There are limits to the usefulness of such editions though, because their editors are naturally concerned to identify the oldest and best witnesses to the text. They do not necessarily convey to the reader information about the other manuscripts that contain it. Fortunately a new research instrument promises more ready access to the manuscript tradition of at least one Church Father. The Kommission zur Herausgabe des Corpus der lateinischen Kirchenväter, based in Vienna, is preparing inventories of 12

Historians of the classical tradition, on the other hand, seem to have a more direct route to their sources. Editors in search of Roman literary texts may occasionally pursue their quarry through medieval commentaries, grammars, and glossaries, but rarely must they contend with such vexing and multiple routes of transmission. 13 Vita Caroli Magni 24, in MGH Rer. Germ. 1.29: “Delectabatur et libris sancti Augustini praecipueque his qui de ciuitate dei praetitulati sunt.” Moreover, Alcuin tells us that Charles kept many of Augustine’s works in the court library; see Bernhard Bischoff, “Die Hofbibliothek Karls des Grossen,” in Mittelalterliche Studien 3 (Stuttgart, 1981), pp. 149–69, at p. 150. 14 CLA 7:vi.

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all known manuscripts of the works of Augustine.15 Nine volumes have appeared so far, with several more in progress, and these books will make it possible to do new kinds of research on Augustine’s medieval afterlife. The realm of patristic manuscripts is vast, and there are many discoveries still to be made. I should like to begin with the assumption that the decision to copy manuscripts was an active one: that to copy some books meant that there would not be the time or the resources to copy others; that choices had to be made about what would be copied and what would not; and that these choices had consequences, for they determined what might come to be considered a desirable, or possibly even a canonical, complement of texts. It makes sense, then, to look more closely at the role of the scholars, editors, and scribes who organized the writing projects. For the most part, they were members of religious communities. The production of manuscripts was primarily, though not exclusively, a monastic phenomenon. As Rosamond McKitterick remarks, “it is clear that the monasteries, as centres of book production, played a vital part in the promotion of the written word.”16 They were guided in their work by the Rule of St. Benedict. Benedict had encouraged his monks to read the expositions of Scripture by those he called the “reputable and orthodox catholic Fathers.”17 In the final chapter of the Rule he wrote that “for anyone hastening on to the perfection of monastic life, there are the teachings of the holy Fathers, the observance of which will lead him to the very heights of perfection. What page, what passage of the inspired books of the Old and the New Testaments is not the

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Nine volumes of Die handschriftliche Überlieferung der Werke des Heiligen Augustinus have appeared to date, surveying the libraries of Italy; Great Britain and Ireland; Poland (with an appendix on Denmark, Finland, and Sweden); Spain and Portugal; Federal Republic of Germany; Austria; the Czech Republic and the Slovak Republic; Belgium, Luxembourg, and the Netherlands; Switzerland. Still in preparation are volumes on France, the former German Democratic Republic, Hungary, and Russia. The publisher is the Verlag der Österreichischen Akademie der Wissenschaften, whose website provides information on the current status of the project: http://www.oeaw.ac.at/kvk/. 16 The Carolingians and the Written Word (Cambridge, 1989), p. 167. 17 Regula S. Benedicti 9; see RB 1980: The Rule of St. Benedict in Latin and English with Notes, ed. Timothy Fry, associate eds. Imogen Baker et al. (Collegeville, MN, 1981), pp. 204–5. See also the essential discussion by Jean Leclercq, “The Ancient Traditional Spirituality,” in The Love of Learning and the Desire for God: A Study of Monastic Culture, trans. Catharine Misrahi (New York, 1961; repr. 1988), pp. 89–111.

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truest of guides for human life? What book of the holy catholic Fathers does not resoundingly summon us along the true way to reach the Creator?”18 The work of copying manuscripts was carried out across early Europe, from Anglo-Saxon England in the West to the far reaches of the Carolingian Empire in the East (see Plate 1). These centres were scenes of a remarkable development that began around the year 800. Their scriptoria, or writingoffices, began to copy increasing numbers of manuscript books, and the rate of production quickened as time went on. About 7,000 manuscripts and manuscript fragments have survived from the late eighth and ninth centuries.19 It is not known how many manuscripts were in circulation at the time, though Bernhard Bischoff once gave an estimate of about 50,000.20 There are many questions one might ask about the production of patristic texts. What lay behind the copying of texts at any particular scriptorium? What, precisely, was copied, and when? Did centres specialize – were there, in other words, “pockets of production” for rarer works?21 And there is another issue. Early medieval scholars inhabited a world that was very different from the one known to the early Church Fathers. Theirs was a manuscript culture. To what extent did the distinctive features of early medieval intellectual life imprint themselves on the patristic sources? These are large questions, impossible to answer fully in the brief span of a scholarly essay. What I hope to demonstrate here is that they are questions worth pursuing, for the early medieval scriptoria offer a unique perspective on the history of patristic authority. The experience of one institution suggests some of the possibilities. The Benedictine abbey of St. Gall was an important centre for the production and circulation of books throughout much of the Carolingian period, and its records are exceptionally complete. The abbey has several types of evidence for an inquiry into the provision of patristic texts. There

18

Regula S. Benedicti 73; see RB 1980: The Rule of St. Benedict in Latin and English, pp. 294–97. The books Benedict seems to have meant were those that guided the monastic life – the works of John Cassian, for example. 19 The figure is given by Bischoff, Latin Palaeography, p. 208. For a survey of the manuscripts in their cultural context, see pp. 202–11 (“The Carolingian period”). The essential catalogue is Bischoff, Katalog der festländischen Handschriften des neunten Jahrhunderts (mit Ausnahme der wisigotischen), aus dem Nachlass herausgegeben von Birgit Ebersperger, 3 vols. (Wiesbaden, 1998, 2004, and forthcoming). 20 Cited in McKitterick, The Carolingians and the Written Word, p. 163. 21 The expression “pockets of production” is McKitterick’s. See The Carolingians and the Written Word, p. 19.

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are the manuscripts.22 Over three hundred of them remain – a very high number to have survived from a single place.23 There are ninth-century library catalogues and booklists.24 There is a bibliographical guide to patristic literature written in 885 by Notker the Stammerer, and there are marginal notes in his hand in some of the manuscripts that contain patristic material.25 There are, finally, many details in the manuscripts of St. Gall that show us how they were used by monastic scholars.26 The abbey traces its beginnings to a sentimental foundation date of 612, when the Irish pilgrim Gall set himself up in a hermit’s cell in the valley of the Steinach. The earliest record of an organized community of monks on the site dates from 719, with the installation of Otmar, the first abbot.27 The place got off to a slow start; under Charles the Great it seems to have been 22

Albert Bruckner, Scriptoria medii aevi helvetica: Denkmäler schweizerische Schreibkunst des Mittelalters, vols. 2 and 3 (Geneva, 1936–1938). The nineteenth-century catalogue by Gustav Scherrer, Verzeichnis der Handschriften der Stiftsbibliothek von St. Gallen (Halle, 1875; repr. Hildesheim, 1975), is at long last being replaced. See Beat Matthias von Scarpatetti, Die Handschriften der Stiftsbibliothek St. Gallen, Bd. 1: Abt. IV: Codices 547–669: Hagiographica, Historica, Geographica, 8–18. Jahrhundert (Wiesbaden, 2003), and Beat Matthias von Scarpatetti, Die Handschriften der Stiftsbibliothek St. Gallen, Bd. 2: Abt. III/2: Codices 450–546 (Wiesbaden, in preparation). The Codices Electronici Sangallenses (CESG) project, directed by Christoph Flüeler, is making digital reproductions of manuscripts available online: http://www.cesg.unifr.ch. 23 Bischoff, Latin Palaeography, p. 208. Bischoff notes that the only centre to have more manuscripts is Tours, with some 350 surviving specimens. Forty-five of them are (or were) pandects. 24 The medieval catalogues are edited by Paul Lehmann, Mittelalterliche Bibliothekskataloge Deutschlands und der Schweiz (Munich, 1918), 1:55–148. See also Duft, “Die Handschriften-Katalogisierung,” pp. 9*–26*. 25 Erwin Rauner, “Notkers des Stammlers ‘Notatio de illustribus uiris’. Teil I: Kritische Edition,” MJ 21 (1986), 34–69. There is an earlier edition by Ernst Dümmler, Das Formelbuch des Bischofs Salomo III. von Konstanz (1857; repr. Osnabrück, 1964), pp. 64–78. For Notker’s hand in the manuscripts, see Susan Rankin, “‘Ego itaque Notker scripsi’,” Revue bénédictine 101 (1991), 268–98. For more on Notker and patristics, see Bernice M. Kaczynski, “Reading the Church Fathers: Notker the Stammerer’s Notatio de illustribus viris,” JMLat 17 (2007), in press. 26 See, for instance, Beat von Scarpatetti, “Schreiber-Zuweisungen in St. Galler Handschriften des achten und neunten Jahrhunderts,” in Codices Sangallenses: Festschrift für Johannes Duft zum 80. Geburtstag, ed. Peter Ochsenbein and Ernst Ziegler (Sigmaringen, 1995), pp. 25–56. 27 For a brief historical survey, see Johannes Duft, “Geschichte des Klosters St. Gallen im Überblick vom 7. bis zum 12. Jahrhundert,” in Das Kloster St. Gallen im Mittelalter: Die kulturelle Blüte vom 8. bis zum 12. Jahrhundert, ed. Peter Ochsenbein (Stuttgart, 1999), pp. 11–30, 223–230.

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relatively obscure. The scriptorium came into operation in the mid-700s. In the 820s, as a result of the favour of the emperor Louis the Pious, the scriptorium, library, and school enjoyed a period of expansion. Thereafter St. Gall enjoyed the patronage of the east Frankish kings, especially Louis the German, second son of Louis the Pious, who appointed its abbot Grimald as his chancellor and archchaplain. The abbacies of Grimald (841–872) and his successor Hartmut (872–883) marked a turning-point in the history of the abbey. Both men sought to supply the library with books, and the scriptorium flourished. The era of the two abbots is known today by the lovely phrase die erste Blütezeit, or first flowering, of the abbey.28 What did this mean for the provisioning of patristic texts? I should like to compare two phases of scribal activity: the first from about 750 to 840, and the second from about 841 to 920. The initial phase moved slowly. From about 750 to 820 some forty manuscripts survive.29 About half of them contain patristic material. Three manuscripts are dedicated to works of Gregory the Great. One manuscript is dedicated to Prosper; five are dedicated wholly to Jerome. The remaining manuscripts contain patristic texts, but they are either excerpts from works of several authors or they are prologues of Jerome copied in biblical manuscripts alongside biblical texts.30 From about 820 to 840 the rate of production quickened. Some seventy manuscripts survive.31 These were the years of Abbot Gozbert (816–837). Nearly half contain patristic material. There is an increase in the number of manuscripts dedicated to the works of a single author: two are dedicated to Ambrose, five to Augustine, one to Prosper, one to Origen. Fifteen are dedicated to Jerome. The remaining books contain either excerpts from the

28

See the important study by Beat von Scarpatetti, “Das St. Galler Scriptorium,” in Das Kloster St. Gallen im Mittelalter, pp. 31–67, 231–37, at pp. 50–55. 29 See Bruckner, Scriptoria 2:14–26, and Scarpatetti, “Das St. Galler Scriptorium,” pp. 44–48. The manuscripts are being newly catalogued; for current updates on individual items, consult the CESG website (see n. 22 above). 30 These are rough-and-ready calculations, based primarily on the items listed in Bruckner’s Scriptoria 2:53–83, but they will do to demonstrate general trends. Manuscripts that contain texts by the Fathers, all now in St. Gall, Stiftsbibliothek: Gregory the Great: MSS 210, 212, 217(I). Prosper: MS 185. Jerome: MSS 109, 120, 125, 126, 127. Other patristic texts: MSS 11, 40(I), 40(II), 44(I), 125, 133, 189, 213, 216, 238, 907. 31 See Bruckner, Scriptoria 2:26–30, and Scarpatetti, “Das St. Galler Scriptorium,” pp. 48–50.

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writings of several authors or prologues of Jerome copied in biblical manuscripts.32 For examples of manuscripts from this time, one copied in St. Gall itself, the other an early import, see Plates 2 and 3. Stiftsbibliothek, MS 109 was copied in St. Gall between 760 and 780. It is a large codex, 524 pages in length, and contains Jerome’s Commentary on the Psalms (see Plate 2). Stiftsbibliothek, MS 110, on the other hand, was copied under Bishop Egino of Verona (796–799) either in Verona or in Reichenau by scribes from Verona. It too is a characteristic book of the early period, for it is a collection of excerpts from patristic writers, mostly from Jerome, Benedict, and Augustine (see Plate 3). A different way to look at the same material is to list the number of manuscripts containing texts by a particular author. In this way, the count can include authors represented in collections of excerpts. The figures are approximate, for patristic materials are transmitted in variable forms, and more precise identification and dating of the manuscripts must await publication of the new catalogues. But if we reassemble the figures given above, and add the number of times particular authors are cited by name in codices containing works by more than one Father, we come up with a consistent pattern. At least thirty-eight manuscripts dating from about 750 to 840 include the writings of Jerome. Some fourteen include the writings of Augustine. Nine manuscripts contain works by Gregory the Great. Three manuscripts include works by Ambrose, and another three include works by Prosper. Origen appears in two books. Athanasius and John Chrysostom are represented in one manuscript each.33 32

These are again rough-and-ready calculations, based primarily on Bruckner’s Scriptoria 2:53–83. Manuscripts that contain texts by the Fathers, most now in St. Gall, Stiftsbibliothek: Ambrose: MSS 94, 99. Augustine: MSS 143, 146, 168, 170, 180. Prosper: MS 186. Origen: MS 87. Jerome: MSS 113, 114, 115, 116, 117, 118, 119, 121, 122, 123, 124, 128, 129, 191, and Zurich, Zentralbibliothek, C 41. Other patristic texts: MSS 14, 28, 29, 39, 43, 90, 105, 130, 145, 224, 241, 255, 422. 33 These are again rough-and-ready calculations, based primarily on Bruckner’s Scriptoria 2:53–83. To the figures listed in notes 30 and 32 above have been added the following manuscripts, which contain texts by more than one Father: Jerome: MSS 11, 14, 28, 39, 40(I), 40(II), 43, 44(I), 90, 125, 130, 133, 145, 189, 216, 238, 241, 255. Augustine: MSS 11, 29, 125, 145, 213, 224, 241, 422, 907.

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Whatever the method of reckoning used – and all are provisional – it is clear that Jerome’s works were the most frequently copied. Jerome’s prologues were transcribed alongside the relevant biblical books, and his commentaries were copied in separate volumes. The most likely explanation for the interest in Jerome is that during this time the abbey’s scholars were concerned to secure the text of the Bible. Their priorities are reflected in the mid-ninth-century library catalogue, the Breviarium librorum. The very first entry in the catalogue reads “Bibliotheca una,” and shows that, by the time of its composition, the library had acquired the pandect, a manuscript copy of the whole Bible – something that cannot be taken for granted in Carolingian monasteries.34 At St. Gall, therefore, Jerome’s biblical scholarship formed the earliest patristic substrate. The second major phase in the history of the scriptorium occurred between 841 and 920.35 In the years between 841 and 883, Abbots Grimald and Hartmut saw to a rapid increase in the number of manuscripts. Hartmut, especially, was active in the direction of the scriptorium and the acquisition of books for the library. Abbot Solomon III (890–920) continued the policy of expansion. Their activity resulted in great changes, both in terms of the quantity of material copied and in terms of the range of authors and texts represented. The number of manuscripts dedicated to the works of a single author increased. Thirty-four are attributed to Augustine, ten to Gregory the Great, eight to Jerome, six to Ambrose, two to Ephraem, and one each to Clement and Origen. An additional twenty-five manuscripts contain either works by two or three authors or collections of excerpts.36

Gregory the Great: MSS 11, 125, 189, 213, 216, 422. Ambrose: MS 422. Prosper: MS 29. Origen: MS 422. Athanasius: MS 105. John Chrysostom: MS 190. 34 St. Gall, Stiftstbibliothek, MS 728, p. 5; printed in Lehmann, Mittelalterliche Bibliothekskataloge, 1:71. The pandect is listed first in the catalogue, followed by individual books of the Old and New Testaments. On the abbey’s biblical texts, see Rupert Schaab, “Bibeltext und Schriftstudium in St. Gallen,” in Das Kloster St. Gallen im Mittelalter, pp. 119–36, 248–53, at pp. 119–24. 35 See Bruckner, Scriptoria 3:24–46, and Scarpatetti, “Das St. Galler Scriptorium,” pp. 50–55. 36 These are rough-and-ready calculations, based primarily on the items listed in Bruckner’s Scriptoria 3:24–46, but they will do to demonstrate general trends. Manuscripts that contain texts by the Fathers, most now in St. Gall, Stiftsbibliothek:

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If we take into account authors cited by name in the codices containing works by more than one Father, a similar pattern emerges. At least fortythree manuscripts dating from between 841 and 920 include the writings of Augustine. Some fourteen include the writings of Jerome. Eleven contain works by Gregory the Great, and seven contain works by Ambrose. Prosper is represented in three manuscripts, Ephraem in two, and Basil the Great in another two. There is one manuscript each for works by Clement, Cyprian, Origen, Gregory of Nazianzus, John Chrysostom, and Athanasius.37 The shift in emphasis is unmistakable. Augustine is now the dominant figure in the scriptorium; works by and about him constitute the largest group of surviving manuscripts.38 It appears too that the provision of

Augustine: MSS 137, 138, 139, 140, 141, 144, 147, 151, 152, 153, 155, 156, 157, 158, 160, 161, 162, 163, 164, 165, 166, 167, 169, 170, 171, 172, 173, 174, 175, 176, 178, 181, 274, 317. Gregory the Great: MSS 204, 206, 207, 208, 209, 211, 218, 219, 220, 359. Jerome: MSS 110, 111, 112, 117, 118, 119, 131, 159. Ambrose: MSS 95, 96, 98, 100 (Ps. Ambrose), 101 (Ps. Ambrose), 102. Ephraem: MSS 92, 93. Clement: MS 86. Origen: MS 88. Other patristic texts: MSS 69, 89, 90, 97, 103, 132, 145, 148, 184, 187, 254, 255, 261, 269, 279, 280, 281, 431, 571, 574, 575, 576, 670, 926, and St. Gall, Stadtbibliothek, MS 317. 37 These are again rough-and-ready calculations, based primarily on Bruckner’s Scriptoria 3:24–46. To the figures listed in n. 36 above have been added the following manuscripts, which contain texts by more than one Father: Augustine: MSS 69, 145, 148, 184, 269, 279, 280, 281, 571. Gregory the Great: MS 670. Jerome: MSS 90, 132, 145, 254, 255, 261. Ambrose: MSS 97. Prosper: MSS 148, 184, 187. Cyprian: MS 89. Basil the Great: MS 926 and St. Gall, Stadtbibliothek, MS 317. Gregory of Nazianzus: MS 89. John Chrysostom: MS 103. Athanasius: MS 90. 38 For a precise listing, see Sara Janner and Romain Jurot, Die handschriftliche Überlieferung der Werke des heiligen Augustinus 9: Schweiz. Teil 1: Werkverzeichnis, Teil 2: Verzeichnis nach Bibliotheken. Unter Mitarbeit von Dorothea Weber. Österreichische Akademie der Wissenschaften, Veröffentlichungen der Kommission zur Herausgabe des Corpus der lateinischen Kirchenväter 19–20, Sitzungsberichte der philosophisch-historischen Klasse 688 (Vienna, 2001), 2:119–158.

Captions for Plates 1. Map. Early Medieval Libraries and Scriptoria. Map designed by David Arthur. 2. St. Gall, Stiftsbibliothek, MS 109, p. 5. Copied in St. Gall between 760 and 780. Jerome, In psalmos (1–59): “Incipit dispositio sancti Hieronimi presbiteri super Psalmos.” 3. St. Gall, Stiftsbibliothek, MS 110, p. 307. “The Egino-Codex.” Patristic miscellany, ca. 800. An excerpt from Augustine’s Enarrationes in Psalmos: “Sancti Augustini principium in decadis.” 4. St. Gall, Stiftsbibliothek, MS 162, p. 3. Time of Abbot Grimald (841– 872). Augustine, Enarrationes in Psalmos (1–35). Beginning of Augustine’s Commentary on the First Psalm: “Beatus vir qui non abiit in consilio impiorum.” 5. St. Gall, Stiftsbibliothek, MS 728, p. 8. Breviarium librorum, or main library catalogue. Listing of Augustine’s works: “De libris sancti Augustini episcopi.” 6. St. Gall, Stiftsbibliothek, MS 728, p. 9. Breviarium librorum, or main library catalogue. Listing of Augustine’s works, followed by listings of works by Ambrose, Prosper, and Bede.

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Augustine’s works has been carried out with some forethought.39 The monks seem to have been most interested in works that assisted in the study of Scripture. “What monasticism sought [in the works of the Latin Fathers],” writes Jean Leclercq, “… was all that could be helpful in leading the monastic life.”40 The treatment of Augustine’s Enarrationes in Psalmos, or Expositions on the Book of Psalms, provides a prime example. It is the longest of his major works, written between 392 and 418. Today it is probably the one of his books that is least read.41 Not so in the ninth century, for the recitation of the Psalms was an integral feature of communal Benedictine life. The text has already been seen at St. Gall in MS 110, a patristic miscellany (see Plate 3). There it appears in excerpt form, along with selections from works by other Fathers. By the middle of the ninth century, however, such collections of excerpts were being augmented by more scholarly books. Abbot Grimald directed the scriptorium in a series of ambitious projects, including Augustine’s Enarrationes in Psalmos (see Plate 4). Numerous scribes worked on the lengthy text, and in its final form it comprised six volumes: MSS 162–166; the last volume is missing.42 This page from MS 162 shows part of Augustine’s Exposition on the First Psalm. The books were intended to be used in study. Marginal notations in the hand of Ekkehard IV (ca. 980–ca. 1060) are to be seen in several of them.43 Grimald added to the deposit of 39

For a fuller account of these manuscripts, see Bernice M. Kaczynski, “Reading and Writing Augustine in Medieval St. Gall,” in Insignis sophiae arcator: Medieval Latin Studies in Honour of Michael Herren on his 65th Birthday, ed. Gernot R. Wieland, Carin Ruff, and Ross G. Arthur, Publications of The Journal of Medieval Latin 6 (Turnhout, 2006), pp. 107– 23. 40 The Love of Learning and the Desire for God, p. 98. The impulse to collect texts that furthered monastic spirituality also led to the translation of some Greek; see Bernice M. Kaczynski, “A Ninth-Century Latin Translation of Mark the Hermit's Peri Nomou Pneumatikou (Dresden, Sächsische Landesbibliothek, Mscr. A 145b),” Byzantinische Zeitschrift 89 (1996), 379–88 and plates XIII–XIV. 41 Michael Cameron, “Enarrationes in Psalmos,” in Augustine through the Ages, pp. 290– 96, at p. 290. 42 For the manuscripts, see Janner and Jurot, Die handschriftliche Überlieferung, 1:47–48, 2:132–33; and Bruckner, Scriptoria, 3:76–77. 43 MSS 162, 164, 166. See Bruckner, Scriptoria, 3:76–77. For more on Ekkehard IV’s marginal notations, see Peter Osterwalder, “Ekkehardus glossator. Zu den Glossierungen Ekkehards IV. im Liber Benedictionum,” in Variorum Munera Florum. Latinität als prägende Kraft mittelalterlicher Kultur. Festschrift für Hans F. Haefele, ed. A. Reinle, L. Schmugge, and P. Stotz (Sigmaringen, 1985), pp. 73–82.

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works on the Psalms with Cassiodorus’s Expositio in Psalmos, or Commentary on the Psalms, in three volumes: MSS 201–202.44 (Cassiodorus’s commentary relied upon Augustine’s, as he acknowledged in his preface.) The production of two such comprehensive series represented a considerable investment of the abbey’s resources. And such an investment shows a commitment on the part of its scholars to engage intensively with the Psalms and their early Christian interpreters. What of Augustine’s more well-known works, the Confessions, and The City of God? To us, the Confessions is Augustine’s masterpiece, the most familiar of all his books.45 Yet in the monasteries of early Europe, relatively few people seem to have read it. Its manuscript tradition is sparse.46 In the Stiftsbibliothek today, traces of the text survive in only one ninth-century codex. MS 156, pp. 162–64, includes a fragment of Confessions 9.23–26.47 (The manuscript otherwise contains excerpts from Augustine’s sermons.) References to the Confessions in two of the ninth-century booklists attest to its presence in the medieval library.48 The transmission of The City of God, on the other hand, was very full, both at St. Gall and elsewhere in the Carolingian realms. Because the work was long, it was transmitted in several different forms. The complete text might be copied in multiple codices, parts of it might be contained in a single codex, or – as frequently happened – parts might appear in collections of excerpts. At St. Gall the monks had access to the work in all of these forms.49 Notker the Stammerer admired it greatly.50 Might there have been, in the Carolingian world, “pockets of production” for certain authors or texts? The distribution of Augustine manuscripts is 44

See Bruckner, Scriptoria, 3:81–82. For an overview of the reception, see Frederick Van Fleteren, “Confessiones,” in Augustine through the Ages, pp. 227–32, at p. 227. 46 Michael M. Gorman, “The Manuscript Traditions of St. Augustine’s Major Works,” in The Manuscript Traditions of the Works of St. Augustine (Florence, 2001), pp. 315–46, at p. 336. 47 See Janner and Jurot, Die handschriftliche Überlieferung, 1:36, 2:130–31; and Bruckner, Scriptoria, 3:75. 48 Lehmann, Mittelalterliche Bibliothekskataloge, 1:74, 84. 49 For a listing of St. Gall manuscripts that contain the text or portions of it, see Janner and Jurot, Die handschriftliche Überlieferung, 1:33–35. See also Gorman, “A Survey of the Oldest Manuscripts of St. Augustine’s De civitate dei,” in The Manuscript Traditions, pp. 178–90, at p. 183. 50 Notatio, line 15, ed. Rauner, “Notkers des Stammlers ‘Notatio de illustribus uiris’,” p. 59. For further discussion of the transmission of the Confessions and The City of God, see Kaczynski, “Reading and Writing Augustine,” pp. 114–21. 45

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certainly spottier than one might initially suppose. The cathedral school of Laon, for instance, had large holdings of his works, but it was without some of the titles most familiar to readers today. It did not have the Confessions, The City of God, or On Christian Doctrine.51 If there were surprising gaps, there were also surprising concentrations. Michael Gorman observes that early manuscripts of the Confessions were limited to the area of the Loire Valley and to centres like Tours, Ferrières, and Auxerre.52 He remarks on the great diversity of surviving book collections: St. Gall’s collection of Augustine’s major works, he finds, is “the most complete.”53 St. Gall’s collection is exceptional, too, in that it preserves copies of some works rarely found elsewhere.54 A review of the St. Gall scriptorium, then, points to a clear shift in priorities before and after the middle of the ninth century. In the first period, the concern was to secure the text of the Bible, and the emphasis was on Jerome, for his textual scholarship and exegesis.55 A few manuscripts were dedicated to other Fathers, but collections of excerpts were more common. The second period saw the production of a greater number of dedicated volumes representing a greater variety of authors. It also saw the completion of more ambitious projects, such as the set of six volumes that comprised Augustine’s commentary on the Psalms, and the set of three that made up the commentary of Cassiodorus. This seems to reflect a more intense and scholarly engagement with the thought and works of the early Church Fathers. It was during this period as well that Notker the Stammerer composed his bibliographical guide to patristic literature. A comparison of St. Gall with other monasteries, moreover, raises the possibility that there were regional differences in the provision of patristic texts. It therefore becomes more and more difficult to see the Carolingians as people who simply inherited or “received” some well-defined tradition.56

51

John J. Contreni, The Cathedral School of Laon from 850 to 930: Its Manuscripts and Masters (Munich, 1978), p. 75. 52 “The Manuscript Traditions of St. Augustine’s Major Works,” p. 336. 53 Ibid. 54 De musica, for instance; see Janner and Jurot, Die handschriftliche Überlieferung, 1:9, 80. 55 See also Bernice M. Kaczynski, “Edition, Translation, and Exegesis: The Carolingians and the Bible,” in "The Gentle Voices of Teachers": Aspects of Learning in the Carolingian Age, ed. Richard E. Sullivan (Columbus, OH, 1995), pp. 171–85 and frontispiece. 56 Why do so many scholars seem to subscribe to uniform paradigms for the period? See Richard E. Sullivan, “The Carolingian Age: Reflections on Its Place in the History of the

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They exercised choices about the books they would copy, and their choices had consequences. At St. Gall the evidence of the manuscripts is complemented by a series of ninth-century library catalogues.57 The main catalogue, or Breviarium librorum, was drawn up in the middle of the ninth century, with a series of marginal notes added in about 880. The notes comment on the books and their borrowers, and they remind us that an interest in the Fathers extended beyond the monastery walls. For instance, among the borrowers were King Charles III and his wife Richardis. Each had taken a volume of Gregory the Great’s homilies, and Richardis also had a copy of Jerome on the Prophets.58 A second catalogue listed books acquired under Abbot Grimald; a third, books commissioned from the scriptorium for the library by Abbot Hartmut. The private libraries of two abbots were registered in a fourth and fifth. The lists of books acquired for the monastery library by Grimald and Hartmut confirm the impression of the surviving manuscripts, for the dominant author in each is Augustine.59 The private libraries of the abbots, on the other hand, included few patristic texts.60 Medieval library catalogues are naturally attractive to scholars. One of the most interesting recent discussions is that of Rosamond McKitterick, who draws attention to the role of the catalogues in shaping contemporary definitions of knowledge.61 Ninth-century librarians attempted to standardize the catalogues, and began to arrange their contents in the order of Bibles, church writers, secular writers. Within these classifications, however, the order of the patristric authors remains a puzzle. At St. Gall, the main catalogue, or Breviarium librorum, gives them in this sequence: Gregory the Great, Jerome, Augustine, Ambrose, Prosper, Bede, Isidore, Origen,

Middle Ages,” Speculum 64 (1989), 267–306, at p. 305, who stresses “the cultural plurality that characterized the Carolingian world.” 57 See n. 24, above. 58 Lehmann, Mittelalterliche Bibliothekskataloge, 1:72–73. 59 The Breviarium librorum presumably included all the books copied or acquired up to the time of its composition, whereas the lists of Grimald and Hartmut reflected more recent acquisitions: Lehmann, Mittelalterliche Bibliothekskataloge, 1:82–86. See also Duft, “Die Handschriften-Katalogisierung,” pp. 18*–22*. 60 Lehmann, Mittelalterliche Bibliothekskataloge, 1:86–89. See also Duft, “Die Handschriften-Katalogisierung,” pp. 22*–26*. 61 The Carolingians and the Written Word, pp. 165–210. See also Wolfgang Milde, Der Bibliothekskatalog des Klosters Murbach aus dem 9. Jahrhundert. Ausgabe und Untersuchung von Beziehungen zu Cassiodors “Institutiones,” Beihefte zum Euphorion, Zeitschrift für Literaturgeschichte 4 (Heidelberg, 1968).

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Pelagius, Cassiodorus, Eusebius (see Plates 5 and 6).62 These pages from MS 728 show the listings of works by Augustine, Ambrose, Prosper, and Bede. But there were different arrangements elsewhere. Scholars sometimes seem bewildered by the apparently haphazard ordering of the names.63 Perhaps the development of a canon of patristic authors was more complex than that of other segments of a Carolingian catalogue because it was more fluid. By the ninth century the order of the biblical books had settled.64 That canon had been closed. In the same way, the order of classical authors could be set; the store of classical texts was finite. But the canon of Latin Fathers was still in the process of formation.65 New names – like Bede and Isidore – were being added. Many different scholars took part in the process, and a consensus emerged over time. The Venerable Bede’s list of four – Ambrose, Augustine, Jerome, and Gregory – assumed a special status. In the years to come, the notion that there were four great Fathers of the West and four of the East would seem almost commonplace. The most assiduous reader of patristic texts at St. Gall was Notker the Stammerer, who served as the abbey’s librarian and annotated its main catalogue. In 885 he wrote a handbook that has come to us under the name Notatio de illustribus viris, or Notation on Famous Men.66 It is the only critical handbook of patristic writing that we have from the Carolingian period.67 Notker wrote it in the form of two letters to his pupil Solomon, a newlyordained deacon who would later become bishop of Constance and abbot of St. Gall. The Notatio sets out a plan for the study of Scriptures and other religious subjects. It may be that even Notker occasionally wearied of the Fathers. Though he admired Augustine, he referred several times to his 62

Lehmann, Mittelalterliche Bibliothekskataloge, 1:72–76. McKitterick, The Carolingians and the Written Word, pp. 197–98. 64 Hans von Campenhausen, Die Entstehung der christlichen Bibel (Tübingen, 1968), trans. J.A. Baker, The Formation of the Christian Bible (Philadelphia, 1972). More recently, see Jed Wyrick, The Ascension of Authorship: Attribution and Canon Formation in Jewish, Hellenistic, and Christian Traditions (Cambridge, MA, 2004). 65 Whereas in the Greek church the canon had closed after Chalcedon; see Patrick Gray, “The Select Fathers: Canonizing the Patristic Past,” Studia Patristica 23 (1989), 21–36. 66 See n. 25, above. 67 Walter Berschin, “Lateinische Literatur aus St. Gallen,” in Das Kloster St. Gallen im Mittelalter, pp. 109–117, 244–48, at pp. 113–14: Notker’s Notatio de illustribus viris represents “der einzige Versuch der karolingischen Epoche, die altehrwürdige, auf Hieronymus zurückgehende Tradition der christlichen Literaturgeschichtsschreibung De viris illustribus fortzusetzen.” 63

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“countless books,” and, indeed, to “his thousand other books.”68 Notker was not insensible to the paralysing effect his recitation of so many authors and so many texts might have on his readers. Near the end of the first letter he wrote, “If you wish to know all the writers of the church, you will consume yourself in fruitless labour, since from today until the end of the world, there will always be those who can write useful things.”69 For that reason, if not for any other, it was time to think about closing the canon. In monasteries, courts, and cathedrals across early Europe, scholars gave sustained attention to the deposit of patristic materials that had survived from late antiquity (see Plate 1). The men of the ninth century were responsible for the production of a remarkable number of new manuscripts and for the formation, in their own and other institutions, of impressive and sometimes highly idiosyncratic collections of the writings of the Fathers of the Church. To a great extent, their actions were governed by their own priorities: the reading of Sacred Scripture, the conduct of monastic life. Yet the body of texts they left behind was surprisingly capacious. There would be another intense phase in the making and gathering of patristic texts at the end of the eleventh century, and it would continue through the twelfth.70 The patristic movement of the high Middle Ages was more broadly based, because it included England as well as the continent.71 68

Notatio, lines 118–24, ed. Rauner, “Notkers des Stammlers ‘Notatio de illustribus uiris’,” p. 63: “Augustinus in libris innumeris, quos conscripsit….et in aliis mille libris ipsius…” Also Notatio, lines 232–33, p. 67: “ex innumeris sancti Augustini et aliorum patrum libris…” In the early Middle Ages references to Augustine’s prolixity were not always intended as compliments; see Steven Muhlberger, The Fifth-Century Chroniclers: Prosper, Hydatius, and the Gallic Chronicler of 452 (Leeds, 1990), pp. 158–59. I am indebted to Alexander C. Murray for the reference. 69 Notatio, lines 187–89, ed. Rauner, “Notkers des Stammlers ‘Notatio de illustribus uiris’,” p. 65: “Quod si omnes scriptores ecclesiasticos scire desideras, inani labore tabescis, cum hodieque et usque in finem saeculi non desint, qui utilia scribere possint.” 70 For a survey of the manuscripts in their cultural context, see Bischoff, Latin Palaeography, pp. 212–23 (“From the tenth to the twelfth century”). Bischoff observes on p. 218: “The twelfth century … marks a second highpoint after the carolingian era for the transmission of many classical authors & patristic literature …” 71 Anglo-Saxon book collections seem to have been modest in comparison with those on the continent. See Lapidge, The Anglo-Saxon Library, pp. 58–60, and pp. 275–342 (“Catalogue of Classical and Patristic Authors and Works Composed before AD 700 and Known in Anglo-Saxon England”). Teresa Webber, Scribes and Scholars at Salisbury Cathedral c. 1075– c.1125 (Oxford, 1992), p. 32, comments: “Manuscripts containing patristic texts, which can be shown to have been copied in, or imported to, England before the Conquest form only a small proportion of the items in the handlist of manuscripts copied or present in England before 1100, compiled by H. Gneuss.” A similar conclusion is reached by

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By the end of the eleventh century, across Europe, “the works of the Fathers, both in full as well as in collections of extracts, were being subjected to analytical scrutiny for all sorts of purposes, intellectual and polemical as well as devotional and ethical.”72 Certainly, the later period saw an expansion of the patristic base for canon law, especially on the continent.73 But the patristic researches of the high Middle Ages, and the patristic studies of every era since, were, in the first instance, made possible by the work undertaken in the Carolingian scriptoria. This essay began with the familiar image of dwarfs seated on the shoulders of giants, an image confected by Bernard of Chartres. Bernard was being self-deprecatory, in the graceful manner of his age. To take him literally, and to see him and his contemporaries as no more than guardians of an ancient legacy, would be an error. Medieval scholars did not inherit any sort of tradition. The tradition took shape slowly – in the courts and monasteries, scriptoria and libraries of early Europe. And the process by which it happened is worth exploring, because it shows us how the thinkers of the early Middle Ages acted to generate knowledge of the past and, as a consequence, to establish a canon of authority. Bernice M. Kaczynski, McMaster University

David Ganz, “Anglo-Saxon England,” in The Cambridge History of Libraries in Britain and Ireland, Vol. 1: To 1640, ed. Elisabeth Leedham-Green and Teresa Webber (Cambridge, 2006), 91–108, at pp. 94–96. 72 Teresa Webber, “The Diffusion of Augustine’s Confessions in England during the Eleventh and Twelfth Centuries,” in The Cloister and the World: Essays in Medieval History in Honour of Barbara Harvey, ed. John Blair and Brian Golding (Oxford, 1996), pp. 29–45, at p. 41. See also Webber, “The Patristic Content of English Book Collections in the Eleventh Century: Towards a Continental Perspective,” in Of the Making of Books. Medieval Manuscripts, their Scribes and Readers: Essays presented to M.B. Parkes, ed. Pamela Robinson and Rivkah Zim (Aldershot, 1997), pp. 191–205; and Webber, “Monastic and Cathedral Book Collections in the late Eleventh and Twelfth Centuries,” in The Cambridge History of Libraries, 1:109–25, at pp. 111–15. 73 This has probably been the most widely studied aspect of the phenomenon. See Martin Brett, “Canon Law and Litigation: The Century before Gratian,” Medieval Ecclesiastical Studies in Honour of Dorothy M. Owen, ed. M.J. Franklin and C. Harper-Bill (Woodbridge, 1995), pp. 21–40.

Raptors and Rebellion: The Self-Defence of Theodulf of Orleans by June-Ann Greeley … Unus ego quamvis sim, non est unius haec res: 1 Quod factum est mihimet, esse potest alii …

I: The historical background After the death of Charlemagne in 814, the fortunes of his esteemed confidant and court scholar, Theodulf, Bishop of Orleans, endured a downward spiral, although much of the final decade of his life (d. ca. 821) is as enigmatic as was the early part of his life. What is known is distressing and, for those familiar with this extraordinary personality, somewhat inexplicable. In piecing together those few bits of information that are generally acknowledged as accurate, it does appear that what was remarkable about Theodulf – his caustic wit, his proud independence, his political artfulness, his elegant intelligence, and social grace, qualities which Charlemagne had so admired and which had stood Theodulf in such good stead during his years in royal service – possibly contributed, in the end, to his ruin. Scholarly opinion seems content to attribute the devastating reversal of fortune Theodulf came to suffer to his pride, ambition, and a wilful disregard of imperial succession; yet this paper will attempt to demonstrate how misguided conventional scholarship might be on this topic. It is known that by 806, Charlemagne had determined to divide his enormous realm into three territories to accommodate the ambitions of his three sons, Charles (the heir apparent), Pippin, and Louis.2 During the entire 1

… Although I am alone, this matter is not of one man only: What has been done to me, can be done to another … (Carmen 72. 37–38). 2 See Peter Godman, Poets and Emperors: Frankish Politics and Carolingian Poetry (Oxford, 1987), p. 95. Pierre Riché, The Carolingians: A Family Who Forged Europe, trans. Michael Idomir Allen (Philadelphia, 1993), pp. 130–34, indicates that Charlemagne was quite

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time of his affiliation with Charlemagne and the Carolingian court, Theodulf had sustained a neutral (at worst) relationship with the sons of Charlemagne – they were, after all, the legitimate offspring of his imperial benefactor, potential heirs to his kingdom, and princes of some influence themselves.3 Theodulf, in fact, appears to have espoused especially (and strategically) the primacy of the young Charles: Theodulf’s Carmen 35 (post-800) is an encomium devoted exclusively to the young Charles that addressed the young royal as “… the great salvation, o hope, o glory of the kingdom …” (3–4).4 The untimely death of the young Charles in 811, however, deprived Theodulf of a probable future patron; shortly thereafter, in 814, the anticipated but still lamented passing of the emperor Charlemagne himself deprived Theodulf of a steadfast protector and an

sensitive to the fact that there were possibly insurmountable obstacles to the preservation of his immense empire as a unified whole: broad cultural, linguistic, social, and legal differences posed substantial problems. Thus, Charlemagne decreed in the Divisio regnorum of 806 that, in order to avoid confusion and disorder after his own death, he would partition his kingdom into three such that Louis was to maintain his rule over Aquitaine and also receive lands south and west (parts of Gascony and Spain); Pippin would retain Italy and add Bavaria as well as part of Alemannia, and Charles would receive all the remaining territories. Charlemagne also stipulated that were any one brother to predecease the other two, the surviving brothers would then divide his lands evenly into their own. (Parenthetically, it should be noted that Charlemagne’s daughters were offered only two options: either marry a predesignated suitor or enter a convent!) For texts, see MGH LL, sec. ii, Capitularia regum Francorum, vol. 1 (Hanover, 1883), p. 45. 3 In Carmen 25, Theodulf makes a brief but respectful reference to the two older boys: “… Hinc adstent pueri, … / Vinea laetificet sicque novella patrem. / Stent Karolus Hludowicque simul, quorum unus ephebus, / Iam vehit alterius os iuvenale decus. / Corpore praevalido quibus est nervosa iuventa, / Corque capax studii, consiliique tenax. / Mente vigent, virtute cluunt, pietate redundant, / Gentis uterque decor, dulcis uterque patri …” (69– 76; MGH PLAC 1, p. 485), which reads, “… Let the boys stand on one side, … / and so, let the new vines (offspring) gladden the father. / Let both Charles and Louis stand, one of whom is a young man, / the countenance of the other still bears a youthful beauty. / They have the vigorous youthfulness of a very strong body, / and a heart containing much zeal and steadfast of purpose. / They are lively in mind, they are spoken of for their strength, and they abound in piety, / Each one is an ornament to the nation, and each is a sweet charm to his father …” 4 See MGH PLAC 1, pp. 526–27: “… magna salus, o spes, o gloria regni …” It is worthwhile to note that a little further in the same poem (11f.), Theodulf mentions that he was unable to meet with the prince Charles when he (Charles) was on his westward travels because of the iussio regis (15) which obliged Theodulf to attend to the business of the emperor. Is that perhaps an example of the high esteem with which Charlemagne still regarded Theodulf?

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indispensable benefactor.5 Without Charlemagne, Theodulf’s position became uncertain, his authority and influence, tenuous.6 History bears witness to Theodulf’s predicament, for in 817, Emperor Louis “the Pious” deposed Theodulf, bishop of Orleans, from his episcopacy and confiscated all properties of the Spanish prelate. By 818, Theodulf was in exile, finding sanctuary (or confinement) in various monasteries about and within Angers and LeMans; thereafter, sometime in the year 821, Theodulf suddenly and mysteriously died, “… zu einem unbekannten Zeitpunkt in der Haft.”7 The quite disastrous and rather abrupt fall of Theodulf of Orleans has yet to be adequately explained, although there has been a scattering of speculation over a somewhat sparse array of verifiable historical facts. In the years between 814 and 817 – that is, from the time of the death of Charles the Great to the ascension of Louis, his last surviving legitimate son, to the imperial throne – Theodulf seems to have enjoyed perfunctory but cordial relations with the new emperor.8 In 814, for instance, Louis sent Theodulf 5

It should be noted that scholars look with some suspicion upon the death of the young Charles and one has even stated that the young Charles died “suddenly and mysteriously at the age of thirty-nine.” See Russell Chamberlin, The Emperor: Charlemagne (New York, 1986), p. 218. 6 Godman, Poets, p. 97, admits that Theodulf had cause to be concerned about “the hostility of his many enemies,” especially those anonymous ones whose misdeeds and frailties he might have satirized in his verse. This was especially true in the case of Matfrid, count of Orleans, who understood that his authority as well as his political influence would increase in proportion to the degree that Theodulf’s star waned. On Matfrid as an opportunistic and ruthless ally of Louis, see Elisabeth Dahlhaus-Berg, Nova Antiquitas et Antiqua Novitas: Typologische Exegese und Isidorianisches Geschichtsbild bei Theodulf von Orleans (Cologne and Vienna, 1975), pp. 17–19; Thomas Head, Hagiography and the Cult of the Saints: The Diocese of Orleans 800–1200 (Cambridge, 1990), p. 145, and comments below. Dahlhaus-Berg (p. 19) wonderfully refers to Matfrid as “der damnatio memoriae.” 7 Dahlhaus-Berg, p. 21. On the deposition, exile and untimely death of Theodulf, bishop of Orleans, see: The Cambridge History of the Bible, vol. 2, ed. G.W.H. Lampe (Cambridge, 1969), p. 126; Godman, Poets, pp. 104–6 (passim); Dahlhaus-Berg, pp. 15–21 (esp. pp. 19– 21). On St. Aubin Cloister in Angers as the probable site of Theodulf’s exile, see DahlhausBerg, p. 20. On LeMans as the possible location, see Dieter Schaller, “Theodulfs Exil in Le Mans,” MJ 27 (1992), 91–101, at pp. 96–101. Schaller presses exclusively for LeMans as the site of exile and argues persuasively from Theodulf’s own Carmen 72, citing geographical clues such as lines 71–74 that speak of the Sarthe River as it flows past the rura (73), or the countryside, of Le Mans (which lines echo lines 45–48 from Ovid’s Ex Ponto 3.2). See Schaller, p. 96. 8 See Thomas F.X. Noble, “Some Observations of the Deposition of Archbishop Theodulf of Orleans in 817,” Journal of the Rocky Mountain Medieval and Renaissance Association 2 (1981), 29–40, at pp. 30–31; Godman, Poets, p. 96. Carmen 39 reads in part: “… tua grata salus istis est lumen ocellis, / Est optanda bonis nam tua grata salus. / macte decus populi,

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official missives confirming the bishop’s prerogative to his possessions and authority, even though the new emperor was in the process of purging his court of those retainers most loyal to his father.9 Moreover, in 816, Theodulf was one of a select few dignitaries who had been asked by Louis to be in attendance on the new pope, Stephen IV, who was travelling to meet the new emperor at Reims just after his holy installation. One can only infer that Emperor Louis had not yet taken offence at the bishop of Orleans, since Theodulf remained at Reims to witness the imperial coronation by the Holy Father.10 Nevertheless, within a year, Theodulf had been removed from his powerful see and replaced by one Jonas, a cleric from the Aquitaine, a scholar of theology, and confidant of Louis.11 By 816, Theodulf had fallen

Caesar fortissime macte, / Inclita sceptra tenens, macte decus populi …” (21–24), that is, “… your dear well-being is a light to these very eyes, / for your dear well-being must be desired by all good people. / Blessed glory of the people, blessed Caesar most brave, / holding the glorious scepter, blessed splendor of the people …” 9 Noble, p. 30. See also Louis Halphen, Charlemagne and the Carolingian Empire, trans. Giselle de Nie, vol. 3 in Europe in the Middle Ages, ed. Richard Vaughn (Amsterdam and New York, 1977), p. 160. Halphen notes that the decision made by Louis to cleanse his court was more than a merely political act. It seemed as well the tantrum of a resentful, somewhat spiteful youngest son! Louis sent away not only those notables who had been most allied with Charlemagne, but he dismissed from court as well “the entire female company,” including all his sisters, either to convents or to apportioned domains, and exiled his (second) cousins Adalard and his half-brother Wala to Noirmoutier and Corbie, respectively. On the fates of the daughters of Charlemagne at the hands of their grim brother, see Son of Charlemagne: A Contemporary Life of Louis the Pious, trans. Allen Cabaniss (Syracuse, 1961), pp. 55–56. On Adalard and Wala, see pp. 6–7 and passim in Charlemagne’s Cousins: Contemporary Lives of Adalard and Wala, trans. Allen Cabaniss (Syracuse, 1967). The vitae were composed by Paschasius Radbertus and focus on the lives of Adalard and Wala through the prism of their spiritual experiences, since they both had been held dear by Charlemagne and later became deeply revered abbots. Chris Wickham, Early Medieval Italy: Central Power and Local Society 400–1000 (Ann Arbor, 1990), p. 49, notes that Adalard had at one time been tutor and mentor to Louis’s nephew Bernard, king of Italy, a figure of no small notoriety during the reign of Louis the Pious. 10 On Theodulf amid the imperial retinue to meet with the new Pope, see Cabaniss, trans., Son of Charlemagne, pp. 60–61. Another contemporary account of the papal rendezvous at Reims can be found in Royal Frankish Annals: 816 in Carolingian Chronicles, trans. Bernhard Walter Scholz (Ann Arbor, 1972), p. 101. 11 On Jonas of Orleans (d. 843), see Head, Hagiography, pp. 42–44; Max Manitius, Geschichte der Lateinischen Literatur des Mittelalters, vol. 1 (Munich, 1911), pp. 374–80; New Catholic Encyclopedia, vol. 6 (New York, 1967), p. 1096. Riché, The Carolingians, refers to Jonas as a “respected and influential moralist” (p. 150) but lacking the witty temperament and bright intellect of his predecessor, Theodulf. Still, he seems to have enjoyed the favour of Matfrid, count of Orleans and persecutor of Bishop Theodulf, for, sometime

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out of favour and had become a displaced person, from Orleans and from his former life, without refuge and without allies. While it is perhaps understandable that Louis would eventually want to replace Theodulf with an individual more closely affiliated with himself and with the new regime, it is rather puzzling that not only was Theodulf cast out from his world, but he was compelled to abide his final years in ignominy and shame, especially since Louis had granted many others from Charlemagne’s circle to retreat from prominence quietly, with some degree of their integrity and honour left intact.12 Conventional wisdom has long attributed Theodulf’s distressing ruin to his participation with Bernard, King of Italy, and nephew to Louis, in a rebellion against Louis in 817.13 The tale is as typical as it is tragic. Early in 817, Louis had survived a near-fatal accident: as he was leaving church after having attended the Mass of Holy Thursday, a wooden colonnade, rotten and decayed from the wear and moisture of years, cracked and collapsed in pieces about him and his retinue. Many were seriously injured, but the emperor emerged comparatively unscathed, with bruises only in his right thigh and the back of his right ear.14 Within a fortnight he had recovered, but with that recovery came a keen appreciation for the certainty of mortality, even the mortality of princes (Louis was about thirtynine years old at the time). The accident, moreover, heightened his anxiety about securing his empire from possible chaos and disorder in the event of a sudden demise. Thereupon, that July, when he had summoned to Aachen, as was the imperial custom, both the ecclesiastical and the lay magnates to discuss issues critical to both church and state, Louis announced to the before 829, Jonas wrote a treatise (De institutione laicali) on the moral obligations of married people at the request of Count Matfrid (Manitius, p. 376). 12 See Riché, The Carolingians, p. 146, for a listing of those removed from the Ludovician court and those select few brought in from the Aquitaine, the birthplace of Louis the Pious. It was said that Louis acted upon the advice of “pestilent and envious men” who wished to remove all vestiges of the mythic Charlemagne from court: see Cabaniss, trans., Charlemagne’s Cousins, p. 7. 13 On the rebellion, among usual historical sources, see Royal Frankish Annals, 101–4 (817–18); Son of Charlemagne, 65–67 (Vita, Pt. 2.29:2–30:1); Riché, The Carolingians, p. 148; Janet L. Nelson, Charles the Bald (New York, 1992), p. 73, and Mayke de Jong, “Power and Humility in Carolingian Society: the Public Penance of Louis the Pious,” Early Medieval Europe 1(1992), pp. 29–52, at p. 31. 14 On the accident of Holy Thursday, see Royal Frankish Annals, p. 102 (817) and Cabaniss, trans., Son of Charlemagne, pp. 62–63 (Vita, Pt. 2.28:1). See also F.L. Ganshof, “Some Observations on the Ordinatio Imperii of 817,” ch. 15 in The Carolingians and the Frankish Monarchy: Studies in Carolingian History, trans. Janet Sondheimer (Ithaca, 1971), 273–88, at p. 274; Janet L. Nelson, Charles the Bald, pp. 72–73.

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solemn assembly of leaders the details of his private resolution which, soon thereafter, was promulgated in chancery as a capitulary entitled the Ordinatio Imperii.15 Louis had decided that it would be folly to entrust to the indifference of fate (such as wooden beams collapsing on a holy day) the prevailing stability and future prosperity of the empire, and so he advised his faithful subjects that he wished to establish the royal succession to his throne at that time, taking advantage of the fact that “he was then in good health, and that peace, thanks to God, ruled everywhere.”16 Many nobles attendant upon the assembly certainly harboured alarmed suspicions. Although Louis was anxious to assure his people (and himself) that the great Frankish empire would never suffer the noxious threat of embattled division among his heirs upon his death, there were many for whom the notion of a living king deliberately establishing a line of succession was not only rather unusual but rather imprudent as well. Louis appreciated that his announcement would be regarded with some misgiving, yet he was determined to proceed with his plan, and so he commanded a triduum of fasting, prayer, and almsgiving in order to beseech divine inspiration and obtain holy blessing for their enterprise.17 After the third day, what Louis had initially proposed was adopted in toto by the assembly of ecclesiastical and lay leaders, “in full agreement with the Almighty.” His oldest son, Lothar, not more than twenty-two at the time, would be proclaimed emperor at once, and rule alongside his father until, at the death of Louis, he would inherit the imperial seat as the sole ultimate heir of the entire empire.18 Louis’s two remaining legitimate sons, Pepin, king of Aquitaine, and Louis, king of Bavaria, would remain rulers in their 15

On the manuscript history and modern edition of the Ordinatio, see Ganshof, “Some Observations,” p. 273, n. 346, pp. 281–82, nn. 1–2. On its importance as a historical document, see Matthew Innes and Rosamond McKitterick, “The Writing of History,” in Carolingian Culture: Emulation and Innovation, ed. Rosamond McKitterick (Cambridge, 1994), pp. 193– 220, at pp. 206–7. 16 Halphen, Charlemagne, p. 165. See also Riché, The Carolingians, p. 147. 17 Ganshof, “Some Observations,” p. 276; Halphen, p. 165. See also Edward James, The Birth of France: From Clovis to the Capetians 500–1000 (New York, 1982), p. 167. It is worth noting that, according to Ganshof (p. 276), such a process of prayer and fasting for three days was, in fact, in use at the time for securing a decision for papal elections “when prayers were offered in the hope that God would speak to the consciences of those called on to elect the new pontiff.” Quite a beneficial coincidence for Louis! 18 For other details of this rather unconventional proclamation, see Halphen, Charlemagne, pp. 165–66; Geoffrey Barraclough, The Crucible of Europe (Berkeley and Los Angeles, 1976), p. 64; Riché, The Carolingians, pp. 147–48. See also Cabaniss, trans., Son of Charlemagne, p. 65 (2.29:1); Royal Frankish Annals, pp. 102–3.

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respective kingdoms, which would eventually gain territory in their southern and eastern regions. However, both Pepin and Louis, though royal, would be subject to the inevitable imperial supremacy of their brother Lothar. The new strategy of succession also applied to Bernard, the King of Italy, who was the illegitimate son of the deceased (d. 813) king of Italy, Pippin, elder brother of Louis.19 Bernard, then, was the consanguineous nephew of Louis and first cousin to Lothar and his brothers. According to the proposal of succession devised by Louis, Bernard implicitly (since he was not at all mentioned in the Ordinatio) would be able to retain his autonomous position as king of Italy during the remainder of Louis’s reign. After the demise of Louis, he would be expected to defer to the preeminent authority of Lothar, and accept whatever decision about the royal dominions Lothar should propose. Throughout the proceedings, there numbered in the princely convocation many individuals who, while cautiously silent, yet harboured grave reservations about the new procedure of succession and its social and political implications. Frankish law and its tradition of inheritance was very specific concerning the allotment of personal property and public authority among the lawful heirs of a deceased head of household or chieftain. The Frankish practice of inheritance had long been that upon the death of the chief or head of household, and not until that time, all property and assets of authority would be divided among his living legitimate heirs.20 In advocating for a process of succession as stipulated in the Ordinatio, however, Louis essentially rejected both the patrimonial convention of his ancestors (including his father Charlemagne) and the arrangement of inheritance within the Frankish royal house, including the apportioned influence assumed by the Frankish emperor. Yet Louis did something more, something much more fundamentally radical: he made explicit that the very foundation of the political process was, in fact, the will of God.21 The emperor had been selected, his authority confirmed, and the unity of the empire firmly established, as much by an act of God as by human endeavour, as much as the expression of divine approbation as of political assent. Just as the Church, the community of the faithful, was the singular embodiment of the divine presence on earth, so 19

Some brief information on the tragic Bernard can be found in Wickham, Early Medieval Italy, pp. 49–50; Riché, The Carolingians, pp. 147–48. 20 Ganshof, “Some Observations,” pp. 275–76. 21 Implicitly, of course, that had always been accepted: see Walter Ullmann, The Carolingian Renaissance and the Idea of Kingship (London, 1969), pp. 43–61 (passim).

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also, Louis believed, must the empire of the Franks be recognized as having been invested by and for the implementation of divine will. The empire should mirror the transcendent unity and stability of the Church, and exist as its protection and associate.22 22

See Halphen, Charlemagne. pp. 167–68. Ganshof, “Some Observantions,” p. 279, states that “… what gave the unitary arrangement for the succession to the imperial throne its full significance was its religious basis. The measures … were adopted to implement an act of the divine will.” Barraclough (pp. 66–67) notes that there was pronounced papal opposition to the Ordinatio: the Pope had grave misgivings that Louis would detach his empire and the Carolingian church from the authority of Rome and resort to a gradual autonomy from papal dominion. Rome’s fears were not entirely without foundation. Louis had crowned Lothar himself, by acclamation, at the Aachen meeting in 817 and not until 823 was Lothar finally crowned by Pope Pascal II in Rome on Easter Sunday. Indeed, the relationship between the Papacy and this Emperor is a critical one, for not much later, in 833, Lothar rebelled against his father Louis, and the Pope joined forces with Lothar against Louis. It is actually a remarkable story. After his first wife Ermengard, mother to the princes, died in 818, Louis married the beautiful but volatile Judith, the oldest daughter of Count Welf (whose other daughter and Judith’s younger sister, Emma, would marry Louis’ youngest son by Ermengard, Louis of Bavaria, in 827!). In June, 823, Judith gave birth to a son, Charles (later to be known as “the Bald”) and immediately dissension arose between Judith and her stepsons. Lothar, in particular, felt threatened by the new queen and her brood, and gathered forces as well as the support of lay and ecclesiastical magnates to prevent his legacy from being stolen from him (please note that among Lothar’s supporters against Louis were two personages who earlier had allied themselves with Louis against Theodulf: Jonas, bishop of Orleans and the loathsome Matfrid, Count of Orleans!). Thus, despite all the machinations Louis had devised to install his three older sons in their respective seats of power, and so prevent rebellion against him or premature internecine struggle, he spent the rest of his reign (d. 840) struggling to secure a place in the succession for his new son, Charles, as Judith insisted. The tragic but inevitable ruin of Louis is well recounted by Mayke de Jong, “Power and Humility in Carolingian Society.” On Judith, Charles and the filial rebellions, see Riché, The Carolingians, pp. 148–58; James, pp. 168–69. On Judith specifically, see also Pauline Stafford, Queens, Concubines, and Dowagers: The King’s Wife in the Early Middle Ages (Athens, GA, 1983), pp. 18–20, 56–57, 93–94; Suzanne Fonay Wemple, Women in Frankish Society: Marriage and the Cloister 500–800 (Philadelphia, 1985), pp. 80–81. It is worth noting that Judith’s accomplice and reputed lover was Bernard of Septimania, godson to Louis the Pious, a military leader of some ability and husband of the remarkable Dhuoda of Uzes. Dhuoda was the author of Liber manualis, a speculum principis for her eldest son, William, who was in residence at the court of Louis’s son, Charles. A quite fine edition of Liber manualis, with Latin-English facing pages, is Dhuoda: Handbook for her Warrior Son, ed. and trans. Marcelle Thiebaux, Cambridge Medieval Classics 8 (Cambridge, 1998). Bernard is also of some interest to the posthumous saga of Theodulf and the city of Orleans. In 827, Emperor Louis sent Bernard to quash a Moslem uprising near the Spanish March, which involved the emir of Cordova. To assist Bernard, Louis also ordered troops be sent from Aquitaine, which troops were led by two great magnates, Hugh of Tours and Matfrid of Orleans (!). Hugh and Matfrid dallied in their preparations and, as a result, villages near

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Louis’s decision, while clearly pragmatic, was also genuinely inspired, but a beam of wood was hardly the only instigator. It has been acknowledged that Louis was profoundly religious, even slavish in his devotion, and had acquired the appellation “the Pious” well before he became emperor.23 He had among his circle of advisors churchmen as well as lay magnates, and among the most prominent, influential, and persistent, was the great monastic reformer, Benedict of Aniane, upon whom Louis had relied to execute his energetic efforts to reform Benedictine monasteries in Aquitaine and, later, throughout the imperial domain.24 Born in Septimania as Wit(t)iza, the heir of a Visigothic count, Benedict had been sent as a youth to squire at the court of Pippin III (the Short), and later had served in the military under Charlemagne before entering the monastic life in about 773, when he was nearly twenty-three years old.25 Taking the name of his spiritual father, Benedict of Nursia, who had founded the western tradition

Barcelona and Gerona were destroyed. After hearing of the debacle, Louis held a hearing at Aachen and stripped the Counts Hugh and Matfrid of all their honours. Matfrid’s titles and possessions in Orleans passed to one Eudes (Odo), cousin of Bernard. See Thiebaux, Dhuoda, pp. 13–14. 23 Riché, The Carolingians, pp. 145–46. Riché mentions (p. 145) that modern French historians prefer to refer to Louis as “le Debonnaire,” the “good-natured,” a description which, for the French, is slightly deprecatory. Halphen (Charlemagne, p. 159) also notes that Louis, unlike Charlemagne, had received a thorough education, but one based upon clerical training. Indeed, had he not considered it the will of God that he rule his father’s empire, Louis might have joined a Benedictine monastery. That being unavailable to him, he set about reforming monastic life with all the zeal of a senior cleric. Later in life, Louis also received the epithet “the Monk,” a gentle reference to his desire to reform even the secular life of the imperial court according to monastic discipline. 24 Benedict of Aniane is a compelling figure, an exemplar of Christian devotion and a participant in a subsequent Carolingian renovatio of a later generation. On Benedict, see David Knowles and Dimitri Obolensky, The Christian Centuries, vol. 2: The Middle Ages (New York, 1983), pp. 122–23; “Benoît d’Aniane,” in Dictionnaire de Spiritualité, tome 1 (Paris, 1937), pp. 1438–42; Lowrie J. Daly, Benedictine Monasticism (New York, 1965), pp. 141–51. 25 See “Benoît d’Aniane,” p. 1438. Daly, Benedictine Monasticism, p. 143, offers an account of the conversion that is nearly apocryphal but not altogether improbable. While in the service of Charlemagne, Benedict began to reconsider the life of a feudal noble for which he was being readied but could not come to any suitable decision. Then, in 774, as he and his brother were fording a river during a military campaign, Benedict and his brother found themselves in a perilous situation and close to drowning. Benedict was able to save his brother and himself from certain death, but just barely. At that very moment, Benedict vowed never again to participate in the bloodshed and angry chaos of the secular world, and returned home to enter a local monastery.

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of monasticism, Benedict entered into his new life with an astonishing zeal.26 Initially, the young monk withdrew to the monastery of Saint-Seine, near Dijon, but found the life there neither as rigorous nor as devout as he would wish. Therefore, in 779, he returned to his parental property in Maguelone in Septimania (just north of the Spanish March) and, on the banks of the Aniane River, built a small hermit’s cell near the local church. Benedict sought to live a solitary life of profound mortification and intensive penance, but soon, pious companions and inquisitive disciples appeared at the door of his poor cell in such numbers, that Brother Benedict had to build, and later expand, a monastery where his lonely retreat had been.27 What had drawn the multitude to Benedict was the vigour of his determination to channel the focus of contemporary monasticism back to its ancient ideals of contemplative spirituality, material austerity, and a resolute commitment to penitential prayer and to the daily recitation of the Divine Office as part of the common liturgy. Benedict further insisted that the guiding principles of the revitalized monastic practice must be an active faith, a lively wisdom, and an unconditional love that perceives in everything the bounty of divine grace.28 Yet Benedict was certain that his reforms would have little significance if implemented only in a single monastery. Accordingly, and with the consent of Charlemagne himself, Benedict initiated a reform movement that sought to unite all monasteries and convents under the banner of a single rule.29 The foundation of the new rule would of course be the Regula of St. Benedict, but the Regula somewhat embellished, for Benedict of Aniane believed that details from the zealous tradition of eastern monasticism (notably that of the Desert Fathers) could only enhance the teachings of the 26

The material on Benedict of Nursia is copious: a quite adequate exposition of Benedict of Nursia and the gradual evolution of his monastic agenda can be found in Daly, Benedictine Monasticism, pp. 69–95. See also George Zarnecki, The Monastic Achievement (New York, 1972), pp. 14–19. On Benedict of Aniane and his religious fervour, Daly (pp. 144–45) makes especial mention of Benedict’s abiding interest in the austere and exacting monastic traditions of the East. 27 “Benoît d’Aniane,” pp. 1438–39. See also Daly, pp. 143–44 for biographical details. 28 “Benoît d’Aniane,” pp. 1439–40. See also Jean Leclercq, The Love of Learning and the Desire for God: A Study of Monastic Culture, trans. Catherine Misrahi (New York, 1982), pp. 42–43. 29 On the reforms of Benedict of Aniane, see Daly, Benedictine Monasticism, pp. 145–48 Knowles and Obolensky, The Christian Centuries, 2:122; Mayke de Jong, “Carolingian Monasticism: the Power of Prayer,” ch. 23 in The New Cambridge Medieval History: Vol. 2 c. 700–c. 900 (Cambridge, 1995), pp. 630–31; “Benoît d’Aniane,” p. 1439; C.H. Lawrence, Medieval Monasticism (London and New York, 1984), pp. 68–72.

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Rule composed by St. Benedict.30 Thereupon, after considerable study, Benedict compiled two great treatises for the revitalization of western monasticism: the first was the Codex Regularum, which was an anthology of older monastic rules, primarily from the eastern tradition; the second text was the Concordia Regularum, a bountiful concordance paralleling the Regula with other writings from monasticism.31 Benedict of Aniane became then an advocate for the Benedictine observance, although it was an observance adjusted to suit the mores of the ninth century. Charlemagne commissioned Benedict to seek out the older, more entrenched monastic communities in the ancient sees within the Frankish realm, and to persuade them of the merit of the renewed monastic discipline. He also called Benedict to direct a series of synods for monastic reform held at Aachen beginning in 813, and it was in that capacity that he captured the attention of Charlemagne’s young son Louis, then king of Aquitaine.32 Louis seems to have sensed in Benedict a sympathetic counterpart, someone who, like himself, appreciated uniform methodology in reform, the vital necessity of an earnest commitment by each individual to the greater significance of the whole, and the greater efficacy of a single leader to supervise and to guide the disparate multitudes. Louis embraced Benedict as a holy reformer of the Church, especially the monastic traditions, and encouraged him to set about his tasks in his own kingdom of Aquitaine. When he succeeded his father as emperor in 814, Louis demanded Benedict’s immediate presence at Aachen.33 Near to Aachen, at Inde, Louis constructed for Benedict a new abbey, which was to become not merely the new residence for an esteemed religious reformer, but the centre of monastic reform and the model of the standard of Benedictine observance endorsed throughout the empire.34 Benedict then became a kind of “abbot-at-large,” 30

An easy access to some of the writings (in translation) by and about the Desert Fathers can be found in the little text: Helen Waddell, The Desert Fathers (repr. Ann Arbor, 1990). See also Daly, Benedictine Monasticism, pp. 33–48. However, for this reader, one of the most moving accounts of the desert fathers must be the fourth-century biography, “The Life and Affairs of our Holy Father Antony,” by the “Father of Orthodoxy,” (St.) Athanasius. The Greek text can be found in PG 26:835–976; a sympathetic translation is to be found in Robert C. Gregg, Athanasius: The Life of Antony and The Letter to Marcellinus (New York, 1980), pp. 29–99. 31 On the Codex and Concordia of Benedict of Aniane, see Daly, p. 145; “Benoît d’Aniane,” pp. 1439–40. 32 See Riché, The Carolingians, p. 146; Mayke de Jong, “Power of Prayer,” p. 631. 33 See Daly, Benedictine Monasticism, pp. 145–46. 34 See Lawrence, Medieval Monasticism, p. 69; Riché, The Carolingians, p. 146.

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the general supervisor of monasteries within the spacious expanse of the empire, and the principal director for their scrupulous adherence to the Rule. At the assembly of the imperial council at Aachen in 817, Benedict was present with Louis, and was able to advance with great success almost eighty capitularies of monastic renewal and reform. For example, the adapted Regula of St. Benedict was finalized as the only rule every monk was to follow, and to follow it most surely by committing it to memory; the monastic prayer cycle was augmented by the addition of daily prayers for the dead, the trina oratio, and ceremonial prayers at specific altars; and abbots were ordered to desist from lives beguiled by aristocratic ease and privilege, and return to lives pledged to poverty and simplicity.35 The Benedictine programme was no longer to be an arbitrary option for monastic houses, each one culling through the Rule, accepting and rejecting parts of it at will. Now it was to be an imperially sanctioned obligation for every monastery and for every monk within each monastery, and so it became the standard of monastic identity. Theodulf had naturally championed those reforms, as he had championed Benedict himself. In fact, Theodulf had charmingly imagined himself in a fellowship of sorts with Benedict: Semina tu nostros misisti parva per agros Plurima mitte: seges hinc tibi grandis erit. Quod fuit Ausoniis Benedictus rector in arvis, Hoc modo tu in nostris es, Benedicte, locis. Non distes merito, cuius non nomine distas, Nominis et meriti sors beet una duos. Ut cerebro Euphorbi Samius satus esse putatur, Sic Nursi patris in te revocatur opus. Ut per Teudulfum Teudulfi verba precantis Imples, cumque una it hinc prece nomen idem Sic Benedictus ei per te, Benedicte, quod optat, Conferat, et voti tu mediator eas.36

35

On the ecclesiastical decisions made at Aachen in 817, see Lawrence, p. 70; Daly, pp. 146–47, and Halphen, pp. 161–62. 36 Carmina 30, MGH PLAC 1:21–32, p. 520–21. Although not relevant to the present discussion, note the extraordinary reference in l. 27 to Ovid’s Metamorphoses 15.157–62. The allusion is to the Pythagorean theory (for it is Pythagoras who speaks the lines) that the souls of men transmigrate, that is, the souls are reborn in other human bodies when the previous bodies die. Pythagoras fancies that he was himself once Euphorbus, a beautiful and brash Trojan warrior who was the son of Lord Panthoos, but was killed by King Menelaus in the Trojan War for his vexing bravado (see Iliad 17.43f.). Clearly, Theodulf did not believe in

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Greeley You have sent small seeds through our fields, send several more: hence there will be for you an abundant harvest Because Benedict was the leader in the Ausonian fields, in this way, you are in our land, Benedict. May you not be different in whose merit, in whose name you are not different, may a single fate of name and merit bless both. Just as the Samian is thought to have been seeded with the brain of Euphorbus, so the work of the Nursian father is revived in you. Just as you fulfill the words of the praying and the same name goes hence together with one prayer: Theodulf through Theodulf So let Benedict bestow on him what he wishes through you, Benedict, and may you be (lit., go) the mediator of my longing …

Even in so light a verse, Theodulf says a great deal more than the few lines imply. He was a deliberate poet and wasted not a word in his compositions, which is why his fleeting allusion to “Benedict, master in the Ausonian fields” (“Ausoniis Benedictus rector in arvis,” 23) is quite to the point. The poem itself was intended for the Benedictine monks at the abbey of Micy, which was to be physically restored, just as the new monks there were to “restore” and reaffirm Benedictine discipline. In such a poem, then, it is not at all unexpected that Theodulf would invoke the founder of western monasticism; nor can it be surprising that Theodulf suggests a correspondence between the work Benedict (of Nursia) had completed throughout “the Ausonian (Italian) lands” (Ausoniis arvis), and the work Benedict (of Aniane) was attempting throughout “our lands” (nostris locis, 24), the Frankish territory of Charlemagne and Theodulf. Yet, the allusion Theodulf makes to Benedict in his Italian fields is as hopeful as it is cautionary for his anticipated audience. Benedict of Nursia was a denizen of the tangled, raucous sixth century, during which, for much of the time, the “Italian fields” lay fallow, abandoned and bleak, at least compared to the previous era of golden glory. “Over all Italy crept the shadow of resignation and apathy …” as Rome herself languished, brittle with ruins, relinquished by her native sons to the Germanic invaders, as many nobles and senators chose instead to turn their collective attention to Byzantium.37 The emperors, notably Justinian among them, persisted in battles, first against the ruling Ostrogoths in Rome, and thereafter, the pesky Lombards, in order to regain control of the Italian

transmigration of the souls, but he perhaps was more agreeable to the notion of spiritual kinship. 37 H.St.L.B. Moss, Birth of the Middle Ages 395–814 (Oxford, 1964), p. 105. See also R.A. Markus, The End of Ancient Christianity (Cambridge, 1990), pp. 219–21.

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peninsula for a unified Empire (now shifted east); however, such conflicts had gradually, inexorably, ravaged the fabric of the land and rent the cohesion of Italian society.38 Men were compelled to survive in a world that endured fitfully, weakened by plagues of the body and of the soul, addled by changes in traditional piety and social styles.39 The ways of the past were no longer sufficient. Spiritually, especially, men turned inward, reflecting upon the private, interior self, and locating their frame of reference within a small (by Roman standards), closely-knit community. A man of learning and faith, like Cassiodorus, rich in ideas but apprehensive of salvation, shrugged off the increasingly noxious world of court politics and administrative excesses, social superficialities and latent barbarism, and retreated to a small community in which time and energy could be devoted to quiet study and reflective prayer.40 The nobly-born, nobly-minded Boethius also offered a considered response to such an age of dislocation and transition, as well as to the eternal vagaries of circumstance.41 In his Consolatio Philosophiae, 38

A mere footnote is insufficient to recount the life and exploits of the mighty emperor Justinian (c. 482–565; crowned Augustus 527), but it should be noted that the vilification of Justinian promulgated by Procopius in his Secret History reeks of personal animosity. J.B. Bury refers to Secret History as “an orgy of hatred …” in History of the Later Roman Empire from the death of Theodosius I to the death of Justinian vol. 2 (New York, 1958), p. 421. For a more reasonable account of Justinian’s reign, see Bury, ibid., pp. 24–27; for Justinian’s campaign against the Ostrogoths, ibid., pp. 169f. For a slightly more “Gothic” perspective on the battle for Rome, see Herwig Wolfram, The Roman Empire and its Germanic Peoples, trans. Thomas Dunlap (Berkeley, Los Angeles and London, 1997), esp. pp. 225–39. Markus (p. 217) insists that the social and cultural foundations of the “old order” in the West were “sapped” of their strength as aristocratic patronage abandoned Rome for the more comforting calm of Byzantium. 39 On the troubled condition of the Italian peninsula during the late fifth and sixth centuries (notably the first half of the sixth century), see C.H. Lawrence, Medieval Monasticism (London and New York, 1988), p. 17; Peter Brown, The World of Late Antiquity AD 150–750 (New York, 1971), pp. 126–30, Zarnecki, The Monastic Achievement, p. 18. On the Great (bubonic) Plague which swept out of Africa and settled along the Mediterranean by 542, and continued to haunt the eastern Mediterranean well into the eighth century, see Peter Brown, “Bishops, City and Desert: East Rome,” in The Rise of Western Christendom (Oxford, 1996), pp. 112–32, at pp. 124–25. 40 On Cassiodorus, see (among others) E.K. Rand, Founders of the Middle Ages (New York, 1957), pp. 240–46. Note that on p. 248, Rand repeats the assertion of a French scholar that Cassiodorus was “le heros et le restaurateur de la science au VI siècle.” Rand, p. 340 n. 71. See also James J. O’Donnell, Cassiodorus (Berkeley and Los Angeles, 1979) for the seminal work on Cassiodorus. 41 The scholarship on Boethius is of course abundant, but some worthy initial references include Rand, “Boethius the Scholastic,” ch. 5 in Founders, pp. 135–80; Margaret Gibson,

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Boethius, alone and despondent in a dungeon cell, exiled from the world and from his former life, contemplates a seemingly capricious fate at work in the world, and attempts to verify a stable rationale in the order of living.42 That rationale he discovered indeed, in the goodness of a divine will which exists eternally, and is not necessarily manifested by the physical universe; it is readily available, through faith, but must not be confused with the accidents of fate that deceive and delude humanity.43 Boethius insisted upon selfpossession and reliance upon personal integrity, as well as an authentic faith, as the fundamental implements for fashioning a meaningful, joyful life. Benedict himself did not merely bring a new form of prayer or a new manner of living into the Christian world; rather, Benedict encouraged a new economy of order to counter the prevalent chaos, by calling upon men to associate in a blessed community, much as his countryman Cassidorus would do, and live together for the common purpose of salvation. Benedict also urged men, as Boethius had done, to seek redemption through faith and through hope, by engaging in sincere contemplation and self-reflection, and by relying on the bounty and goodness of Providence.44 The rule that Benedict formulated for monastic life in the sixth-century could serve – and, Boethius: His Life, Thought and Influence (Oxford, 1981); Michael Haren, Medieval Thought: The Western Intellectual Tradition from Antiquity to the 13th Century (London, 1985), pp. 62–69; Henry Osborn Taylor, The Medieval Mind: A History of the Development of Thought and Emotion in the Middle Ages, vol. 1 (London, 1927), pp. 89–93. The life of Boethius provides instruction for the complacent. In 523, after having prospered in a distinguished career in the Roman administrative system, which culminated in 523 with his installation as Magister Officiorum, a most esteemed position, Anicius Manlius Boethius (480–c. 525) swiftly and suddenly fell from the favour of Rome’s Gothic ruler Theodoric, with the charge of high treason, based probably on false and forged testimonies. Theodoric might have resented the tendency of Boethius to defend the Senate against the intrusion of the monarch; there might also have been troubled tension between the Arian Catholicism of Theodoric and the orthodox Catholicism of Boethius and most all the Roman subjects. Whatever merits the charges may or may not have had, Boethius was summarily indicted, incarcerated in a dungeon at Pavia, and executed by 525. See Rand, pp. 140–41; Haren, pp. 59–60; Wickham, Early Medieval Italy, pp. 21–24. 42 For Consolatio Philosophiae, see Consolatio Philosophiae, ed. James J. O’Donnell, Bryn Mawr Latin Commentaries (Bryn Mawr, PA, 1984), for an excellent edition with valuable commentary and notes. 43 See Consolatio, bks. 1–2, on the distinction between the truth of the eternal Good and the dangerous seduction of fickle Fate. See 3.10, on God as the supreme Good and the only source of true happiness in the world. See also Haren, pp. 64–66; David Knowles, The Evolution of Medieval Thought (New York, 1962), pp. 54–55. 44 For a quick review of St. Benedict and his foundation of monasticism, see Lawrence, Medieval Monasticism, pp. 22–23.

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according to Theodulf, must serve – as a guide of spiritual discipline for all Christians, of all generations, since it proposed not merely a new form of community, founded on a new understanding of the human condition, but also a new social structure, the primary concern of which was not the cultivation of the mind or the body, but the integrity of each individual soul.45 In his poem, Theodulf was intimating to his audience that their world also had become barren with an empty piety and social disarray, that their Christianity had become as languid, and as troubled, as that of a previous generation of despairing Christians. The devotion of the clergy as well as of the people had become superficial, even ambivalent, and for such an affliction, a remedy in the shape of a reformer was needed. Thus, just as Benedict of Nursia is depicted by Theodulf as having been the rector in arvis (23), so also must Benedict of Aniane be in nostris locis (24), which suggests that Benedict must encourage a renewal of faith and faithful living not just at the monastery of Micy, but over the whole of the Frankish kingdom. Theodulf was calling upon Benedict of Aniane to inspire reform by, paradoxically, reviving the instruction of Benedict of Nursia, by infusing with new vigour the original rule of the Benedictines. Theodulf invokes blessings on both Benedicts, the work one has done and the work the other is to accomplish (25–26) and, finally, Theodulf links himself to the other two in a fluid, poetic interlace. Theodulf first repeats his name, Teudulfum Teudulfi (29), just as the name of Benedict has been doubled, and avers that the same name una it hinc prece (30): henceforth, with one prayer goes the same name. Within the frame of the line, Theodulf associates himself directly with Benedict of Aniane by suggesting that, “… through Theodulf you do fulfill the requests of Theodulf entreating …”, thus placing Theodulf in the role of agent for the reforms he (Benedict) has sought. Theodulf then prays that Benedict (of Nursia) might work through Benedict (of Aniane) in such a way that he (Benedict of Aniane) will become the mediator of his prayer (31–32). The disconcerting interrelation among the three is, it seems, intentional, so that the audience will have less of an opportunity to distinguish easily among them and so reckon them allied, three separate entities conflated into one interlocking trio, a trinity of reformers. Theodulf clearly considered Benedict of Aniane holy, even saintly, and recognized that his work of reform and religious guidance was not only beneficial but indispensable to the spiritual health of the faithful; thus, it would be highly

45

For consensus, see Markus, p. 197.

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unlikely that Theodulf would repudiate any influence Benedict might have, even upon the temporal realm. The importance of Benedict to the court of Louis the Pious is evident: he is a conspicuous representation of a more definitive method of secular as well as of ecclesiastical management by the Carolingian monarchy. Standardization, uniformity, and the centralization of authority had all been hallmarks of the Carolingian renovatio, yet Louis was keen to endorse this mandate in a more authentic fashion. As has been mentioned, Louis and his councillors were of the conviction that the government of the kingdom must be organized in much the same fashion as was the governance of the Church, for the unity and the stability of the Empire had to be sustained, just as the universal authority of the Church had to be maintained and defended. Charlemagne had had a similar disposition on the need for regulation and concentration of power, but he had not, for instance, altered the scheme of succession in any real way. In 806, the great Charles had in fact divided his empire among his three sons, to rule equally, and it was only fate (the untimely deaths of his two older brothers) that made Louis the sole sovereign of the Frankish realm.46 Louis was much more circumspect than his father, and much less willing to jeopardize what his forebears had created. He hastened to codify a arrangement of succession, so that, as the Church spoke one prayer with one voice, and even the monastic arm of the Church would now adhere to the direction of a single Rule, so also the temporal kingdom must find its strength and order in one, ordained leader. The ecclesiastical as well as political plans Louis put forth at the Aachen assembly in 817 did take many by surprise, but none so much as the brash young king of Italy, Bernard, bastard cousin to the royal house. It all happened very quickly. Bernard was but twenty years old at the time of the assembly; nevertheless, he was old enough to fear (or understand) that he was being defrauded of what had been rightfully granted to him, even though, on the face of it, his authority in Italy had not significantly changed.47 Thus, the young man rebelled – or, as contemporary sources prefer, he was lured into foul rebellion by a cabal of depraved advisors: 46 See Ganshof, “Louis the Pious reconsidered,” pp. 263–65, for a more complete discussion of opposing concepts of succession between father and son. 47 On the hapless Bernard of Italy and his revolt against his uncle Louis, see Halphen, Charlemagne, pp. 169–70; Riché, The Carolingians, pp. 148–49; Ganshof, “Some Observations,” p. 277; James, Birth of France, pp. 167–68; Wickham, Early Medieval Italy, pp. 49–50, and Janet L. Nelson, “The Frankish Kingdoms,” pp. 112–14.

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It was announced that (Louis’s) nephew, Bernard, … had been maddened by the councils of evil men to such a degree that he deserted him, that all the cities of the realm and the princes of Italy had conspired at this pretense, and that all the passes by which one has access to Italy they had closed with barriers and guard-posts.48

Another Frankish source also insists that Bernard was merely a gullible youth who was lured into rebellion by a cabal of embittered conspirators.49 Regardless of its origin, it was an insurrection, and the emperor’s response to the news was swift and merciless. Louis gathered troops from Gaul and Germany and, placing himself in command, commenced a march towards the Alpine frontier of Italy. Sensing the superior numbers of the Louis’s troops, and realizing his resolution, many of Bernard’s accomplices began to desert him, including some leaders of the conspiracy: Eggideo, “first of the royal friends;” Reginherius, a Germanic nobleman whose grandfather had once been involved in a conspiracy against Charlemagne, and Reginhardus, the royal chamberlain.50 Bernard soon recognized his inevitable defeat, and surrendered himself to the mercy of the emperor at Chalon-sur-Saone (in Burgundy). The insurgents lost no time in revealing strategies and betraying accomplices, and, in so doing, saw fit to implicate (though with no firm substantiation) certain others, even older clerics, including Anselm of Milan and Theodulf of Orleans.51 Yet, despite the utter failure (and folly) of the rebels, Louis the Pious was without charity: he ordered the conspirators before him to be seized and sent to Aachen, where he and his family intended to winter and be in retreat until Easter-time. Easter of 818 having been celebrated and the religious solemnities completed, Louis doggedly returned his attention to the rebellion of 817. The passage of time, and the most sacred of Christian seasons, had not appeased him. Under his vigilant eye, civil courts condemned Bernard and his allies for the abominable crime of high treason, which carried with it an immediate death sentence. Louis, perhaps then somewhat mollified by the sweetness of Eastertime, exercised a degree of leniency in the final judgement of punishment: rather than death, he required that Bernard and his three coconspirators only have their eyes put out! As it should happen, Bernard and his chamberlain Reginhardus died from their wounds two days later. Other 48

Son of Charlemagne, p. 65 (2.29: 2). See Royal Frankish Annals (817 AD), pp. 103–4. 50 Cabaniss, trans., Son of Charlemagne, p. 66. One is indeed left with the impression that the “rebellion” was rather the rash adventure of a group of delinquent adolescents! 51 Ibid. See also Godman, Poets and Emperors, p. 100. 49

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lay supporters of the rebellion in Italy were blinded upon imperial order, and surrendered to the emperor all lands and titles. Civil (not ecclesiastical) courts thereupon condemned as well all the clerics named by the rebels, including one Theodulf, bishop of Orleans. Theodulf was deposed, exiled to distant monasteries (Angers and, by 820, LeMans) to perform perpetual penance, and died soon after, possibly after having been poisoned by the malevolent group which had earlier plundered his properties, usurped his position, and fouled his good name.52 There is no record of his final resting place. II. Theodulf’s response to the historical tradition However, was Theodulf in fact guilty of the crime for which he had been condemned? Was he, in fact, a conspirator, an agitator, an unfaithful servant of the king? Had there been any incident involving him, any writing by him, or any commentary (prior to the events of 817) about him, that suggested that he was of the nature, or possessed the history of, a confederate, a traitor? Or could he have been implicated, by those who needed the grand bishop out of the way, in a crime in which he took no part, a crime of which he could not reasonably be guilty? In fact, it is not only possible, but more than likely that Theodulf was the victim of an aggressive conspiracy that sought to remove him from his domain of power and authority. It is unfortunate that many scholars have simply accepted as incontrovertible those early sources that accuse Theodulf of being a participant in the insurrection, even though such sources might mention him only as an afterthought, one in a band of clerics who were arrested along with the conspirators.53 It is true that more recently some scholars have made the effort at least to reexamine the evidence of Theodulf’s presumed guilt, for while it is certainly true that Theodulf was arrested in 818, and that the pretext for such an arrest was that he had been named as an associate of the seditious Bernard of Italy, it seems also quite true to many that Theodulf

52

On the death (murder?) of Theodulf, see Godman, Poets and Emperors, p. 100; Janet L. Nelson, “The Frankish Kingdoms,” p. 114. 53 Look to Royal Frankish Annals and Son of Charlemagne for examples of the meager mention contemporary sources gave Theodulf in the rebellion. Among those many modern scholars who have calmly accepted the indictment that Theodulf was involved in Bernard’s folly, see Halphen, p. 169; Matthew Innes and Rosamond McKitterick, “The Writing of History,” p. 205; F.J.E. Raby, A History of Christian Latin Poetry from the Beginnings to the Close of the Middle Ages (Oxford, 1953), p. 173; Manitius, Geschichte, 1:538.

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could have had no involvement in the rebellion of the young king of Italy.54 Theodulf had no known relationship with Bernard and his company of raw rebels, and, even if Theodulf had been acquainted with the much younger Bernard through their mutual affiliation with Charlemagne, there is nothing to indicate that Theodulf of Orleans would ever have conspired to act against an anointed king, whatever were his personal feelings towards the young man.55 Quite the contrary: as has been noted in his fond (and fawning?) affirmation of the social philosophy of Benedict of Aniane, which Louis had sincerely endorsed, Theodulf acceded to the social desirability of collective harmony and administrative stability, and to the benefit to all of a kind of preferential option for the needs of the collective whole over the desires of the few. Indeed, in another poem, Theodulf is explicit about the nature of civic power and the homage due to those who wield it: Fabula Geryonem tricipem regnasse canit, quod Unum cor potuit fratribus esse tribus. Pagina veridico recinit sermone beata, Figmenta exsuperans omnia lege pia Terrea germanos ob regni culmina reges Crudeli quosdam fraude dedisse neci. Omnibus hoc votis, omni est hoc arte cavendum, Ne nostro in saeclo tale quid esse queat Gentibus unus erat pridem ferme omnibus usus, Unus ut e fratrum corpore sceptra gerat, Cetera nitatur magni pars esse senatus, Ut regni solidus continuetur apex. Assyriis, Phariis, Hebraeis mos fuit iste, Genti et Achaemeniis quae fuit ante locis. Morem hunc Parthus habet, hunc Atticus atque Quiritis, Decolor hunc Indus, hunc Agarenus habet … … Gens si qua aut modo fert sceptra vel ante tulit.56 A story sings that a three-headed Geryon ruled, because three brothers could have one heart. Holy Writ repeats in truthful speech, prevailing over all fiction with holy law, that certain kings had given their brothers to death by cruel deceit because of the earthly powers of the kingdom. 54

Among those who question the legendary demise of Theodulf are Thomas F.X. Noble, “Some Observations of the Deposition of Archbishop Theodulf of Orleans in 817,” pp. 31– 37; Dahlhaus-Berg, Nova Antiquitas, p. 16; Peter Godman, Poets and Emperors, pp. 97–106. 55 See Godman, Poets and Emperors, p. 97. 56 Carm. 34.1-16, 20, PLAC 1:526.

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Greeley This must be heeded by all pledges, by every craft. lest in our age such a thing as this is able to be. Long ago, there was one custom for nearly all nations, that one from the body of brothers would carry the sceptre, and let the remaining part (of the body) strive to belong to the great senate, that the crown of the kingdom might continue sound(ly). That was the very custom for the Assyrians, the Pharians, the Hebrews, and for a nation which was earlier in the lands of the Persians. The Parthian has this custom, the Athenian and the Roman (had) this custom, the dark Indian, the Agarenan has this … … so any people who either now carries the sceptre or carried (it) before.

The title of this compact poem is itself quite significant: Quod potestas impatiens consortis sit, or “as to the fact that power cannot tolerate a partner,” is derived from the Pharsalia of Lucan.57 The Pharsalia, is, of course, more properly entitled De bello civili, by the Neronian poet Marcus Annaeus Lucanus, or Lucan, a first-century (39–65) Spanish poet, Stoic, and nephew to Lucius Annaeus Seneca, philosopher and political official under the Emperor Nero.58 Lucan enjoyed great popularity throughout the Middle Ages; in point of fact, he was never not read, such that a wide assortment of authors, from the early Christian poets to the fourth-century Spaniard Prudentius to the seventh-century Anglo-Saxon Aldhelm to the Carolingian court poets, were acquainted with his rather embellished narrative of the civil war between Julius Caesar and Pompey.59 The expressive yet deliberate cast of his style had an enduring appeal to later generations, particularly to 57

This reader is pleased to note that her interpretation of Theodulf’s use of Lucan as evidence of Theodulf’s perspective on civil war (which would bolster his claim of innocence) was later generally confirmed in a subsequent reading by Peter Godman in Poets and Emperors, pp. 98–100. For the borrowing from Pharsalia, see Pharsalia 1.92–93. 58 For a cursory biography of Lucan, see The Oxford Companion to Classical Literature, ed. M. C. Howatson and Ian Chilvers (Oxford, 1993), p. 317; Oxford Classical Dictionary, ed. Simon Hornblower and Antony Spawforth, 3rd. ed. (Oxford, 1996), pp. 94–95; J. Wight Duff, A Literary History of Rome in the Silver Age (New York, 1927), pp. 296–300. (How curious that Lucan himself is another melancholy example of a Spanish poet who fell from the grace of his monarch!) For a thoughtful, if somewhat stern assessment of Lucan, see J.C. Bramble, “Lucan,” ch. 27 in The Cambridge History of Classical Literature II: Latin Literature, pp. 533–57. 59 For Lucan in the Middle Ages, see above all H.C. Gotoff, The Text of Lucan in the Ninth Century (Cambridge, 1971); see further the various references in M.L.W. Laistner, Thought and Letters in Western Europe: AD 500 to 900, 2nd ed. (Ithaca and London, 1957), pp. 78, 103, 124, 155, 229; F.J.E. Raby, A History of Secular Latin Poetry in the Middle Ages, 2 vols., (Oxford, 1957), 1:34–36; Peter Godman, Poetry of the Carolingian Renaissance (London, 1985), p. 8; Manitius, Geschichte, 1:748 (index). For Aldhelm’s use of Lucan see now Michael Lapidge, The Anglo-Saxon Library (Oxford, 2006) p. 397.

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medieval Christians who were schooled to rely on the persuasive richness of language.60 However, for such a Christian poet and public figure as Theodulf, more important than the form of the poetry was the fundamental theme of the epic: the iniquity of civil warfare, the furor it releases (and the furor that releases it), and the bitter ruin of human potential that war causes. Lucan writes: … …

Quis furor,o cives, quae tanta licentia ferri? Heu, quantum terrae potuit pelagique parari Hoc quem civiles hauserunt sanguine dextrae …

… …

What fury, o citizens, what so great license of cruelty? … Ah, how much of land and sea could have been acquired by this blood which civil hands have shed …

and grieves a few lines further … nulli penitus descendere ferro Contigit: alta sedent civilis vulnera dextrae.61 … it befell no (other) sword to pierce deeply: the wounds of a civic hand are deep …

No sword wounds as deeply as the sword of a kinsman; no wounds ache as gravely as those caused by family. In De bello civili, Theodulf has chosen as a model and as inspiration a poem laden with emotion: tragic, moody, even pessimistic, but exactly to his point. By emulating Lucan, Theodulf decidedly refutes the incredible (and, therefore, implausible) conceit of three brothers ruling in such concord that one spirit seemed to animate three bodies, and insists on the reality that Holy Scripture and cultural mores have long articulated: there should be but one ruler, and all other family members should act in consort with and in deference to the singular head of state, lest a vile internecine struggle for supremacy ensue. Theodulf begins his poem (above, p. 47) with an insistent fabula: a fable, a myth, has postulated that a three-headed Geryon ruled, when three brothers could share one heart (1–2). Theodulf composes his verse so that, in the first two lines, the reader immediately encounters the fable (fabula) that three heads (Geryonem tricipem, literally “three-headed Geryon”) could possess 60 On classical and late antique rhetoric, and its influence on Christian culture, see Gamble, pp. 35–36; Peter Brown, Power and Persuasion in Late Antiquity: Toward a Christian Europe (Madison, WI, 1992), pp. 73–75 (which includes a witty discussion of the Christian rhetoric of paradox – using rhetorical devices to persuade an audience of the need for simplicity in language!). 61 Lucan, De bello civili 1.7, 13–14, 31–32.

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one heart (unum cor). That is a circumstance that Theodulf not only does not believe could exist but, as the next line indicates, will not endorse, since it opposes what Holy Scripture (pagina beata) holds to be true. As if to reinforce his certainty that Holy Scripture contains the only true speech, Theodulf creates a chiastic structure in line 3: to confirm that Holy Scripture “holds” the truth, Theodulf has fashioned a line that begins and ends with “the blessed page” (Pagina … beata), and within the enclosure of those words lies the “truth-telling speech” (veridico … sermone), just as within the text of Scripture is contained all truth. Moreover, the modifiers are thematically interchangeable (case endings omitted): the internal redundancy of the phrases “truth-telling Page” (Pagina veridico) and the “blessed speech” (sermone beata) only serves to emphasize the source in which Theodulf places his trust. The next line continues to demonstrate the power of Sacred Scripture: it vanquishes fiction (figmenta) by the holy law (lege pia) that bears witness to the fact that, for the sake of temporal kingdoms, royal brothers have treacherously given each other over to death (5–6). Theodulf persists in accentuating the veracity of that fact, so he fashions a double anaphora in the very next line in a minor rhetorical display (7): … hoc … hoc … this, this (situation) must be avoided, and it must be avoided … omnibus (votis) … omni (arte), by all prayers and by every skill. Finally, the alliterative phrase Ne nostro, which opens the following line (8), gathers the rather broad, theoretical discussion in the previous lines about the inevitability of civil conflict when power is shared among kin, and settles it squarely in Theodulf’s world by cautioning forbearance, “lest in our” age any such calamity should occur. Duplicating somewhat the figurative structure of line 3, the poet creates an interlocking word order in the next line (9): in an effort to fortify his opinion, Theodulf declares that heretofore, one custom was sufficient for almost all the nations: … Gentibus unus … omnibus usus …, and the repetition of Unus at the start of the following line (10) connects the idea of the one custom in the previous line to the singular (unus) tradition of selecting one brother among a group to wield the royal sceptre, while the others should endeavour to become part of the great senate (11). Only that way will the monarchy be solid, whole, complete (12). The poem ends with a review of the many powerful nations that, throughout history, have maintained the convention of one sovereign ruler. Apart from the obvious significance of the poem as attestation that Theodulf would never consider breaching the civil contract and become a

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participant in a domestic contest, family member against family member, the dating of the poem is also of some interest. Again, traditionally, scholars have assumed that it dates from about 806, when Charlemagne determined to partition his empire into three segments, for his three remaining legitimate sons.62 However, there is no unequivocal proof that the poem in fact dates from that time, or even any sufficient reason that it should, for Theodulf built his argument on a Scriptural foundation as well as an historical one, and the claim that there be a spiritual factor in the consideration of imperial unity ties his poem much more to the decision of Louis the Pious in 817 than to that of Charlemagne in 806.63 Theodulf’s poem is, in fact, a defence of what Louis had decided! However, it might be immaterial when the poem was actually written, since Theodulf is stating quite firmly that it is the nature of power that it should not be diminished by allotment, and if imperial power is meted out among many, Holy Scripture and historical documentation have amply demonstrated that the result will only be cruel civil conflict, an unworthy and undesirable state of affairs. It is highly unlikely that Theodulf would suddenly denounce his own theory, especially one with a religious basis, and join forces with a youthful upstart like Bernard, who had no legal or justifiable claim to any public authority, in a rebellion against a sanctified monarch. It is an action that would have been quite out of character for one as ethical (and as politically astute) as Theodulf of Orleans. Moreover, Theodulf defends himself quite persuasively against the charge of treason in his own verse of exile, Carmen 72, “Incipit epistola Theodulfi episcopi ad Modoinum episcopum scribens ei de exilio.”64 The “letter” is actually a quartet of verses in elegiac metre, incorporating an exilic epistle proper and three additional fable poems. The set of poems is addressed to Modoin, Bishop of Autun, loyal servant to his king and benefactor, Louis the Pious, and a steadfast friend of Theodulf.65 Carmen 72 62

Those who have assumed that the poem dates from about 806 include Noble, “Deposition,” p. 33; MGH PLAC 1, ed. Ernst Dümmler (1881–1883), p. 526. 63 On a later date for the poem, see Godman, Poets and Emperors, pp. 98–99. Among the Biblical citations Theodulf might have had in mind is the tragic story of Adonijah, son of King David and older half-brother of Solomon, in 1 Kings 1.5–2.35. 64 PLAC 1:563–569. 65 On Modoin (d. ca. 843), Bishop of Autun (815) and accomplished poet, see Godman, Poetry of the Carolingian Renaissance, pp. 25–26 (and pp. 190–97 for Latin/English of his wonderful Egloga); Godman, Poets and Emperors, pp. 78–82 (study of Egloga) and pp. 100– 6; Laistner, Thought and Letters, p. 333; F.J.E. Raby, A History of Christian Latin Poetry, p. 157; Raby, Secular Latin Poetry, pp. 202–5; Manitius, Geschichte, 1:549–51. Modoin was

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is worthy of a close reading, not only because it affords another opportunity to regard the fine style of Theodulf’s versification, but also, and more importantly, because it offers a rare and remarkable glimpse into the truth of this remote figure, as his emotional turmoil spills over and into his poetry, and compels his deepest beliefs to emerge, beliefs which, deliberately or not, present more proof that Theodulf could not have been a participant in the rebellion against Louis the Pious. It is the first of the set, the elegiac poem subtitled De suo exilio, which speaks directly to Theodulf’s experience of exile. It is one of his most intimate poems. In form and mood, this exile poem echoes the exilic poetry of Ovid: the Tristia and the Epistulae ex Ponto, poems that expressed, as no others had done in Latin, the rigours and the sorrows of exile and separation, and that became the standard for subsequent generations to give voice to their lamentation in banishment.66 Like Ovid’s poetry, Theodulf’s poem is meticulous and carefully crafted, and yet intensely personal. Also like Ovid’s exile poems, the De suo exilio of Theodulf is a poem that was composed by a man at once bewildered by his predicament, angered at the evident injustice of that predicament, saddened by the enforced separation from home and companions that predicament caused, and dejected over its apparent finality. Both Ovid and Theodulf were, at the time of their respective exiles, poets entering into the autumnal years of their lives, their careers, and their art. Prior to their exiles, both men had enjoyed the hospitality and good humour, even true respect (in the case of Theodulf, at least), of their monarchs, but both fell suddenly and decisively out of favour, either because of their own word(s) and/or deed(s), or by some covert conspiracy against them. Both men were not technically exiled, in the sense that Ovid never lost his property or had to yield his Roman citizenship, and,

regarded so highly as a poet that he was nicknamed “Naso” by the court scholars: Raby, Secular Latin Poetry, 1:183. Theodulf was likewise honoured with the sobriquet “Pindar,” although it cannot be said with certitude that he would have known Greek. 66 There is a great deal to read about Ovid’s exilic poetry, but an adequate sampling would include: L.P. Wilkinson, Ovid Recalled (Cambridge, 1955), pp. 285–365; R.J. Dickinson, “The Tristia: Poetry in Exile,” in Ovid, ed. J.W. Binns (London and Boston, 1973), pp. 154–90; Gareth D. Williams, Banished Voices: Readings in Ovid’s Exile Poetry (Cambridge, 1994); Thomas N. Habinek, “Pannonia Domanda Est: The Construction of the Imperial Subject through Ovid’s Poetry from Exile,” ch. 8 in The Politics of Latin Literature: Writing, Identity, and Empire in Ancient Rome (Princeton, 1998). A quick review of the exilic poems can be found in Cambridge History of Classical Literature Vol. II, Latin Literature, pp. 441–55. See also Harry B. Evans, Publica Carmina: Ovid’s Books from Exile (Lincoln, Nebraska, 1983).

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although Theodulf was deposed from his bishopric and was despoiled of all his goods, his expulsion to monastic foundations remained within the realm. Nevertheless, each man perceived his situation in the same light: he had been banished from the world he had known, a world of comfort, culture, security, and such banishment was indeed an exile, a divorce from all that was familiar and safe, a life to be lived, lonely and alone. Each man would, in fact, die alone, in exile, his spirit shattered, and the world a little less lustrous with his passing.67 Yet, for Theodulf, as for all medieval Christians, the theme of exile was imbued with a particularly distressing intensity because it was associated with the spiritual dimension of existence. The condition of being exiled, of being separated from all that is customary, reliable, and treasured, can be nothing other than terrible for and terrifying to any individual. For the medieval Christian, however, it was even more: exile became the very metaphor for existence in the created world. The medieval Christian experienced life in the temporal realm chiefly in terms of the banishment of the first parents from Paradise, so that all earthly existence was, in effect, a state of exile from the kingdom of heaven, a parting from the rightful home, a domain of pious bereavement. In order to redress the first wrong and make the reality of exile purposeful (by its atonement), the medieval Christian came to regard the duration of a mortal life as a pilgrimage of spiritual accountability and moral perseverance which should culminate (there are no guarantees) in a reversal of the exilic condition and a return to home (heaven) and safety (salvation).68 The medieval Christian, then, was 67

On the details of Ovid’s “exile” in 8 CE to icy Tomis on the Black Sea, and his life among the boorish Goths (!), please see Wilkinson, passim; Dickinson, pp. 156–59. Ovid was dead by 18 CE, having never returned to his cherished Rome again. 68 The medieval understanding of existence on earth as a state of exile from the heavenly realm, and as a pious pilgrimage of justification and works, is well witnessed: Markus, The End of Ancient Christianity, p. 97 notes that St. Augustine spoke of Christians as peregrini (e.g. Enarrationes in Psalmos 90) and (22) spoke of the Church as “travelling on its journey” (Sermo 341.9.11). See also Markus, pp. 63–83. The themes of the Christian in exile and life as a wandering pilgrimage occur in other literatures as well, perhaps none so splendidly as in the Anglo-Saxon elegies, “The Wanderer” and “The Seafarer.” For the Anglo-Saxon text, see Sweet’s Anglo-Saxon Reader in Prose and Verse, rev. Dorothy Whitelock (Oxford, 1975), pp. 160–64 (“The Wanderer”), and pp. 165–69 (“The Seafarer”). Both are songs of lament (on the decay of the world), separation (from home and identity), and consolation (of the belief in God and His imminent kingdom), all of which are fused by homiletic (rhetorical) flourishes. For these two evocative poems, see C.L. Wrenn, A Study of Old English Literature (New York, 1967), pp. 141–48; Stanley B. Greenfield, A Critical History of Old English Literature (New York, 1977), pp. 217–22.

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constantly aware of living in the plight of expulsion; yet, he was also aware that the termination of exile, salvation in the kingdom of heaven, would not be completely the result of individual action. Rather, and apart from the obvious and enigmatic grace of God, it was through ready membership in the community of the faithful, and active engagement in the Christian fellowship, that Christians could best realize the fulfilment of their pilgrimage, and so arrive at the heavenly kingdom.69 By transcending the self and becoming diligent with the love and care of others, the Christian can perform those works and express those virtues (especially caritas, of course) which are necessary to sustain the progress of the pilgrimage. To be set apart from the community of the faithful in this life would be a wretched but also dreadful circumstance, since it would jeopardize not merely physical ease and cultural access, but - much more critically- the probable salvation of the soul. Isolation from the fellowship of faith, even without final excommunication, is, in fact, isolation from the human equivalent of the body of Christ, and the pilgrim despaired of the pernicious stasis of solitude. It is such disconsolate despair that wafts through Theodulf’s poem of exile. It is true that he had not been excommunicated, but he appreciated both the political difficulty and especially the spiritual plight in which he was mired. He begins his verse: Hoc, Modoine, tibi Teudulfus dirigit exul Summo pontificum cernuus ecce melos. Ito, Talia, celer, celeri transcurre volatu, Nec mora, nec tibi sit ulla in eundo quies, Donec pervenias Moduini ad tecta beati, Praesulis eximii, pontificisque pii. Ad quem mox veniens genibus revoluta iacebis, Iusserit et si te surgere, surge celer. Basia confestim manibus donabis amicis, Et spectans patulam fessa tacebis humum … 70 Behold, Modoin, Theodulf the exile directs to you this song, stooping to the highest of priests. Go, Thalia, quick one, pass by swift flight, may you have no delay nor any rest in going, until you arrive at the abode of the blessed Modoin, 69 Peter Brown has coined a wonderful expression to denote that Christian emphasis upon community: a “sharp negative sense of the private.” See Peter Brown, Late Antiquity (Cambridge, MA, 1998), pp. 18–20. See also briefly Jaroslav Pelikan, The Christian Tradition: A History of the Development of Doctrine, vol. 3: The Growth of Medieval Theology 600–1300 (Chicago and London, 1978), pp. 14–15. 70 Carm. 72.1-10, PLAC 1:563.

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distinguished bishop, holy priest. To whom, coming soon, you will throw (yourself) on your knees, having fallen back, and if he orders you to rise, rise quickly. Forthwith you will give kisses to his loving hands, and looking at the ground spread open, you, wearied, will be silent …

Here are despondency, unhappiness, and not a little irony, in a poem perhaps not as bitter as it is frantic. In his anxiety, Theodulf is quite direct, and wastes no time with preliminary banter: the Latin bears outs the urgency: “This, Modoin, to you Theodulf directs (as in a steady, unwavering line) as an exile …” (1), and it is obvious that the line ends with exul (exsul) for emphasis and identification. Theodulf is now an exile, a fact made all the more ironic when followed so immediately by summo pontificum (2), a portrayal he applies to Modoin but one which a decade earlier could have been as easily applied to him. Yet, behold!, Theodulf now describes himself as cernuus, and so creates a remarkable image of humility and contrasting social status, as “to the highest of priests,” Theodulf, “with face to the ground,” pleads. Theodulf is somewhat impatient: note the urgency, like a foot being stamped, of tibi Teudulfus dirigit (1) and yet the profound intimacy which is called upon at once in the very centre of that first line, tibi Teudulfus. Moreover, just as Hoc … melos (this … song) encloses the sender (Teudulfus) and his recipient (tibi) so also the phrase encloses the pith of the epistle: a forsaken man most humbly appeals to a great cleric. Theodulf next addresses his intermediary, his surrogate: he speaks to his verse as the muse Thalia: Ito, Talia … (3)71 Thalia had been commonly considered the muse of comedy, and the reference to her need not be a purely ironic invocation: by alluding to the muse of comedy as the representation of his poem epistle, perhaps Theodulf was implying a positive resolution of his dilemma, or, at most, merely invoking a muse as an exemplar of intellectual and poetic inspiration.72 Thus, echoing Ovid,

71 On the literary tradition of Muse invocation through the Middle Ages, see Ernst Robert Curtius, European Literature and the Latin Middle Ages, trans. Willard R. Trask (Princeton, 1973), pp. 228–38. He writes (p. 237) that “One may see an expression of Carolingian Humanism (sic) in the fact that it restored the Muses to honour.” However, Curtius notes, poets such as Alcuin, Theodulf, and Modoin reserved any allusions to the Muses only for their secular poetry. 72 Donatus wrote that comedy is that style which deals with the private person and, through it, one may glean what is to be accepted in life, and what is to be avoided. See Donatus, “On Comedy,” p. 45, in Medieval Literary Criticism: Translations and Interpretations, ed. O.B. Hardison, Jr. (New York, 1974), pp. 45–49.

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Theodulf bids his poem (Talia) to go, but to go quickly.73 A note of disquietude is at once struck by the hasty anaphora of celer, celeri (3), and by the alliterative clopping, as of horses’ hoofs, of celer, celeri transcurre. “Go, Thalia, swift, with swift flight hasten” and that same energy breaks through in the beginning of the very next line (4) with Nec mora, nec tibi, “no delay, not for you.” There may be no rest (nec … quies) for Thalia on her mission, so anxious is Theodulf: as the line begins with nec, so it closes with quies, as if to emphasize that there would be no repose until (Donec, 5) she arrives at her destination. Theodulf completes his instruction to his Thalia by defining that destination as the abode (tecta) of Modoin, but truly, it is Modoin himself, who is beati and eximii and pii (5–6). The flattery takes on a slightly cloying edge as the alliterative rush of the line (6) trills and pings on the eye and ear. Still, the adulation is fine: it is well in accord with the strategy of classical rhetoric, and required by the medieval dictamen, or the rhetorical art of letter-writing in the Middle Ages.74 The preface to such acclaim was the salutatio, or greeting (1–2), which, according to the rules of the medieval dictamen, was most properly done in the third person, and was always observant in indicating the appropriate rank and social position of each correspondent. The salutatio need not detain the reader (or the writer) very long, but it should arrange the social standing of the correspondents in such a way that a measure of respect would attend

73

By example, Tristia I.1.1. There is no doubt, of course, that Theodulf would have known Ovid’s exilic poetry. See especially Ralph J. Hexter, Ovid and Medieval Schooling: Studies in Medieval School Commentaries on Ovid’s Ars Amatoria, Epistula ex Ponto, and Epistulae Heroidum (Munchen, 1986), pp. 83–94. Hexter indicates (pp. 86–87) that, based upon manuscript evidence, the Epistulae ex Ponto were, in fact slightly more popular in the early medieval period than the Tristia, but Theodulf seems to have been happily conversant with both sets of poems. Perhaps the primary influences of the Epistulae on Theodulf’s exile poem can be seen in Theodulf’s direct address to Modoin, as Ovid had directly named his correspondents in the Epistulae (unlike in the Tristia), and in the slightly more pronounced sense of resignation to fate. On Ovid, see Wilkinson, pp. 322–23. 74 This “rhetorical” reading of Theodulf’s poem is original with this thesis. On the rhetorical design of classical poetry such as Ovid’s, see Wilkinson, p. 302. See also George A. Kennedy, Classical Rhetoric and its Christian and Secular Tradition from Ancient to Modern Times (Chapel Hill, 1980), pp. 108–19. Although it is true that the medieval craft of dictamen did not truly become part of the general curriculum until the eleventh century, it is clear that epistolary skill was emphasized throughout the Middle Ages, beginning in the Papal Chancery! See Charles Sears Baldwin, Medieval Rhetoric and Poetic to 1400 (Gloucester, MA, 1959, rpt.), pp. 208–22; Kennedy, pp. 185–87. For further historical information, see Pierre Riché, Education and Culture in the Barbarian West from the Sixth through the Eighth Century, trans. John J. Contreni (Columbia, SC, 1978), pp. 259–61.

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both.75 Moreover, the salutation should blend easily into the exordium, or captatio benevolentiae, which is that section of the missive which must secure not only the attention, but particularly the good will, of the recipient.76 The exordium, the “warp” of the rhetorical web the writer is weaving to ensnare his correspondent, must make the recipient welldisposed to the sender; therefore, it tends to be lavish in its affection and praise (3–6). Theodulf continues his exordium with obvious humility (7–10): he tells Thalia genibus revoluta iacebis (7) when she reaches Modoin, and should Modoin iusserit et … te surgere (8), she must surge celer (8)! The repetition of surgere, surge amply demonstrates that all must be accomplished with great dispatch, for Theodulf senses that his situation cannot afford any more delay. Kisses (Basia) Thalia will give to his (Modoin’s) hands which are kindly (amicis), but she will be silent (tacebis), because she will be wearied (fessa) from her haste, and she must avert her eyes to the ground (spectans patulam … humum), as is befitting her station (9–10). The narratio, or statement of facts, then follows, which is as it must be: explicit, intelligible, and credible.77 At si te rogitet, quae sis et cuius et unde, Fare age, prome animo singula dicta tuo: ‘Sum Theodulfi Erato, veniens de carceris antro Eius, ubi inmensus hunc tuus urit amor. Exul, inops, pauper, tristissimus, anxius,egens, Spretus et abiectus est ubi sive dolens.’ Forsan et ipse roget, quid agam: me vivere dices Vitam, qua melior mors bona forte foret. Haud legit, haud docet, haud laudum pia munia complet Cunctipatri domino, qui regit arva, polum, Hunc pro se poscit, pro te sive ordine cleri, Pro populi et regis, proque salute ducum. Me tibi transmisit, huius tibi dico salutes, Subdita sunt cuius verba canenda tibi … 78 But if he keeps asking you who you might be and whose and whence, go, tell, bring forth each word from your soul: ‘I am the Erato of Theodulf, coming from the cavern of his prison, where an immense love for you consumes him, where he is an exile, without resources, poor, very sad, agitated, needy, 75

See Baldwin, pp. 220–21 on the general construct of the salutatio. See Kennedy, p. 186; Baldwin, pp. 221–23 on the general construct of the exordium. 77 See Baldwin, p. 222 for a brief mention of the narratio. 78 Carm. 72.11-24, PLAC 1:563-64. 76

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Thalia has now become Erato (13), the muse of lyric poetry, whose mode of expression is personal, familiar, even ordinary, and quite deliberately candid. The tone remains somewhat plaintive: the rhyme scheme of Erato … antro reminds the reader that, though song, the verse is yet coming from the bleakness of a cave where, in contrast to the paucity of space in his prison, an inmensus … amor burns the poet (13–14). Nevertheless, Theodulf wants to be as sincere and as unequivocal as possible, and so he confides to Modoin the truth of his life: he is an exile, needy, impoverished, quite sad, agitated, ill, scorned, cast out and languishing (15–16). He thereupon affirms his point in an utterance of abject despondency: “And he may perchance ask what I may be doing: you will say that I live a life, / than which a good death may perhaps be better.”(17–18) That is a startling statement for any person to make, but it would have been especially disconcerting for Modoin to hear Theodulf confess so somberly his final resignation to despair, that pernicious instrument of Satan, and an emotion seemingly quite out of character for the noble Theodulf, he who had braved so much in his life. His remarks denote the experience of a deep well of sorrow, and it becomes entirely believable with the next assertion, as Theodulf discloses the life he is being forced to live: he does not read, he does not teach, he does not fulfill the sacred duties of praise(s) to the Lord, Father of all, Ruler of earth and sky (19–20).79 The repetition of haud (19) intensifies the sense of barren aloneness that is Theodulf’s life of exile: all that is left to him is prayer, and he prays to God for himself, for Modoin and for all clerics, and for the salvation of the people as well as the king and his chiefs (21–22).80 Indeed, there is a certain 79

As is indicated in the apparatus of Dümmler’s text (p. 564), there is some manuscript support for reading aut instead of haud in l. 19. This reader insists (with Dümmler’s edition) that haud is in fact most appropriate because Theodulf would not have been living his life in exile according to his former habits. He quite surely was not teaching or reading much extraneous material, and he was no longer able to fulfill his official functions as bishop. For a scholar, poet and prelate like Theodulf, such a seemingly empty, lonely existence was like death itself – he quite surely felt a deadening of his true spirit. 80 See as well Ovid, Tristia I,1.31–32.

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resignation in those lines, and the frequency of the spondee foot slows the pace, as Theodulf’s life has been slowed; further, the anaphoric (pro … pro … pro) and alliterative ( … pro se poscit … pro … pro populi … pro) pout of the lines conveys a somewhat brooding malaise, as if Theodulf had been meditating for a little too long upon the adversity of his situation. As Thalia / Erato ends her message, Theodulf addresses Modoin in his own voice, as he proceeds with the petitio, his petition, to his dear friend.81 Theodulf yearns: Obsecro, frater amans, nostri memor esse memento, Frater, pars animi portio magna mei. Mens tua semper erit nostros miserata labores, Nostrae est nota tibi quod bene causa rei. Quo mage res nota est, magis inde adhibeto laborem: Sic medicus morbum dum videt, arte fugat. Fumea praesentis pereunt, scis, gaudia mundi, Numquam fraternus sed perit almus amor. Me modo pluris amas, quamquam me semper amasses: Aegrum aliis natum plus pia mater amat. Fessis opto libens certa succurrere rebus, Et fratrum mentes sollicitato pias. Unus ego quamvis sim, non est unius haec res: Quod factum est mihimet, esse potest alii … 82 I beseech you, loving brother, remember to be mindful of us, brother, a part, a large part, of my soul. Your mind will always be unhappy at our troubles, because the cause of our affair is well-known to you. The more the matter is known, thence moreso apply labour: thus, when a doctor perceives an ailment, he routs (it) with his craft. The smoky joys of the present world perish, you know, but kind, brotherly love never perishes. Now you love me more, although you have always loved me: a devoted mother loves the ill child more than the others. I wish certain things to relieve the misfortunes and, willing, incite the holy minds of the brothers. Although I may be alone, this is not the affair of one alone: What has been done to me, can be done to another …

Theodulf will not allow Modoin the opportunity to rebuff his entreaties: the repetition of frater (brother, 25–26) amply demonstrates the nature of the relationship Theodulf envisions he has with Modoin, which is that of a beloved (amans) and supportive brother. Yet, he is not altogether confident, 81 82

See Baldwin, p. 222; Kennedy, p. 186 on petitio. Carm. 72.25-38, PLAC 1:564.

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so he continues quite humbly to solicit help from Modoin with words of benevolent appeal. In a wonderfully interwoven phrase, Theodulf explains to Modoin that he is a very part of himself, he is pars animi portio magna mei (26).83 However, Theodulf refuses to be content with prompting feelings of sad sentiment only, for his dilemma is much too grave; thus, the very next line (27) begins with Mens tua, your mind, an appeal to Modoin’s intellect, his reason. That is to say, Theodulf hopes to secure Modoin’s good favour not merely by appealing to his natural sympathy or to feelings of compassion, but rather to a genuine belief in the Spanish prelate and a clear comprehension of the injustice of his situation. As Theodulf states in the next line (28), the very cause of his predicament (Nostrae … rei) is well known (est nota … bene) to Modoin. Moreover, to the degree it is understood by the Modoin, so must he commit himself to aiding Theodulf in this, the occasion of his worst tribulation, just as a physician (medicus) would strive mightily to relieve a patient suffering some grim bodily illness (30). It is not for the common delights of the temporal realm that Theodulf agitates, however, since he recognizes those delights to be fleeting, insubstantial (fumea, 31, “smokey”), as is the human body; what is not – or should not be – transitory or tenuous in this world is the bond of brotherhood and its nuturing love (almus amor, 32). It is that love, properly caritas, between the two friends and brothers in faith, which will impart to Theodulf patience for, and sustain Modoin in, his exertion. Only do you love me more (Me modo pluris amas, 33), Theodulf insists, and the alliteration of m in the line resembles nothing so much as the importuning moan of one who is ailing. It is in this verse, in fact, that Theodulf elucidates what is the final remedy for all ailments, not just the ailment of exile, which impede the journey from one world to the next: love, which is neither irrational nor superficial, but dynamic and attentive, especially when there is misfortune, as when a devoted mother is moved by an even greater love for the ill child who needs her (34). It is almost possible to hear the wearied sigh of “Alas!” from the mother and child in the repetitive pattern of the sounds ae and a within that verse (33–34). Nevertheless, Theodulf does not seek help for himself alone: his political instincts are too keen for him not to be sensitive to the issues of power and authority involved in his case. Of course, Theodulf hopes that Modoin will help him secure a timely release from his prolonged injustice, but he also 83

meae.

The phrase is an echo from Ovid, Epistulae ex Ponto 1.8.2: pars animae magna …

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demands that Modoin attempt to rouse the awareness of other prelates, since it seems, unfortunately, that “… unus ego quamvis sim, non est unius haec res: / Quod factum est mihimet, esse potest alii …” (37–38). The remark is integral to Theodulf’s petition to Modoin, for although he, Theodulf, has been singled out, it is ultimately not a concern for himself alone, but can involve any other individual, especially any other cleric. At this point, Theodulf begins to regard his experience through a much wider lens than earlier in the poem, and to consider his misfortune as a result of a power struggle, of the volatile unease that must exist between the sacred and the profane authorities as they clash and collide for dominance. Perhaps he gleaned that certain individuals had perceived him as having had too much prestige and too much familiarity as the vivacious bishop of Orleans. If they were unable to contain him, they would make the effort to isolate him from his position, his properties, and his people. Yet Theodulf is very aware that the animosity between powers can be quite extensive, and that repercussions would extend far beyond him. He claims that his situation is a commune malum such that a communis cura must be sought (39). There is a note of ambiguity in the subsequent verse which completes the couplet and explains the malum: Theodulf warns that “(q)uod nostrum est hodie, cras erit alterius,” what is ours today will belong to another tomorrow (40). This statement seems to express two layers of truth: on one hand, Theodulf appears to be reiterating his contention that material possessions (quod nostrum) are so impermanent that at any time they can be taken and given to another; on the other hand, he seems also to aver that the fate of any one life, his life (quod nostrum), can, and will, befall another. In a very real way, Theodulf came to perceive his experience as a cautionary tale for others. He does not exhort in furious rage or deep bitterness; indeed, the emotional tone of the lines is so soft, so muted, that the verse is read as more of a promise than a threat. Moreover, there is a remarkable absence of fear in his voice, as he urges his brethren to stand fast and “… (h)aec non quis frater timeat contagia demens, / Ne illi, quae nobis, inrepat ista lues …” (41–42) No one need be afraid to go to Theodulf’s assistance, he murmurs, for his plight is not a contagion; in fact, adversity such as his can flourish (and lead to more adversity) only when there is no deliberate action taken, or only when fear is met with fear, sorrow with sorrow. Theodulf is again urging Modoin to act. He posits: if an injury is countered with another injury – if, for example, the wound of exile is met with the wound of indifference or abandonment – then, certainly, the wound

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will fester and become worse, even dangerously so, as … solet … vulnere crescere vulnus … (43) Theodulf seems not to threaten; rather, he states candidly what he believes to be the truth about his circumstance and how it might augur the fate of any one else, including (and especially?) a fellow bishop. That truth is so consequential, its dissemination so vital, to Theodulf, that it becomes, in fact, the thematic subtext for the remainder of the poem. Theodulf continues his verse by composing the probatio as confirmation that he has been unjustly condemned and as refutation to the case against him. He writes: Haec mea si placidam sit nancta plaga medellam, Pristinus et veniat, morbo abeunte, vigor, Tale quid ulterius non pars inimica valebit Appetere et scelus hoc non leve prorsus erit. Servus habet propriam et mendax ancillula legem, Oppilio, pistor, nauta, subulcus, arans. Pro dolor, amisit hanc solus episcopus, ordo Qui labefactatur nunc sine lege sua, Debuit et qui aliis legalia promere iura, Officii perdit ius sine iure sui. Culpa facit saevum confessa perire latronem: Non est confessus praesul, et ecce perit. Cumque suis egeant mundana negotia rebus, Causa quibus iustum possit habere modum, Nostra eguit iusta rationis pondere causa, Saevitia excepta nullum habet ista modum … 84 If this calamity of mine should stumble on a mild remedy, and, illness departing, the original robustness should come, the hostile segment will not be further able to assail in such a manner and this wickedness will by no means be easy. A slave has his own principle, as does a mendacious maid, a shepherd, a baker, a sailor, swineherd, a plowherd. Alas! The bishop only has lost his (right), a rank which now is being weakened, without its own law, and he who ought to have brought forward the legal rights to others has unjustly lost the authority of his office. A confessed guilt makes the savage thief perish: the bishop has not confessed, and yet he perishes. Although worldly affairs are in want of their own matters, by which their cause can have a proper limit, our cause lacked the rightful weight of reason, that savageness itself incurred has no moderation …

84

Carm. 72.45-60, PLAC 1:564.

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The probatio begins with Theodulf’s assertion that, were the “plague” to be remedied (45), and his illness to depart, his former vigorous self would return (46). Theodulf maintains the medical idiom from the previous few lines, and so internalizes the injustice done to him, depicting his condition as a pestilent scourge which continues to gnaw away at him. Yet, like many illnesses, his can be remedied, and he can be restored to health. Thus, he assures Modoin, any effort to relieve the suffering of the former bishop of Orleans would be beneficial, and embraced. Moreover, once his strength is restored, Theodulf laughs, the pars inimica to him would never again attempt such a miscarriage of justice since that crime of inequity would not be so easy to commit a second time (scelus hoc non leve, 48). Perhaps Theodulf’s writing is braced with little more than braggadocio; it does seem that the recent turmoil in his life had deprived him of much more than his status, his possessions, and his freedom. Indeed, it were as though his wit, his hope, and his serenity had been filched from his very soul. So Theodulf persists, quite deliberately: he categorizes the activities against him as criminal, perpetrated by hostile rivals, and while his statements are very provocative, he is adamant that there has been no integrity in the course of events which he has been compelled to endure. So deeply does he feel that he has suffered a grievous wrong, that, exasperated, he then points to the madness of the situation. A servant, an artful maid, a shepherd, even a swineherd, Theodulf exclaims, each one possesses propriam legem, his own claim to justice, but “(p)ro dolor, amisit hanc solus episcopus” (51): “alas, the bishop alone has lost his (right).” Again, Theodulf wants to specify his actual concern: not only has he been unjustly and ignobly treated, and as bishop has lost his prerogative, but, more to the point, the episcopate itself is being weakened without recourse to legal protection. The political implications of his situation are never entirely absent from Theodulf’s mind, and he seems to regard the denunciation made against him by the state as more truly a violation of the ecclesiastical see, and of the Church itself, than just the personal vendetta against him, which, of course, it also is. His inference lingers in the next lines of verse, as he frets in a briskly fluid, alliterative couplet, as if he were tumbling over his own words in his fervour, that “… (d)ebuit et qui aliis legalia promere iura, / Officii perdit ius sine iure sui” (53–54): the very office (the bishopric) and the very person (himself) who had been endowed with the responsibility to defend those without defence, and those for whom justice was not always forthcoming, has himself been unjustly accused and deprived of his authority and his ministry. Theodulf elaborates upon the injustice of his case by

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stating plainly that “… (n)on est confessus praesul, et ecce perit” (56): even though he has not confessed to any transgression, behold! he is perishing, a preposterous state of affairs in a world in which only the confessed criminal is supposed to perish for his crimes (55). Indeed, the world has become irrational, chaotic, and fierce: “… (n)ostra eguit iusto rationis pondere causa …” (59), and without the steady guidance of reason to illumine the truth, Theodulf has had to (and will) suffer (s)aevitia excepta, an anomalous cruelty which is able to howl through a life just because it lacks the serene restraint of reason (60).85 Theodulf at last reaches the conclusio of the epistle poem, and composes it with all the brevity and clarity he can muster to bring closure to his sad song: Non ibi testis inest, iudex nec idoneus ullus, Non aliquod crimen ipse ego fassus eram. Esto: forem fassus, cuius censura valeret Dedere iudicii congrua frena mihi? Solius illius opus Romani praesulis extat, Cuius ego accepi pallia sancta manu.86 There is no witness there, nor any appropriate judge, I myself had not confessed any crime. Let it be: if I had confessed, whose judgement would have been able to deliver up suitable curbs on (of) the court? That is the task of the Pope alone, from whose hand I received the holy pallium.

Theodulf thus concludes plainly, by asserting three crucial facts that corroborate the grand injustice done to him: there was no witness to any crime, there was not a suitable judge present to decide on his action (or inaction), and, finally, there was no confession to any crime (61–62)! The interwoven and reiterative structure of … (n)on … testis … , iudex nec … / (n)on … crimen insists that there was no legitimacy in the actions taken against him, and something other, something not motivated by law or reason, must have been at work. No witness present, no suitable judge, no crime confessed, groans Theodulf, and still I am an exile, alone and dishonoured. Yet it is at this point that he makes a breathtaking choice: Theodulf exhales

85

It might be worth noting that Theodulf, ever rational and pragmatic, considers the most appropriate remedy for his plight (and others in his position) to be an appeal to reason and legal regulations. Clearly, he prefers the cool, objective approach of rationalism rather than the distracting chirp of pious platitudes to address his grievances. 86 Carm. 72.61-66, PLAC 1:565.

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Esto: So be it, and closes his defence.87 It is astonishing in its simplicity, but not surprising, considering what has become the genuine focus of the poem.88 For Theodulf was struggling with an even more disquieting matter than his own exile, although he seems to regard his disgrace as an aspect of a fearsome danger looming darkly on the horizon: the strained disharmony that existed, and was becoming more and more entrenched, between the discretion of the secular authority and the corresponding autonomy of the sacred power. Theodulf was most aggrieved by the credible threat of complete secular ascendancy over the Church, and the imbalance of jurisdiction concerned him. That is why Theodulf proceeds then to demand of Modoin: even were he (Theodulf) to have made confession, who could properly have judged him (63–64)? Moreover, with that not altogether rhetorical question, it is apparent that Theodulf is pressuring (warning?) Modoin to concur that the lay regime should not interfere in ecclesiastical affairs, or, at least, it should not have the right to sit in judgement on a cleric. Indeed, as a bishop, Theodulf concludes, there can be only one judge of his action, the Holy Father (Romani praesulis), who had bestowed upon Theodulf the pallium sanctum of the episcopal office (65–66).89 Theodulf appeals to Modoin as a 87

Although in his poem to Modoin Theodulf never explicitly states what he did not (or did!) do that led to his indictment and exile, he does interrupt another poem sent (also in 820) to one Bishop Aiulf of Bourges to plead his innocence. Amidst a stream of laudatory rhetoric and fraternal cheer, Theodulf writes to Aiulf: “Non regi aut proli, non eius, crede, iugali / Peccavi, ut meritis haec mala tanta veham … Perderet ut sceptrum,vitam, propriumque nepotem: / Haec tria sum numquam consiliatus ego (Carm. 71.70–71, 75–76, PLAC 1:562) Quite neatly Theodulf addresses the matter at hand: “Believe me, I have not sinned against the king, his offspring, nor his spouse, such that I deserve such great evils as these … That he should lose the throne, life, and his own nephew, these three things never did I counsel …” With those lines, Theodulf wrote the most direct refutation of the charges in his poetry. 88 The interpretation of the poem and its socio-political reading was developed by this reader prior to any secondary research. However, she is pleased to note that Godman, Poets and Emperors, pp. 100–2, concurs on some points. 89 Dümmler’s notation (p. 565, n. 1) on this point is rather illuminating. Theodulf most probably received the pallium sanctum from Pope Leo III in 800: the pallium received from the Pope is most properly associated with the office of archbishop. Dümmler’s notation quotes an excerpt from a letter of Alcuin of York to Theodulf, his perpetual rival and sometime colleague. Alcuin writes that he is delighted that Theodulf is receiving an advancement in his position (augmento honoris vestri) and he will now be able to enjoy the accretion of apostolica … auctoritas to his position. There is another aspect to Theodulf’s comment that this reader feels is worth addressing: the fact that, as the poem reads, Theodulf seemed to consider his title and role as bishop authentic only in so far as he had been

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brother of the church, an exemplar of the fellowship of bishops, and he quite adroitly makes a case that the actual crime was not that with which he had been charged at all, but, rather, the detriment done to the stability and sovereignty of the Church by Louis the Pious and the actions taken by his government. So alarmed, in fact, was Theodulf about problems arising in the reign of Louis the Pious, including those that affected the Church, that Theodulf attached addenda to his poem to Modoin, as if to add significance to his epistolary exhortation.90 The most perturbing (but most evocative) of the additional poems is entitled De pugna avium, “Concerning the Battle of the Birds,” a supple allegory about warring avian nations, one from the north, and the other from the west.91 At first glance, the poem might seem mock-heroic, even fantastic, but there is obviously a serious intent behind the witty fable.92 The poem recounts the tale that once, inexplicably, birds of all sorts gathered in a plain surrounded by forests, and filled the woods, the streams, the cliffs, and the rough terrain with their songs and their variously-hued feathers.93 Initially, it appeared that there would be harmony between the two hostile factions, since winged ambassadors were observed flying back and forth between the settlements.94 Diplomacy was futile, however, and a

endowed by the Pope himself, even though Charlemagne had “appointed” Theodulf Bishop of Orleans some years earlier. Theodulf clearly deemed his position to be only as valid as the Church herself considered it to be. On Charlemagne, the Church, and sources of religious authority, see Knowles and Obolensky, The Christian Centuries, 2: 72–75. 90 For addenda to Carmen 72, see PLAC 1:565–69. 91 Carm. 72.iii, PLAC 1:565-69. A rather fine translation of the same poem can be found in Godman, Poetry of the Carolingian Renaissance, pp. 173–75. For the west/north reference: “Nam Zephryi pars has, Aquilonis vexerat illas, / Partem et utramque putes signa habuisse sua …” (l. 148–49, 567), which reads, “… For a part of the west wind had carried these, a part of the north, those / and you might think that each group had their own standards …” It should also be mentioned that in Christian medieval art and literature, birds were often symbolic of the human soul. See George Ferguson, Signs and Symbols in Christian Art (New York, 1974), pp. 12–13 (specific species are also mentioned, pp. 13–27, passim). 92 Theodulf himself had written to Modoin, at the closing of the poem epistle, that he was sending along as well “… carmina quaedam, / (n)ostra quibus lusit Musa iocosa parum …” (67–68), but that was clearly an effort to disarm his comrade. The first of the additional poems is rather Biblical in its portentousness; entitled De siccitate cuiusdam fluvii (“On the Dryness of a Certain River”), it recounts the inexplicable evaporation of a river, a rich metaphor for the benefits as well as disadvantages of falling into disfavour. Carm. 72.ii, PLAC 1:565–566. 93 Ibid., lines 142–46. 94 Ibid., lines 151–54.

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great war was declared.95 Yet the subsequent war was even more absurd than the negotiations had been ineffective, as Theodulf depicts the horrific scene of eager bird-warriors, extending barbed talons and hooked beaks to lacerate and eviscerate their enemies. The field is laden with furious mayhem and death: “… Inque vicem laniant se hinc morsibus, ictibus illinc, / Ingenti bellum surgit utrimque animo …” (173–74), until, finally, nearly the entire company of each side has been annihilated: Inque vicem laniant se hinc morsibus, ictibus illinc, Ingenti bellum surgit utrimque animo … … avium moriens exercitus illic Decidit et magna strage replevit humum. Nam teres aestivis impletur ut area granis, Campus ita extincta sic ave plenus erat … … Tota in utraque cohors parte perempta iacet … 96 … They tear themselves by turns, here with bites, with blows there, on both sides the war rises with great passion … … thence a dying army of birds fell and filled the ground with a great slaughter. For as a polished threshing-floor is filled with grains of summer, so the field was laden with dead birds … … a complete cohort lay annihilated on each side …

Theodulf depicts the ravaged landscape of conflict in all of its appalling horror so frankly, that his poetry again affirms his unclouded perspective that warfare, be it the fact of pitched battle, or the struggle of words and wills, can have no true victors, only incidental survivors. Thus, as if to demonstrate the physical and moral bankruptcy of war, Theodulf indulges in a touch of trenchant irony: he uses the familiar image of a polished threshing floor (teres area, 182), fragrant and abundant with the hearty grains of a summer harvest (aestivis granis), in order to heighten the contrast with the evident field of battle, fetid in its suffocation by piles of bird carrion (extincta ave plenus, 183). Instead of the lush, quickening fruits of the earth, the field is filled only with degradation and death. The tone of the poem does not alter in closing, but it does take an even more somber, if curious, turn. After describing the sorrowful result of the battle, Theodulf relates that people went to the site of devastation to gaze in horrified astonishment at the scene (185–86). A bishop who was also present, one Mancio of Toulouse, was asked by the people if the avian remains were edible, and he replied poignantly: Inlicitis spretis, licitas 95 96

Ibid., line 156, … grandia bella cient. Ibid., lines 173–74, 179–82, 184.

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adsumite (189), “Reject what has been forbidden, take away what is allowed.” The people did as the prelate advised, each one loading his cart and returning home with the carcasses, salvaging some good from so much calamity. In the end, neither side won, and all that remained were the coarse remnants of combat through which the innocent could cull. Theodulf’s admonition (in the words of Mancio) to forsake what has been prohibited and to claim what has been sanctioned, was ostensibly directed towards his correspondent Modoin, but it seems more likely that it was special counsel for those individuals involved with either sustaining secular rule or defending sacred jurisdiction. The poet speaks with a pensive melancholy, but his message is unequivocal: both factions, all combatant factions, must cease in their vainglorious attempts to secure ultimate dominance, or all will be annihilated. Suffering will come to naught. Rather, Theodulf intimates, the opportunity to discuss and debate the disagreement, as well as to negotiate and determine a solution, must be made available to the appropriate arbiters before catastrophic violence erupts and finally engulfs any hope for a peaceful resolution. The fact that the only temperate voice of prudence in the poem was that of a local bishop might imply that Theodulf regarded the secular authority as more culpable than the Church in his immediate quarrel. Nevertheless, Theodulf was a discerning, rational aristocrat of the Church, and he was shrewd enough to realize that even the Church could benefit from such good counsel.97 Each party should concentrate on its own particular area of influence and administration, and suffer the other to do the same. The narrative of the bird battle serves another purpose as well. Theodulf obviously hopes to startle his audience with the barbarism of war, especially that of a civil war, such as the one waged by the birds. By detailing the pathetic carnage wrought by combat, Theodulf is again reminding his readers of his loathing for armed conflict, and for internecine strife especially; thus (again), the idea that he would ever participate in, or even condone, a civil rebellion against the rightfully anointed king, is not only 97

Historically, Theodulf was not altogether mistaken. As Riché points out in The Carolingians, 289–293, the Carolingian rulers merely assumed that the Church, including the papacy, would be subject to the imperial authority as an aspect of his “sacral kingship,” an image of royalty derived from the theocrats of the Old Testament. The tension between Emperor/State and Church naturally increased in time (especially during the reign of the Ottonians, Charlemagne’s descendants, in the tenth century), but it would not be until the Gregorian reforms in the eleventh century that the Church would be able to achieve nearly complete autonomy. On sacral kingship, see also Ullmann, The Carolingian Renaissance, pp. 50–55.

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erroneous, it is ludicrous. In an effort to prove that common belief mistaken, Theodulf appends to Modoin’s missive a final, cogent statement in the form of another poem!98 The verse is actually an abbreviated account of a second battle of the birds, but with a sharper, darker tone, as if its abridged form demanded a precise distillation of emotion. In the first battle-of-the-birds poem (iii), the fleeting comparisons made between the avian conflict and actual human altercations tended to refer to celebrated armies of rival nations, such as the Romans and the Carthaginians (157), or the Rutulians against the Trojans (175). However, in the second bird-battle poem, the historical allusions made are explicitly to an infamous civil conflict, and are disturbingly severe: … Primo hi congressu perimunt se hinc inde vicissim: Accipitrem accipiter, seu capus ipse capum. Rostra instant rostris, confligunt unguibus ungues, Quo paria arma vehunt, hinc mage se perimunt. Egit id Emathiis populus Romanus in arvis, Cum fera bella gerunt, hinc socer,inde gener. Cum fratrem frater perimit, vel amicus amicum, Quando pares aquilas et paria arma vehunt … 99 … At first these destroy themselves in battle, in turn on this side and that, a hawk a hawk, a falcon a falcon, Beaks menace beaks, claws fight with claws, the more equal weapons they bear, the more they henceforth destroy themselves. The Roman people did thus in the Emathian Fields, when they waged fierce wars, here a father-in-law, thence a son-in-law, when brother annihilated brother, or friend friend, when they carried equal eagles and equal arms …

The persistent repetition of sounds strikes relentlessly upon the eyes and ears, like beaks mercilessly pecking at other beaks, or claws lashing constantly at other claws: the sharp bite of the i’s (209f.), the firm snap of c’s (210, 214), the irritable pout of the p’s (210, 212, 216), the mournful ululation of u’s (l.211, 213) and the broad anguish of the a’s (210f.). Such onomatopoeic bounty hastens the narrative along, as words and phrases stumble past thrusting beaks, scratching claws, and the tragic carnage of battle, scurrying for protective cover from the odious barbarity of a world turned against itself. This is civil war, the kind of ferocious violence the Romans waged in the fields of Emathia (Emathiis arvis), when father-in-law (socer) fought son-in-law (gener), brother slaughtered brother, and friend 98 99

Carm. 72.iv, PLAC 1:568–69. Ibid., lines 209–16.

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murdered friend, although they carried equal standards and equal arms.100 Theodulf brings the horror of such a struggle to its bitter climax in a powerful line of verse, richly articulated with anaphora, alliteration, and a sly chiasmic structure: … Cum fratrem frater perimit, vel amicus amicum, that is “when brother brother kills, or friend friend …” (215) The reflexive aspect of the Latin, as it arches back into itself (Cum … amicum) and causes the line of verse to repeat almost naturally, like the tangled interlace of a Celtic knot, compels the reader to meditate upon the tenacious inhumanity of war, and especially upon the complicated entanglements of internecine war: brother destroys brother, friend murders friend. It is then that Theodulf completes his poem with the joyless observation that … Utraque pars vincit, mulcet victoria neutram. / Utrimque oppletam strage reliquit humum … , “Each side is victorious, (but) victory softens neither (side) / Both sides abandoned the ground (which had been) suffocated by the massacre …” (219–20), and with his poem, the former bishop of Orleans amply proves that he never did, nor ever could, participate in the inhumane brutality of a civil war. The initial indictment and subsequent exile of Theodulf of Orleans, then, must be considered as the inevitable consequence of both malicious resentment directed towards him and the persistent contention between secular and religious authorities. In his own poem-epistle to Bishop Modoin, Theodulf offered an insightful and generally quite rational reflection on his dismal situation, and on the probable malevolence which motivated his persecutors, all of which could not help but be influenced by his own memories and personal recollections of his earlier years. Theodulf had always been a man of unusual charisma, fiercely intelligent and charmingly self-possessed, a nobleman who had enjoyed great prominence and no small degree of independence under Charlemagne. Rather quickly, Theodulf had become an intimate of the emperor, who delighted in and deeply trusted Theodulf’s deft intellect, political poise, innate sophistication, and keen wit. It is tempting to speculate how Charlemagne must have considered Theodulf a seemly companion for his own extravagant personality, and how impatient he must have been to implement the Spaniard’s perceptive intelligence and political competence in the imperial programme to revitalize culture. Charlemagne thus invited Theodulf to become involved in some of the more theologically complex 100

See llines 213–16. It is worth noting that the reference to the Emathian fields has its source in Theodulf’s textbook on the brutishness of civil war and familial strife, Lucan’s De bello civili (Pharsalia), I.1.

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and politically sensitive controversies of the era, and Theodulf accepted his solicitation with great zest, appreciating full well its implications. The intellectual freedom and private autonomy which Theodulf enjoyed from his emperor must have transformed his life in many ways, from his vow to fulfil his obligations as a pious shepherd of his flock diligently and authentically, to his desire to satiate his natural appetite for aesthetic as well as spiritual cultivation. Theodulf spent his mature years in an effort to achieve a balance between the life to which he had been appointed (and soon adapted), that of a privileged but devoted prelate of the Church, and the life which had always been familiar to him, that of a brisk and voracious intellectual, which effort seemed to delight him and gratify his indefatigable aspiration for excellence. Yet, as Theodulf tacitly surmised, and scholars have since determined, it was probably this finely-wrought temperament which was at least partially responsible for his disgrace, since the royal successor chosen by Charlemagne, Louis the Pious, exhibited a personality quite distinct from that of his father.101 Louis the Pious appeared less tolerant, more selfconscious, and more easily threatened by extraordinary, self-reliant personalities; thus, he felt impelled to treat them with greater censure. Louis also had an even stronger belief (or need) than Charlemagne that the emperor should exercise extensive control over the Church and her clergy, and so it was probable that Theodulf and the new emperor would experience some antagonism. Indeed it was probable, but was it also inevitable? There is a contemporary voice which speaks to this very situation, a voice which, if not entirely objective, at least attempts to remain as impartial as his own position and his own political instincts allow him to be. In his reply to Theodulf’s letter, Bishop Modoin himself composed a poem of “pedestrian sanity” which urged his friend to reconsider his (perceived) attitude of obstinate righteousness, and approach both the matter and his liege lord with much more discretion and humility: “… Nonnullis prodesse solet prudentia multa … ,” that is, “… much prudence is accustomed to avail most people …”102 Modoin asks his colleague to be mindful of the advantage in acting 101

On current scholarship examining the probable influence Theodulf’s personality and his writings had on his final plight, see Godman, Poets and Emperors, pp. 102–6; Thomas F.X. Noble, “Deposition,” pp. 33–37; Janet L. Nelson, “The Frankish kingdoms, 814–898: The West,” in The New Cambridge Medieval History, 2:113–15. 102 See Godman, Poets and Emperors, p. 102. Scholars, including Godman, are very comfortable with attributing this poem (listed as Carmen 73 in the Theodulfian corpus) to Modoin as the authentic author. However, this reader is not completely convinced and hopes to investigate the matter further. For the poem “Incipit Rescriptum Modoini Episcopi ad Theodulfum Episcopum”, see MGH PLAC 1:569–73. Here, 41 at p. 570.

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judiciously in his current dilemma, in light of the experience of his (in)famous predecessor in exile, Ovid. Like Ovid, Modoin insists, Theodulf was suffering not for any one specific deed or misstep, but, rather, for his independent spirit, his brilliant but caustic writings, and, in particular, his remarkable ingenium.103 It is apparent that during the reign of Charlemagne, the imperial court had been a display for the witty craft of Theodulf’s verses, as well as for his erudition, and as long as the protective shelter of the king’s approval endured, Theodulf had little to fear from his court rivals. However, the ascendancy of Louis the Pious to the throne meant that Theodulf, so closely identified with Charlemagne, would become easily vulnerable to the (l)ivor edax (45) and invidia (m, 48) so prevalent at an immature, unseasoned court, and at a time when so many courtiers and sycophants were continuing to maneuvre for power and prestige. The engaging, prominent and prosperous Theodulf could not be allowed to remain too independent of imperial restraint: Theodulf the brilliant scholar must be reminded at whose behest scholarship persisted; Theodulf the revered bishop must be persuaded under whose domination the Church truly existed. Indeed, there were also many secular magnates encircling Louis who sought to gain from the puerile emperor grants of prosperity, property, and power, and who were glad to excoriate a few bishops if it meant getting control of the church treasury. Numbered among those nobles was Matfrid, a cavalier from the Rhineland who had attached himself to Louis early in his reign, and was thereupon rewarded with the countship of Orleans in 814.104 Almost at once, Matfrid began to assert his potestas upon the community, but particularly upon the churches, including the monasteries of Fleury and St. Aignan, and the very church of the bishop at Orleans. The potestas of a count included the prerogatives of unlimited hospitality at any ecclesiastical 103

Much as Ovid had reflected on a likely cause of his exile, so Modoin considers a similar culprit in Theodulf’s situation: ingenium, brilliance, talent, genius. So Ovid complains in Tristia 2.2; Modoin admonishes Theodulf in lines l. 41–42. 104 On the detestable Matfrid, see Nelson, “The Frankish kingdoms,” p. 113. Again, on his ally Jonas, who had replaced Theodulf as the bishop of Orleans, and who had dedicated his De institutione laicali to Matfrid, see Riché, The Carolingians, pp. 150–51. An intriguing document for review is a letter written to Matfrid c. 828 by Agobard, Bishop of Lyons which speaks to the spiritual malaise and immodest impiety at the court of Louis the Pious, and in the commonwealth, in general. See De iniusticiis (Ad Matefredum) in Corpus Christianorum:Continuatio Mediaevalis 52 (Turnhout, 1981), pp. 225–27. Agobard is himself a worthy focus of study, a native of Spain, a proponent of a single Christian empire, and “one of the rare anti-Semites of the period.” See Riché, The Carolingians, p. 317.

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site within his jurisdiction, of financial reimbursements from church funds, of unrestricted military conscriptions from the community, and of any land distribution at personal discretion.105 Theodulf must surely have been an unwelcome vexation for Matfrid and his ambitious plans, just as Matfrid could not have been anything but an irksome aggravation for Theodulf. Yet, even with the loss of his see, Theodulf seemed not to be intimidated. An uneasy tension developed between the two contumacious men. Whether Louis deliberately set out to conspire so bitterly with Matfrid against Theodulf is unclear. Nevertheless, with the pitiable rebellion of Bernard as a pretext, the monarchy and its minions were able to lodge charges of rebellion and treason against the former bishop of Orleans in a civil court. That the indictment and subsequent persecution of Theodulf were the result of cruel ill will and spiteful envy, and not the simple undertaking of justice is quite obvious, for … the repression of Bernhard’s co-conspirators provided Theodulf’s enemies with a convenient occasion for implicating the poet in the charges against these rebels, in order to wring from him concessions that would have been impossible to exact in other, more ordinary, circumstances. Such a strategy would explain … the exile of this ambitious statesman from the circles of power … (a) desire to humble Theodulf, not a wish to wreak punishment upon him for treason, is what is conveyed by Modoin … 106

Even Modoin was aware that the charges against Theodulf were suspect at best; nevertheless, he does not advise Theodulf to continue on the doomed path he has chosen. Rather, Modoin counsels Theodulf to make a formal confession and appease the emperor, but for a rather extraordinary reason. It would seem that Louis himself, some three years after Theodulf’s arrest and conviction, had proposed a resolution to the case: he was prepared to absolve Theodulf of his transgression, as long as the former bishop was prepared to make a public declaration of his infraction.107 It is quite troubling to imagine how dismayed Theodulf must have been to be importuned by a fellow cleric to proclaim, essentially, a falsehood, and to do so mainly because it would afford the emperor the opportunity to recover himself for

105

See Nelson, “The Frankish Kingdoms,” pp. 113–14, n. 445. Godman, Poets and Emperors, p. 105. 107 As Modoin writes: “… Haec te nosse reor, quoniam cito spargitur orbe … / Commissum scelus omne tibi dimittere mavult, / Si pecasse tamen te memorare velis …” (lines 83, 89–90) which reads, “… I reckon that you know these things, since it is quickly being spread everywhere … / (that) he (Louis) prefers to discharge you of every committed crime, / If only you are willing to say that you have sinned …” 106

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the appalling wrong he had done the poet.108 There is nothing in his personality or in his writings to suggest that Theodulf would ever deliberately misrepresent himself or any action he might have taken, even were the circumstance to help his emperor avoid grievous embarrassment. Moreover, when Modoin in his missive later urges Theodulf to seek as well the good will of the influential Matfrid, Theodulf must have been aghast at the obviously manipulative intent behind the suggestion.109 The one blemish to dull his otherwise sparkling disposition was pride, and the proposal of his grovelling before the villain who had been largely responsible for his ruin must have sent shock waves through the Spaniard’s aging frame. Theodulf understood that his life had been irreparably transformed, and even his personality had been affected by the turmoil in his life; thus, all that remained to him, as a matter of pride and honour, was his acclaimed reputation, which had been built upon his authentic integrity, his scrupulous morality, and his unwavering honesty. To make a public admission that he had, in fact, been guilty of treason to his emperor, when in fact he had never even entertained the idea, and to make such a confession merely as a political exigency, would be impossible for someone as proudly honourable as Theodulf. Also, his own poetry bears witness to the fact that by 820, Theodulf was no longer concerned only with his own adversity, but had become preoccupied as well with a more insidious danger he perceived lurking in the dusky corridors of the imperial court: the danger of the temporal power accruing to itself more extensive dominion, which would include securing supremacy, at least in matters material and earthly, over the spiritual authority.110 Theodulf realized that acquiescence on his part to the stratagem suggested by Modoin, would, in effect, make him an accomplice in the design of the secular power to subjugate to its superiority the religious realm, and would indeed make him a traitor – to his very self. Thus, Theodulf rejected the arrangement Modoin had encouraged. The rest is silence. Theodulf was dead within the year of his epistle-poem to Modoin, having been dispatched either by poison, illness, heartache, or perhaps some combination of the three. His remains have never been found. 108

This reader is pleased to note that Godman, Poets and Emperors, p. 104, concurs. See lines 109–12. Note the image of Theodulf in a naufragio (112) which Matfrid might salvage! 110 It makes perfect sense that, after his exile, Theodulf should concern his poetry with more than witty invectives against specific individuals. 109

Raptors and Rebellion Quando erit illa dies, cum nostrum intrabis in ortum, Atque leges nostras ungue libente rosas? Et tua magna sitis mage seu mage crescere gliscet, Dum quod semper amas, carmine plenus eris. Si qua istis fuerint, ut erunt, vitiosa camenis Parce, precor … 111 When will be that day, when you will enter our garden and freely gather our roses with a finger? And your great thirst will swell to increase more and more, until you will be full of poetry which you love always. If in any way there is misfortune in those songs, as there will be, treat (me) with forbearance, I pray: …

111

Carmen 72.225–30, PLAC 1:569.

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Biblical and Classical Imagery in the Liturgical Poetry of Adémar de Chabannes (989–1034)* by James Grier Adémar de Chabannes was the foremost historian in early eleventhcentury Aquitaine, an accomplished homilist and skilled musician. The sordid story of his transformation from learned and distinguished writer to forger and shameless fabricator has been recounted by Louis Saltet, Daniel F. Callahan, Richard Landes and myself.1 Here, it suffices to say that he * An earlier version of this paper was read at a conference on “The Study and Use of the Bible in the Middle Ages and Renaissance,” University of Western Ontario, 22 March 2002. This study is part of a project to edit the complete works of Adémar de Chabannes for the Corpus Christianorum Continuatio Mediaevalis, directed by Professor Richard Landes of Boston University. I am grateful to the Principal’s Development Fund and the Advisory Research Committee, both of Queen’s University, the Social Sciences and Humanities Research Council of Canada, and the A. Whitney Griswold Faculty Research Grant and the John F. Enders Research Assistance Grant, both of Yale University, for grants that enabled me to consult manuscript sources in Paris and prepare this article for publication. I am also very grateful to M. François Avril of the Départment des Manuscrits, Bibliothèque Nationale de France, and Mme Contamine of the Section Latine, Institut de Recherche et d’Histoire des Textes, for their many kindnesses. 1 Louis Saltet, “Une discussion sur Saint Martial entre un Lombard et un Limousin en 1029,” Bulletin de Littérature Ecclésiastique 26 (1925), 161–86, 279–302; “Une prétendue lettre de Jean XIX sur Saint Martial fabriquée par Adémar de Chabannes,” ibid. 27 (1926), 117–39; “Les faux d’Adémar de Chabannes: Prétendues décisions sur Saint Martial au concile de Bourges du 1er novembre 1031,” ibid. 27 (1926), 145–60; and “Un cas de mythomanie historique bien documenté: Adémar de Chabannes (988–1034),” ibid. 32 (1931), 149–65. Daniel F. Callahan, “The Sermons of Adémar of Chabannes and the Cult of St. Martial of Limoges,” Revue Bénédictine 86 (1976), 251–95; “Adémar de Chabannes et la Paix de Dieu,” Annales du Midi 89 (1977), 21–43; and “The Peace of God and the Cult of the Saints in Aquitaine in the Tenth and Eleventh Centuries,” in The Peace of God: Social Violence and Religious Response in France around the Year 1000, ed. Thomas Head and Richard Landes (Ithaca and London, 1992), pp. 165–83. Richard Landes, Relics, Apocalypse, and the Deceits of History: Adémar of Chabannes, 989–1034, Harvard Historical Studies 117 (Cambridge, MA, 1995). James Grier, “Ecce sanctum quem deus elegit Marcialem apostolum: Adémar de Chabannes and the Tropes for the Feast of Saint Martial,” in Beyond

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channelled all his considerable energies, talents and erudition into what is arguably the most audacious ecclesiastical fraud of the Middle Ages: rewriting early Christian history to promote Martial, patron saint of the Benedictine abbey in Limoges that bears his name, to the rank of apostle. As the principal public vehicle for the apostolic cult, Adémar prepared a new liturgy for Martial’s feast, with its constituent musical items. Written in Adémar’s own distinctive hand, the liturgy is preserved in Paris, Bibliothèque nationale de France, MS latin (hereafter Pa) 909.2 I identify this codex and the other music manuscripts in Adémar’s hand as the earliest surviving composer’s autographs.3 For, within his apostolic liturgy, are several newly-composed items that I attribute to Adémar himself on the basis of strong circumstantial evidence. This evidence belongs to four categories. First, the pieces in question survive in Adémar’s hand. Second, no earlier copy of them exists. Together, these two factors indicate that no direct evidence supports their attribution to someone other than Adémar. Third, the melodies of several pieces in the apostolic liturgy contain erasures that show Adémar substantively revising (as opposed to correcting) the chants as he is creating the fair copy in Pa 909.4 Fourth, John A. Emerson notes that the texts of many of the sung items in the Offices for Saints Valérie and Austriclinian in Pa 909 also occur in

the Moon: Festschrift Luther Dittmer, ed. Bryan Gillingham and Paul Merkley, Wissenschaftliche Abhandlungen 53 (Ottawa, 1990), 28–74; “Editing Adémar de Chabannes’ Liturgy for the Feast of St Martial,” Plainsong and Medieval Music 6 (1997), 97–118; “Scriptio interrupta: Adémar de Chabannes and the Production of Paris, Bibliothèque Nationale de France, MS latin 909,” Scriptorium 51 (1997), 234–50; “Liturgy and Rhetoric in the Service of Fraud: Adémar de Chabannes and the Apostolicity of Saint Martial,” in Latin Culture in the Eleventh Century: Proceedings of the Third International Conference on Medieval Latin Studies, Cambridge, September 9–12 1998, 2 vols., ed. Michael W. Herren, C.J. McDonough and Ross G. Arthur, Publications of The Journal of Medieval Latin 5 (Turnhout, 2002), 1:384–97; “The Music is the Message: Music in the Apostolic Liturgy of Saint Martial,” Plainsong and Medieval Music 12 (2003), 1–14; and “The Music is the Message II: Adémar de Chabannes’ Music for the Apostolic Office of Saint Martial,” ibid. 15 (2006), 43–54. 2 See Grier, “Editing Adémar de Chabannes’ Liturgy” and “Scriptio interrupta.” 3 The other manuscripts are Pa 1121, Pa 1978 fols. 102–3, and Pa 1118 fol. 248. A full discussion of all the sources that contain musical items in his hand, with an account of the palaeographic evidence, appears in James Grier, “The Musical Autographs of Adémar de Chabannes (989–1034),” Early Music History 24 (2005), 125–68. 4 For examples, see Grier, “Ecce sanctum,” pp. 47–50.

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sermons by Adémar that survive in autograph.5 It is possible, but not likely, that Adémar, acting as a scribe, might revise someone else’s melodies; but it is virtually impossible that someone other than Adémar would have used these texts in two independent genres: sermons and the texts of sung liturgical items. The literary texts of several of these original compositions reveal a profound knowledge of biblical and classical literature. We would expect someone like Adémar, a product of monastic education in the late tenth and early eleventh centuries, to possess more than a passing acquaintance with these texts.6 I intend to show that, within the scholarly and elevated poetic language Adémar uses in these compositions, he demonstrates a breadth of reading in biblical and classical sources unusual even for a learned monk. He refers to books of the Old Testament that did not customarily form part of the liturgy during Adémar’s life, and he exhibits a broad knowledge of pagan Roman culture. First, he draws on images of musical instruments as they are used in the liturgical ceremonies reported in the Old Testament. These images reinforce the claim of Jewish origins for the putative apostle Martial. By evoking the sound of these exotic instruments, he also creates a colourful backdrop for the contemporary Christian liturgy of which these songs form a part. Second, Adémar’s discussions of classical topics, like the Muses and the technical aspects of divination, also demonstrate wide reading in classical literature. The classical learning displayed in his verse lends a scholarly tone to the texts, despite the cognitive dissonance one might infer from hearing classical images, especially images associated with pagan religion, turned to the praise of a Christian saint and apostle. The first example I have chosen to illustrate Adémar’s treatment of biblical and classical themes belongs to the genre of the sequence. By Adémar’s time, the sequence had become a fully independent liturgical genre, usually sung after the Alleluia in the Mass. Many sequences are linked to Alleluia melodies by sharing the same opening phrase. The genre comprised two forms: fully texted, on the one hand, and untexted or partially 5 John A. Emerson, “Two Newly Identified Offices for Saints Valeria and Austriclinianus

by Adémar de Chabannes (MS Paris, Bibl. Nat., Latin 909, fols. 79–85v),” Speculum 40 (1965), 31–46, at pp. 36–46. The autograph manuscript of sermons is Pa 2469. 6 On Adémar’s education, see Landes, Relics, Apocalypse, and the Deceits, pp. 82–101. On monastic education in general, see Pierre Riché, Les écoles et l’enseignement dans l’occident chrétien de la fin du Ve siècle au milieu du XIe siècle, 3rd ed. (Paris, 1999), pp. 187–284.

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texted on the other, called, respectively, prosa and sequentia in Aquitaine.7 The latter type provides an elaborate melismatic extension to the Alleluia, sometimes with a few sections texted. In texted form, the prosa usually sets a single note of the melody to each syllable of text, thereby permitting relatively easy apprehension of the text for those listeners with some Latin. Composers took advantage of this feature to place in the text statements about doctrinal issues pertinent to the feast on which the prosa was sung. Adémar was intimately familiar with the sequence, even, I would say, enthusiastic about it. He apparently introduced the sequentia to Saint Martial when he copied a complete cycle of such pieces for the entire liturgical year into Pa 1121 (fols. 58–72), probably in the second half of 1027 or early 1028. No earlier sequentiary (libellus of sequentiae) survives from the abbey. And then he wrote out the entire cycle again in Pa 909 (fols. 110–25 with completion on fols. 198r and 205r–v) between 18 November 1028 and 3 August 1029. Adémar also composed sequences. Codex Pa 1121 transmits a group of dominical sequences and sequences of variable assignment that occur in no earlier source. I suggest these are his earliest extant essays in composition.8 And Pa 909 contains two sequences for Martial, in both untexted and fully texted form, written in Adémar’s hand, that embrace his apostolic status, Arce polorum and Apostolorum gloriosa.9 I take them both to be original compositions of Adémar’s. The second, Apostolorum gloriosa, provides a good example of Adémar’s literary technique and erudition. (See Example 1.) Example 1: Prosa Apostolorum gloriosa 1. Apostolorum gloriosa tuba deo clangat alleluia. 2a. Nos quoque organa resonemus laeta uoce consona laude cum angelica dantes praeconia, 2b. Marcialis instant quia apostoli nunc sollempnia unde ouant infima simulque suprema. 7 On the sequence in Aquitaine, see Richard Lincoln Crocker, “The Repertoire of Proses at Saint Martial de Limoges (Tenth and Eleventh Centuries),” 2 vols. (Ph.D. diss., Yale University, 1957); and The Early Medieval Sequence (Berkeley, Los Angeles and London, 1977). 8 On Adémar’s involvement with the sequence, see Grier, “The Musical Autographs,” pp. 151–54. 9 Untexted versions: Arce polorum, Pa 909, fol. 118r; Apostolorum gloriosa, fol. 118r–v. Texted versions: Arce polorum, fols. 198r–99v; Apostolorum gloriosa, fols. 199v–201v. Editions of the texts: Analecta hymnica, 55 vols., ed. Guido Maria Dreves, Clemens Blume, and Henry M. Bannister (Leipzig, 1886–1922) (hereafter AH) 7:185–88, nos. 168–69.

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3a. Tibi namque uerbigena sit laus honor perpes gloria, 3b. Cui placuit Marcialis clara uirginitate sua, 4a. Hebreus hebrea stirpe electa, 4b. Proditus ex tribu beniaminea. 5a. Cuius per sacra haec festa Te, Christe rex, laudant agmina laeta in hac sancta aula Quo te nouit gens aquitana, 5b. Cuius tu es salus uita Regnans sempiterna in gloria potentia cum summa Tu dignitas apostolica. 6a. Ipsa a te sacra et lucentia sunt lumina electa, 6b. Numerus quae signat bissena atque duo septuaginta, 7a. Quos inter Marcialis reluxit propria gratia in arua missus iudea 7b. Vt agnus pacem ferat lupos inter quique comprimat cuncta bellorum semina 8a. Et adnuntiet dei opera atque uerba 8b. Caelorum regna ac praedicet propinquantia. 9a. Per ipsa tempora In carne apparens in Iudea rex praedicasti ipsa praesentia tua Magna pandens prodigia; 9b. Morte triumphata Clara uictoria iam completa laetificasti discipulorum tuorum corda Quae erant dolore plena. 10a. Tunc Marcialem prouexisti ad altiora, 10b. Dans posse remittendi retinendi peccata, 11a. Cui dedisti sancti spiritus dona in sufflatione tua, 11b. Quem baptizauerat olim Petrus propria iussione tua. 12a. Factus qui carnali affinis illi parentela legitima, 12b. In tua iugiter condiscipulus eius mansit clientela. 13a. Cuius prece placatus pia, Lux apostolorum pax uera, da nobis indulgentiam Relaxans nostra cuncta probra; 13b. Procul pellens semper aduersa, Concede temporum pacem laetam, praesta aeternam patriam Qua Marcialis tecum regnat, 14a. Quem Gallia summum poscat patrem uniuersa, 14b. Quae illius fructus manens extat perspicua, 15a. Quem scandens Christus astra sua benedixit ipsa dextera, 15b. Cuius principatus est nimis confortatus secla per cuncta, 16. Quapropter omnes una exclamemus amen alleluia. 1. Let the glorious trumpet of the apostles sound alleluia for God. 2a. Let us also re-echo the joyful musical instruments with harmonious voice, giving proclamation with angelic praise,

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2b. Because the solemnities of the apostle Martial now approach, whence the lowest and at the same time the highest rejoice. 3a. For indeed, may there be praise, honour and lasting glory for you, one born of the word, 3b. For whom Martial was pleasing with his shining virginity, 4a. A Hebrew from the chosen Hebrew stalk, 4b. Brought forth from the tribe of Benjamin. 5a. And through these sacred feasts of his, the joyful crowds praise You, Christ the King, in this holy palace, where the Aquitanian people came to know You, 5b. Whose salvation and life you are, reigning eternally in glory with the highest power, you, apostolic dignity. 6a. The sacred and glittering lights themselves have been chosen by You, 6b. Which the number twelve and seventy-two signifies, 7a. Among whom Martial, sent into the Jewish fields, blazed with his own grace 7b. So that the lamb could bear peace among the wolves and who would suppress all the seeds of the wars 8a. And announce the deeds and words of God 8b. And preach the kingdoms of heaven, as they draw near. 9a. Through these very times, You, King, appearing in flesh in Judaea, have preached Your own presence, opening out great prodigies; 9b. When death was conquered, when shining victory already achieved, You made joyful Your disciples’ hearts, which were filled with pain. 10a. Then You raised Martial to higher places, 10b. Giving him the ability to remit and to retain sins, 11a. To whom you gave the gifts of the holy spirit in Your breath, 11b. Whom Peter once had baptized under Your own command. 12a. And he who has been made a family relation to him by a legitimate carnal relationship, 12b. Perpetually remains his companion in Your clientship. 13a. And appeased by his pious prayer, Light of the apostles and true peace, give us your indulgence, unloosing all our shameful acts; 13b. Always driving far away those things that would oppose You, grant the joyful peace of the times, preserve the eternal homeland in which Martial reigns with You, 14a. Whom all of Gaul would demand as their highest father, 14b. Which, awaiting his fruit, remains outstanding,

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15a. Whom Christ, while He was mounting to His own stars, blessed with His own right hand, 15b. Whose dominion is strengthened beyond measure through all the generations, 16. Whereby let us all exclaim at the same time, amen, alleluia. The most striking feature of this prosa is its use of elevated language. Adémar uses poetic locutions, such as “bissena” (6b) for twelve, instead of the more prosaic duodecim, the verb “laetificasti” (9b), which occurs several times in the Psalms (e.g. 18.9, 20.7 and 103.15), and the rare post-Classical compound “uerbigena” (3a), meaning “one begotten from the Word,” i.e. Christ.10 Other mannerisms evoke Classical usage, such as the preposition “inter” placed in postposition to its object (“Quos inter,” 7a; “lupos inter,” 7b), and the word order of versicle 14a, which uses a typically Classical framing and doubly chiastic arrangement by case and by part of speech: “Gallia summum poscat patrem uniuersa.” The finite verb “poscat” is framed by two noun-adjective pairs (“Gallia . . . uniuersa” and “summum . . . patrem”): nominative noun, accusative adjective, finite verb, accusative noun, nominative adjective. Complementary to these refined usages are the parallel expressions found frequently in this text that link opposite or contrasting ideas. They use both homoeoptoton (words with the same case endings): “infima simulque suprema” (2b), “the lowest and at the same time the highest;” and homoeoteleuton (words with the same ending, here extending back before the case ending): “remittendi retinendi” (10b), “of remitting and retaining”; “sufflatione tua . . . iussione tua” (11a/b), “by Your breath . . . by Your command”; and “parentela . . . clientela” (12a/b), “relationship . . . clientship.” The most complex of these phrases occurs in versicle 9b: “Morte triumphata Clara uictoria iam completa,” “When death was conquered and shining victory already achieved.” “Death” is first defeated and then becomes a “victory” through martyrdom. The related figure of polyptoton (the same word with different case endings) also occurs: “Hebreus hebrea” 10 On poetic diction in the prosae, see Jacques Chailley, L’école musicale de Saint

Martial de Limoges jusqu’à la fin du XIe siècle (Paris, 1960), pp. 303–8; and Lars Elfving, Étude lexicographique sur les séquences limousines, Acta Universitatis Stockholmiensis, Studia Latina Stockholmiensis 7 (Stockholm, 1962), pp. 57–72. To the best of my knowledge, “uerbigena” occurs twice in Latin literature before Adémar: Prudentius, Liber cathemerinon 3.2, ed. Maurice P. Cunningham, in Prudentius, Carmina, CCSL 126 (Turnhout, 1966), p. 11; and Venantius Fortunatus, Vita Sancti Martini 3.158, ed. Solange Quesnel, in Venance Fortunat, Oeuvres, 4, Collection des Universités de France (Paris, 1996), p. 57.

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(4a), which constitutes a strict application of the figure; and “lucentia . . . lumina” (6a), where both words (luceo and lumen) ultimately refer back to the root luc (whence lux and related words), and so this constitutes a freer example than that in versicle 4a. As a group, these features of the prosa’s language give the text a learned, poetic and rhetorical tone. Adémar simultaneously confirms his knowledge of scripture and its application in the liturgy by quoting from Psalm 138.17 in versicle 15b (“Cuius principatus est nimis confortatus”). For this Psalm verse is the source of the text of the Introit in general use throughout the Western church in the Mass for the Common of Apostles, Mihi autem, and the phrase Adémar borrows for Apostolorum gloriosa forms its conclusion: “Mihi autem nimis honorati sunt amici tui, deus; nimis confortatus est principatus eorum.”11 By inserting this phrase here, at the end of a prosa that unequivocally states that Martial holds apostolic rank, Adémar links him with the customary apostolic liturgy. Finally, Adémar invokes several musical images at the beginning of the text. References of this type are common in sequence texts.12 Typical examples occur in Valde lumen and Alme deus, two older prosae that formed part of the earlier liturgy for Saint Martial and that Adémar also copied into Pa 909 as part of his apostlic liturgy.13 Both mention “carmina hippodorica” (Valde lumen stanza 6b) or “cantica hippodorica” (Alme deus stanza 2b), “songs in the hypodoric mode.” And Valde lumen further notes the use of the lyre and the hydraulic organ (stanzas 5a, 8a and 8b). Such references create reflexive images within the musical form of the sequence. In Apostolorum gloriosa, Adémar juxtaposes allusions that first complement the New Testament imagery of the apostles alongside the trumpet in versicle 1, and then create the backdrop for the discussion of Martial’s Jewish origins later in the prosa. He refers to singing (“uoce 11 René-Jean Hesbert, ed., Antiphonale missarum sextuplex (Brussels, 1935; repr. Rome,

1967), nos. 160, 169, pp. 162–63, 168–69, respectively. See also Grier, “Editing Adémar de Chabannes’ Liturgy,” pp. 115–16, and “Liturgy and Rhetoric,” pp. 394–95. 12 For a discussion of musical imagery in Aquitanian prosae, see Chailley, L’école, pp. 308–11; and Elfving, Étude lexicographique, pp. 160–88 and 203–59; the latter comments on the literary sources from Antiquity for these images, ibid., pp. 204–8. See also Margot Fassler, Gothic Song: Victorine Sequences and Augustinian Reform in Twelfth-Century Paris, Cambridge Studies in Medieval and Renaissance Music (Cambridge, 1993), pp. 44–46; and Gunilla Iversen, Chanter avec les anges: Poésie dans la messe médiévale, interprétations et commentaires, Patrimoines Christianisme (Paris, 2001), pp. 173–74, 288–98. 13 Valde lumen, Alme deus, Pa 909, fols. 75r–76v and 76v–77v, respectively. Texts AH 7, no. 161 pp. 177–79 and no. 168 pp. 185–86, respectively.

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consona,” 2a) as well as the trumpet (“tuba,” 1) and musical instruments in general (“organa,” 2a) in terms that echo passages in the Old Testament, which would suggest for an eleventh-century audience the musical environment of Ancient Israel.14 The phrase “uoce consona” occurs in 2 Chronicles 20, while the trumpet and organum (the latter probably meaning, in this passage, wind instruments in general) are named in Psalm 150 and are also linked in three other passages from 1 and 2 Chronicles (1 Chronicles 16.42, 2 Chronicles 23.13 and 29.26–27). Finally, the language of versicles 1 and 2a resembles 2 Chronicles 13.12: “qui clangunt tubis, et resonant contra uos.” (See Example 2.) Example 2: Biblical Sources of Musical References in Apostolorum gloriosa 2 Chronicles 20.21 Deditque consilium populo et statuit cantores Domini, ut laudarent eum in turmis suis et antecederent exercitum ac uoce consona dicerent: “Confitemini Domino, quoniam in aeternum misericordia eius.” Psalm 150.3 Laudate eum in sono tubae, laudate eum in psalterio et cithara, 4 laudate eum in tympano et choro, laudate eum in chordis et organo. 14 For organa as musical instruments in general (as I take it here), rather than organs, or

least of all polyphonic vocal compositions, see 1 Chronicles 15.16, 16.42; 2 Chronicles 23.13 and 29.27. On musical instruments in the Old Testament, see Johann Weiss, Die musikalischen Instrumente in den heiligen Schriften des alten Testamentes (Graz, 1895); Sol Baruch Finesinger, Musical Instruments in the Old Testament (Baltimore, 1926); Eino Kolari, Musikinstrumente und ihre Verwendung im alten Testament: Eine lexikalische und kulturgeschichtliche Untersuchung (Helsinki, 1947); Alfred Sendrey, Music in Ancient Israel (New York, 1969), pp. 262–387; and Jeremy Montagu, Musical Instruments of the Bible (Lanham, MD, and London, 2002). On the medieval reactions to these passages, see James W. McKinnon, “Musical Instruments in Medieval Psalm Commentaries and Psalters,” Journal of American Musicological Society 21 (1968), 3–20; and on the various significations of the term organum and its cognates in relation to musical instruments, see Elfving, Étude lexicographique, pp. 238–43; Fritz Reckow, “Organum-Begriff und frühe Mehrstimmigkeit: Zugleich ein Beitrag zur Bedeutung des ‘Instrumentalen’ in der spätantiken und mittelalterlichen Musiktheorie,” in Forum Musicologicum: Basler Beiträge zur Musikgeschichte, 1: Basler Studien zur Musikgeschichte, ed. Hans Oesch and Wulf Arlt (Bern, 1975), pp. 31–167, at 39–115; Iversen, Chanter avec les anges, pp. 285–88; and Peter Williams, “The Meaning of organum: Some Case Studies,” Plainsong and Medieval Music 10 (2001), 103–20. For an organological glossary of the terms for musical instruments used in these passages, see the Appendix. It is based on the system of classification developed by Erich M. von Hornbostel and Curt Sachs; first published in their jointly authored article “Systematik der Musikinstrumente: Ein Versuch,” Zeitschrift für Ethnologie 46 (1914), 553– 90; see also Sachs, The History of Musical Instruments (New York, 1940).

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1 Chronicles 16.42 Heman quoque et Idithun canentes tuba et quatientes cymbala et omnia musicorum organa ad canendum Deo; filios autem Idithun fecit esse portarios. 2 Chronicles 23.13 Cumque uidisset regem stantem super gradum suum in introitu et principes turmasque circa eum omnem quoque populum terrae gaudentem atque clangentem tubis et diuersi generis organis concinentem uocemque laudantium, scidit uestimenta sua et ait: “Insidiae, insidiae!” 2 Chronicles 29.26 Steteruntque Leuitae tenentes organa Dauid, et sacerdotes tubas. 27 Et iussit Ezechias, ut offerrent holocaustum super altare; cumque offerrentur holocausta, coeperunt laudes canere Domino et clangere tubis atque in diuersis organis Dauid regis Israel reppererat concrepare. 2 Chronicles 13.12 Ergo in exercitu nostro dux Deus est et sacerdotes eius, qui clangunt tubis et resonant contra uos, filii Israel; nolite pugnare contra Dominum, Deum patrum uestrorum, quia non uobis expedit. These references evoke some of the most striking ceremonial images in the Old Testament with their accompanying sounds. These include the hymn of praise ordained by King Jehoshaphat on the morning of the battle in which the invading Ammonites and Moabites turned on their allies, the inhabitants of Mount Seir, and slaughtered them (2 Chronicles 20); the trumpets and organa that sounded at the arrival of the ark of the covenant in King David’s Jerusalem (1 Chronicles 16), at the execution of Athaliah, wife of Jehoram and mother of the ill-fated Ahaziah (2 Chronicles 23), and at the sacrifices made by King Hezekiah after the cleansing and sanctification of the temple by the Levites (2 Chronicles 29); and the trumpets that accompanied the speech Abijah made before the battle between him and Jeroboam (2 Chronicles 13.12). Although Adémar’s audience may not recall the precise biblical context for these allusions to the deeds of the kings of Israel and Judah, they would associate the musical images with momentous ceremonies and events in Ancient Israel. These musical references find echoes in other of Adémar’s original texts, most distinctively in two passages from Adémar’s Seventy-Two Verses about Saint Martial, a devotional poem that presents a wealth of biographical details about the saint.15 (See Example 3.) 15 Pa 909, fols. 202r–205r. Text AH 19, no. 367, pp. 206–8. See also Paul Hooreman,

“Saint-Martial de Limoges au temps de l’abbé Odolric (1025–1040): Essai sur une pièce oubliée du répertoire limousin,” Revue Belge de Musicologie 3 (1949), 5–36; and Manuel Pedro Ferreira, “Is it Polyphony?” Revista Portuguesa de Musicologia 12 (2002), 9–34.

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1. Let the great pronouncements of Christ the lord echo the man; 2. May the lyric odes concordantly sound the name Martial; 3. Let all of Gaul resound with the cithara, and applaud rhythmically; 4. The holy drums and cymbals and the bronze horns should sound with the sistra. 5. Put the modes in motion, musical currents of air, and with sonorous strings, 6. I exult, resounding with the trochaic verse of the apostolic praise. 7. Let Rome and Ravenna cry out by echoing with the famous songs of the muses; 8. May Jerusalem sing organa with a sonorous voice and the accompaniment of the harp 9. For the disciple of the king with whom the apostle himself agrees. Here, Adémar moves freely between biblical imagery and themes from classical antiquity. The name of Martial resounds in lyric odes in line 2 (the post-Classical term used by the third-century literary critic Pomponius Porphyrio in his commentary on Horace as the generic classification of his lyric songs),16 to be followed by a list of instruments in line 4 that closely resembles the inventory at 2 Samuel 6.5. The strings of the lyre accompany apostolic praises in trochaic or choreic verse in lines 5–6, and the Classical Muses under their collective Roman name Camena inspires the songs of

16 Pomponius Porphyrio, Commentum in Horatium Flaccum, ed. Alfred Holder, Scholia

Antiqua in Q. Horatium Flaccum 1 (Innsbruck, 1894; repr. Hildesheim, 1967). See the “Index uerborum,” s.v. “ode,” ibid., 516a, which contains a sample of the references.

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Rome and Ravenna in line 7, while line 8 echoes several Old Testament musical images from 1 Chronicles and 1 Maccabees.17 (See Example 4.) Example 4: Biblical Sources of Musical References in SeventyTwo Verses about Saint Martial 2 Samuel 6.5 Dauid autem et omnis Israel ludebant coram Domino in omnibus lignis fabrefactis et citharis et lyris et tympanis et sistris et cymbalis. 1 Chronicles 15.16 Dixit quoque Dauid principibus Leuitarum, ut constituerent de fratribus suis cantores in organis musicorum, nablis uidelicet et lyris et cymbalis, ut resonaret in excelsum sonitus laetitiae. 1 Chronicles 15.19 Porro cantores Heman, Asaph et Ethan in cymbalis aeneis concrepantes, 20 Zacharias autem et Oziel et Semiramoth et Iahiel et Ani et Eliab et Maasias et Banaias in nablis arcana cantabant. 1 Chronicles 15.28 Vniuersusque Israel deducebant arcam foederis Domini in iubilo et sonitu bucinae et tubis et cymbalis et nablis et citharis concrepantes. 1 Maccabees 13.51 Et intrauerunt in ea tertia et uicesima secundi mensis, anno centesimo septuagesimo primo, cum laude et ramis palmarum et cinyris et cymbalis et nablis et hymnis et canticis, quia contritus est inimicus magnus ex Israel. The chief biblical image with which these musical references are associated is again the ark of the covenant. In 2 Samuel 6, the ark is brought by King David from Baale to the sound of harps, lyres, drums, rattles, and cymbals. A similar ensemble performed during the preparations for the arrival of the ark in Jerusalem, as described in 1 Chronicles 15: singers, wind instruments, harps, lyres, and cymbals (verse 16); singers, bronze cymbals, and harps again (19–20); and horns, trumpets, cymbals, and two kinds of harps (28). Finally, Simon Maccabaeus triumphantly entered Gaza to the accompaniment of lyres, cymbals, harps, and singing in 1 Maccabees 13. Again, Adémar’s point, I believe, is not so much to remind his listeners of the specific biblical context of each reference, although the recurrence of musical images associated with the ark of the covenant is striking. Indeed, there are many other such lists of instruments in the Old Testament, and I have simply selected those closest in content to Adémar’s text. Rather, Adémar seems to be creating a colourful musical backdrop, drawing on the 17 The “organa” in line 8, sung with “sonorous voice,” may be polyphonic songs, as opposed to those in the prosa Apostolorum gloriosa.

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images of the exotic musical instruments of ancient Israel. This is not the place to rehearse the debate about the use of instruments in the medieval Church, although it is clear that the liturgy, at least as Adémar envisaged it, principally employed vocal music. In contrast, Adémar wished to invoke the sights and especially the sounds of another time and culture, those of Martial, who is now identified as a first-century Jew and intimate of Jesus himself. And Adémar reinforces this new identification with the images drawn from the Old Testament. In fact, Adémar’s use of musical images drawn from the two books of Chronicles may have contributed to his audience’s difficulty in identifying the specific contexts of these passages. Most members of medieval society, including Adémar’s clerical colleagues, gained their knowledge of the Bible from the liturgy. The historical books of the Old Testament appear most prominently in the readings for Matins in the Divine Office between Pentecost and Advent, and the books of Chronicles appear at one time to have formed part of that cycle in the Latin West because they are so mentioned in two of the Ordines Romani.18 Yet, by Adémar’s time, these books seem to have dropped out of use. They do not appear in the list of books read during this season for which responsories are provided in Pa 1085, an abbreviated antiphoner produced at Saint Martial in the early eleventh century, and this list agrees with those contained in other early monastic books from other centres in the West.19 Therefore, most members of Adémar’s audience would not have heard the text of Chronicles at any time during the liturgical year. The effect is twofold: first, his use of these books confirms Adémar’s knowledge of the Old Testament, even if few in his immediate audience would have recognized it; and second, the arcane nature of his sources suggests that what 18 OR XIV.5 (of the eighth century), ed. Michel Andrieu, Les Ordines romani du haut moyen âge, 5 vols., Spicilegium Sacrum Lovaniense, Études et Documents 11, 23, 24, 28, 29 (Louvain, 1931–61), 3:40; and the four recensions of OR XIII, A.7, B.8, C.9, D.9, ed. Andrieu, 2:484, 500, 514, 522, respectively. See ibid., 3:34; and Eric Palazzo, Le moyen âge: Des origines au XIII siècle, Histoire des Livres Liturgiques (Paris, 1993), p. 164. 19 Pa 1085, fols. 105r–110v; see James Grier, “The Divine Office at Saint-Martial in the Early Eleventh Century: Paris, BNF lat. 1085,” in The Divine Office in the Latin Middle Ages: Methodology and Source Studies, Regional Developments, Hagiography, Written in Honor of Professor Ruth Steiner, ed. Margot E. Fassler and Rebecca A. Baltzer (New York, 2000), pp. 179–204, at 196; on Pa 1085 in general, see ibid. On other early monastic books, see those printed in René-Jean Hesbert, ed., Corpus antiphonalium officii, 6 vols., Rerum Ecclesiasticarum Documenta, Series Maior, Fontes 7–12 (Rome, 1963–79), 2: nos. 129–38, pp. 726–43.

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is important to Adémar is the general image and association conveyed to his audience rather than the specific literary reference. Classical allusions return in a subsequent passage, lines 22–32. (See Example 5.) Example 5: Seventy-Two Verses about Saint Martial, lines 22–32 22. Intensis modulis pulchris fidibus uariatis, 23. Calliope Talia Clio Melpomene musae 24. Euterpe soror Vraniaque canant modulando. 25. Sic Erato cum Terpsicore Polimnia dulcis 26. Tibicinumque chorus cantorum turma resultent 27. Marcialem domini patriarcham discipulumque. 28. Altisonae caeli turmae clamate potenter, 29. Viribus angelicae totis cantate cohortes, 30. Quomodo sumpsit apostolicum ius, promite fibris. 31. Plausibus armonicis uerum super astra polorum 32. Dicemus cantu modulos per climata cosmi. 22. When the tightened strings have been varied with beautiful music, 23. Let the muses, Calliope, Thalia, Clio, Melpomene, 24. Their sister Euterpe and Urania sing melodiously. 25. Thus let Erato, with Terpsichore, and the sweet Polyhymnia 26. The choir of flutists and the chorus of singers shout forth 27. Martial, the patriarch and disciple of the Lord. 28. Cry out mightily, high-sounding assemblies of heaven, 29. Sing with all your strength, angelic companies, 30. Tell from the entrails how he took up the apostolic right. 31. But, with harmonious clapping above the stars of the heavens, 32. We shall sing the melodies with a chant through the regions of the cosmos. Adémar calls for two groups to sing the praises of Martial: first, the Classical Muses (lines 22–27), accompanied by lyres (“intensis fidibus uariatis”), flutes (“tibicinum turma”), and singers (“chorus cantorum”); and then, in lines 28–32, an ostensibly more Christian choir, consisting of the “highsounding assemblies of heaven,” the “angelic companies,” and finally Adémar himself, in the voice of the poet, and his immediate audience in the first person plural (“We shall sing”). The expression “promite fibris,” in line 30, evokes several images. First, it may simply amplify the invocation to the angelic choirs from the previous

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line: “sing with all your strength (Viribus … totis cantate) and disclose from your innards (promite fibris),” in which case the noun fibra means “internal organs,” or something similar. The two usages of this word in medieval sources most likely known to Adémar would support this meaning. Most famous of course, is the hymn Vt queant laxis, attributed to Paul the Deacon and cited by Guido d’Arezzo as the source of the solmization syllables: “Vt queant laxis / Resonare fibris” (“So that they might be able to resonate with the fibres that have been loosed”).20 The ninth-century music theorist Aurelian of Réôme also uses the word twice, both times with corporeal significance.21 Some scholars maintain that it can also carry the connotation of the strings of an instrument, however, in the same way as chorda.22 I do not believe Adémar employs that meaning here because the immediate musical context is singing, with no nearby reference to musical instruments. Finally, the phrase “promite fibris” may retain some allusion to pagan divination. Fibra conventionally means the entrails of animals used in divination, and 20 Ernst Dümmler, ed., MGH, Poetae Latini Aevi Carolini 1 (Berlin, 1881), no. 54, pp. 83–84; see also AH 2, no. 52, pp. 50–51, and ibid. 50, no. 96, pp. 120–23. For Guido’s use of the hymn, see Epistola ad Michahelem, in Guido d’Arezzo’s Regule rithmice, Prologus in antiphonarium, and Epistola ad Michahelem: A Critical Text and Translation, ed. and trans. Dolores Pesce, Wissenschaftliche Abhandlungen 73 (Ottawa, 1999), pp. 438–531 at 466–67. Curiously, Cicero, in his discussion of divination from the entrails of animals, makes a reference to the sympathetic vibration of strings: Cicero, De diuinatione 2.14.33, ed. Remo Giomini, in De diuinatione, De fato, Timaeus, M. Tulli Ciceronis Scripta Quae Manserunt Omnia 46, Bibliotheca Scriptorum Graecorum et Romanorum Teubneriana (Leipzig, 1975), p. 92; see also Arthur Stanley Pease, ed., “M. Tulli Ciceronis De divinatione libri duo,” University of Illinois Studies in Language and Literature 6 (1920), 161–500, and ibid. 8 (1923), 153–474, at 8:219. 21 Aurelian of Réôme, Musica disciplina 1 and [13], ed. Lawrence Gushee, Corpus Scriptorum de Musica 21 (n.p., 1975), pp. 60 and 146, respectively. 22 I am sceptical of this interpretation. The Thesaurus linguae latinae 6/3 (Leipzig, 1967), s.v. “fibra,” col. 642, offers two passages that use the noun in this sense. The first, Seneca, Agammenon 807, is manifestly false, as the meaning here is clearly associated with sacrifice, if not divination: “supplice et fibra colam” (“and I shall worship with supplicant entrails”); see L. Annaei Senecae tragoediae, ed. Otto Zwierlein, Scriptorum Classicorum Bibliotheca Oxoniensis (Oxford, 1986), p. 284. The second, from a poem by Paulinus of Nola, involves an elaborate metaphor in which the lyre (“cithara”) signifies the “strength of the soul” (“uis animae”), which is asked to “strain with all its fibres” (“totis intendere fibris”); fibrae, then, could be construed as an extension of the metaphor instead of signifying the physical strings of the lyre. See Paulinus of Nola, Carmen 15.26–29, in Sancti Pontii Meropii Paulini Nolani carmina, 2nd ed., ed. Wilhelm August, Ritter von Hartel, and Margit Kamptner, CSEL 30 (Vienna, 1999), p. 52.

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its connection with pagan religion may explain why Jerome, for example, avoids it altogether in the Vulgate.23 In a Christian context, it can simply mean innards, but here, in direct juxtaposition with the catalogue of the Muses that precedes, Adémar could be invoking its pagan associations.24 Adémar’s list of the Muses evokes a very similar poem found in the Anthologia latina and once attributed to Ausonius, the fourth-century Aquitanian litterateur.25 (See Example 6.) Example 6: Anthologia latina R. 664 Clio gesta canens transactis tempora reddit. Dulciloquis calamos Euterpe flatibus urguet. Comica lasciuo gaudet sermone Thalia. Melpomene tragico proclamat maesta boatu. Terpsichore affectus citharis mouet, imperat, auget. Plectra gerens Erato saltat pede carmine uultu. Vrania motusque poli scrutatur et astra. Carmina Calliope libris heroica mandat. Signat cuncta manu loquiturque Polymnia gestu. Mentis Apollineae uis has mouet undique Musas: In medio residens complectitur omnia Phoebus. Whether Adémar had access to a source on divination such as Cicero’s De diuinatione, composed a year or two before his death in 43 B.C., or the Anthologia latina, is immaterial to the argument. Both were known in the Carolingian empire from the late eighth or ninth century, but were not

23 On the pagan connotation, see Cicero, De diuinatione 1.10.16, ed. Giomini, p. 11; see

also Pease, ed., “M. Tulli Ciceronis De divinatione,” 6:252–56. Pliny, Historia naturalis 8.42.102, ed. Ludwig von Jan and Carolus Mayhoff, 5 vols., Bibliotheca Scriptorum Graecorum et Romanorum Teubneriana (Leipzig, 1892–1909), 2:113. 24 For Christian uses, see the poem by Paulinus of Nola and that attributed to Paul the Deacon cited above. 25 Anthologia latina R. 664, printed in Anthologia latina, 2 vols. in 5, ed. Franz Buecheler, Alexander Riese, and Ernst Lommatzsch (Leipzig, 1894–1926), 1 pt. 2 (2nd ed., ed. Riese [Leipzig, 1906]), p. 134. See also E.R. Curtius, “Die Musen im Mittelalter: Erster Teil, bis 1100,” Zeitschrift für romanische Philologie 59 (1939), 129–88, who, p. 164, characterizes this poem as a transition between profane art and liturgical poetry; Jan M. Ziolkowski, “Classical Influences on Medieval Latin Views of Poetic Inspiration,” in Latin Poetry and the Classical Tradition: Essays in Medieval and Renaissance Literature, ed. Peter Godman and Oswyn Murray, Oxford-Warburg Studies (Oxford, 1990), pp. 15–38; and Iversen, Chanter avec les anges, pp. 271–76.

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widely disseminated, and neither can be traced in the medieval catalogues from the monastic library at Saint Martial.26 The diction of this passage from the Seventy-Two Verses, however, bespeaks an intimacy with the language and customs of pagan antiquity that could only have come from wide reading in ancient sources. I find these classical references extremely jarring. It is one thing, I believe, to invoke the liturgical ceremonies of Ancient Israel, as Adémar does in his allusions to music in the Old Testament, to provide a cultural backdrop for the assertion of Martial’s Jewish origins. But it is quite another matter to place the praises for a Christian saint, and apostle at that, in the voices of the muses, or to make an allusion, however oblique, to the power of pagan divination to foretell his apostolic status. To be sure, Martial was sent to Aquitaine from Rome, either in the third century (according to Gregory of Tours) or by Saint Peter (as the hagiographical literature has it), and in both eras, the traditional pagan Roman religion maintained a very strong base.27 And it would have been equally strong in the Aquitaine (of the first or third century) where Martial evangelized. Therefore, we could construe these references to Classical Antiquity as another kind of backdrop, of the ambient religious environment within which Martial sought to promulgate the sacred message of Christ.28 26 On their dissemination, see R.J. Tarrant, “Anthologia latina,” and R.H. Rouse, “Cicero: De natura deorum, De divinatione, Timaeus, De fato, Topica, Paradoxa Stoicorum, Academica priora, De legibus,” in Texts and Transmission: A Survey of the Latin Classics, ed. L.D. Reynolds (Oxford, 1983), pp. 9–13 and 124–28, respectively. For the medieval catalogues of the library at Saint Martial, see Léopold Delisle, Le cabinet de manuscrits de la Bibliothèque impériale, 4 vols., Histoire générale de Paris (Paris, 1868–81; repr. Amsterdam, 1969, and New York, 1974), 2:493–504; and H. Duplès-Agier, ed., Chroniques de SaintMartial de Limoges (Paris, 1874), pp. 323–55. 27 Gregory of Tours, Historia Francorum, 1.30, 2nd ed., ed. Bruno Krusch and Wilhelm Levison, MGH, Scriptores Rerum Merovingicarum, 1, part 1 (Hanover, 1937–51), 23; idem, Libri octo miraculorum, 8, Liber in gloria confessorum, 27–28, ed. Bruno Krusch, MGH, Scriptores Rerum Merovingicarum, 1, part 2 (Hanover, 1885), 764–65. Lives of Saint Martial: Charles-Félix Bellet, L’ancienne vie de Saint Martial et la prose rythmée (Paris, 1897), pp. 32–40 (first published in Université Catholique, new ser. 24 [1897], 321–52) (also published in Bellet, La prose rythmée et la critique hagiographique: Nouvelle réponse aux Bollandistes suivie du texte de l’ancienne vie de saint Martial [Paris, 1899], pp. 41–50); and W. de G. Birch, ed., “Vita sanctissimi Martialis apostoli: The Life of St. Martial by Aurelianus, from a Manuscript in the British Museum,” Journal of the British Archaeological Association 28 (1872), 353–90 (reprinted separately, London, 1872). 28 Adémar also uses classical imagery in his hymns for Saint Cybard, patron saint of his home abbey in Angoulême. They occur in autograph in Pa 3784, fols. 99vb–102rb; printed by Léopold Delisle, “Notice sur les manuscrits originaux d’Adémar de Chabannes,” Notices et

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I believe that Adémar introduces these references for another reason, however. Through them, he takes the opportunity to demonstrate his erudition and his knowledge of classical and biblical literature. Indeed, his choice of unusual sources, such as the books of Chronicles, and his invocation of the Muses reinforce the breadth of his learning, even if he did not anticipate that his audience would necessarily recognize each literary reference. For Adémar hoped to evoke images of a sufficiently general nature, such as the liturgical ceremonies of the Old Testament or traditional Roman religion, that a listener of modest learning would apprehend them. So, Adémar’s allusions to biblical and classical antiquity serve two purposes. First, they provide a learned tone to his verse, illustrating his wide reading in biblical and classical literature. Second, Adémar emphasizes the importance of music and musical performance in sacred ceremonies. The rhetorical formulations of these two works, therefore, the prosa Apostolorum gloriosa and the Seventy-Two Verses about Saint Martial, as well as the musical allusions in them, reveal the power that Adémar observed music to possess in the liturgy, and consequently, may explain why he chose to base his public appeal for support of Martial’s apostolic status around the musical items of Mass and Office. The wondrous and exotic ceremonies of the Old Testament clearly fascinated Adémar, and suggested to him the ability of music to invest a public ceremony, like the arrival of the ark of the covenant in Jerusalem, with dignity and the power to amaze and convince. That power he took into his own hands to help shape public opinion in favour of a public transformation crafted by Adémar himself: the conversion of Martial into an apostle.

extraits des manuscrits de la Bibliothèque Nationale et autres bibliothèques, vol. 35 (Paris, 1896), pp. 241–358 at 323–32; and AH 48, nos. 5–15, pp. 19–28. See also Josef Szövérffy, Die Annalen der lateinischen Hymnendichtung: Ein Handbuch, 1: Die lateinischen Hymnen bis zum Ende des 11. Jahrhunderts, Die Lyrische Dichtung des Mittelalters (Berlin, 1964), p. 368.

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AEROPHONES aenum: a bronze horn bucina: horn organum: organ, wind instrument in general, instrument in general tuba: trumpet CHORDOPHONES cinyra: lyre cithara: harp corda: string instrument in general lyra: lyre nablum: harp psalterium: psaltery IDIOPHONES cimbalum: cymbal sistrum: rattle MEMBRANOPHONE timpanum: drum James Grier, University of Western Ontario

Nunc homo, cras humus: A Twelfth-Century Cluniac Poem on the Certainty of Death (Troyes, Médiathèque de l’Agglomération troyenne 918, fols. 78v–79v) by Scott G. Bruce Between the abbacies of Odo (926–942) and Peter the Venerable (1122– 1156), monks of Cluny composed thousands of lines of Latin verse on moral and devotional themes. Odo’s 5580-line Occupatio and Bernard of Cluny’s 2966-line De contemptu mundi are the most outstanding examples of the ambition and virtuosity of Cluniac poets in this period.1 Although considerably more modest in scale, a hitherto unpublished 72-line poem added at the end of an eleventh-century manuscript in the Médiathèque de l’Agglomération troyenne in Troyes (MAT 918; provenance unknown) adds * I am thankful first and foremost to Anne E. Lester, whose research on Cistercian convents in late medieval Champagne provided the opportunity for me to explore the holdings of the Médiathèque de l’Agglomération troyenne (formerly the Bibliothèque municipale) in Troyes. Many thanks as well to M. Geoffroy Grassin for his generous assistance during our visits to Champagne. I completed this work as a Visiting Scholar at the Medieval Institute of the University of Notre Dame (2004/05), where I benefited from access to the remarkable holdings of the Hesburgh Library. Christopher A. Jones, Michael Herren, and an anonymous referee for the journal offered invaluable comments on the edition of the text and the translation, for which I am most grateful. Any errors of fact or judgement are mine alone. 1 There is no comprehensive study of monastic poetry in Europe from the tenth to the twelfth centuries. For a general discussion that refers to the work of Cluniac poets, see Max Manitius, Geschichte der lateinischen Literatur des Mittelalters, 3 vols. (Munich, 1911–31), 2:20–27 (“Odo von Cluni”), 3:780–83 (“Bernardus Morlanensis”). Odo’s prolix and difficult poem was edited over a century ago, but still awaits a comprehensive study. See Odo of Cluny, Occupatio, ed. A. Swoboda, Odonis Abbatis Cluniacensis Occupatio (Leipzig, 1900); Jan Ziolkowski, “The Occupatio by Odo of Cluny: A Poetic Manifesto of Monasticism in the Tenth Century,” MJ 24/25 (1989–1990), 559–67; Alex Baumans, “Original Sin, the History of Salvation and the Monastic Ideal of St. Odo of Cluny in His Occupatio,” in Serta Devota in memoriam Guillelmi Lourdaux, ed. Werner Verbeke et al., 2 vols. (Leuven, 1995), 2:335–57; and Christopher A. Jones, “Monastic Identity and Sodomitic Danger in the Occupatio by Odo of Cluny,” Speculum 82 (2007), 1–53. On the work of Bernard of Cluny, see n. 4 below.

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to this impressive corpus of religious verse. Despite the historical importance of Troyes MAT 918, which preserves one of the oldest exemplars of Odo of Cluny’s Collationum tres libri, an early tenth-century treatise on the virtues and the vices, the anonymous poem on its final folios has escaped critical attention.2 The theme of the poem is the vanity of earthly glory in the face of the certainty of death. The poet marshalled a long series of arresting and unsettling metaphorical analogues for human mortality to convey this theme. His message was clear: without exception, all mortals will eventually succumb to the embrace of death, irrespective of the greatness of their deeds, the loftiness of their thoughts, or their station in life. Undoubtedly directed at a monastic audience, the poem encouraged the defeat of pride and the cultivation of humility. The present study provides a diplomatic edition and prose translation of the Troyes poem. It also explores the possibility that this short piece was composed by Bernard of Cluny, the early twelfth-century author of De contemptu mundi. The Character and Authorship of the Troyes Poem The Troyes poem comprises seventy-two lines of hexameter verse. The first forty-eight verses are written in a difficult and complex hexameter line involving both internal and tailed rhymes (tripertiti dactylici caudati) in couplets.3 This metre is relentlessly dactylic. The avoidance of spondees in all but the last foot of the line makes it in effect accentual. The opening lines of the poem illustrate the cadence of this metre at work:

2

The contents of Troyes MAT 918 include: (1) Odo of Cluny, Collationum tres libri (fols. 1r–78r); and (2) the anonymous seventy-two-line poem under consideration here (fols. 78v–79v). See Catalogue général des manuscrits des bibliothèques publiques des départments, 7 vols. (Paris, 1849–1885), 2:380 (no. 918). Odo’s treatise was first printed in Bibliotheca Cluniacensis, ed. Martin Marrier and Andre Duchêne (Paris, 1614; repr. Macon, 1918), cols. 159–262, and reprinted by Migne in PL 133, cols. 517–638. There is no modern edition of this work. The editor of the Catalogue général des manuscrits called the short poem that followed Odo’s treatise “Anonymi carmen heroicum de carnis corruptibilitate” (2:380), but it has no title in the manuscript and does not appear in the standard reference work for medieval verse: Hans Walther, Initia Carminum ac Versuum Media Aevi Posterioris Latinorum: Alphabetisches Verzeichnis der Versanfänge mittellateinischer Dichtungen (Gottingen, 1959). 3 See Dag Norberg, Introduction to Latin Versification, trans. Grant C. Roti and Jacqueline de la Chapelle Skubly (Washington, D.C., 2004), pp. 60–61, for a discussion of this metrical feature.

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O caro carnea, iam modo glarea, post breue uermis. Nunc homo, cras humus, istud enim sumus. Unde superbis? O caro lubrica, mentibus unica gloria cecis. Igniculus febris est tibi funebris. Unde superbis? (lines 1–4)

The tone of the poem changes markedly, however, at line 49, where the poet switches to leonine hexameter. Unlike the first half of the poem, these lines allow spondees in the first four feet, which has the effect of slowing the verse. While carrying on the same themes, the pace of these lines is much more ominous than the first part of the poem: Cerne quid es, quid eris. Modo flos, cras fex morieris. Flos es. Eris fames. Homo nunc, cras non homo fies. Qui bona carnis habes uis scire quid est homo? Tabes. Fex quid amas feces tibi? Clamans busta putresces. (lines 52–55)

After twenty-two lines of leonine verse, the poet concludes with a rhymed couplet in dactylic hexameter that summarizes his thoughts on the inevitability of death: Intereunt et, ut amnis, eunt omnes cito gentes. Praetereunt et dispereunt peritura sequentes. (lines 71–72).

The deployment of these particular metres to the theme of contempt for the world calls to mind the work of Bernard of Cluny, a poet best known for epic works of devotional verse, biblical paraphrase, and caustic satire. Little is known about the life of Bernard besides his name and his poems. He was a Cluniac monk, who flourished in the middle decades of the twelfth century. He dedicated his major work, De contemptu mundi, to Abbot Peter the Venerable (1122–1156), and a shorter satire, De octo vitiis, to Pope Eugenius (1145–1153).4 The latter work concludes with a plea to the pope to 4 The De contemptu mundi was most recently edited by H.C. Hoskier in De Contemptu Mundi, A Bitter Satirical Poem of 3000 Lines Upon the Morals of the Twelfth Century by Bernard of Morval, Monk of Cluny (fl. 1150): Re-edited with Introduction and Copious Variants from All the Known Manuscripts (London, 1929). Unfortunately, this edition overlooked an important thirteenth-century manuscript witness, as noted by Charlotte D’Evelyn, “A Lost Manuscript of the De contemptu mundi,” Speculum 6 (1931), 132–33. For an English translation of the poem, which suggests several emendations to Hoskier’s Latin text, see Ronald E. Pepin, Scorn for the World: Bernard of Cluny’s De Contemptu Mundi: The Latin Text with English Translation and an Introduction (East Lansing, MI, 1991). There is a thorough review of this translation by Jill Mann in JMLat 4 (1994), 163–69. For an edition of Bernard’s De octo vitiis, see Bernardi Cluniacensis carmina de trinitate et de fide catholica, De castitate servanda, In libros regum, De octo vitiis, ed. Katarina Halvarson (Stockholm, 1963), pp. 97–138. This poem has been translated into English by Ronald E. Pepin in “De octo vitiis: A Satire by Bernard of Cluny,” Allegorica 18 (1997), 31–99.

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protect the monks of Cluny from the adversities assailing them.5 It is unclear, however, what particular monastic house Bernard called home. Manuscript copies of his poems refer to him variously as Bernardus Morlanensis, Bernardus Morlacensis, and Bernardus Morvalensis. This variety of names has prompted historians to propose as his place of origin the town of Morlas in the county of Bigorre, Morlaix in Brittany, the château of Murles in Montpellier, and Morval, a village in the Jura.6 Since the solution to the problem of his origins is unlikely to be found without the emergence of new evidence, recent scholars of the poet have been content to call him Bernard of Cluny.7 Bernard was a prolific author, who composed no fewer than five substantial poems in hexameter.8 These included verses on religious themes, like the 1402-line De trinitate et fide catholica, the 523-line De castitate servanda, and a 1018-line paraphrase of the Book of Kings entitled In libros regum.9 He is best known, however, for two works of satire: De contemptu mundi and De octo vitiis. Bernard’s De contemptu mundi has attracted the

5

Bernard of Cluny, De octo vitiis, lines 1365–99, ed. Halvarson in Bernardi Cluniacensis carmina, pp. 137–38. 6 For a summary of these hypotheses, see André Wilmart, “Grands poèmes inédits de Bernard le Clunisien,” Revue bénédictine 45 (1933), 249–54, at p. 249. 7 This appellation is confusing as well, because there were many monks named Bernard living and writing at Cluny in the decades around 1100. See Kassius Hallinger, “Klunys Bräuche zur Zeit Hugos des Grossen (1049–1109): Prolegomena zur Neuherausgabe des Bernhard und Udalrich von Kluny,” Zeitschrift der Savigny-Stiftung für Rechtsgeschichte: Kanonistische Abteilung 45 (1959), 99–140, at pp. 137–38, n. 100. 8 Dictionnaire d’histoire et de géographie ecclésiastiques, 28 vols. to date (Paris, 1912–), 8:699–700, s.v. Bernard de Morlaix, where the author misleadingly supported the identification of the poet with the eleventh-century author of the Consuetudines Cluniacenses, who was also called Bernard (see n. 7, above); Lexikon für Theologie und Kirche, ed. M. Buchberger et al., 10 vols., 2nd ed. (Freiburg, 1957–65), 2:246, s.v. Bernard de Morlas; Lexikon des Mittelalters, ed. Robert Auty et al., 9 vols. (Munich, 1977–99), 1:2001–2, s.v. Bernard von Morlas; Manitius, Geschichte der lateinischen Literatur des Mittelalters, 3:780– 83; F.J.E. Raby, A History of Christian-Latin Poetry from the Beginnings to the Close of the Middle Ages (Oxford, 1927), pp. 315–19 and 481; and Wilmart, “Grands poèmes inédits de Bernard le Clunisien,” pp. 249–54. 9 These poems have been edited by Katarina Halvarson in Bernardi Cluniacensis carmina, pp. 7–96. A collection of verses in praise of the Virgin known collectively as the Mariale has also been associated with him. See the edition by Guido Maria Dreves under the heading “Bernhardus Morlanensis, Monachus Cluniacensis, um 1140,” Analecta Hymnica 50 (1907), 423–83, where the editor notes that these poems have also been attributed to Anselm of Bec and Bernard of Clairvaux (p. 424).

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lion’s share of critical attention in the past century.10 This 2966-line poem treats numerous topics in three books. Book One details the rewards awaiting the blessed, the splendours of Heaven, the Second Coming, and the terrors of Hell, before repudiating the vanity of the world and announcing the Last Judgement. Books Two and Three present a general satire of various social classes and a lament for moral ills in the tradition of Roman satirists like Juvenal and Horace.11 Portraits of bishops, women, and the city of Rome were particularly scathing. Bernard displayed his literary virtuosity by sustaining a demanding rhymed metre (tripertiti dactylici caudati) for the entire poem. Moreover, he adorned many of his verses with alliteration and other repetitions of sound and form. His long diatribe against sinful women (2.445–598) provides the most memorable examples of these poetic devices: “Foemina sordida, foemina perfida, foemina fracta” (2.445); “Foemina res rea, res male carnea, vel caro tota” (2.457); and especially the couplet “Foemina foetida, fallere fervida, flamma furoris / Prima peremptio, pessima portio, praedo pudoris” (2.509–510). The poem was popular with monastic readers, surviving in fifteen manuscripts from the thirteenth and fourteenth centuries. Less well known was Bernard’s De octo vitiis, a satirical poem on the vices comprising 1399 verses of leonine hexameter. After a short introduction that laments the emptiness of earthly pleasures, Bernard warns his readers about the dangers of the eight vices and presents a portrait of a world enthralled by them. Although its themes overlapped considerably with De contemptu mundi, this poem did not enjoy the same popularity in the

10 The most comprehensive study of this poem is a series of articles by George J. Engelhardt, “The De contemptu mundi of Bernardus Morvalensis, Part One: A Study in Commonplace,” Mediaeval Studies 22 (1960), 108–35; “The De contemptu mundi of Bernardus Morvalensis, Part Two: A Study in Commonplace,” Mediaeval Studies 26 (1964), 109–42; and “The De contemptu mundi of Bernardus Morvalensis, Part Three: A Study in Commonplace,” Mediaeval Studies 29 (1967), 243–72. Other useful studies include Ray C. Petry, “Medieval Eschatology and Social Responsibility in Bernard of Morval’s De contemptu mundi,” Speculum 24 (1949), 207–17; R. Bultot, “La doctrine du mépris du monde chez Bernard le Clunisien,” Le Moyen Âge, sér. 4, 70 (1964), 179–204 and 355–376; Kimon Giocarinis, “Bernard of Cluny and the Antique,” Classica et Mediaevalia 27 (1966), 310–48; and Ronald E. Pepin, “Heaven in Bernard of Cluny’s De contemptu mundi,” in Imagining Heaven in the Middle Ages: A Book of Essays, ed. Jan Swango Emerson and Hugh Feiss (New York and London, 2000), pp. 101–17. 11 Giocarinis, “Bernard of Cluny and the Antique.”

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Middle Ages. It survives in only a single manuscript from the thirteenth century.12 There are many strong textual parallels between the anonymous Troyes poem and the satirical works of Bernard of Cluny, particularly in the first section of forty-five lines composed in tripertiti dactylici caudati. Twentynine of these lines mirror or echo verses from Bernard’s repudiation of worldly vanities in De contemptu mundi (DCM) 1.719–993.13 For example, Troyes anon. 1 O caro carnea, iam modo glarea, post breue uermis. Bernard, DCM 1.739 O caro carnea jam, modo glarea, postmodo vermis; Troyes anon. 2 Nunc homo, cras humus, istud enim sumus. Unde superbis? Bernard, DCM 1.740 Nunc homo, cras humus, istud enim sumus. Unde superbis? Troyes anon. 4 Igniculus febris est tibi funebris. Unde superbis? Bernard, DCM 1.908 Igniculus febris est tibi funebris; unde tumescis? Troyes anon. 5 O caro candida, post breue fetida uel stabularis. Bernard, DCM 1.737 O caro candida, post breve foetida plenaque fecis. Troyes anon. 7 Cras hominem sinis, in cineres cinis extenuaris. Bernard, DCM 1.794 Esse quod es sinis; in cineres cinis extenuaris. Troyes anon. 8 Cur morulas paro? Cara iaces caro. Fex es, humaris. Bernard, DCM 1.793 Cur morulas paro? Cara jacens caro, fex es, humaris.

In addition to these direct parallels, seven lines in the first section of the Troyes poem were drawn from the same repertoire of short metrical phrases as verses in Bernard’s De contemptu mundi. For example, Troyes anon. 6 Nunc rosa, cras fimus et fimus infimus. Ad quid amaris? Bernard, DCM 1.738 Flos modo, mox fimus, et fimus infimus, unde tumescis? Troyes anon. 10 Regia pectora, lactea corpora conputruere. Bernard, DCM 1.804 Collaque lactea, brachia cerea computruere. Troyes anon. 31 Corporis omnia quomodo somnia conspiciuntur. Bernard, DCM 1.993 Mundus et omnia quomodo somnia vana recedunt.

Verbal affinities with Bernard of Cluny’s satirical work continue in the second half of the Troyes poem, where nine of the lines composed in leonine hexameter bear a striking resemblance to verses from the opening section of

12

Vatican City, Biblioteca Apostolica Vaticana, MS Vat reg. lat. 134, fols. 52r–61v. See Wilmart, “Grands poèmes inédits de Bernard le Clunisien,” pp. 249–54; and Halvarson, Bernardi Cluniacensis carmina, pp. 5–6. 13 See the notes to the text for a full commentary on all parallels with Bernard of Cluny’s work.

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Bernard’s De octo vitiis (DOV), lines 6–188, on the emptiness of earthly pleasures. For example, Troyes anon. 51 Bernard, DOV 101

Mente, manu, uerbis? Quid, terra cinisque, superbis? Mente, manu uerbis quid, terra cinisque, superbis.

Troyes anon. 60 Bernard, DOV 93

Carnis dulcedo uermis putris immo putredo. Carnis dulcedo quid sit, uis scire? Putredo.

Troyes anon. 66 Bernard, DOV 116

Culpa cito transit, sed crux, crux illa remansit. Culpa cito transit sed perpes pena remansit.

These instances of parallel lines and verbal echoes are too numerous and extensive to be coincidental. The Troyes poem was clearly related to Bernard of Cluny’s satirical work, but the nature and direction of this relationship are open to question. It is possible that the anonymous Troyes poet flourished in the eleventh or early twelfth century, well before the literary career of Bernard. If so, his verses may have provided a model for the Cluniac poet, who later incorporated them and expanded on their sentiment in De contemptu mundi and De octo vitiis. Alternatively, the Troyes poem could have been the product of an imitator of Bernard, who digested and recast the content of that poet’s longer pieces as a short work with greater thematic unity. Neither of these hypotheses is entirely convincing, however. First, there is no evidence from the poem or the manuscript to suggest that the Troyes poet predated Bernard of Cluny. While Troyes MAT 918 is almost certainly an eleventh-century manuscript, the poem written on its final folios cannot be dated definitively on paleographical grounds and could have easily been added in the twelfth century or later. Secondly, although Bernard once boasted that he was renowned for his verses, the survival of De octo vitiis in only a single manuscript suggests that it was not well known by his contemporaries.14 This makes it unlikely that the poem circulated widely enough to influence potential imitators outside of Bernard’s innermost circle of readers and listeners. Given the available evidence, it is reasonable to infer that the Troyes poem was the work of Bernard of Cluny himself. This attribution would explain both the numerous parallels between this work and De contemptu mundi as well as its author’s familiarity with Bernard’s little known De octo vitiis. While there is no indication in the large corpus of Bernard’s poetry that he routinely cannibalized his own verses in this way, this fact alone does 14 Bernard of Cluny, De contemptu mundi, prol., ed. Pepin, p. 6: “Inter contemporaneos meos fama bene versificandi mihi licet immerito circumvolabat.”

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not preclude the attribution of this work to him. It would also be rash to conclude that the Troyes poem was simply a pastiche or an empty literary exercise in comparison to Bernard’s much longer verses on similar themes. De contemptu mundi and De octo vitiis were both complex works that treated a number of disparate topics relevant to their broader theme of contempt for the world. In contrast, the Troyes poem provided its monastic readers with a poetic distillation of a single current of Bernard’s thought: the emptiness of worldly glory in the face of the certainty of death. Like his longer satirical works, this poem was written in the service of virtue. The beauty of its metre and the literary devices employed by its author played an important role in the reader’s contemplation of the poem’s theme. As Bernard explained in his preface to De contemptu mundi: Wherefore it happens that while a reader is enticed by the form of the verses, by the melodiousness of the words, he is incited towards and made ready for the practice of the things which either he read or heard. And while he contemplates the elegance of the words, let him practice their virtue.15

The Troyes poem was a pointed and concise meditative tool for monks. The virtuosity of its author enhanced the power of the poem by embedding its message firmly in the contemplative mind of readers and listeners alike. Understood in this way, the inclusion of the poem in Troyes MAT 918 appears to be more purposeful than accidental. The theme of the poem was a fitting complement to Odo of Cluny’s Collationum tres libri. In this treatise, the second abbot of Cluny presented the sin of pride as the root of avarice and malice, two of the worst evil tendencies that afflicted the will of powerful men in tenth-century society.16 The Troyes poem used vivid images of rot and decay to remind its monastic readers that death would inevitably reduce to dirt and ash everything that provoked pride in humankind.

15 Bernard of Cluny, De contemptu mundi, prol. ed. and trans. Pepin, pp. 4–7: “Quo fit ut dum specie versuum dum sonoritate verborum lector allicitur, ad exhibitionem eorum quae vel legerit vel audierit accendatur et accingatur. Et dum verborum elegantiam considerat efficaciam exerceat.” (translation slightly modified). 16 See, for example, Odo of Cluny, Collationes tres libri 3.25, PL 133, cols. 608d–609a: “Ne igitur, o principes, comminationes istae vos maneant, si potentes estis humiliamini sub potenti manu Dei; mementote qualia vitia vicinius potentiam comitentur. Solent enim potentes superbire, de temporalibus gaudere, et ut sit quod abundanter expendant, vel habeant, solent aliena concupiscere.” For a helpful discussion of this passage, see Barbara H. Rosenwein, Rhinoceros Bound: Cluny in the Tenth Century (Philadelphia, 1982), pp. 66–72.

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Principles of the Edition The Troyes poem was written in a single column with no rubrication. There are numerous abbreviations, which increase towards the end of the work. The scribe used very few punctuation marks, but he capitalized the first word in every line. Some errors occurred in the transcription process. In several instances, the scribe dropped letters from words without using an abbreviation mark (line 41: mobis for morbis; line 44: canea for carnea; line 47: fatus for flatus, and uapo for uapor). In four cases, he omitted words from a line (line 33: uolatilis, which he wrote in the margin; line 35: nascitur, which he added interlinearly; line 47: breuis, which went uncorrected in the manuscript, but the reading is probable from Bernard, De contemptu mundi 1.855; and line 65: error abit, which was written in the margin). He also misread the rare classical name Senocratis as Senoeratis (line 19). Moreover, given the regularity of rhyming couplets throughout the poem, it is very likely that the scribe left out two lines: one after 33 (to rhyme with punctum) and another after 44 (to rhyme with cenum). The present edition adopts the orthography of the manuscript (for example, line 22: artaque for arctaque; and line 34: mondo for mundo), silently expands abbreviated words according to classical norms, and follows modern principles of punctuation. The first letter of proper names has been capitalized. The correction of scribal errors is signalled with square brackets. Scott G. Bruce, University of Colorado at Boulder

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Troyes, Médiathèque de l'Agglomeration troyenne 918, fols. 78v–79v.

[78v] O caro carnea, iam modo glarea, post breue uermis. Nunc homo, cras humus, istud enim sumus. Unde superbis? O caro lubrica, mentibus unica gloria cecis, Igniculus febris est tibi funebris. Unde superbis? 5 O caro candida, post breue fetida uel stabularis. Nunc rosa, cras fimus et fimus infimus. Ad quid amaris? Cras hominem sinis. In cineres cinis extenuaris. Cur morulas paro? Cara iaces caro. Fex es, humaris. Regia funera sive cadavera perge uidere! 10 Regia pectora, lactea corpora conputruere. Pontificalia denique pallia mors sibi sternit, Regia culmina, regia fulmina subdita cernit. Nunc ubi curia sceptraque Iulia? Cesar, abisti. Tu quoque grandior orbe potentior ante fuisti. 15 Qui cinis es modo, tantus eras homo quantus et orbis. Vi tibi subditus extitit anbitus urbis et orbis. Gentibus, urbibus, et dominantibus es dominatus. Ecce, tuus uigor et furor et rigor est nece stratus! Arida Socratis atque Senocratis ossa tenentur. 20 Vox anime Plato, iusticie Cato, puluis habentur, Plenaque roboris illius Hectoris, illius ossa Que minus eminet unica continet artaque fossa. Ille probissimus illeque maximus ille uir ille Quid modo cernitur aut fore dicitur? Urna fauille. 25 Flos Helene fuit et species ruit Absalon illa. Ad breue floruit. Ecce qui aruit estque fauilla. Flaua uel aurea, quae per eburnea colla uolabat, Cesaries iacet et cor et os tacet. Unde tonabat? Ibimus, ibimus atque redibimus. Ad quid? Ad urnam. 30 Sceptra iacent ibi. Mors cathedram sibi subdit eburnam. [79r] Corporis omnia quomodo somnia conspiciuntur. Crassa sed arida, blanda sed hispida quaeque feruntur. Vita uolubilis atque uolatilis est quasi punctum. Nulla manentia, cuncta fluentia sunt bona mondo. 35 Ad breue nascitur et cito frangitur eius arundo. Gloria terrea, gloria uitrea, uitrea plane,

Nunc homo, cras humus

O carnal flesh, now already dirt, a worm soon thereafter. Today a man, tomorrow earth, for that is what we are. Why are you so proud? O fleeting flesh, sole glory to clouded minds, the heat of a mild fever is deadly to you. Why are you so proud? [5] O beautiful flesh, after a while you will become rotten or vile. Today a rose, tomorrow dung, the lowest dung. Why are you loved? Tomorrow you cease to be a man. You are reduced, an ash into ashes. Why do I delay? Dear flesh, you lie still. You are worthless remains, ready for burial. Go and watch the stately funerals and the bodies of kings! [10] Princely hearts and pallid corpses have rotted together. In the end, death lays low pontifical palliums. It also sees royal crowns and imperial powers overthrown. Where are the senate and Julian sceptres now? Caesar, you have gone. You were once stronger and more powerful than anyone in the world. [15] You were once a very great man, as great as the world, and now you are only ashes. The extent of the city and of the world was subject to you by force. You vanquished nations, cities, and rulers. Behold, your strength and rage and toughness have been laid low by death! Of Socrates and Xenocrates dry bones remain. [20] Plato, the voice of the soul, and Cato, the mouth of justice, are dust, as are the bones of Hector, once full of strength. A lonely, narrow grave, something less exalted, holds them. That man most upright, and that one most powerful, that one, and that one, what is he seen to be now or said to be? An urn for ashes. [25] The glamour of Helen is a thing that was and the beauty of Absalom has perished. It flourished briefly. See in what way it has withered up and is a cinder. The yellow or golden hair that used to fly from his white neck lies still. His heart and voice fall silent. How could he boast? We will go, we will go, but we will return. To what? To the urn. [30] There sceptres lie. Death subjects the ivory throne. All bodily things are as dreams: they move, massive but dry, enticing but foul. Life is as swift and fleeting as a moment. Worldly goods flow away until nothing remains. [35] The reed of life is short-lived and quickly broken. Worldly glory is a fragile glory, as fragile as glass.

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Tempore uoluitur atque resoluitur eius inane. Quomodo flumina cerne volumina currere rerum! Orbis onor ruit et fugit et fluit orbe dierum. 40 Est resolubilis, immo uolubilis orbis, ut orbis Illius omnia, peste ruentia, tabida mo[r]bis. Gloria terrea, res uaga, res rea, res fugitiua. Maneque prospera sero fit aspera, mortua uiua. Ca[r]nea gloria, carnis et omnia, carne uigente 45 Sunt quasi stantia, deficientia deficiente. Quid caro debilis aut quid inutilis est homo? Cenum. F[l]atus homo levis atque uapo[r breuis] ad breue paret. Paret et enitet, illico delitet, occidit, aret. Ergo quid inflaris, qui nasceris ut moriaris? 50 Quid tumidum spiras? Quid concipis et paris iras Mente, manu, uerbis? Quid, terra cinisque, superbis? Cerne quid es, quid eris. Modo flos, cras fex morieris. Flos es, eris sanies. Homo nunc, cras non homo fies. Qui bona carnis habes uis scire quid est homo? Tabes. 55 Fex quid amas feces tibi? Clamans busta putresces. Putresces busto qui rides ore uenusto. Post animal fies uermis. Quid plus? Putrefies. Flebis qui gaudes, damnabere qui scelus audes. Qui meretricaris audi, qui luxuriaris, 60 Carnis dulcedo, uermis putris, immo putredo, [79v] Ve tibi, ue tibi, ue, si perdis tempus oliue, Si pro flore b[r]eui perdis bona perpetis eui! Qui bona carnis amas, flammis nutris tibi flammas. Peccas momento, sed penam stare memento. 65 Pena stat, error abit; quos hic ligat, illa ligabit. Culpa cito transit, sed crux, crux illa remansit. Sicut equus uel uile pecus cur stas homo cecus? Cur queris, cur flenda geris, qui cras morieris? Stercus, humus, cinis, aura sumus caro, fex. Homo sumus. 70 Cur igitur caro diligitur, quae cras sepelitur? Intereunt et, ut amnis, eunt omnes cito gentes. Praetereunt et dispereunt peritura sequentes.

Nunc homo, cras humus

Its emptiness spirals down and dissolves in time. Watch the course of events rush past like rivers! Worldly honour tumbles and flees and flows away with the circuit of days. [40] This fleeting world quickly dissolves, for everything in it succumbs to sickness and is laid low by pestilence. Worldly glory is doubtful and suspect and elusive. The good hopes of morning turn to peril by evening; the living eventually yield to death. The glory of the flesh and everything related to it persists while the flesh lives, [45] but dies along with it. What is feeble flesh or useless man? Merely dirt. Man is a soft breath and a fleeting mist that exists only for a short time. He appears and shines forth, then skulks off, perishes, and withers away. Therefore, why are you so proud, when you are born only to die? [50] Why are you swollen with pride? Why do you conceive and beget anger and act upon it with your mind, hands, and words? How can you be proud when you are earth and ash? Understand what you are and what you will become. Today a flower, tomorrow you will die and become worthless remains. You are a bloom, but you will be corruption. Today a man, tomorrow nothing. You who have in mind the delights of the flesh, do you want to know the condition of man? Decay. [55] Dregs yourself, why do you long for dregs? A corpse, you will rot, crying out as you do. You who laugh with your beautiful mouth will moulder in the grave. Once a living being, you will become a worm. What more? You will putrefy. You who rejoice will weep. You who dare to commit evil deeds will be condemned. Take heed, whoremonger and debaucher! [60] You, sweetness of the flesh, worm, rotten or rather rottenness, woe to you, woe to you, woe, if you lose the time of the olive, if you forsake the blessings of eternal life for a brief bloom! You who love the delights of the flesh feed with fire the flames awaiting you. It takes only a moment to sin, but bear in mind that punishment for it endures. [65] The punishment remains after the transgression departs. The former entangles sinners now. The latter waits to ensnare them. The act of sin passes quickly away, but the torment, the torment has remained. Why do you stand there, blind man, like a horse or some lowly beast? Why do you, who will die tomorrow, seek out and do those things that ought to bring tears? We are dung, dirt, ash, a breath, flesh, empty remains. We are mortal men. [70] Therefore, why is the flesh beloved, which will lie buried tomorrow? All nations die and, like a river, are quickly gone. They pass by and disappear, following things bound to perish.

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The following abbreviations appear in this section: DCM = De contemptu mundi; and DOV = De octo uitiis. 1. Cf. Bernard, DCM 1.739, where postmodo replaces post breue as the final dactyl. 2. Bernard, DCM 1.740. 4. Cf. Bernard, DCM 1.908, where tumescis replaces superbis at the end of the line. 5. Cf. Bernard, DCM 1.737, where the words plenaque faecis replace uel stabularis. For the use of stabularis as an adjective meaning “vile” or “beastly” (literally, “belonging to a stable”), see DCM 3.174 and 3.238. 6. Cf. Bernard, DCM 1.738: Flos modo, mox fimus, et fimus infimus. Unde tumescis? 7. Cf. Bernard, DCM 1.794, where the words Esse quod es replace Cras hominem. 8. Bernard, DCM 1.793. 10. A possible echo of Bernard, DCM 1.804, which is similar in content and where the words lactea and conputruere appear in close proximity, with conputruere closing out the line. 11. A verbal resonance: Bernard, DCM 2.261 and 2.262 both commence with the word pontificalia. 12. Another possible resonance: Regia culmina are the first two words of Bernard, DCM 2.273. 13. Cf. Bernard, DCM 1.937: Nunc ubi curia pompaque Iulia? Caesar, obisti. 14. Cf. Bernard, DCM 1.938: Te truculentior orbe potentior ipse fuisti. At some point, the scribe or a later reader of MAT 918 changed the word Te to Tu. 15. Bernard, DCM 1.943. 16. Cf. Bernard, DCM 1.944, where an replaces ui as the first word in the line. 17. Cf. Bernard, DCM 1.928, where the word est replaces es. 19. Cf. Bernard, DCM 1.911: Quid tibi grammatis? Arida Socratis ossa tenentur. The abbreviated word Senoeratis is probably Senocratis (Ξενοκράτης), but the scribe did not recognize the name and mistakenly wrote <e> for . The abbreviation over the <e>/ very likely stands for “ra” (cf. line 13, where the scribe uses the same mark

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20. 21. 22. 23. 24. 25.

27. 28. 29. 30.

31.

33. 34. 36. 37. 38. 39.

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to abbreviate the last syllable of the word sceptra). Xenocrates of Chalcedon (396–314 BC) was an Academic philosopher and successor of Plato. Bernard, DCM 1.912. Cf. Bernard, DCM 1.909, where the words quid tibi replace plenaque as the first dactyl. Cf. Bernard, DCM 1.910, where et replaces que as the first word in the line. Cf. Bernard, DCM 1.787, where the words ille potissimus replace illeque maximus. Cf. Bernard, DCM 1.611: Quid modo noscitur aut fore cernitur illa favilla? Although this line has no parallels in Bernard’s other poems, the figure of Absalom, the rebellious son of King David, is mentioned twice in DCM (1.57 and 1.917); and numerous times in Bernard’s verse paraphrase of the biblical Book of Kings (In libros regum, lines 343– 409, passim). Cf. Bernard, DCM 1.799: Flava vel aurea, quam per eburnea colla rotabas. Cf. Bernard, DCM 1.800, where tonabas replaces tonabat as the last word in the line. Cf. Bernard, DCM 1.961, where imum replaces urnam as the last word in the line. A later corrector of the manuscript, ignoring the dominant metre, altered iacent to iacentur and then had to expunge mors to preserve the (now non-conforming) metre. Some verbal resonances: Bernard, DCM 2.702 also begins with the words corporis omnia. In addition, Bernard twice uses the word conspiciuntur to end a line (DCM 1.1000 and DOV 6). Cf. Bernard, DCM 1.897, where the word immo replaces atque. Cf. Bernard, DCM 1.987: Cuncta fluentia, nulla manentia sunt bona mundo. Bernard, DCM 1.989. Cf. Bernard, DCM 1.990, where illico tollitur replaces tempore uoluitur at the beginning of the line. Bernard, DCM 1.979. Cf. Bernard, DCM 1.980, where honos replaces onor as the second word in the line.

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40. Bernard, DCM 1.975. Bernard also uses the words orbis ut orbis to conclude DOV 29. 41. Bernard, DCM 1.976. 42. Another possible resonance: Bernard, DCM 1.985 and 1.989 also begin with the words gloria terrea. 44. Bernard, DCM 1.763. 45. Bernard, DCM 1.764. 46. Cf. Bernard, DCM 1.761, where the word labilis replaces debilis. 47. Bernard, DCM 1.855. The scribe of Troyes MAT 918 mistakenly omitted the letter r and the word breuis after uapo. 48. Cf. Bernard, DCM 1.856, where the words herba fit replace occidit. 51. Bernard, DOV 101. 52. A possible resonance: Bernard, DOV 33 shares the verbal unit modo flos cras. 53. Another verbal parallel: Bernard, DOV 124 also ends with the phrase non homo fies. 57. Cf. Bernard, DOV 123: Post animal uermis, post uermem puluis inhermis. 58. Bernard, DCM 3.127 also concludes with the words scelus audes. 60. Cf. Bernard, DOV 93: Carnis dulcedo quid sit, uis scire? Putredo. 61. Bernard, DOV 113: Ue tibi, ue tibi, ue, qui perdis tempus oliue. The phrase tempus oliue is obscure. It may be a reference to the land of plenty promised to the faithful in Deut. 8:7–8: “Dominus enim Deus tuus introducet te in terram bonam, terram rivorum, aquarumque et fontium, in cujus campis et montibus erumpunt fluviorum abyssi: terram frumenti, hordei ac vinearum, in qua ficus, et malogranata, et oliveta nascuntur.” 62. Cf. Bernard, DOV 114, where qui replace si as the first word in the line. 63. A possible echo of Bernard, DOV 130, where the words amas, tibi, and flammas appear in close proximity, with tibi flammas closing out the line. 65. Cf. Bernard, DOV 120, where mors manet replaces pena stat as the first words in the line. The phrase error abit appears in the same position of the line in Bernard, DOV 1244. 66. Cf. Bernard, DOV 116, where the words perpes pena replace crux crux illa. 69. A possible verbal resonance: the words aura sumus also appear in Bernard, DOV 53.

Ælfric of Eynsham and Hermeneutic Latin: Meatim Sed et Rustica Reconsidered by Rebecca Stephenson Ælfric of Eynsham (ca. 950–ca. 1010) is a problematic figure in the study of hermeneutic Latin,1 because although he was a Benedictine monk with ties to the important monastic centre of Winchester, he preferred to write in a Latin style that has been described as simple and clear,2 in contrast to the flamboyant hermeneutic style that was in vogue during the monastic reform of late tenth-century England. Nearly every other Benedictine author during this period attempted hermeneutic prose or verse, including Wulfstan of Winchester (fl. 996),3 Lantfred of Winchester (fl. 975),4 Frithegod of Canterbury (fl. 950),5 Byrhtferth of Ramsey (ca. 970–ca. 1020),6 and 1

For a complete list of Ælfric’s works, see Peter Clemoes, “The Chronology of Ælfric’s Works,” in Old English Prose: Basic Readings, ed. Paul E. Szarmach, Basic Readings in Anglo-Saxon England 5 (New York, 2000), pp. 29–72; first published in The Anglo-Saxons: Studies in Some Aspects of Their History and Culture Presented to Bruce Dickins (London, 1959). Christopher Jones has revised the chronology of Ælfric’s Latin works in “Meatim Sed et Rustica: Ælfric of Eynsham as a Medieval Latin Author,” JMLat 8 (1998), 1–57, at pp. 3– 21, with a chronological list at p. 18. 2 Milton McC. Gatch, Preaching and Theology in Anglo-Saxon England: Ælfric and Wulfstan (Toronto, 1977), p. 131. Also, see the general comments of Alistair Campbell, The Chronicle of Æthelweard (London, 1962), p. xlv. 3 The hermeneutic works of Wulfstan of Winchester include The Life of St. Æthelwold, ed. Michael Lapidge and Michael Winterbottom (Oxford, 1991); and Narratio metrica de S. Swithuno, published in The Cult of St. Swithun, ed. Michael Lapidge, Winchester Studies 4.2 (Oxford, 2003), pp. 372–551. He also composed an epanaleptic poem entitled Breuiloquium de omnibus sanctis, published in François Dolbeau, “Le Breuiloquium de omnibus sanctis: un poème inconnu de Wulfstan, chantre de Winchester,” Analecta Bollandiana 106 (1988), 35– 98. For further discussion of other works attributable to Wulfstan, see Lapidge and Winterbottom, Life of St. Æthelwold, pp. xv–xxix; and Helmut Gneuss, Hymnar und Hymnen im englischen Mittelalter, Buchreihe der Anglia 12 (Tübingen, 1968), pp. 246–48. 4 Translatio et miracula S. Swithuni, published in Michael Lapidge, ed., The Cult of St. Swithun, Winchester Studies 4.2 (Oxford, 2003), pp. 252–333. 5 Breuiloquium vitae Wilfridi, published in Frithegodi monachi Breuiloquium vitae Beati Wilfredi et Wulfstani Cantoris Narratio Metrica de Sancto Swithuno, ed. Alistair Campbell

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Æthelwold, bishop of Winchester (963–984),7 to name a few. The hermeneutic style was even attempted by Æthelweard (d. 998),8 a layman who supported the reform, and by Dunstan’s biographer,9 a member of the secular clergy. Ælfric’s own student, Ælfric Bata (fl. s.xi1), composed colloquies including hermeneutic vocabulary for the instruction of monastic (Zurich, 1950). For the life of Frithegod, see Michael Lapidge, “A Frankish Scholar in TenthCentury England: Frithegod of Canterbury / Fredegaud of Brioude,” in Anglo-Latin Literature, 900–1066 (London, 1993), pp. 157–81; first printed in Anglo-Saxon England 17 (1988), 45–65. 6 Byrhtferth wrote the Vita S. Oswaldi and the Vita S. Ecgwini in hermeneutic Latin. His Enchiridion also contains small sections composed in the hermeneutic style. For the VSO, see The Historians of the Church of York, ed. J. Raine, vol. 1, RS 71 (London, 1879), pp. 399– 475. For the VSE, see Vita quorundum Anglo-Saxonum, ed. J.A. Giles, Publication of the Caxton Society 16 (London, 1854), pp. 349–96. For the Enchiridion, see Byrhtferth’s Enchiridion, ed. Peter S. Baker and Michael Lapidge, Early English Text Society, s.s. 15 (Oxford, 1995), with a full discussion of Byrhtferth’s works at pp. xxv–xxxiv. 7 The only extant hermeneutic text definitely attributed to Æthelwold is the Regularis concordia published in Consuetudinum saeculi X/XI/XII monumenta non-Cluniacensia, ed. Kassius Hallinger, Corpus Consuetudinum Monasticarum 7.3 (Siegburg, 1984), pp. 61–147. For a discussion of his life and his educational programme at Winchester, see Michael Lapidge, “Æthelwold as Scholar and Teacher,” in Bishop Æthelwold: His Career and Influence, ed. Barbara Yorke (Woodbridge, 1988), pp. 89–117; and idem, “Three Latin Poems from Æthelwold’s School at Winchester,” Anglo-Saxon England 1 (1972), 85–137; both articles are reprinted in Anglo-Latin Literature, 900–1066 (London, 1993), pp. 183–211, and pp. 225–77. In addition, Mechthild Gretsch has argued that Æthelwold composed the glosses of the Royal Psalter (the so-called D gloss), those of Aldhelm’s Prosa de virginitate, and the Old English translation of the Rule of St. Benedict: see The Intellectual Foundations of the English Benedictine Reform, Cambridge Studies in Anglo-Saxon England 25 (Cambridge, 1999); eadem, Die Regula Sancti Benedicti in England und ihre altenglische Übersetzung, Texte und Untersuchungen zur englischen Philologie 2 (Munich, 1973); eadem, “Æthelwold’s Translation of the Regula Sancti Benedicti and its Latin Exemplar,” AngloSaxon England 3 (1974), 125–51; and eadem, “The Benedictine Rule in Old English: A Document of Bishop Æthelwold’s Reform Politics,” in Words, Texts, and Manuscripts: Studies in Anglo-Saxon Culture Presented to Helmut Gneuss on the Occasion of His SixtyFifth Birthday, ed. Michael Korhammer (Cambridge, 1992), pp. 131–58. 8 Alistair Campbell, ed., The Chronicle of Æthelweard, (London, 1962). For a discussion of the style of this text, see Michael Winterbottom, “The Style of Æthelweard,” Medium Ævum 36 (1967), 109–18. For the evidence for the date of Æthelweard’s death, see Simon Keynes, The Diplomas of King Æthelred “The Unready,” 978–1016: A Study in their Use as Historical Evidence (Cambridge, 1980), p. 192, n. 139. 9 Vita S. Dunstani, published in Memorials of St. Dunstan, ed. W. Stubbs, RS 63 (London, 1874), 3–52. For a discussion of this Life and its writer, see Michael Lapidge, “B. and the Vita S. Dunstani,” in Anglo-Latin Literature, 900–1066 (London, 1993), pp. 279–91; first published in St. Dunstan and His Times, ed. Nigel Ramsay, T.W.T. Tatton-Brown and Margaret Sparks (Ipswich, 1992), pp. 251–63.

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students in Latin.10 However, Ælfric, who wrote the first Latin grammar in a vernacular language,11 never attempted the style, preferring to write “non garrula verbositate aut ignotis sermonibus, sed puris et apertis verbis.”12 Although Ælfric here was speaking of vernacular composition, not Latin, many scholars have noted the similarity between Ælfric’s plain style in Old English and his unadorned Latin prose.13 However, one should not assume that Ælfric’s Latin and English styles are related, since other reformers affected a plain English style, despite their preference for turgid Latin.14 Although hermeneutic Latin is an important marker of affiliation with the Benedictine reform, Ælfric’s choice not to compose hermeneutic Latin does not seem to indicate any distance from the reform movement. In his prefaces, Ælfric frequently described himself as a student of Æthelwold,15 and he seems to have studied in Winchester sometime during that bishop’s tenure, between 963 and 984. His devotion to Æthelwold in particular can be seen in his Latin Life of St. Æthelwold and his English version of the Life of St. Swithun, the patron saint of the Old Minster in Winchester.16 Both of these lives contain references to Ælfric’s participation in the monastic

10

For an edition and discussion, see Scott Gwara, ed., and David W. Porter, trans., AngloSaxon Conversations: The Colloquies of Ælfric Bata (Woodbridge, 1997). 11 J. Zupitza, ed., Ælfrics Grammatik und Glossar: Text und Varienten. Sammlung englischer Denkmäler in kritischen Ausgaben 1 (Berlin, 1880; repr. with a preface by Helmut Gneuss, 1960). 12 Jonathan Wilcox, ed., Ælfric’s Prefaces, Durham Medieval Texts 9 (Durham, 1994), p. 111; “Not with wordy verbosity or unknown speech, but with clear and open words.” All translations are my own unless otherwise noted. 13 “As in Old English, so also in Latin, [Ælfric] strove always for brevity, clarity, and simplicity, but without neglect of a spare but elegant rhetoric.” Gatch, Preaching and Theology, p. 131. 14 Æthelwold, for example, composed the preface to the Regularis concordia in hermeneutic Latin, but the translation of the Rule of Benedict in simple English. For the disparity between these two styles, see Michael Lapidge, “Æthelwold as Scholar and Teacher,” pp. 98–103; and Christopher Jones, ed., Ælfric’s Letter to the Monks of Eynsham, Cambridge Studies in Anglo-Saxon England 24 (Cambridge, 1998), p. 52, n. 135. 15 For instance, the preface to the First Series of Catholic Homilies opens, “Ego Ælfricus, alumnus Æthelwoldi,” Wilcox, Ælfric’s Prefaces, p. 107. There are other examples on pp. 115 and 124. 16 Michael Lapidge and Michael Winterbottom, eds., “Ælfric’s Vita S. Æthelwoldi,” in The Life of St. Æthelwold, by Wulfstan of Winchester (Oxford, 1991), pp. 70–80, hereafter cited as “Ælfric” with a page number reference; and “Life of St. Swithun” in Lapidge, Cult of St. Swithun, pp. 575–609.

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community of Winchester and his personal knowledge of Æthelwold.17 Traces of his Winchester education can also be seen in the language and style of his English texts, which contain so-called Winchester vocabulary.18 In 987, Ælfric moved to the recently founded (or refounded) Cerne Abbas, 19 where he composed the two series of Catholic Homilies and also Lives of Saints,20 the latter of which was dedicated to his patrons, Æthelweard, ealdorman of the Western provinces, and his son, Æthelmær.21 In 1005,

17

For instance, Ælfric explains his reasons for writing the so-called Letter to the Monks at Eynsham thus: “Fateor me ualde timide id praesumere, sed nec audeo omnia uobis intimare, quae in scola eius [scil. Æthelwoldi] degens multis annis de moribus seu consuetudinibus didici, ne forte fastidientes districtionem tante observantiae nec saltem uelitis auditum prebere narranti,” (“I confess that I undertake this project with great trepidation, but I do not dare to make known to you all the things that I have learned in Æthelwold’s school about customs and usages while living there for many years, lest you shrink back from the strictness of so great an observance and not even wish to give me a hearing, when I speak”); Jones, Letter to the Monks of Eynsham, p. 110. In Ælfric’s Life of St. Swithun, he claims to have sung the Te Deum with monks of the minster, “Hi hit heoldon þa siððan symle on gewunan, swa swa we gesawon sylfe foroft, and þone sang we sungon unseldon mid him.” Lapidge, Cult of St. Swithun, p. 600. Since his Life of St. Æthelwold is so faithful to its source, Ælfric’s only direct reference to his time at Winchester occurs in the introduction, where he calls Æthelwold, “our father” (noster pater), Ælfric, p. 71. However, he also inserts the name of a thief (left unnamed in Wulfstan), which Lapidge and Winterbottom argue results from personal knowledge: Lapidge and Winterbottom, Life of St. Æthelwold, p. 49, n. 6. 18 For Winchester Vocabulary, see Helmut Gneuss, “The Origin of Standard Old English and Æthelwold’s School at Winchester,” Anglo-Saxon England 1 (1972), 63–83; Walter Hofstetter, “Winchester and the Standardization of Old English Vocabulary,” Anglo-Saxon England 17 (1988), 139–61; idem, Winchester und der spätaltenglische Sprachgebrauch: Untersuchungen zur geographischen und zeitlichen Verbreitung altenglischer Synonyme, Münchener Universitäts-Schriften, Philosophische Fakultät, Texte und Untersuchungen zur englischen Philologie 14 (Munich, 1987); Mechthild Gretsch, Intellectual Foundations, especially pp. 89–131; and idem, “Winchester Vocabulary and Standard Old English: The Vernacular in Late Anglo-Saxon England,” Bulletin of the John Rylands University Library of Manchester 83.1 (Spring 2001), 41–87. For Ælfric’s adaptations of Winchester Vocabulary, see Malcolm Godden, “Ælfric’s Changing Vocabulary,” English Studies (1980), 206–23. 19 For a discussion of the arguments concerning the date of the founding of Cerne Abbas, see Jones, Letter to the Monks of Eynsham, p. 7, n. 23. 20 The standard editions of these texts are Peter Clemoes, ed., Ælfric’s Catholic Homilies: The First Series, Early English Text Society, s.s., 17 (London, 1997); Malcolm Godden, ed., Ælfric’s Catholic Homilies: The Second Series, Early English Text Society, s.s., 5 (London, 1979); and Walter W. Skeat, Ælfric’s Lives of Saints, 2 vols., Early English Text Society, o.s. 76, 82, 94, 114 (London, 1881–1900; repr. as 2 vols., 1966). 21 “Ælfric gret eadmodlice Æðelwerd ealdorman, and ic secge þe, leof, þæt ic hæbbe nu gegaderod on þyssere bec þæra halgena þrowunga, þe me to onhagode on Englisc to

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Ælfric was appointed abbot of Eynsham, where his patron Æthelmær retired to live with the monks as “father and brother.”22 Ælfric’s avoidance of hermeneutic Latin seems especially strange in light of his patronage by these two important men. Not only was Æthelweard one of the most powerful men in the court of King Æthelred,23 but he also composed the Chronicon Æthelweardi,24 a hermeneutic Latin chronicle of English history (based on a lost version of the Anglo-Saxon Chronicle) for his kinswoman Matilda, abbess at Essen.25 Æthelweard was succeeded as ealdorman of the Western provinces by his son, Æthelmær, upon his death, which fell presumably in 998, the last year that he attested a charter.26 Æthelmær was also a very important man at court until his apparent fall from favour in 1005,27 when he retired to Eynsham. 28 Despite these two men’s political prominence, Æthelweard’s own preference for hermeneutic Latin, and Ælfric’s monastic connections, Ælfric avoided recherché vocabulary and cultivated a simple style in stark contrast to the flamboyant Latin of the period. Since the publication of Michael Lapidge’s seminal article on hermeneutic Latin, which showed conclusively the relationship between hermeneutic Latin and the monastic reform, 29 no one has been able to explain the disjuncture between Ælfric’s monastic affiliations and his chosen style of writing.30 Recently, Christopher Jones has argued that Ælfric’s style

awendene, for þan þe ðu, leof swiðost, and Æðelmær swylcera gewrita me bædon,” Wilcox, Ælfric’s Prefaces, p. 120. 22 For the evidence for Æthelmær’s “retirement,” see Keynes, Diplomas of King Æthelred, pp. 209–13. For a discussion of the possible circumstances under which it occurred, see Jones, Letter to the Monks of Eynsham, pp. 5–15. 23 He was accorded the primacy among ealdormen from 993 to his death, see Keynes, Diplomas of King Æthelred, p. 192. 24 See above, p. 112, n. 8. 25 Æthelweard’s relationship to Mathilda and his intentions in writing are outlined in the prologue to his chronicle, see Campbell, Chronicle of Æthelweard, pp. 1–2. 26 Keynes, Diplomas of King Æthelred, p. 192, n. 139. 27 See above, n. 22. 28 However, Æthelmær reappeared in 1013 leading the Western shires in submission to Swein Forkbeard. Charles Plummer, ed., Two of the Saxon Chronicles Parallel, vol. 1 (1892; repr. Oxford: Clarendon, 1952), p. 144. 29 “The Hermeneutic Style in Tenth-Century Anglo-Latin Literature,” in Anglo-Latin Literature (London, 1993), pp. 105–49, at p. 139; first published in Anglo-Saxon England 4 (1975), 67–111. 30 For a brief overview of Ælfric’s relationship to the reform, see Joyce Hill, “The Benedictine Reform and Beyond,” in A Companion to Anglo-Saxon Literature, ed. Phillip

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arose from the inferior Latin education that he received in his youth.31 Ælfric’s writing confirms this thesis to a degree, when in his Old English Preface to the Translation of Genesis he described his early education at the hands of a teacher who knew only a little Latin.32 Although Ælfric would later travel to Winchester and receive a sound education under the care of Bishop Æthelwold, Jones suggested that Ælfric was never able to overcome the inadequacies of his early education. As a result, Ælfric learned enough Latin to read and translate, but never enough to compose an extended piece in this foreign language. Although Ælfric certainly had an understanding of Latin sufficient to write the first vernacular grammar,33 this competency would not necessarily translate into an ability to create lucid prose, according to Jones’s argument. This argument would clarify our understanding of Ælfric’s stylistic choices; in other words, Ælfric’s avoidance of hermeneutic Latin stems simply from an inability to compose hermeneutic Latin, not from a deliberate choice to avoid it. Although this is an appealing solution to the disjuncture between Ælfric’s style and his monastic connections, it is perhaps not a fair assessment of Ælfric’s learning. His limited education did not appear to inhibit his ability to read texts that are so difficult that even modern scholars with modern grammars and dictionaries are hesitant to translate them; an example might be Bede’s Metrical Life of Cuthbert. 34 Furthermore, in spite of this inferior early education, source studies demonstrate that Ælfric’s reading comprehension of Latin was excellent and

Pulsiano and Elaine Treharne, Blackwell Companions to Literature and Culture 11 (Oxford, 2001), pp. 151–69, at 157–62. 31 Christopher Jones, “Meatim Sed et Rustica,” pp. 1–3. 32 “Hwilon ic wiste þæt sum mæssepreost, se þe min magister wæs on þam timan, hæfde þa boc Genesis, and he cuðe be dæle Lyden understandan; þa cwæþ he be þam heahfædere Iacobe, þæt he hæfde feower wif, twa geswustra and heora twa þinena. Ful soð he sæde, ac he nyste, ne ic þa git, hu micel todal ys betweohx þære ealdan æ and þære niwan.” Wilcox, Ælfric’s Prefaces, p. 116. 33 Zupitza, Ælfrics Grammatik. 34 I would like to thank Mechthild Gretsch for pointing out that Ælfric used Bede’s notoriously difficult metrical Life of St. Cuthbert – not the much easier prose version – as the source for his own sermon on Cuthbert, which was notably also the first to use extended portions of rhythmical prose. For a discussion of the importance of the metrical life in Ælfric’s treatment of Cuthbert’s, see Mechthild Gretsch, Ælfric and the Cult of Saints in Late Anglo-Saxon England, Cambridge Studies in Anglo-Saxon England 34 (Cambridge, 2005), pp. 103–7.

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his breadth of reading was wide.35 Moreover, even if Ælfric were as uneducated as Jones suggests, he could nonetheless have incorporated hermeneutic vocabulary, which he could have copied from glosses or glossaries without much Latin proficiency. However, Ælfric scrupulously avoided the recherché vocabulary of hermeneutic Latin, even when using rhythmical cursus and complicated syntax. Thus, a question of definition arises: is hermeneutic Latin to be defined in terms of vocabulary alone or are there syntactical features of hermeneutic Latin that Ælfric might share with other reformers, while eschewing the complicated vocabulary? While I have no argument with most of Jones’s article, especially his discussion of Ælfric’s corpus of Latin writings, my own examination of Ælfric’s abbreviation of Wulfstan of Winchester’s Life of St. Æthelwold indicates that Ælfric’s relationship to hermeneutic Latin is more complicated than simple inability.36 On the contrary, Ælfric’s changes to this text reveal a desire to create a precise form of Latin that obviated – or, at least, significantly reduced – misinterpretation. Ælfric and the Syntax of Hermeneutic Latin While the vocabulary of hermeneutic Latin has been studied,37 no thorough review of its syntax has ever been undertaken.38 Campbell once described what he called “the hermeneutic tradition of Aldhelm” as one that “uses a loosely jointed, indefinitely extended period, often hard to follow, and delights in recondite vocabulary derived from glosses.”39 Unfortunately, this is not a very precise definition of the syntactical elements that define the writing of the tenth century. When attempting to explain the syntax of Æthelweard’s Chronicon, Michael Winterbottom concluded that the writing

35 Malcolm Godden has documented the sources for the Catholic Homilies in Ælfric’s Catholic Homilies: Introduction, Commentary, and Glossary, Early English Text Society, s.s., 16 (London, 2000). 36 For both versions of the Life of St. Æthelwold, see Michael Lapidge and Michael Winterbottom, eds., The Life of St. Æthelwold, (Oxford, 1991). Although I undertook my analysis of the two versions of the Life of St. Æthelwold independent of Jones’s article, he does call for such a review, since “the Eynsham letter reveals numerous parallels to the method that produced the shortened Vita S. Æthelwoldi.” “Meatim Sed et Rustica,” p. 37. 37 A thorough discussion of hermeneutic vocabulary appears in Lapidge, “Hermeneutic Style.” 38 Aldhelm’s syntax, on which hermeneutic Latin is based, has been described by Michael Winterbottom, “Aldhelm’s Prose Style and its Origins,” Anglo-Saxon England 6 (1977), 39– 77. 39 Campbell, Chronicle of Æthelweard, p. xlv.

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of the tenth-century was characterized by a “straining after variatio.”40 The lack of a more descriptive definition of tenth-century syntax is due, in part, to the great variation in syntax and difficulty among the hermeneutic texts, and although the hermeneutic style is modelled on Aldhelm’s, few practitioners attain Aldhelm’s level of syntactical complexity.41 Ælfric’s prose sometimes attained high levels of syntactical complexity that equals or surpasses that of other tenth-century writers. In addition, he occasionally heightened his style by the skilful employment of rhythmical cursus, which while not a defining characteristic of hermeneutic Latin, is an ornamentation affected by some tenth-century writers.42 The best example of Ælfric’s polished rhetoric occurs in the preface to the Second Series of Catholic Homilies, as this sentence illustrates: Sed quia nostrum studium nimium laudasti, gratanter illam interpretationem suscipiens, festinavimus hunc sequentem librum, sicuti Omnipotentis Dei gratia nobis dictavit, interpretare, non garrula verbositate aut ignotis sermonibus, sed puris et apertis verbis linguę huius gentis, cupientes plus prodesse auditoribus simplici locutione quam laudari artificiosi sermonis compositione, quam nequaquam didicit nostra simplicitas.43

In addition to the heightened diction, this passage shows the skilful deployment of several literary features, including the rhetorical topos of the

40

Winterbottom, “Style of Æthelweard,” p. 110. For a discussion of the relationship between syntactical complexity and perceived difficulty, see Carin Ruff, “The Perception of Difficulty in Aldhelm’s Prose,” in Insignis Sophiae Arcator: Essays in Honour of Michael W. Herren on his 65th Birthday, ed. Gernot Wieland, Carin Ruff, and Ross G. Arthur, Publications of the Journal of Medieval Latin 6 (Turnhout, 2006), pp. 165–77. Ruff points out that certain features of the human brain limit the reader’s memory to “approximately six or seven words or three to four phrases in working memory when reading” (p. 167). Although Aldhelm frequently stretches readers to the limit both in length of clauses and difficulty of vocabulary, his tendency for hypotactic – not embedded – clauses “creates a productive tension between clarity and obscurity that lends Aldhelm’s prose its characteristic texture” (p. 165). 42 For the use of rhythmical cursus in the Middle Ages, see Tore Janson, Prose Rhythm in Medieval Latin from the 9th to the 13th Century, Studia Latina Stockholmiensia 20 (Stockholm, 1975). 43 Wilcox, Ælfric’s Prefaces, p. 111; “But because you have praised our study very much, happily undertaking this interpretation, we have hastened to translate the following book, just as the grace of the Omnipotent God has dictated to us, not with garrulous verbosity or unknown speech, but with pure and plain words of the language of this people, desiring to benefit the hearers more with simple speech than to be praised for the composition of artificial discourse, which our simplicity has not learned.” 41

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author’s incompetence in the face of a request by a superior.44 Jones describes the above passage as follows: “One is struck not only by the length of the sentence, but by the balancing of clauses, the subtle rhyme (locutione … compositione), and the final cursus tardus.”45 This is an excellent example of Ælfric composing sophisticated and polished Latin in an epistolary form addressing archbishop Sigeric, where such an elevated register would be expected. In an accompanying note, Jones also explains, “If Ælfric was intentionally using rhythmical clausulae, this preface to the Second Series contains, in addition to nóstra simplícitas (tardus), also auctoritáti diréximus (tardus), ópus perfécimus (tardus), brevitáte angusténtur (trispondiacus), and, doubtfully, ést an abiciénda (velox).”46 Not only is the sentence well-constructed, complicated and well-balanced, but Ælfric seems to have employed rhythmical cursus as well (although I will concede that the cursus may not have been intentional).47 Is the syntax of Ælfric’s passage so different from this passage by Byrhtferth of Ramsey, a writer notorious for his difficulty? Compare the following passage of Byrhtferth: Si genus agnoscere desideras, introducatur unus elatus a grege Christi ex plurimis, Oda scilicet archiepiscopus civitatis Cantiæ, qui ejus dinoscitur esse patruus. Sic venerabilis vir grandævus extitit Apostolica dignitate, et eadem refulsit gloriosa auctoritate, ut honestatem suorum prænominum ejus decoraret vita prælucide, ut non solum a bonis ex intimo cordis affectu diligebatur, verum etiam a præpotentibus verebatur.48

44

For a discussion of the rhetorical topoi of literary deficiency and the response to a request, see Tore Janson, Latin Prose Preface: Studies in Literary Conventions, Studia Latin Stockholmiensia 13 (Stockholm, 1964), pp. 116–41. 45 Jones, “Meatim Sed et Rustica,” p. 5. 46 Jones, “Meatim Sed et Rustica,” p. 5, n. 19. I have added accent marks where they should fall. For a full discussion of rhythmical cursus in Medieval Latin, see Peter Stotz, Handbuch zur lateinischen Sprache des Mittelalters, Handbuch der Altertumswissenschaft, Abteilung 2 Teil 5 (Munich, 1998), 4:482–87. 47 However, for the teaching of rhythmical cursus in Winchester, see Lapidge and Winterbottom, The Life of St. Æthelwold, pp. cx–cxi. 48 Raine, VSO, p. 401; “If you wish to know [Oswald’s] lineage, let there be introduced one exalted man out of many from the flock of Christ, Oda, namely the Archbishop of Canterbury, who is known to be his uncle. Thus, the venerable aged man existed prominently with the apostolic dignity and shone with this same glorious authority to such an extent that he decorated the honorableness of his first name with a greatly shining life, such that he was not only loved by the good from the innermost affection of their hearts, but he was also feared by the very powerful.”

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There are no embedded clauses in this selection, and although the clauses are hypotactic, all are sequential with no instances of hyperbaton. The only noteworthy syntactical structures occur in the rhythmical variation created by the correlatives, non solum … verum etiam, and the two examples of envelope patterning, eadem refulsit gloriosa auctoritate and intimo cordis affectu. In Ælfric’s more complicated passage, however, a clause beginning with sicuti has been inserted between the main verb and the infinitive that modifies it, festinavimus … interpretare. One instance of envelope patterning also occurs, artificiosi sermonis compositione. Furthermore, no part of Byrhtferth’s passage approaches the syntactical complexity of Ælfric’s final participial phrase, “cupientes plus prodesse auditoribus simplici locutione quam laudari artificiosi sermonis compositione, quam nequaquam didicit nostra simplicitas.” Since none of Byrhtferth’s vocabulary in the quoted passage is hermeneutic, a register which Ælfric always avoids, there are some similarities in vocabulary between the two texts.49 For instance, Ælfric and Byrhtferth ornament their prose by using abstract Latin words ending in –tas for making oblique references to concrete things.50 For instance, instead of episcopus, Byrhtferth wrote of the Apostolica dignitas, while Ælfric replaced “difficult language” with garrula verbositas and nos with nostra simplicitas.51 Note also how many synonyms (or near synonyms) for the concept speech/language that Ælfric has employed in this short passage: verbositas, sermo, verbum, lingua, and locutio. While none of these words is hermeneutic, they do show the range of Ælfric’s vocabulary in the same way that the repetition of synonymous words in elaborate digressions in hermeneutic texts display the wide reading of their authors.52 However, when most scholars read Ælfric’s passage, they respond as Jones did, who, after his description of Ælfric’s cursus proceeded to say, “Even at its most ambitious, however, the style of this and other prefaces comes nowhere close to the ‘hermeneutic’ Latinity that was so 49

For a full discussion of the vocabulary of Byrhtferth’s passage, see Rebecca Stephenson, “Deliberate Obfuscation: The Purpose of Hard Words and Difficult Syntax in the Literature of Anglo-Saxon England” (PhD diss., Notre Dame, 2004) pp. 111–13. 50 Peter Stotz discuses the use of suffix –tas in word-formation in Handbuch zur lateinischen Sprache des Mittelalters, Handbuch der Altertumswissenschaft, Abteilung 2 Teil 5 (Munich, 2000), 2:291–92. 51 Note also that the phrase garrula verbositas comes from Aldhelm’s Prosa de virginitate, chap. 19. For another discussion of Ælfric’s passage, see Michael Lapidge, “Æthelwold as Scholar and Teacher,” in Bishop Æthelwold: His Career and Influence, ed. Barbara Yorke (Woodbridge, 1988), pp. 89–117, at p. 108. 52 See Stephenson, “Deliberate Obfuscation,” pp. 148–52.

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widely cultivated in late Anglo-Saxon England and that appears to have been especially fostered by the great leaders of the tenth-century monastic reform….”53 The grammar, rhetoric, and rhythmical cursus of this passage show the kinds of ornamentation characteristic of hermeneutic Latin,54 but Ælfric’s passage is more intelligible, because he has not included rare words. Furthermore, although esoteric vocabulary is the quintessential marker of a hermeneutic text, all texts considered hermeneutic do not have similar frequencies of rare and recherché words. Wulfstan of Winchester in his Life of St. Æthelwold wrote in a style very different from Lantfred of Winchester or Byrhtferth of Ramsey. As Lapidge and Winterbottom have noted, “In the Vita S. Æthelwoldi there is no example of archaism or neologism.”55 Contrary to the tendency of writers such as Lantfred or Byrhtferth, Wulfstan only uses four grecisms, all of which were in fairly common use in the later tenth century.56 Lapidge and Winterbottom summarized their comments on the style of Wulfstan thus: In an age when most Latin prose was characterized by ostentatious, hermeneutic vocabulary, Wulfstan’s prose stands out for its modesty and sobriety. Wulfstan was not as severe a stylist as Ælfric, who in his redaction of the Vita S. Æthelwoldi found much to excise; but in comparison (say) with the Aldhelmian pomposity of Byrhtferth, Wulfstan is a master of restraint.57

Even though Wulfstan was precentor at Winchester, he wrote his Life of Æthelwold (who was the principal proponent of the hermeneutic style)58 without using the full range of esoteric vocabulary found in many other hermeneutic works. In this “sobriety” and “restraint,” Wulfstan’s writing reveals that there is a range of difficulty that can still be considered hermeneutic. Wulfstan of Winchester’s Life of St. Æthelwold is particularly pertinent to our discussion here, since Ælfric abbreviated this text in his customary manner. 59 The difference in the length of these texts can best be seen in 53

Jones, “Meatim Sed et Rustica,” p. 5. Rhythmical cursus is not used by all hermeneutic writers, but is one of many possible ways of adorning prose in order to affect the elevated register of hermeneutic Latin. For a general discussion of the “straining after variatio” of hermeneutic prose, see Winterbottom, “Style of Æthelweard.” 55 Lapidge and Winterbottom, eds., The Life of St. Æthelwold, p. cix. 56 Lapidge and Winterbottom, Life of St. Æthelwold, pp. cix–cx. 57 Lapidge and Winterbottom, Life of St. Æthelwold, p. cxi. 58 Lapidge, “Æthelwold as Scholar and Teacher,” p. 90. 59 For a discussion of Ælfric’s methods of abbreviation, see Lapidge and Winterbottom, Life of St. Æthelwold, pp. cl–cliii. 54

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Winterbottom’s earlier edition where Wulfstan’s text occupies thirty-one pages, and Ælfric’s text only seventeen.60 Ælfric’s process of abbreviation was very curious in that instead of paraphrasing, he normally kept the wording as close to the original as possible, omitting sentences, clauses, and words as necessary. This form of abbreviating caused Ælfric to make substantial grammatical revision, since he had to rearrange the grammar of the sentence to accommodate the words that had not been excised. At some points, Ælfric’s grammar is simpler than Wulfstan’s, but at other points it is more complicated, precisely because of its concision. Furthermore, at many points throughout the work, Ælfric rewrote sentences simply to correct Wulfstan’s grammar, of which the author of the first English Latin grammar seems not to have approved.61 When Ælfric abbreviated hermeneutic texts, such as Wulfstan of Winchester’s Life of St. Æthelwold, he excised and clarified certain words, but this did not necessarily simplify the syntax. For instance, below are the opening lines of Ælfric’s Life of St. Æthelwold preceded by the corresponding text from Wulfstan of Winchester’s Life, from which it was abbreviated:62 Erant igitur parentes sancti pontificis Ætheluuoldi ex ingenua Christianorum propagine oriundi, Wentanae ciuitatis urbani, temporibus senioris Eaduuardi regis Anglorum florentes, in mandatis et iustificationibus Domini sine querela fideliter incedentes. Qui dum cotidianis bonorum operum pollerent incrementis, eximio Dei munere decorati sunt quo talem mererentur gignere sobolem, cuius eruditione et exemplis non solum populi praesentis aeui sed etiam futuri peruenirent ad noticiam ueri luminis, ut exuti caligine tenebrosi erroris gloria fruerentur aeternae claritatis.63

60

Michael Winterbottom, ed., Three Lives of English Saints, Toronto Medieval Latin Texts (Toronto, 1972). This is not the current edition. All citations to Ælfric’s Life of St. Æthelwold come from Lapidge and Winterbottom, “Ælfric’s Vita S. Æthelwoldi,” in Life of St. Æthelwold, pp. 70–80. This will be referred to as merely “Ælfric” with a page number reference. The vita written by Wulfstan of Winchester in the same volume will be called simply “Wulfstan.” Any citations to the editorial material of this volume will continue to be cited as Lapidge and Winterbottom, Life of St. Æthelwold. 61 Some of these grammatical corrections revise whole sentences, but the smaller corrections are sometimes more amusing for their regularity. For instance, Ælfric did not approve of Wulfstan’s dixit ad eum construction, which appears frequently in various forms. Ælfric routinely changed the prepositional ad eum to a dative object ei, which Ælfric presumably considered more correct. For an example, see Wulfstan, p. 26; Ælfric, p. 74. 62 The italicized words were omitted or changed by Ælfric. 63 Wulfstan, pp. 2–4; “Therefore, the parents of the holy bishop Æthelwold arose from the noble stock of Christians, were dwellers in the city of Winchester, lived in the time of Edward the Elder king of the English, and advanced in the commands and justifications of the Lord

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Erant autem parentes sancti Ætheluuoldi habitatores ciuitatis Wentae, tempore Eaduuerdi regis Anglorum florentes, eximio Dei dono decorati quo talem meruissent prolem generare, cuius documentis non solum praesentis aeui populi sed etiam futuri caligine caruissent erroris. 64

In spite of the more florid nature of Wulfstan’s description, the grammar is not more difficult.65 Wulfstan’s passage begins with the verb erant followed by four nominative plural adjectives or participles, oriundi, urbani, florentes, and incedentes, that modify the subject, parentes, and form the basis for the clauses in the sentence. In Ælfric, we see the identical construction three times, but one of these does not correspond to Wulfstan’s text, since Ælfric has changed the finite verb, decorati sunt, into a participle in apposition to the subject, in a construction parallel to the preceding two. Next, Ælfric has adapted Wulfstan’s three relative clauses and one main clause into two relative clauses. In short, Ælfric’s more concise sentence has replicated the same grammatical constructions that occur in two sentences in Wulfstan’s version, but has not repeated the same construction as many times. Therefore, Wulfstan’s prose is not syntactically more complicated than Ælfric’s; it is simply more repetitive. Furthermore, since Ælfric’s statement is more concise, it is in some ways syntactically more complex, as can be seen in the final clause (cuius documentis … caruissent erroris), in which Ælfric altered a finite verb to a participle and collapsed Wulfstan’s final relative and purpose clauses (i.e. cuius eruditione … veri luminis and ut exuti … aeternae claritatis, respectively) into a single relative clause of purpose. In this passage, he used all of the grammatical and syntactical structures of Wulfstan, but eliminated repetition by omitting the purpose clause, which was functionally redundant, since the preceding clause was already a relative clause of purpose. Thus Ælfric refined the grammar of the sentence by eliminating redundancy. faithfully without complaint. While they were powerful in the daily additions of good works, they were adorned with the extraordinary gift of God in that they deserved to give birth to such offspring, by whose learning and example not only the people of the present age, but also the future might arrive to the acquaintance of the true light, so that they might enjoy the glory of eternal splendour, after the darkness of shadowy error had been extinguished.” 64 Ælfric, p. 71; “However, the parents of holy Æthelwold were inhabitants of the city Winchester, living in the time of Edward, king of the English. They were distinguished by an extraordinary gift of God in that they deserved to give birth to such a son, by whose teachings not only the people of the present age, but also the future are deprived of the darkness of error.” Words in italics have been changed by Ælfric. 65 See Ruff’s discussion of parallel constructions in Aldhelm’s prose. She claims that these parallelisms are one of several features that makes Aldhelmian syntax more intelligible. “Perceptions of Difficulty,” pp. 168–71.

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The syntactical complexity of Ælfric’s writing has never been appreciated, because the traditional definition of hermeneutic Latin has always been expressed in antithesis to the writing of Ælfric and Bede.66 Students of Anglo-Latin learn that hermeneutic Latin is difficult, while Ælfric’s (and Bede’s) Latin is simple. Neither of these statements is true. There is a range of difficulty in hermeneutic Latin, from impenetrable to merely esoteric; on the other hand, Ælfric’s writing is not so simple as many have suggested. Rhythmical cursus, alliteration, and complicated syntax can also be found in Ælfric’s writing, despite the fact that these traits are typically associated with the hermeneutic style inspired by Aldhelm. However, Ælfric meticulously avoided grecisms and esoteric words preferred by Aldhelm and other hermeneutic writers, and he did not delight in the amplification found in these same writers. The absence of hermeneutic vocabulary and stylistic amplification leads many to the conclusion that Ælfric’s writing is simple, when syntactically his writing can be as complicated as the hermeneutic texts to which it is compared. The grammatical and rhetorical complexity of Ælfric’s Latin writing and his knowledge of difficult Latin texts suggest that his choice to avoid hermeneutic vocabulary does not result from an inferior education, but from very specific notions about how language should be used. The next section will examine Ælfric’s techniques of abbreviation in his redaction of the Life of Æthelwold, because Ælfric’s choices in vocabulary show very specific concerns with language that may clarify why he avoided hermeneutic Latin. The Life of St. Æthelwold and Vocabulary Among the two lives of St. Æthelwold written by first-hand witnesses (i.e. Wulfstan and Ælfric), Ælfric’s Life is read more frequently by modern scholars because of its clarity and brevity,67 and the long-held belief that it was the anterior text, which Wulfstan later embellished with hermeneutic Latin.68 Some have even suggested that Wulfstan’s edition is a twelfthcentury forgery based on Ælfric’s Life, since none of the manuscripts of Wulfstan’s texts was written before the twelfth century.69 However, Lapidge 66

See Campbell, Chronicle of Æthelweard, p. xlv. E.g. David Knowles, who repeatedly cites Ælfric’s Life, but not Wulfstan’s; see The Monastic Order in England: A History of its Development from the Times of St. Dunstan to the Fourth Lateran Council, 940–1216, 2nd ed. (Cambridge, 1963), pp. 39–41. 68 D.J.V. Fisher, “The Early Biographers of St. Ethelwold,” English Historical Review 67 (1952), 381–91. 69 J.A. Robinson, The Times of Saint Dunstan (Oxford, 1923), pp. 107–8. For a list of manuscripts, see Lapidge and Winterbottom, Life of St. Æthelwold, pp. clxviii–clxxix. 67

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and Winterbottom have shown that Wulfstan’s Life was more widely read and was more influential throughout the Middle Ages than Ælfric’s abbreviation.70 While Ælfric’s Life exists in only one manuscript, Wulfstan’s Life is extant in five, and evidence from indirect witnesses suggests that it was the “most widely read of all pre-Conquest Anglo-Latin saints’ vitae.”71 Furthermore, Lapidge and Winterbottom have shown that Ælfric abbreviated Wulfstan’s Life, not the other way around. The most striking aspect of Ælfric’s method of abbreviation (both in this text and elsewhere) is that he tended to preserve the original words of his source while omitting unnecessary verbiage.72 Instead of recasting the Life in his own words, Ælfric adapted the words of his source, changing them to fit new grammatical positions in a process akin to working a jigsaw puzzle: rearranging parts of the sentence so that the original words of the source can be retained, despite the fact that significant portions of each sentence are left out. Lapidge and Winterbottom suggested that Ælfric could have drawn a red line through the undesirable words and copied the remaining selection, carefully altering the grammar to fit the new syntactical arrangement of words.73 This seems to be exactly what Ælfric did, not only for this text, but for several other epitomes that he made of Latin texts, which he later translated into Old English.74 The only extant copy of Ælfric’s Latin Life of St. Æthelwold occurs in a manuscript accompanied by epitomes, which he created for other English saints used in his Lives of Saints collection. The arrangement of this manuscript has led Lapidge and Winterbottom to suggest that Ælfric may have intended to translate this text into English, although a corresponding English life is not extant.75 While this article cannot pursue the likelihood that an English rendition of this Life was ever composed by Ælfric, the similarity in method between this Life and the other epitomes suggests that a rigorous study of Ælfric’s modus operandi might explain some aspects of Ælfric’s pedagogical intent in abbreviating saints’ lives in both Latin and English, while further clarifying Ælfric’s relationship to the monastic reform, in spite of his chosen writing style. 70

Lapidge and Winterbottom, Life of St. Æthelwold, p. clxvii. Ibid. 72 See Lapidge and Winterbottom, Life of St. Æthelwold, pp. cl–cliii. For Ælfric’s use of this method in his redrafting of the Regularis concordia, see Jones, Letter to the Monks of Eynsham, pp. 18–60; and idem, “Meatim Sed et Rustica,” pp. 21–41. 73 Lapidge and Winterbottom, Life of St. Æthelwold, pp. clii–cliii. 74 Lapidge and Winterbottom, Life of St. Æthelwold, pp. cxlvii–cxlix. This was also the mode of abbreviation used in Ælfric’s Letter to the Monks of Eynsham. 75 Lapidge and Winterbottom, Life of St. Æthelwold, p. cxlix. 71

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Ælfric’s method of abbreviation is especially interesting, because although he appeared to be maintaining the exact wording of his source, he changed many individual words where there was no apparent reason to do so. These words are frequently neither hermeneutic nor uncommon, but still they appear not to have been to Ælfric’s taste. His replacement of many words does not seem to be motivated by their frequency in Latin texts, but rather by the precision of their meaning. He often changed Wulfstan’s multivalent words to more concrete words with a single and precise meaning. For instance, in the following passage of Ælfric, the italicized words have been altered from the original source. (Below I have given the equivalents of these words in Wulfstan’s text.) Erant autem parentes sancti Ætheluuoldi habitatores ciuitatis Wentae, tempore Eaduuerdi regis Anglorum florentes, eximio Dei dono decorati quo talem meruissent prolem generare, cuius documentis non solum praesentis aeui populi sed etiam futuri caligine caruissent erroris.76 autem = igitur habitatores = urbani dono = munere prolem = sobolem generare=gignere documentis = eruditione et exemplis

In the list above, I have omitted the word caruissent because it is part of a major grammatical revision that I have discussed previously.77 The substitution of autem “moreover” for igitur “therefore” shows a higher level of semantic precision, since the postpositive particle autem indicates a transition from the prologue to the main text of the Life.78 In a similar vein, the next four words show an interesting tendency that continues throughout the work:79 Ælfric preferred words with a singular transparent meaning and frequently replaced words with multiple meanings in Wulfstan with more precise words. Wulfstan’s word urbani (which is neither rare nor 76

For translation, see above, p. 122–23, n. 63. See above, p. 133. 78 See the entries in the TLL for autem and igitur. However, Jones could not always find such obvious reasons for the alteration of conjunctions in Ælfric’s Letter to the Monks of Eynsham see “Meatim Sed et Rustica,” pp. 28–29. 79 The replacement of gignere for generare does not follow this pattern, since gigno is far more common than genero. However, in the Vulgate, gigno normally appears in its perfect form genuit; see the first chapter of Matthew and the third chapter of Luke. I suggest that the change in stem from gigno to genui might have caused Ælfric to choose a comparable verb with a more regular stem, i.e. genero. 77

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hermeneutic) can mean “an inhabitant of a city” or “polished, refined, cultivated,” but Ælfric’s word habitatores refers only to the inhabitant of a place without the additional connotation of sophistication. Wulfstan’s word munere also has two possible meanings: 1) “a gift” and 2) “a service, office, or post.” By changing to the word dono, Ælfric has focused on the definition that he wished to highlight, i.e. “a gift.” The next two examples are similar. Wulfstan’s word sobolem means “a twig” or “an offshoot,” but by transference it is used in poetry to mean “offspring or progeny.” On the other hand, the word that Ælfric chose, prolem, literally means “that which grows forth” and is used almost exclusively to refer to offspring or progeny.80 The final word on the list, documentis, shows a similar trend toward specificity, because it replaces eruditione et exemplis: general words that refer to learning/knowledge and examples/patterns, respectively. Ælfric’s more specific word comes from doceo (“to teach”) and means a lesson or example used in instruction or as a warning. Whereas Wulfstan’s words vaguely refer to Æthelwold’s learning and good life, Ælfric has focused specifically on his role as a good teacher. These words taken together show a general tendency in many of the small alterations of vocabulary that Ælfric made throughout this work: when Ælfric encountered a word in his source that was vague or multivalent, he replaced it with a specific word that focused on the single meaning that Ælfric wished to highlight. His precision of wording is in striking contrast to the normal practice of amplification in hermeneutic Latin, which emphasized the use of polysyllabic synonyms even when the meaning of the words was not exactly appropriate for the context.81 It seems that Ælfric could not tolerate this linguistic imprecision in spite of its frequency in many documents connected to the monastic reform. The alterations that Ælfric introduced into the text show an interest in both the syntactical and poetic nuances of words – an interest shared by the more elaborate writers of the reform, like Wulfstan. However, Ælfric seems concerned with precision in the use of Latin – not flamboyancy. The passage above also contains two words that illustrate Ælfric’s interest in self-explanatory etymologies, prolem and documentis. Both of 80

See also below p. 128, for Ælfric’s tendency to replace certain Latin compounds with other compounds that are self-explanatory. Notably, soboles is more correctly spelled suboles and is a compound of sub (under)+ olesco (“to grow”). Whereas proles comes from pro (“forward”) + alo (to nourish, of which olesco is the inceptive). 81 For an illustration of word-play made by repetition of synonyms common in hermeneutic texts, see Stephenson, “Deliberate Obfuscation,” ch. 3. Note that many of the elaborate words that Byrhtferth has chosen are not exactly appropriate to the context. For similar examples in Aldhelm, see chap. 1.

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these words seem to have been preferred in their specific contexts because of the precision of their roots. Throughout the Life of Æthelwold, we see polysyllabic words whose meanings differ from their uncompounded roots replaced with more self-explanatory compounds. For instance, Ælfric changes the word prosilire (“to burst forth,” lit. “to jump forward”) to exire (“to go out”),82 optinuit (“he possessed,” lit. “he held towards or on account of”) to adquisiuit (“he acquired,” lit. “he moved towards acquiring”),83 appellatur (lit. “he is addressed”) to nominatur (“he is named”),84 adtendens (here: “watching,” lit. “stretching towards”) to ammirans (“wondering at”),85 and praesumpsisti (“you presumed,” lit. “you have taken beforehand”) to ausus fuisti (“you dared”).86 In the list of words above, the meaning of the word that Ælfric has chosen can be gleaned from its constituent parts. This might imply that Ælfric was uncomfortable with non-literal compounds, because of his inferior Latin training, as Jones suggested.87 However, if Ælfric had been uncomfortable with the meanings of the words, he probably would have left them as they stood. Instead, I suggest that Ælfric was concerned about the confusion potentially caused by these non-literal compounds and consequently chose words that were self-explanatory in order to assist his readers. Also, the above words tend to focus on a single aspect that Ælfric wished to highlight, as was discussed above. Ælfric’s desire for precision and proper semantics is especially pronounced in words related to religious functions.88 For instance, Ælfric routinely replaced Wulfstan’s antistes or pontifex (and forms of these words)

82

Wulfstan, p. 4; Ælfric, p. 71. This particular change is also part of Ælfric’s tendency to downplay the miraculous elements of the text. See below, pp. 135–37. 83 Wulfstan, p. 40; Ælfric, p. 76. 84 Wulfstan, p. 40; Ælfric, p. 76. 85 Wulfstan, p. 52; Ælfric, p. 78. 86 Wulfstan, p. 54; Ælfric, p. 78. There are many other examples that are perhaps less clear, such as Wulfstan, p. 6: referebant; Ælfric, p. 72: narrauit. Wulfstan, p. 12: alloquitur; Ælfric, p. 72: dixit. Wulfstan, p. 12: interrogo; Ælfric, p. 72: inquit. Wulfstan, p. 20: consentiente; Ælfric, p. 73: permittente. Wufstan, p. 20: praenotati; Ælfric, p. 73: praefati. Wulfstan, p. 30: detestandos; Ælfric, p. 75: nefandos. Wulfstan, p. 40: coadunauit; Ælfric, p. 76: congregauit. Wulfstan, p. 52: perrexit; Ælfric, p. 78: iuit. Wulfstan, p. 54: sustinerit; Ælfric, p. 79: perpessus sit. I am not suggesting that Ælfric always avoided the above words, but only that he has chosen a compound that is more appropriate for each context. 87 For Jones’s thesis on Ælfric’s education, see above, pp. 115–17. 88 Jones also noted this in his research of Ælfric’s Letter to the Monks of Eynsham; see “Meatim Sed et Rustica,” pp. 30–32.

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with episcopus (and forms thereof).89 Ælfric seemed to object to other religious words as well. Ælfric preferred the construction, fecit abbatem to constituit abbatem or ordinauit abbatem.90 It seems that abbots were appointed, not established or ordained, according to Ælfric’s understanding of church structure.91 Ælfric also preferred to call nuns monialia,92 rather than sanctimonialia, despite the fact that the latter word is more common in the Regularis concordia and in Wulfstan’s Life.93 In addition, Ælfric altered canonicus to clericus in every case that it occurs. 94 This change is unusual in that it replaces the more precise word, “canon,” a cleric who served in the bishop’s familia, with the more general word, “cleric,” which describes a religious person who is not a monk. Furthermore, the presence of the word canonicus once led J. A. Robinson to argue that Wulfstan’s text was a product of the twelfth century, since he claimed that this word was not used in England during the tenth century.95 However, as Michael Lapidge has shown, the word, canonicus, is also used in Lantfred’s Translatio et miracula Sancti Swithuni (ca. 975) and Wulfstan’s Narratio de Sancto Swithuno (992 x 996), that is to say in Winchester texts of the generation

89

Ælfric’s preference in the case may be related to roots of the words, since Isidore of Seville wrote that “pontifex princeps sacerdotum est,” and that “antistes sacerdos dictus ab eo quod ante stat. Primus est enim in ordine Eccleisiae,” while “Episcopi autem Graece, Latine speculatores interpretantur; nam speculator est praepositus in Ecclesia; dictus eo quod speculatur, atque praespiciat populorum infra se positorum mores et vitam.” W.M. Lindsay, ed. Isidori Hispalensis episcopi etymologiarum sive originum libri XX (Oxford, 1911), 7. xii. 12, 13, and 16. It is Æthelwold’s role as watcher and protector of the flock that Ælfric generally emphasizes. However, in earlier prefaces, Ælfric used presul instead of episcopus. See Wilcox, Ælfric’s Prefaces, pp. 107 and 115. 90 Wulfstan, p. 36: constituit; Ælfric, p. 76: fecit. Wulfstan, p. 38: ordinauit; Ælfric, p. 76: fecit. Wulfstan, p. 28: ordinatum; Ælfric, p. 74: factum. 91 This contradicts usage in the Rule of St. Benedict, which uses the word ordinatio for the appointment of the abbot and stipulates that he must be chosen by the members of the community; see Justin McCann, The Rule of St. Benedict (Westminster, MD, 1952), p. 144. The Regularis concordia stipulates that the electio of the abbot should be carried out with the consultation of the king. Symon, Spath et al., Regularis concordia, pp. 74–75. 92 By nuns, I mean cloistered women that were the equivalents of monks; see Sarah Foot’s discussion of the terms to describe female religious women in Anglo-Saxon England and their modern English translations, The Disappearance of Nuns from Anglo-Saxon England, vol. 2 of Veiled Women, Studies in Early Medieval Britain (Aldershot, Ashgate, 2000), pp. 104–10. 93 Wulfstan, p. 42; Ælfric, p. 77. Wulfstan, p. 44; Ælfric, p. 77. For a discussion of the terms describing female religious in Latin and English, see Foot, Veiled Women, pp. 96–104. 94 The single exception is in the miracle story cited below, pp. 134–35. 95 See above pp. 124–25.

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before Ælfric.96 Although the reasons for the words Ælfric selected are unclear, since they do not conform to typical usage in Winchester or other reformed centres, it is clear that Ælfric sought a uniformity in language relating to the Church in his writings. Such standardization is in accordance with the general tendency of the Benedictine Reform to seek uniformity, as in the single practice for monks embodied in the text of the Regularis concordia. However, there is no evidence that other reformers attempted a similar project. This standardization of religious language seems to have been Ælfric’s invention. This emphasis on the precision of language, especially regarding religious words, is not without precedent in the monastic reform, in the socalled Winchester vocabulary of Old English.97 This particular set of vernacular words was first noticed by Helmut Gneuss in texts associated with Winchester.98 Walter Hofstetter later identified thirteen groups of words that appear in texts related to Winchester, but do not appear in other nonmonastic texts.99 These mostly religious words seem to have arisen from Latin glosses and Latin translations,100 and they were an attempt to create technical religious vocabulary in English to facilitate the translation of spiritual texts into the vernacular.101 For instance, the Winchester word wuldorbeag translates the Latin word corona, but only when corona refers to the crown of life worn by martyrs (i.e. corona vitae aeternae), not when it refers to the crown worn by a king.102 In this case, the reformers have coined an Old English word that was more specific than the Latin word that it translated.103 Mechthild Gretsch has argued that Dunstan and Æthelwold first began to experiment with this vocabulary while they were in Glastonbury creating glosses to Latin religious texts, such as the Royal 96

Lapidge and Winterbottom, Life of St. Æthelwold, p. clv. Editions of both of these works are available in Lapidge, The Cult of St. Swithun, pp. 252–333 (Lantfred) and pp. 372– 551 (Wulfstan). 97 For Winchester Vocabulary, see above p. 114, n. 18. 98 Helmut Gneuss, “The Origin of Standard Old English.” 99 For the descriptions of these thirteen categories, see Hofstetter, Winchester und der spätaltenglische Sprachgebrauch, pp. 4–20. 100 Gretsch, “Winchester Vocabulary and Standard Old English.” 101 For more on the idea of technical vocabulary, see Gretsch, “Winchester Vocabulary and Standard Old English,” and Intellectual Foundations, see especially the discussion of ecclesia on p. 112. 102 Gretsch, “Winchester Vocabulary and Standard Old English”; and eadem, Intellectual Foundations, pp. 98–104. 103 Sarah Foot has also noted that the terminology for women religious is more specific in Old English than in Latin; see Veiled Women, pp. 96–104.

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Psalter (the so-called D gloss) and the Aldhelm glosses.104 These words were certainly taught at Winchester during Ælfric’s time there under Æthelwold’s tutelage. The influence of Winchester vocabulary on Ælfric can be seen in his relatively consistent usage of these words in his prose. 105 I suggest that Ælfric’s regular employment of Winchester vocabulary in his English writings can be connected with the pursuit of semantic precision in his Latin texts. Ælfric’s tendency to prefer specific words for religious functions, when multiple words existed for the same function, such as episcopus instead of antistes and pontifex, or monialis instead of sanctimonialis or monacha, may have arisen from an attempt to approximate the semantic regularity of Winchester vocabulary in Latin. In fact, the latter example finds a direct analogue in the Old English word mynecenu,106 a word used in the tenth-century to distinguish the female equivalent of a Benedictine monk from a nunne, a secular vowess who was the female equivalent of a cleric.107 Prior to the monastic reform, there was no linguistic means to distinguish between these two groups of women, nor did a clear distinction ever exist in Latin texts of the tenth century. In Latin both groups were referred to with the general term sanctimonialia,108 which has led to a great deal of confusion among modern historians, since it is difficult to determine the location or nature of women’s houses in later Anglo-Saxon England, due to the ambiguity of the terms that describe them.109 Ælfric may have attempted to replicate the precision of the Old English word mynecenu by using monialis in Latin.110

104

Gretsch, Intellectual Foundations, pp. 381–83. Hofstetter, “Winchester and Standardization,” p. 139. 106 Since this word is not included in Hofstetter’s study, it is not properly speaking a “Winchester word.” However, Sarah Foot has argued that the distinction between mynecenu (“female monks”) and nunnan (“secular vowesses”) did not exist before the monastic reform: Veiled Women, pp. 96–104; and eadem, “Language and Method: The Dictionary of Old English and the Historian,” in The Dictionary of Old English: Retrospects and Prospects, ed. M.J. Toswell, Old English Newsletter Subsidia 26 (Kalamazoo, MI, 1998), pp. 73–87, at p. 80–81. 107 Ibid. 108 Foot, Veiled Women, pp. 101–4. 109 Foot, Veiled Women, p. 96–104 and passim. 110 In both cases that Ælfric used this word, it replaced sanctimonialis. In the first instance, it definitely referred to mynecenu, who “regulariter viventibus”; Wulfstan, p. 42. The second case is not as clear, since it is part of a series of titles in Wulfstan, “Pater erat et pastor monachorum, peruigil sacntimonalium protector et uirginum,” p. 44. However, Ælfric has shortened the list and made monialis much more clearly parallel to monks, “Pater erat 105

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Ælfric’s preference for self-explanatory compounds and univalent words may reflect an early stage in the codification of his own version of a Latin language equivalent to Winchester vocabulary.111 It is important to remember that Ælfric, himself, experimented with and refined Winchester vocabulary, in order to make it more precise.112 The pursuit of words with distinctive meanings in Latin and in Old English may have been the “naked text” (naced gerecednis) that Ælfric discussed in his Old English Preface to Genesis.113 However, although Ælfric’s writing is clear (and deliberately so), we should not assume that it is simple. It is complex both in grammar and in vocabulary. The ease with which we read Ælfric’s texts is the result of his own careful attention to a specific style of pedagogy, not his lack of sophistication. The next section will explore how his attention to the precise denotation of Latin words affects the narration of the text, which also tends to be univalent. The Life of St. Æthelwold and Narrative Ælfric’s faithfulness to the exact words of his source conceals many subtle changes that affect the narrative of the text, either in ordering or in content. Ælfric was not an artless abbreviator, who mindlessly copied what was before him after excising the more difficult vocabulary. On the contrary, Ælfric adapted the meaning of his text by removing most of the literary allusions that encouraged readers to interpret the text on multiple levels. Ælfric also excised much of Wulfstan’s extraneous commentary in order to focus the text on the specific aspects of Æthelwold’s life that Ælfric wished to highlight. In this way, Ælfric attempted to create a narrative that functioned only on the literal level, without a spiritual understanding that could be misconstrued.

monachorum et monialium,” p. 77. Monialis is the normative word used to describe religious women in the Domesday Book; see Foot, Veiled Women, pp. 103–4. 111 According to Gretsch, there were many stages in the creation of Winchester vocabulary; see Intellectual Foundations, p. 95. For a discussion of Ælfric’s adaptation of Winchester vocabulary, see Godden, “Ælfric’s Changing Vocabulary,” pp. 206–23. 112 Note especially changes in the use of the word “martyr”: Godden, “Ælfric’s Changing Vocabulary,” pp. 208–9 and 220. 113 “We secgað eac foran to þæt seo boc is swiþe deop gastlice to understandenne, and we ne writaþ na mare buton þa nacedan gerecednisse. Þonne þincþ þam ungelæredum þæt eall þæt andgit beo belocen on þære anfealdan gerecednisse, ac hit ys swiþe feor þam.” Wilcox, Ælfric’s Prefaces, p. 117. I acknowledge, when Ælfric made this statement, he referred to composition in English.

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In order to emphasize the literal level of the text, Ælfric created a more logical narrative order in the text by resequencing conjunctions and adverbs.114 In the following passage, the narrative words that Ælfric changed or added are in italics: Contigit aliquando clericum eius, cui designatum erat ampullam eius ferre, minus olei accipere quam necessitas poscebat, et hoc ipsum in itinere perdidisse. Veniens autem episcopus ad locum destinatum, cum uellet habere crisma, non habuit. Turbatus tunc clericus repedauit iter quo115 uenerat, et inuenit ampollam plenam olei iacentem, quae nec medietatem antea habuerat.116

With the exception of the word episcopus, 117 all of the words that Ælfric changed in this section improve the narrative flow of the story. While Ælfric wrote a very clear and succinct portrait of a miraculous event in which a lazy cleric found the chrism that he had lost in his negligence, Wulfstan wrote a confusing sequence of events that is twice as long and filled with praise of Æthelwold: Placuit inter haec omnipotenti Deo ut caelesti etiam monstraretur indicio quod ei beneplacitum esset habitare in sancto suo. Nam cum iter quoddam sacer antistes ageret ut in agro Dominico semen uerbi Dei spargeret, contigit clericum eius, cui sanctum crisma fuerat designatum, minus olei quam necessitas poscebat accepisse, et hoc parum quod acceperat in ipso itinere perdidisse. Cumque Christi famulus ad destinatum peruenisset locum, post missae celebrationem postque dulcia sanctae praedicationis alloquia, iussit ex more ad confirmandos pueros oleum sibi exhibere. Sed clericus qui ampullam se secum ferre aestimabat repente quod eam perdidisset agnouit. Turbatus ergo celerrime repetiit iter unde uenerat, et diligenter huc illucque circumspiciens inuenit ampullam crismatis in uia iacentem oleo plenam, cuius nec medietas quidem paulo ante quicquam liquoris habuerat. Qua assumpta ‘cum timore et gaudio magno’ reuersus est, sancto antistiti satisfaciens et caelestis stillicidii miraculum ueraci relatione pandens. Quod Dei nutu gestum esse probatur, ut qui spiritus sancti gratia perfundebatur, eiusque unctione corda et facies multorum

114

Ælfric’s change of conjunctions did not always work to great effect. Jones discusses some of the less effective changes in Ælfric’s Letter to the Monks of Eynsham, in “Meatim Sed et Rustica,” pp. 28–30. 115 Although the authorial reading in Wulfstan seems to be unde at this point, there is a manuscript variant for quo; see Lapidge and Winterbottom, The Life of St. Æthelwold, p. 48. 116 Ælfric, p. 77: “Once it happened that his cleric who had been designated to carry the ampulla took less oil than necessity required, and even this oil he lost along the way. As the bishop arrived at the appointed place, when he wished to have chrism, he did not have it. The agitated cleric retraced the path by which he had come and he found the ampulla (which before had been only half-full) lying completely filled with oil.” 117 For why Ælfric changed this word, see above, p. 129, n. 90.

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exhilarabat, ipse non solum interius sed etiam exterius oleo supernae laeticiae remuneraretur.118

Ælfric distilled this longer version of events by adding temporal conjunctions that clarify the ordering of events (aliquando, cum, and tunc) while simplifying the facts of the case. Rather than Wulfstan’s elaborate explanation of when the cleric discovered the chrism to be missing, “Cumque Christi famulus ad destinatum peruenisset locum, post missae celebrationem postque dulcia sanctae praedicationis alloquia, iussit ex more ad confirmandos pueros oleum sibi exhibere,”119 Ælfric stated simply, “cum uellet habere crisma, non habuit.”120 Furthermore, Wulfstan’s text said that the cleric in question was the one “cui sanctum crisma fuerat designatum.”121 However, what the cleric was to do with the chrism is unexplained (perhaps because a monastic audience would already know the job of the cleric with such an assignment). Ælfric, on the other hand, clarified the cleric’s job at this point “cui designatum erat ampullam eius ferre.”122 By explaining that the cleric was responsible for filling and maintaining the ampulla at the beginning of the story, the moments of loss and recovery are more easily understood. Until the chrism is recovered in Wulfstan’s text, it is unclear whether the oil or the container has been lost. By clarifying the material facts 118

Wulfstan, p. 48; “At that time, it was pleasing to the omnipotent God that he show with a celestial sign that it was very well-pleasing to him to dwell in his holy man. For when the holy bishop went on a certain journey so that he might scatter the seed of the word of God in the Lord’s field, it happened that his cleric, to whom the holy chrism was appointed, took less oil than necessity required, and what little bit he took he lost along the way. And when the servant of Christ had come to the appointed place, after the celebration of the mass and after the sweet exhortation of his holy sermon, he ordered that the oil be shown to him so that he could confirm the boys, as was the usual custom. But the cleric, who thought that he carried the ampulla with him, suddenly realized that he had lost it. Troubled, he quickly went back down the path whence he had come, and diligently looking around here and there, he found the bottle of chrism lying on the road full of oil, although earlier it had been a little less than half full of liquid. Picking up the container “with fear and great joy,” he returned begging the pardon of the holy bishop by revealing the miracle of the heavenly moisture in a true narrative. This thing is proved to have been done by the will of God, so that he, who was imbued with the grace of the holy spirit and made happy the faces and hearts by its unction, might be repaid not only inwardly, but also outwardly by the oil of heavenly happiness.” 119 Wulfstan, p. 48; “And when the servant of Christ had come to the appointed place, after the celebration of the mass and after the sweet exhortation of his holy sermon, he ordered that the oil be shown to him so that he could confirm the boys, as was the usual custom.” 120 Ælfric, p. 77; “When he wished to have the chrism, he did not have it.” 121 Wulfstan, p. 48; “To whom the holy chrism was assigned.” 122 Ælfric, p. 77; “To whom it was assigned to carry his ampulla.”

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and adding temporal modifiers that sequence the action, Ælfric presented a miracle that was more readily understood. Furthermore, Wulfstan emphasized more pointedly the personal piety of Æthelwold, while Ælfric related only the concrete facts of the story. In Ælfric’s version, we see no reference to heavenly approval or celestial signs, but Wulfstan said that this miracle occurred Dei nutu (“with God’s approval”), as a caelesti … indicio (“heavenly sign”), that placuit … omnipotenti Deo (“was pleasing to the omnipotent God”). Also, Wulfstan called Æthelwold, sancto suo (“his holy man”), sacer antistes (“holy bishop”), and Christi famulus (“Christ’s servant”), but Ælfric referred to Æthelwold as merely episcopus (“bishop”). Additionally, Ælfric removed in entirety the first and last sentences of this paragraph, which explicitly state the heavenly nature of this miracle. Whereas in Ælfric’s text, we see a wellordered and clear rendition of a miraculous event without any commentary upon it, in Wulfstan’s version, we have a lengthy meditation upon the personal virtue of Æthelwold that this miracle evidenced. Ælfric’s discomfort with miracles is well-documented, both in his own writings and by modern scholars.123 In his Homily for the Ascension Day, Ælfric discussed the concern that magicians can enact miracles – or things that appear to be miracles.124 Therefore, Ælfric defined magic as that which is enacted by an individual, while a miracle is that which is done by God in order to show his approval for a person or a situation.125 In Ælfric’s stories, a saint can be an agent for a miracle, but as in the Life of St. Æthelwold, the miracles frequently occur around the saint without any direct action on his part. It seems that Ælfric’s personal knowledge of Æthelwold further dampened his enthusiasm about the bishop’s miraculous deeds. Throughout the work, Ælfric seldom called Æthelwold sanctus vir – although this appellation appears routinely in Wulfstan’s work. Instead Ælfric generally referred to Æthelwold by his name and/or his ecclesiastical title, episcopus (“bishop”).126 Similarly, Ælfric has limited the miraculous quality of the deeds that Æthelwold performs. As Malcolm Godden pointed out, 123

M.R. Godden, “Ælfric’s Saints’ Lives and the Problem of Miracles,” in Old English Prose: Basic Readings, ed. Paul Szarmach, Basic Readings in Anglo-Saxon England 5 (New York, 2000), pp. 287–309; first published in Leeds Studies in English, n.s. 16 (1985), 83–100. 124 Peter Clemoes, ed., “In ascensione Domini,” in Ælfric’s Catholic Homilies, Early English Text Society, s.s. 17 (Oxford, 1997), pp. 345–53, at 350–51. 125 See Godden’s discussion in “Saints’ Lives and Miracles,” pp. 288–90. 126 Wulfstan, p. 6: sanctum virum; Ælfric, p. 71: filium eius. Wulfstan, p. 18: sancto viro; Ælfric, p. 73: venerabili Æthelwoldi. Wulfstan, p. 50: vir sanctus; Ælfric, p. 78: episcopus. Wulfstan, p. 52: vir sanctus. Ælfric, p. 78: episcopum. Note also, Wulfstan, p. 48: famulus

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Only two of the miracles which Ælfric describes in his life of St. Æthelwold occur after the saint’s death, yet it is perhaps significant that the others are not, in the strict sense, performed or worked by the saint. Three of them are experienced by his mother before or soon after his birth; others involve the monastic community rather than the saint himself; only one is even a response to his prayer.127

The difference between the miracles that Ælfric described and the miracles as told by Wulfstan shows that Ælfric did not place the same emphasis on the personal sanctity of Æthelwold. In the following example, we see how Ælfric played down a miracle to make Æthelwold’s personal role less important: Accidit namque quadam solenni die, sedenti matre domi et in gremio infantem tenente, tempestuosam auram adsurgere, in tantum ut ipsa, sicuti decreuit, adire ecclesiam nequiret; sed cum gemebunda orationi se dedisset, subito inuenta est in ecclesia sedens cum infantulo ubi missam presbiter celebrabat.128

In the passage above, Ælfric has changed a number of clauses in toto, rather than simply changing words sporadically, as he did elsewhere. Such wholesale revision can be seen in most of the miracles that Ælfric related.129 These changes usually soften Wulfstan’s exaggerated rhetoric. For instance, Ælfric said simply that “tempestuosam auram adsurgere,”130 but Wulfstan flamboyantly wrote, “ualidam inundantis pluuiae tempestatem erumpere.”131 The problem in this story, as stated by Ælfric, was that the storm did not allow the mother to go to church, but Wulfstan claimed that the storm was so

Christi; Ælfric, p. 77: episcopus. Wulfstan, p. 52: vir Dei; Ælfric, p. 78: epsiscopus. After Æthelwold’s death in Ælfric, he is sometimes referred to as saint, see Wulfstan, p. 68: sancti viri; Ælfric, p. 79: sancti Æthelwoldi. Ælfric also refers to Æthelwold as a saint in the opening line. 127 Godden, “Saints’ Lives and Miracles,” p. 85. 128 Ælfric, p. 72; “For it happened on a certain feast day, while his mother was seated in the house holding the infant on her bosom, such a strong tempestuous wind rose up that she was not able to go to church, as she had intended. However, when she had tearfully given herself to prayer, suddenly she found herself with the infant seated in the church where the priest was celebrating mass.” 129 The revision is especially interesting in the story of the thief, which Ælfric altered fairly radically by naming the guilty party and offering additional details. Lapidge and Winterbottom have suggested that the revisions result from Ælfric’s personal knowledge of the event; see Life of St. Æthelwold, p. 49, n. 6. 130 “A stormy wind rose up.” 131 Wulfstan, p. 8: “a great storm of inundating rain broke out.”

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strong “ut extra loci limen … pedem movere non posset.”132 The piety of the mother (nurse, in Wulfstan) is also overstated in Wulfstan, who claimed that she “dum maerens amarissime fleret eo quod uotum piae intentionis soluere nequiret, caput humiliter omnipotentem Dominum rogatura declinauit et confestim diuina miseratione consolari promeruit.”133 Ælfric’s text reads simply that “cum gemebunda orationi se dedisset” she suddenly appeared in the church.134 By making the storm less threatening and the nurse/mother less pious, Ælfric has made the miracle more dependent on the actions of God and less on the piety of humans. As Malcolm Godden has shown, Ælfric’s miracles usually show God’s approval for individuals on earth; they are not necessarily enacted by the agency of the humans with whom they are associated. This slight shift in focus to a miracle as proof of divine approbation,135 rather than as proof of an individual saint’s power appears throughout this Life. Furthermore, Ælfric has removed the reference comparing Æthelwold to Christ present in Wulfstan’s text: Sicut enim propheta quondam ex Iudaea repente sublatus et in Chaldaea cum prandio est depositus, sic beatus puer Ætheluuoldus sub momento cum nutrice in templo est praesentatus, ut sicut ille refecit unum Dei hominem in lacu leonum, ita iste congruo tempore milia populorum pasceret in ecclesia sanctorum.136

This bizarre imagery comes from the fourteenth chapter of Daniel, where the prophet Habakkuk suddenly appeared to feed Daniel in the lion’s den. Also, the phrase “in templo prasentatus” (presented in the temple) is reminiscent of the presentation in the temple of the infant Christ. Thus, Wulfstan joined 132

Wulfstan, p. 8: “that she was not able to move her feet out of doors.” Wulfstan attributed this miracle to Æthelwold’s nurse, and not his mother; see Lapidge and Winterbottom, The Life of St. Æthelwold, p. 72, n. 3. 133 Wulfstan, p. 8: “while the mournful girl bitterly cried because she was not able to fulfil the vow of her pious intention, she bowed her head humbly praying to the almighty God, and immediately she deserved to be consoled by divine pity.” 134 “When she had given herself to mournful prayer.” The word gemebunda is especially interesting in this context, because it is a rare word (and rarer than any word that Wulfstan has used in this passage), but the obvious root gemo (to bemoan) makes the word selfexplanatory. 135 See the Life of St. Swithun, where Swithun’s miracles are attributed to divine approval of King Edgar, Bishop Æthelwold, and Archbishop Dunstan. 136 Wulfstan, p. 8; “For just as a prophet once was suddenly carried out of Judea into Chaldea and was deposited with food, thus the blessed child Æthelwold in a flash was presented in the temple with his nurse; just as the prophet fed one man of God in the den of lions, so at the appropriate time Æthelwold fed thousands of people in the church of the saints.”

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these images in order to compare Æthelwold both to a prophet and to Christ. This kind of interpretation is precisely what Ælfric avoided both here and throughout his work. Ælfric avoided typology, in part, because his narrative was more focused on Æthelwold’s role as teacher and father to the monks, whereas Wulfstan’s Life argued for Æthelwold’s sanctity in more general and exaggerated terms. For instance the following passage in Wulfstan’s Life describes Æthelwold’s character: Erat namque terribilis ut leo discolis et peruersis, humilibus uero et oboedientibus se quasi agnum mitissimum exhibebat, ita serpentinae prudentiae temperans seueritatem ut columbinae simplicitatis non amitteret lenitatem. Quem si quando zelus rectitudinis cogeret ut iura disciplinae subiectis imponeret, furor ipse non de crudelitate sed de amore processit, et intus paterna pietate dilexit quos foris quasi insequens castigauit. Pater erat et pastor monachorum, peruigil sanctimonalium protector et uirginum, uiduarum consolator, peregrinorum susceptor, ecclesiarum defensor, errantium corrector, pauperum recreator, pupillorum et orphanorum adiutor: quod plus impleuit opere quam nostra paruitas sermone possit euoluere.137

This passage indulges in the hermeneutic tendency of amplificatio138 to such an extent that it devolves into a series of titles that are not specific to Æthelwold, but could apply to many saintly men in his position. Furthermore, much of the rest of the passage is composed of artful literary allusions that are designed to showcase Wulfstan’s wide reading, more than Æthelwold’s virtue. For instance, the phrases serpentinae prudentiae (“snake-like wisdom”) and columbinae simplicitatis (“dove-like simplicity”) arise from Matt. 10:5, which reads estote ergo prudentes sicut serpentes et simplices sicut columbae (“be as wise as serpents and as simple as

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Wulfstan, p. 44: “For he was as terrible as a lion to the wicked and the intractable, but to the humble and obedient, he showed himself to be as gentle as a lamb, tempering the severity of his snake-like wisdom in such a way that he did not lose the gentleness of dovelike simplicity. If ever the zeal for righteousness compelled him to place the laws of discipline on his subjects, his fury did not arise from cruelty, but from love, and inwardly he loved with paternal piety those whom he outwardly chastised, as if he were attacking them. He was father and shepherd of the monks, the ever-watchful protector of nuns and virgins, the consoler of widows, the receiver of travellers, the defender of the church, the corrector of the wandering, reviver of the poor, helper of boys and orphans: he executed in deeds more than it is possible for my humbleness to relate with speech.” Italicized words are replaced by Ælfric. 138 For a discussion of amplification in Aldhelm, see Winterbottom, “Aldhelm’s Prose Style,” pp. 39–77, at pp. 62–70; see also Rebecca Stephenson, “Deliberate Obfuscation,” pp. 58–59. For a discussion in Byrhtferth, see ibid., pp. 149–51.

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doves”),139 which Wulfstan has recast. When Ælfric compressed this passage, he removed many of the repetitive titles and literary allusions: eratque terriblilis ut leo inoboedientibus seu discolis, mitibus uero et humilibus mitior columba. Pater erat monachorum ac monialium, uiduarum consolator et pauperum recreator, ecclesiarum defensor, errantium corrector: quod plus opere impleuit quam nos possimus sermone enarrare.140

In this passage, Ælfric focused much more specifically on Æthelwold’s role as teacher and bishop. The list of titles, as reproduced in Ælfric, corresponds more closely to the role appropriate to a monastic bishop. He is the father of monks and nuns, he provides for those in need, he defends the Church, and corrects those who wander from the faith. All extraneous commentary that does not fit the model of a perfect saintly bishop has been excised, including references to Æthelwold’s temper.141 Furthermore, Ælfric replaces Wulfstan’s cliché comparison between lion and a lamb with a more interesting comparison between lion and a dove, by compressing two of Wulfstan’s statements. By compressing Wulfstan’s statements and eliminating literary allusions that did not pertain to Æthelwold specifically, Ælfric focused the narrative on Æthelwold’s role as a teacher and monastic bishop. Although Ælfric tended to eliminate the diffuse literary allusions that are scattered throughout Wulfstan’s prose, he did occasionally add a symbolic reference. Unlike Wulfstan’s elaborate flowery learned allusions, however, Ælfric’s are focused and concise. For instance, when Bishop Ælfheah ordained Dunstan, Æthelwold, and Æthelstan, he predicted that two of them would become bishops. In Wulfstan’s text, Æthelstan asks the bishop, “dicens, ‘Num mihi continget esse unum ex duobus qui episcopali cathedra sublimandi sunt?’”142 The bishop replied that not only would Æthelstan not become a bishop, but he would eventually leave the priesthood. Ælfric made a very slight intervention in Æthelstan’s question, which heightens the sense of the latter’s betrayal. In Ælfric’s version, Æthelstan queried, “‘sum ego,’ 139

Lapidge and Winterbottom, Life of St. Æthelwold, p. 44. Ælfric, p. 77; “And he was as terrible as a lion to the disobedient or to the wicked, but to the humble and gentle, he was gentler than a dove. He was father of the monks and nuns, consoler of the widows, reviver of the poor, defender of the church, corrector of the wandering: he carried out in deeds more than I am able to tell with speech.” 141 Wulfstan’s statement, “Quem si quando zelus rectitudinis cogeret ut iura disciplinae subiectis imponeret, furor ipse non de crudelitate sed de amore processit, et intus paterna pietate dilexit quos foris quasi insequens castigauit,” finds no equivalent in Ælfric’s passage. 142 Wulfstan, p. 12: “saying, ‘Will it happen to me that I become one of the two who are elevated to the bishop’s seat?’” 140

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inquit, ‘ex illis duobus qui ad episcopalem dignitatem peruenturi sunt?’”143 By changing the dicens in Wulfstan’s text to inquit Ælfric set the phrase sum ego apart from the rest of the sentence,144 thus highlighting simple words that otherwise would be insignificant. The sum ego is reminiscent of the discussion during the Last Supper in which Jesus prophesied that one of his disciples would betray him. In response, Judas Iscariot asked, “numquid ego sum?” (Is it I?).145 By this subtle change of only a few words, Ælfric compared Æthelstan’s apostasy to Judas Iscariot’s treachery. While this allusion does bring a symbolic level to the reading of this text, the symbol is well-known and consequently controlled, with no space permitted for misinterpretation. A reference to Judas Iscariot can mean only one thing: betrayal. Through his omissions and changes, Ælfric attempted to create a narrative that functioned at only a literal level. Allegory and typology are usually absent from Ælfric’s writings. When symbolic literary allusions occur, they are powerful and clear, unlike the scattered and diffuse allusions that occur throughout hermeneutic texts.146 By the use of a logical sequence and controlled allusions (where such allusions exist), Ælfric was able to control the meaning of his text, limiting misinterpretation by focusing on the literal events of Æthelwold’s life rather than the spiritual signification that these events could hold. In the same way that Ælfric preferred univalent words, he sought to create a univalent narrative without a hidden spiritual meaning or “gastlicum andgite,” as he described it in his Old English Preface to Genesis.147 Conclusion In recording a vita of Æthelwold, one of the leaders of the Benedictine reform, Ælfric has shown his allegiance to the monastic party, but distanced himself from these same reformers by eschewing hermeneutic vocabulary. As this article has shown, Ælfric’s avoidance of hermeneutic Latin arose, not 143 Ælfric, p. 72: “‘Am I,’ he asked, ‘one of the two who will arrive at the episcopal dignity?’” 144 Since inquit is postpositive it cannot stand before the clause, as dicens does in Wulfstan’s text, but must be embedded within the quoted statement. 145 Matthew 26.25. 146 See Byrhtferth’s digression on the word phylacteries in the Enchiridion, which consists of a series of literary allusions that constitute a learned digression on phylacteries that is not relevant to computus; Lapidge and Baker, Byrhtferth’s Enchiridion, p. 46. This passage is discussed in Stephenson, “Deliberate Obfuscation,” pp. 149–52. 147 Wilcox, Ælfric’s Prefaces, p. 118.

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from an inability to master the form, but from very specific ideas about how language and narrative should function. Ælfric replaced the imprecise vocabulary of hermeneutic Latin with words with precise meanings that could be gleaned from their constituent parts. This desire for precision in Latin is analogous to his cultivation of Winchester words in English, a practice which Ælfric refined beyond what he learned from his teachers at Winchester. At the same time that Ælfric refined the vocabulary of his source, he also tailored its narrative in order to make it more precise. He rewrote Wulfstan’s scattered literary allusions caused by the hermeneutic love of amplificatio into a directed narrative that focused on concrete events illustrating Æthelwold’s piety as a monastic bishop. This study of Ælfric’s Latin should warn scholars against the temptation to assume that all of Ælfric’s writings should correspond closely to the goals of other reformers, especially those of Æthelwold at Winchester. Joyce Hill has reminded us that Ælfric’s ideas, especially in his acceptance of canonical texts, sometimes differed from those at Winchester.148 Furthermore, although Ælfric was the most consistent follower of Winchester vocabulary, he refined it in a way not practised at Winchester. Therefore, despite the fact that Ælfric was a staunch defender of the reform, he implemented some of its ideas in his own ways, and this, not his lack of education, may explain his refusal to write in hermeneutic Latin.149 Rebecca Stephenson, University of Louisiana at Monroe

148

Joyce Hill, “Reform and Resistance: Preaching Styles in Late Anglo-Saxon England,” in De l’homélie au sermon: Histoire de la prédication médiévale: actes du colloque international de Louvain-la-Neuve 9–11 juillet 1992, ed. Jacqueline Hamesse and Xavier Jermand (Louvain-la-neuve, 1993), pp. 15–46. 149 Much of the research for this paper was completed at the Georg-August-Universität in Göttingen with a generous fellowship from the DAAD, under the kind tutelage of Professor Mechthild Gretsch. I would also like to thank Michael Lapidge and Renée Trilling for reading drafts of this paper.

Lambertus’s Epiglotus1 by John Haines At first glance, the following essay answers a rather restricted query, namely, the interpretation of a single word, epiglotus, as it occurs, only twice, in a late thirteenth-century music treatise by a writer known as Lambertus. But I offer more than this. How one translates Lambertus’s epiglotus depends on a correct understanding of this word in a series of other texts, mostly medical and encyclopedic works, going back to at least the eleventh century. Grappling with its translation in these sources in turn forces us to clarify common medieval misconceptions about the make-up of the human throat, as well as modern misinterpretations of these misconceptions. Beyond these considerations, Lambertus’s use of the term epiglotus relates to a broader question considered at the conclusion of this essay, that of the sound or timbre of the medieval voice. Medieval vocal timbre is still poorly studied, although recent work has begun to change this.2 Making things difficult in this area is the fact that vocal performance in the Middle Ages sometimes lay between singing a canticum and reading a prosa, as Boethius put it, the sort of thing one regularly heard in the recitation of Psalms or epic songs, for example.3 Lambertus may have been writing about singing, but the particular technique he described likely applied to a wide variety of medieval vocal performances, some of which probably did not conform to the restricted modern ideal of bel canto singing

1 I would like to thank A.G. Rigg, E.R.Harvey, Hans von Leden (M.D.) and Lorna MacDonald for reading and critiquing earlier versions of this essay. 2 Joseph Dyer, “The Voice in the Middle Ages,” in The Cambridge Companion to Singing, ed. John Potter (Cambridge, 2000), ch. 14; Timothy McGee, The Sound of Medieval Song (Oxford, 1998). 3 Christian Meyer, trans., Boèce, Traité de la musique (Turnhout, 2004), p. 52. Meyer relies on the original Latin text edited by Gottfried Friedlein (Anicii Manlii Torquati Severini Boetii de institutione arithmetica libri duo – De institutione musicae libri quinque (Leipzig, 1867). Friedlein’s edition is also the basis for Calvin Bower’s English translation, Anicius Manlius Severinus Boethius: Fundamentals of Music (New Haven and London, 1989).

142

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as a typically loud, vibrato-laden tone produced with a lowered larynx.4 For the sake of many types of medieval vocal performances, as for the sake of our understanding of medieval anatomy, then, a correct interpretation of Lambertus’s epiglotus matters. Lambertus’s Epiglotus Lambertus’s treatise in which the word epiglotus occurs is the so-called Tractatus de musica dating from the third quarter of the thirteenth century.5 It is primarily concerned with mensural or measured music which is the main topic of other music treatises from around this time. Lambertus has read widely and makes theological digressions, as when he argues that the longa note partakes of the divine essence, the highest and perfect good, “summum perfectumque bonum.”6 This work was attributed to a PseudoAristotle until Jeremy Yudkin demonstrated him to have been a Magister Lambertus at the University of Paris.7 Lambertus opens his treatise with a discussion of the science of music, arguing that the real musicus is one who sings with understanding: “Nam qui canit quod non sapit, diffinitur bestia.”8 Turning to the domain of practical music (musica practica), he distinguishes two types of instruments, the practical and theoretical. In the former category, he further separates “natural” from “artificial” instruments, a distinction going back at least a century.9 Lambertus writes: “Instrumentum 4

See Owen Jander and Ellen Harris, “Bel Canto,” in The New Grove Dictionary of Music and Musicians, 2nd ed., ed. Stanley Sadie and John Tyrell, vol. 3 (London, 2001), pp. 161– 62. 5 The only edition to date is that found in Charles-Edmond-Henri de Coussemaker, Scriptorum de musica medii aevi nova series a Gerbertina altera, vol. 1 (1864; repr. Hildesheim, 1963), pp. 251–81. An edition is forthcoming by Eric Canepa, New York University; my thanks to Edward Roesner for this information. On Lambertus and his treatise, see Rebecca Baltzer, “Lambertus,” in The New Grove Dictionary of Music and Musicians, vol. 14 (New York, 2001), pp. 169–70. 6 Coussemaker, Scriptorum, vol. 1, p. 270: “Cum igitur ab eo fiant omnia, manifestum est sapientibus quod hec tria, scilicet sapientia, potentia, gratia, sunt in divina essentia, quia ad summum perfectumque bonum plura non sunt necessaria.” This is the final part of a long digression found on the same page. 7 Jeremy Yudkin, “The Anonymous Music Treatise of 1279: Why St. Emmeram?,” Music and Letters 72 (1991), 177–96. Coussemaker gives his treatise’s title as “Cujusdam Aristotelis Tractatus de musica” (Scriptorum, vol. 1, p. 251). 8 Coussemaker, Scriptorum, vol. 1, p. 252. 9 Pia Ernstbrunner, “Fragmente des Wissens um die menschliche Stimme: Bausteine zu einer Gesangskunst und Gesangspädaogik des Mittelalters,” in Walter Pass and Alexander Rausch, eds. Mittelalterliche Musiktheorie in Zentraleuropa (Tutzing, 1998), p. 34, n. 35.

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vero aliud habet pratice, aliud theorice.”10 The “artificial instrument” fits the modern definition of the musical instrument; Lambertus gives examples such as the vielle or cythara.11 It is in his definition of the “natural instrument,” the part of the human body which produces the voice, that the word epiglotus first occurs:12 The natural [instrument] comprises the lung, throat, tongue, teeth, palate and all the other spiritual members; and the main instigator of the voice is the epiglotus. Naturale vero est ut pulmo, guttur, lingua, dentes, palatum et cetera membra spiritualia; sed principaliter factor vocis est epiglotus.

The word surfaces only one more time in the treatise, in Lambertus’s discussion of individual musical figurae. Lambertus describes a musical sign called plica frequently found in many music books from this time, in repertoires ranging from sacred to secular and from monophonic to polyphonic. The plica is a vertical stroke attached to a note. For example, in a descending two-note ligature such as ᛱ, the second note can become a plica or vertical stroke, resulting in the following shape: ᛲ. The plica shape comes from so-called liquescent notes which Guido of Arezzo described in the early eleventh century as performed with a smooth glide (“limpide transiens”) between liquid letters.13 In treatises on mensural music, the plica shape is frequently discussed in terms of its duration, but never in terms of its vocal production. The few writers who allude to its sound only do so briefly. Franco of Cologne’s definition of the plica is repeated by later writers such as Marchetto of Padua: “Plica est nota divisionis eiusdem soni in grave et acutum” (“The plica is the mark of division of the same sound

10

Coussemaker, Scriptorum, vol. 1, p. 253. Ibid: “Artificiale est ut organa, vielle, cythara, cytole, psalterium et similia.” 12 Ibid. 13 Joseph Smits van Waesberghe, ed. Guidonis Aretini Micrologus, Corpus Scriptorum de Musica 4 (Rome, 1955), p. 175: “Liquescunt vero in multis voces more litterarum, ita ut inceptus modus unius ad alteram limpide transiens nec finire videatur.” An English translation is found in Warren Babb, trans., Hucbald, Guido, and John on Music: Three Medieval Treatises, ed. Claude Palisca (New Haven and London, 1978), p. 72. On liquescent notes, see Heinrich Freistedt’s older but still valuable study, Die liqueszierenden Noten des gregorianischen Chorals (Freibourg, 1929), especially pp. 49–51; David Hiley, “The Plica and Liquescence,” in Gordon Athol Anderson (1929–1981): In Memoriam, vol. 2 (Henryville, PA, 1984), pp. 379–91; Andreas Haug, “Zur Interpretation der Liqueszenzneumen,” Archiv für Musikwissenschaft 50 (1993), 85–100; McGee, Sound of Medieval Song, ch. 3. 11

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into low and high”).14 Although a handy definition, this tells us nothing about the plica’s performance. A few mensural theorists offer tantalizing metaphors for the plica which suggest that it was performed in a special way, like the older liquescent notes. The Anonymous of Saint Emmeram likens the plica to “water when it is struck” (“aqua per impulsionem”) and a “lock of hair or a tail” (“crinis seu cauda”); Walter Odington calls it an “inflection of one pitch from another” (“inflexio vocis a voce”).15 The only writer to actually describe what a singer does when performing a plica – or any other kind of note, for that matter – is Lambertus in his second and last reference to the epiglotus; in this passage he uses the alternative spelling epiglottus.16 Having detailed the different mensural permutations of the plica, he makes the following statement: “Fit autem plica in voce per compositionem epiglotti cum repercussione gutturis subtiliter inclusa.” This intriguing sentence was cited verbatim by three subsequent music writers in the fourteenth century, one anonymous (ca. 1300), Jacques de Liège (ca. 1330) and Simon Tynsted (ca. 1360).17 It has been translated several times by modern scholars. In his landmark textbook on medieval polyphonic notation, Willi Apel renders it as follows:18 The plica is performed in singing by the partial closing of the epiglottis combined with a subtle repercussion of the throat.

14

Gilbert Reaney and André Gilles, eds., Franconis de Colonia, Ars cantus mensurabilis, Corpus Scriptorum de Musica 18 (Rome, 1974), p. 41; Joseph Vecchi, ed., Marcheti de Padua Pomerium, Corpus Scriptorum de Musica 6 (Rome, 1961), p. 193. 15 Jeremy Yudkin, ed. and trans., De musica mensurata: The Anonymous of St. Emmeram (Bloomington, IN, 1990), pp. 96–97; Walter Odington, Summa de speculatione musicae, ed., Frederick F. Hammond, Corpus Scriptorum de Musica 14 (Rome, 1970), p. 129. Yudkin renders “aqua per impulsionem” as “water from some impulse.” 16 Jerome of Moravia discusses chest, throat and head voice (vox pectoris, vox gutturis and vox capitis), and the author of the Summa musice says that the trachea changes in size with pitch, but these are not descriptions of what the singer does or must do physically to produce a given tone or effect (cited in Dyer, “Voice in the Middle Ages,” pp. 168–70). 17 Anonymous, Ars musicae mensurabilis secundum Franconem, ed. Gilbert Reaney and André Gilles, Corpus Scriptorum de Musica 15 (Rome, 1971), p. 45, who writes: “Plica ... in gravem vel in acutum debet formari in gutture cum epyglotto”; I would like to thank Michel Huglo for pointing this reference out to me. Jacob de Liège simply repeats Lambertus’s words nearly verbatim; see Roger Bragard, ed., Jacobi Leodiensis Speculum musicae, Corpus Scriptorum de Musica 3/4 (Rome, 1973), p. 47. Symon Tynsted is cited in: “Epiglottis,” in David Howlett, ed., Dictionary of Medieval Latin from British Sources, fasc. 3 (Oxford, 1986), p. 784. 18 Willi Apel, The Notation of Polyphonic Music, 900–1600 (Cambridge, MA, 1942), p. 227. This text was re-edited several times.

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Several decades later, plainchant scholar David Hiley translated it this way:19 The plica is sung by narrowing or closing the epiglottis while subtly including a vibration of the throat.

A more recent translation of this passage provides yet another reading:20 The plica is produced in the voice by the closing of the epiglottis with a finely controlled and closed vibration of the throat.

These translations render the “vox” of “in voce” as either “song” or “voice,” both of which are legitimate medieval uses going back to Augustine.21 With the sentence’s final clause comes significant lexicographic discord. Repercussione becomes either a “repercussion” or a “vibration,” and inclusa is translated either as “combined” (Apel), “including” (Hiley) or “closed” (Rosenfeld). Any of the disparities found in this clause hinge on the translation of the genitive noun epiglotti, which all three translators have rendered, without so much as a question, as the modern English cognate “epiglottis.” This is also the definition found in the Dictionary of Medieval Latin from British Sources.22 Epiglottis is the word which, as I see it, is key to this passage and whose translation I would like to challenge. As these translations stand, they describe a vocal gymnastic which is nearly impossible to accomplish, as we shall see shortly. Lambertus’s description of the epiglottis in a plica performance has prompted Joseph Dyer to state that “medieval understanding of the voice and vocal technique was limited by deficient conceptions of the physiology of vocal production.”23 Pia Ernstbrunner noted the impossibility with a bracketed exclamation point in her edition of this sentence.24 If Lambertus’s words are correctly translated, however, his description of the plica performance makes good sense, and helps to shed some light on the issues outlined in my essay’s first paragraph.

19

Hiley, “Plica and Liquescence,” p. 12. Randall Rosenfeld in McGee, Sound of Medieval Song, p. 51. Dyer also translates Lambertus’s epiglottus as “epiglottis” (Dyer, “Voice in the Middle Ages,” p. 168). The Dictionary of Medieval Latin from British Sources, 3:784, defines epiglottus as “epiglottis.” 21 For example, when Augustine writes in book 6 of his De musica: “Ut enim differt audire ab eo quod est non audire, ita differt hanc vocem audire ab quod est alteram audire,” (PL 32:1164). 22 “Epiglottis,” in DMBLS, 3:784. 23 Dyer, “Voice in the Middle Ages,” p. 168. 24 Ernstbrunner, “Fragmente,” p. 38. 20

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Medieval Views on the Larynx Before going any further, it will be useful to review the basic anatomy of vocal production. The part of the body directly related to vocal production is the larynx, or voice box. The larynx was in the news in February 2005 when it was announced that Pope John Paul II had to undergo an operation known as a tracheotomy, where a surgical incision is made in the trachea or windpipe, and a small tube is inserted to ease breathing. At the top of figure 1 can be seen the lips and the base of the tongue; not visible are the palate, the teeth, and, below the throat, the lungs. The throat is made of two separate canals. The larger one is the trachea, for breathing and speaking, connected to the lungs below. Separate from and behind the trachea is a smaller canal, the esophagus, for swallowing food; it is not visible in figure 1. These parts just listed include the very ones which Lambertus said comprise the “instrumentum naturale,” as cited earlier: “pulmo, guttur, lingua, dentes, palatum.”

Figure 1 – Diagram of human throat

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Figure 2 – Depiction of the larynx (side view) (From Shearer, Illustrated Speech Anatomy, 1968, p. 41)

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The last piece of human vocal machinery is the smallest, the most essential and yet the most difficult to describe: the larynx or voice box. Interestingly, in figure 1 it is depicted as a unit sitting almost like a cover over the trachea, a point to which I shall return later. The larynx is a cartilage made of four main parts, as seen in figures 1 and 2. From top to bottom is the hyoid bone like a spur, the thyroid cartilage which is the main frame, the two small arytenoid cartilages behind and below the thyroid and the cricoid cartilage, like a bony ring connecting the thyroid to the trachea. The vocal cords or folds, not visible in figure 2, stretch inside the thyroid and vibrate when air moves from the lungs through the trachea. Connected to the larynx is the epiglottis, between the hyoid bone and thyroid cartilage in figure 2. The epiglottis is a small leaf-like cartilage whose purpose is to block the opening of the trachea so that food can safely go down the esophagus, rather than down the trachea and directly into the lungs. It is important to note that this is the only function of the epiglottis, and it has virtually no role to play in vocal production.25 To conclude this brief anatomical survey, the larynx, even though it is small, is sufficiently complex to have caused some confusion over its physical make-up. Vesalius’s landmark medical illustrations in the sixteenth century, though vastly improved over medieval knowledge detailed below, still misrepresented the larynx, beginning with the overall shape of the thyroid in figure 3 (p. 151). It was not until the nineteenth century, when Johannes Müller experimented with vocal cords and Manuel García inspected his own larynx with mirrors, that the physical make-up and mechanics of the larynx began to be much better understood.26 Where might Lambertus have found the inspiration to list the parts of the throat and offer an unprecedentedly clinical description of vocal performance?27 Over a thousand years before Lambertus, much of the vocal machinery just described had been studied and understood by the great Greek writer on medicine Galen. In the seventh book of his On the 25 Willard Zemlin, Speech and Hearing Science: Anatomy and Physiology, 4th ed. (Boston, 1997), pp. 106–8. 26 Andreas Vesalius, On the Fabric of the Human Body, vol. 1 (San Francisco, 1998– 1999), pp. 361–66 and vol. 2, pp. 201–17. See Vesalius, De humana corporis fabrica libri septem (Basel, 1543); Hans von Leden, “The Cultural History of the Human Voice,” Transcripts of the Eleventh Symposium, Care of the Professional Voice, part 2, Medical/Surgical Sessions: Papers, ed. Van Lawrence (New York, 1983), p. 121–22; Raymond Fink, The Human Larynx: A Functional Study (New York, 1975), pp. 8–10. 27 Though not as extensively as Lambertus, other writers list parts of the vocal machinery (Ernstbrunner, “Fragmente,” pp. 32–38).

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Usefulness of the Parts, Galen described the larynx (λάρυγξ) in detail, giving the different parts detailed above, including what he called in Greek the ἐπιγλωττίς, the epiglottis in the modern sense.28 This state of knowledge was a vast improvement over Aristotle some five hundred years earlier, who did not even mention the epiglottis. In his brief overview of the neck in the Historia animalium (book 1, ch. 12), Aristotle spoke only of the larynx (λάρυγξ) as the front of the neck and, in book 4, ch. 9, said that the voice emanated from the larynx29 Unfortunately, in the Middle Ages, the state of knowledge on the larynx ow.ed more to Aristotle than to Galen, whose works would not be fully recovered until the Renaissance. In his chapter entitled “A Brief History of Ideas About the Larynx,” Raymond Fink refers to the period of “medieval torpor” between Galen and the Renaissance.30 Indeed, especially in medieval university circles where Lambertus was writing, Aristotle was seen as the ultimate authority among the ancients. Another explanation for this “medieval torpor” regarding the larynx is that medieval writers were often more interested in the symbolism of things than in their exact physical make-up. For this reason, medical doctor Hans von Leden, in his “Cultural History of the Human Voice,” has called the medieval period the “metaphysical stage” of knowledge on the larynx.31 Isidore of Seville’s statements on the vocal apparatus in the early seventhcentury Etymologies illustrate this tendency well. Isidore wrote:32 Os dictum, quod per ipsum quasi per ostium et cibos intus mittimus et sputum foris proicimus; vel quia inde ingrediuntur cibi, inde egrediuntur sermones. Labia a lambendo nominata. Quod autem superius est, labium dicimus; quod inferius, eo quod grossior sit, labrum ... Linguae a ligando cibo putat Varro nomen impositum. Alii, quod per articulatos sonos verba ligat. Sicut enim plectrum cordis, ita lingua inliditur dentibus et vocalem efficit sonum. The mouth is so called, for through it as through a door we both send food within and throw spit without; or because from that place food enters and words leave. Lips are so called from licking. For the upper one is called lip, and the lower one, since it is bigger, “basin” ... Varro thought the word for tongue came from the binding up of food; others, because it fixes words together in articulated sounds. Indeed, just as a 28

Galen, De usu partium libri XVII, ed. Georg Helmreich, vol. 1 (Amsterdam, 1968), pp. 426–29; Galen, On the Usefulness of the Parts (Ithaca, NY, 1968), pp. 372–23. See Richard Durling, A Dictionary of Medical Terms in Galen (Leiden, 1993), pp. 161 and 219. 29 Aristotle, Historia animalium, ed. A.L. Peck, vol. 1 (Cambridge, MA, 1965–1970), pp. 46–49 and vol. 2, pp. 72–73. 30 Fink, Human Larynx, ch. 1 and p. 4. 31 Hans von Leden, “Cultural History,” pp. 116–19. 32 W.M. Lindsay, ed. Isidori Hispalensis episcopi Etymologiarum Originum libri XX (Oxford, 1911), vol. 2, book 11, ch. 1, § 49–51.

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plectrum is struck on strings, so the tongue is struck against the teeth and produces vocal sound.

Figure 3 – Side view of the larynx from Vesalius, De humani corporis fabrica, 1543 Isidore’s overview of the human head included the mouth and tongue, but not the larynx. He felt it more important to state that the mouth was like a door, the lower lip like a basin and the tongue like the plectrum on strings; the latter metaphor would be used by later writers. In the case of the larynx, further muddying the metaphysical waters was a terminological confusion rooted in one of the most widespread authorities on

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medicine in the late Middle Ages. The foundational medical text for writers around Lambertus’s time was Avicenna’s Canon or Liber canonis medicinae (ca. 1030).33 Unlike Isidore, Avicenna does describe the larynx. He calls it epiglottis, in effect undoing one of the advances of Galen who had distinguished between the larynx (λάρυγξ) and the epiglottis (ἐπιγλωττίς), as mentioned above. This is a crucial point in the history of throat anatomy which has not been noted until now.34 In the eleventh chapter of the first book of the Canon, Avicenna writes:35 Epiglottis est membrum cartilaginosum creatum ut vocis sit instrumentum: quod quidem ex tribus compositum est cartilaginibus. Una est cartilago ... quod vocatur peltalis et clipealis ... Et secunda est cartilago ... vocatur a quod nomen non habet. Et tertia est super illas cooperiens ... et vocatur coopertorialis et cymbalaris. The epiglottis [larynx] is a cartilaginous member created to be the instrument of the voice; it is composed of three cartilages. The one is a cartilage ... which is called “leather shield-like” and “bronze shield-like” [thyroid] ... And the second is a cartilage ... named after the fact that it has no name [innominata or cricoid]. And the third is above these as a cover ... and it is called “cover-like” or “cymbal-like” [hyoid].

According to Avicenna, the larynx or epiglottis has three parts. The thyroid is called “shield-like” because of its shape like a shield over the larynx; the cricoid is called “unnamed one” presumably because it cannot be seen; and the hyoid called “cover-like” after its position at the top of the other two. It is significant for my discussion below that Avicenna uses the cover imagery (coopertorialis) for the hyoid bone which could be said to cover the larynx, since it lies at the top of it. Avicenna does not even mention the epiglottis in the modern sense, mainly because his overview of the throat, like Aristotle’s, is too brief. Avicenna’s meaning of the term epiglottis for larynx stuck for most of the Middle Ages until Andreas Vesalius mentioned earlier.36 Avicenna’s understanding of epiglottis as larynx is the one we find in one of the most widely read works on anatomy in the thirteenth century, Albert the Great’s edition of Aristotle’s De animalibus. It is a combination of the Philosopher’s three individual works, the History or Researches (cited 33

Arturo Castiglioni, A History of Medicine, trans. E.B. Krumbhaar (New York, 1958), p. 327. 34 I would like to thank Dr. Hans von Leden for confirming my findings in this essay in a letter dated 8 June 2005. 35 Avicenna (Ibn Sina), Liber canonis medicinae (Venice, 1527), fol. 15v. On Avicenna’s equivalence of epiglottis and larynx, see also Adolf Fonahn, Arabic and Latin Anatomical Terminology Chiefly from the Middle Ages (Oslo, 1922), p. 55. 36 Vesalius calls the epiglottis the “lid of the larynx” (Vesalius, Anatomy, vol. 1, p. 366).

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above, n. 29), the Parts and the Generation of Animals. Thanks to the acceptance of Aristotle’s libri naturales at the University of Paris in the thirteenth century, several editions of the De animalibus – virtually unknown before then – began to appear before Albert’s, notably those of Michael Scot (ca. 1220, a translation from the Arabic), Roger Bacon (ca. 1245, a lost edition based on Scot’s), and William of Moerbeke (ca. 1260, a translation from the Greek).37 The most widespread edition of Aristotle’s three zoological works in the thirteenth century, though, was Albert’s. He began his zoological researches in 1240s and compiled his translation and commentary between 1258 and 1262. His scientific monument considerably expanded the already imposing nineteen books of Aristotle’s three works. Albert’s twenty-six books collectively known as De animalibus began with a translation of the History (books 1–10), then the Parts (11–14) and the Generation (15–19), interspersed with Albert’s digressions (digressiones) and comments; it ended with seven books (20–26) of his own observations on animals.38 It is in the very first book of Albert’s De animalibus that we find the most extensive discussion of the larynx in the Middle Ages. Rightly accusing Aristotle of being too brief on the subject, Albert spends all of book 1, ch. 10 describing vocal production, most of this being devoted to the larynx. Albert writes:39 Natura super tracheam ordinavit membrum quoddam apte compositum quod vocatur epiglottis ... Componitur autem hoc membrum ex tribus cartillaginibus quarum una est cartillago; vocatur cartillago peltalis eo quod formam peltae habet ... Secunda 37

Kenneth Kitchell Jr. and Irven Michael Resnick, ed., Albertus Magnus On Animals: A medieval Summa Zoologica (Baltimore, 1999), vol. 1, p. 39. See James Scanlan, “Zoology and Physiology” in Medieval Latin: An Introduction and Bibliographical Guide, ed. F.A.C. Mantello and A.G. Rigg (Washington, D.C., 1999), pp. 395–400, and Lorenzo MinioPaluello, “Moerbeke, William of,” in Dictionary of Scientific Biography, ed. Charles Coulston Gillispie (New York, 1981), vol. 9, pp. 437–40. Since Scanlan’s article, Michael Scot’s translation has been partly edited by Aakfe M.I. van Oppenraaij, Aristotle, De animalibus: Michael Scot’s Arabic-Latin Translation, 2 vols. (Leiden, 1998). See also Bernard Dod, “Aristoteles Latinus” in The Cambridge History of Later Medieval Philosophy, ed. Norman Kretzmann et al. (Cambridge, 2003), p. 48. 38 Albert’s work was edited from his autograph manuscript by Hermann Stadler as De animalibus libri XXVI, Beiträge zur Geschichte der Philosophie des Mittelalters 16, 2 vols. (Münster, 1916–1920). James Scanlan published a translation of books 22–26 as Albert the Great: Man and the Beasts (Binghamton, 1987). An excellent, complete two-volume translation appeared only recently by Kenneth Kitchell Jr. and Irven Michael Resnick, Albertus Magnus On Animals cited above (n. 37). See also Heinrich Balss, Albertus Magnus als Biologe: Werk und Ursprung (Stuttgart, 1947). 39 Stadler, De animalibus, vol. 1, pp. 86–88, Kitchell and Resnick, Albertus Magnus, vol. 1, pp. 137–38; I have emended their translation where necessary.

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autem est cartillago, quae est post illam posita ... et haec quia videri non potest, vocatur innominata sive ‘quae nomen non habet’. Et tertia est super istas cartillagines duas posita, cooperiens eas ... haec vocatur coopertorialis pelta a quibusdam; ab aliis autem cimbalaris appellatur ... Ante faciem autem epyglotis sic compositi est quoddam parvum os, quod vocatur os laudae, eo quod est triangulum sicut lauda litera Graeca ... Instrumentum autem eius [i.e. vocis] proprium est motus epyglotis et cuiusdam quod est in canna, quod vocatur lingua fistulae. Nature has arranged a particular tight-fitting member over the trachea which is called the epiglottis [larynx] ... This member is composed of three cartilages of which one is the cartilage; it is called the “shield-shaped cartilage” [thyroid] for it has a shield’s shape ... The second is the cartilage which is placed behind this one ... because it cannot be seen, it is called the “unnamed” [cricoid], or “that which has no name.” The third is positioned above these two cartilages covering them ... it is called the “coverlike shield” by some and “cymbal-like” by others [hyoid] ... Before the front surface of the epiglottis which is composed in this fashion, there is a certain small bone called the “bone of the lambda” since it is triangular like the Greek letter lambda [λ] [epiglottis] ... The proper instrument of the voice, however, is the motion of the larynx and of something that is in the windpipe called the “tongue of the reed” [vocal folds].

Albert supplements this description with the following remark in chapter 22 of book 1: “At [the larynx’s] top there is in it a body which narrows and opens the passage; this is called the ‘tongue of the reed,’ that which modulates sound in all pieces of organum” (“In supremo autem sui est in ea corpus foramen arctans et amplians, quod vocatur lingua fistulae, quod in omnibus organis modulat vocem”).40 Even though Albert does not illustrate his description, I have attempted to do this in figure 4. Following Avicenna, Albert lists the three main parts of the larynx, but expands them considerably. He retains Avicenna’s expressions, the thyroid cartilage as shield-shaped (peltalis), the cricoid cartilage as unnamed (innominata), and the hyoid bone as cover-like (coopertorialis). For both Avicenna and Albert, the larynx, with its main components the thyroid and hyoid, evokes the image of a cover or shield, precisely the shape suggested by modern illustrators in figure 1. It could easily follow from this imagery that the entire larynx be viewed as a cover, as we shall see shortly. Unlike Avicenna, Albert describes the epiglottis which he names after a Greek letter for its triangular shape, the lauda, i.e. 40

Stadler, De animalibus, vol. 1, p. 150; Kitchell and Resnick, Albertus Magnus, vol. 1, p. 138. Kitchell and Resnick mistakenly translate omnibus organis as “in all organs.” On Albert’s interest in sound and acoustics, see Heinrich Hüschen, “Albertus Magnus und seine Musikanschauung,” in Festgabe für Heinrich Husmann zum 60. Geburtstag am 16. Dezember 1968. Speculum musicae artis, dargebracht von seinen Freunden und Schülern, eds. Heinz Becker and Reinhard Gerlach (Munich, 1970), p. 217; I am indebted to the late James Carr, an independent scholar of medieval music in Toronto, for this reference.

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lambda. He also names the vocal folds which he calls “the tongue of the reed” (lingua fistulae), as cited earlier. Despite its unprecedented medieval detail, Albert’s description is still confused about the exact make-up of the larynx. For example, his cimbalaris can be understood as either the epiglottis or arytenoid cartilages.41

Figure 4 – The larynx or epiglottis according to Albert the Great Avicenna and Albert’s understanding of epiglottis / epiglotus was the most common interpretation of this term throughout the Middle Ages. Several decades before Albert’s zoological research, Richard the Doctor (Ricardus Medicus, d. 1252) wrote a Micrologus around 1220 as an abridgement of his Anatomia. Compared to Albert’s De animalibus or Avicenna’s Canon, Richard’s Micrologus / Anatomia had limited circulation and was probably intended for use at the medical school in Montpellier. As Karl Sudhoff pointed out, Richard was ahead of his time in that he had read considerably more of Galen than his contemporaries.42 Following Galen, Richard surveys the body’s four parts, the brain, heart, liver and genitals. In 41

Kitchell and Resnick rightly point out that Albert’s use of “epiglottis” is not always straightforward (Albertus Magnus, vol. 1, p. 136, n. 394). At the very least, however, his most common meaning of it is the modern larynx, and not the modern epiglottis. 42 Karl Sudhoff, “Der ‘Micrologus’-Text der ‘Anatomia’ Richards des Engländers,” Archiv für Geschichte der Medizin 19 (1927), 237–39.

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discussing the heart, he moves, within the short span of a few sentences, from the lungs (pulmo) to the throat (guttur). He writes:43 Pulmoni continuatur trachea arteria, que usque ad gulam extenditur et guttur appellatur, et est membrum durum cartilaginosum et semper patulum, ut aer libere ingrediatur. Huic superponitur epiglotum, id est supra gulam quasi cooperculum, et clauditur inspirando et aperitur exspirando et est cartilaginosum habens motum ex colligantia spiritualium et arterie. The trachea artery stretches from the lung all the way to the throat. It is called guttur [throat], a hard bony member and always open so that air can freely enter. At its top is placed the epiglotum, that is at the top of the throat, like a cover. It is closed by aspiration and is opened by exhalation, and is a cartilage whose movement is prompted by the alliance of breaths and windpipe.

This is all that Richard has to say about the larynx; he goes on to briefly describe the uvula (uva) at the top of the epiglotus, and then the trachea. The editors of the Dictionary of Medieval Latin from British Sources have taken Richard’s epiglotus as meaning the modern “epiglottis.”44 But there are three reasons why Richard’s epiglotus probably means the entire larynx rather than the epiglottis in the modern sense. First of all, the epiglotus is said to lie at the top of the throat (guttur); the modern epiglottis as we understand it lies at the top of the larynx, which Richard has not yet described at the beginning of the sentence where epiglotus occurs. His statement that it moves, prompted “by the alliance of breaths and windpipe” is true of the larynx, and this is essentially the view of other writers such as Albert the Great.45 Secondly, he gives none of the parts of the larynx as do Avicenna and Albert, but only a one-sentence overview, his aim throughout the Micrologus being to succinctly describe only the main body parts surrounding the heart. It would make little sense to describe only the larynx’s tiniest part, the epiglottis, without ever mentioning the larynx itself. Finally, his depiction of the larynx as a “cover” or cooperculum appears to be borrowed from Avicenna who called the hyoid bone “cover-like” and the thyroid cartilage as “shield-like”; this is also echoed in Albert’s De animalibus. Richard appears to have expanded this cover image to describe the entire larynx. What he seems to be saying, then, is that the larynx or epiglotus lies like a cover at the top of the throat.

43

Sudhoff, “Der ‘Micrologus’-Text,” p. 220. “Epiglottis” in DMBLS, 3:784. 45 Stadler, De animalibus, vol. 1, pp. 86–88; Kitchell and Resnick, Albertus Magnus, vol. 1, pp. 137–38. 44

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The same arguments apply to the following ambiguous definition of epiglotus, the only one I have been able to find which might be construed as referring to the modern epiglottis. Thomas Cantimpré was a contemporary of Albert the Great, whose Liber de natura rerum was written around 1250.46 Like Richard, Thomas’ description of the larynx is limited to the following three sentences on the epiglotus. Having described the voice and the uvula in the first book of his Liber, he says this about the epiglotus:47 Epiglotus instrumentum est in modum folii vel uvule, unde iam dictum est. Hoc instrumentum est prope radicem lingue et cooperit duo instrumenta alternatim quidem ysophagum, unde nutrimentum cibi vel potus sumimus, et cannam per quam spiritum haurimus. Alternatim, inquam, ista cooperit, quia dum ysophagum claudit, canna aperta est; et dum cannam claudit, ysophagus aperitur. Utrumque autem simul operire non potest. The epiglotus is an instrument in the manner of a leaf or uvula, about which we have already spoken. This instrument is near the root of the tongue and covers two instruments, alternating between the esophagus, whence we receive the nutrition of food or drink, and the trachea through which we draw breath. I said that it covers [these two] alternately, for when it closes the esophagus, the trachea is open, and when it closes the trachea, the esophagus opens; for it cannot cover both at the same time.

This is a problematic passage whose anatomical significance is not entirely clear. Thomas, like Richard, says the epiglotus is a cover, the accepted metaphor for larynx. But he likens it to a leaf or uvula, an unusual image which might suggest the epiglottis. If this is indeed what he means, he is mistaken in viewing it as covering both the trachea and esophagus, and as closing off each one in alternation, since the epiglottis does not cover the esophagus but only the trachea. Whether it is epiglottis or larynx, Thomas’s description of the epiglotus is problematic at best. Most other medieval authors, however, make clear that they, like Avicenna and Albert, understood the term epiglotus / epiglottis to mean “larynx” and not “epiglottis.” Usually, as we have seen already, they only offer brief descriptions of the larynx – one or two sentences – in the context 46

On the relationship between Albert and Thomas’s texts, see Pauline Aiken, “The Animal History of Albertus Magnus and Thomas of Cantimpré,” Speculum 22 (1947), 205– 25. In The Growth of Medicine From the Earliest Times to About 1800 (New Haven, 1917), p. 271, Albert Buck states that Thomas of Cantimpré was a pupil of Albertus; this is also implied in Castiglioni, History of Medicine, p. 349. Though it is not a zoological work proper, the entire first half of Thomas’s De natura rerum (books 1–9) is devoted to animals. 47 H. Boese, ed., Thomas Cantimpratensis Liber de natura rerum, vol. 1 (Berlin, 1973), p. 26.

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of the entire human anatomy. In book 5 of Bartholomew the Englishman’s widely read De proprietatibus rerum (ca. 1260), for example, we find the following words on epiglotis, drawn from chapters 23 (on the voice) and 24 (on the throat):48 Organa autem vocis sive instrumenta multa sunt, ut dicit Constantinus, scilicet pulmo, arteriae, guttur, uvula, os, dentes, labia, atque lingua. Sine enim istorum instrumento vox non formatur ... [Guttur] habet enim viam canalem ad aerem attrahendum ... Habet etiam et viam manifestam ad cibum recipiendum, et haec duplex via quodam cooperculo quod epiglotis dicitur distinguitur, habet enim se in superficie gutturis ad modum vestis. The organs or instruments of the voice are many, as Constantine [Africanus, d. 1087] says; namely, the lung, windpipe, throat, uvula, mouth, teeth, lips and tongue. Without the assistance of these the voice cannot be produced ... [The throat] has a tunneled path for the intake of air ... It also has both a path open to receiving food, and this two-fold path is distinguished by a cover which is called epiglottis for it is on the surface of the throat like a garment.

Here, as in earlier examples, Bartholomew’s description of parts is brief, with only one sentence alluding to what must be the larynx and not the epiglottis, contrary to what the editors of the Dictionary of Medieval Latin from British Sources have assumed.49 Like Avicenna and others after him, Bartholomew calls the epiglotis “cover like” and says that it lies on the surface of the throat like a garment. This metaphor builds on the already traditional cover image which fits the larynx quite naturally, as already stated and as seen in figure 1. The very same image is used by Vincent of Beauvais in his Speculum naturale (ca. 1260), which is part one of his monumental Speculum maius. In the following excerpt from book 28, ch. 65, Vincent opens with the various body parts contributing to vocal sound:50 Instrumenta vocis sunt lingua, dentes, labia, palatum, uva, trachea, arteria sive canna et epiglottis et guttur ... Epiglottis autem dicitur ipsum instrumentum in modum uvulae, quod est prope radicem linguae. The instruments of the voice are the tongue, teeth, lips, palate, uvula, trachea, windpipe or reed-pipe, the epiglottis and the throat ... The epiglottis is like the soft palate, that is, near the root of the tongue.

48 Bartholomew “the Englishman” (alias of Glanville), Bartholomaei Anglici De genuinis rerum coelestium, terrestrium et inferarum proprietatibus, libri XVIII (Frankfurt: Wolfgang Richter, 1601), pp. 158 and 161. 49 “Epiglottis” in DMBLS, 3:784. 50 Vincentius Bellovacensis, Speculum quadruplex, sive Speculum maius, vol. 1: Speculum naturale (Graz, 1964), col. 2036.

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In sum, these last two authors confirm what most medieval writers understood by the epiglottis: the larynx.51 Conclusion We are now in a position to return to Lambertus’s words cited at the beginning of this essay. Avicenna’s Canon was read in medical circles and may have been known to Lambertus; Bartholomew’s De proprietatibus, Vincent’s Speculum and Albert’s edition of De animalibus enjoyed an even wider circulation at the time of Lambertus’s writing. All of these texts, as I have shown in this essay, use epiglottis / epiglotus to refer to the larynx. Returning to the first occurrence of epiglotus in the Tractatus de musica, we recall Lambertus’s list of the various parts surrounding the larynx (“pulmo, guttur, lingua, dentes, palatum et cetera membra spiritualia”), and his statement that “principaliter factor vocis est epiglotus.” This short-list of body parts leading up to the epiglotus recalls the same lists found in Bartholomew, Vincent, and even Isidore; Lambertus does not go into detail like Albert or Avicenna, since human anatomy is not his specialty. Like these and most other medieval writers, Lambertus uses epiglotus to mean larynx, especially as he singles it out as “the main instigator of the voice.” If there were any doubts about this, there is the further fact that his sentence would make little sense anatomically speaking if he had meant the epiglottis. As most vocal pedagogues know, the epiglottis has no real role to play in vocal production, as stated earlier. But the larynx certainly does, as we have seen: it is vital to singing.52 Lambertus is certainly ahead of other music writers of his day with his list of body parts and identification of the larynx as the “main instigator of the voice.” Jerome of Moravia, for example, only lists the larynx (epiglotes) and the uvula as the “natural instruments.”53 According to the Summa musice, the primary organ of the human voice (“organum vocis humane”) is

51

I should add to this survey of occurrences something which A.G. Rigg pointed out to me, that there is no entry for epiglottis (-tus, -tum-, etc.) in Charles Du Fresne Du Cange’s Glossarium mediæ et infimæ latinitatis (Paris, 1937–1938), 10 vols., Johannes Balbus’s Catholicon (Westmead, 1971), and Firmin Le Ver’s Firmini Verris Dictionarius, ed. Brian Merrilees and William Edwards (Turnhout, 1994). 52 I would like to thank Lorna MacDonald, chair of voice pedagogy at the University of Toronto, for her counsel. 53 Ernstbrunner, “Fragmente,” p. 38, n. 46.

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the trachea (“trachiam arteriam”)54. Two centuries would have to elapse before Conrad of Zabern produced “the first manual devoted to practical singing techniques,” in the words of its editor Joseph Dyer.55 Yet even Conrad does not describe the vocal apparatus. For this, one must wait yet one more century for the musings of such learned authors as Giovanni Camillo Maffei.56 We now come to the second and last occurrence of epiglottis in Lambertus whose translation has proved difficult. I will cite it again in its entirety: “Fit autem plica in voce per compositionem epiglotti cum repercussione gutturis subtiliter inclusa.” Here is a possible translation, based on the research presented in this essay: “A plica is produced in the voice by joining the larynx with a finely controlled stroke in the throat.”57 The three translations cited earlier interpreted “per compositionem epiglotti” as a closing of the epiglottis. Leaving aside the difficulty in translating compositio as “closing,” the main problem with this rendition is that the epiglottis’s closing is an involuntary reflex to avoid food-flow down the trachea, not something which a singer can control. This closing, the above cited translations have gone on to say, is combined with a repercussion or vibration of the throat. But if we admit with most other medieval authorities that Lambertus is here speaking of the larynx and not the epiglottis, we have a perfectly reasonable description of a vocal technique. The larynx, naturally moving with the throat, moves quickly up and down. The resulting sound would be essentially that described by Timothy McGee, “a subtle vibrato.”58 This matches the plica metaphor cited above (p. 145, line 5) of “water when it is struck” (“aqua per impulsionem”). I stated earlier that the kind of singing Lambertus describes is probably not in keeping with the ideals of bel canto traditionally associated with Western art music. What I meant is that, in order to hear something which comes close to what Lambertus describes, we must look not to Western art 54

Christopher Page, ed., Summa musice (Cambridge University Press, 1991), pp. 64 and

152. 55

Joseph Dyer, “Singing with Proper Refinement from De modo bene cantandi (1474) by Conrad von Zabern,” Early Music 6 (1978), 210–11. 56 Maffei was a sixteenth-century philosopher and doctor. The influence of De animalibus is clear in his description of the larynx. The original Italian text was edited in Nanie Bridgman’s “Giovanni Camillo Maffei et sa lettre sur le chant,” in Revue de musicologie 38 (1956), 13, and translated in Carol MacClintock’s Readings in the History of Music in Performance (Bloomington, IN, 1982), p. 38. 57 I would like to thank A.G. Rigg for his helpful suggestions in translating this sentence. 58 McGee, Sound of Medieval Song, p. 51.

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music nor to the singing commonly heard in performances of plainchant, but to non-western vocal traditions, many of these rich, “classical” traditions just as sophisticated as the first two mentioned. One possibility among several comes from Pakistani Sufi song as interpreted by the late Nusrat Fateh Ali Khan. His vocal art makes considerable use of laryngeal movement, with a timbre ranging from a deep tone to a raspy scream. His melodic line is constantly embellished with extremely rapid fluctuations of pitch produced by quick strokes of the larynx, as Lambertus puts it.59 Another less virtuosic example of this is the Kurdish song style from Iraq known as “Houri.”60 One could find other examples than these from various singing traditions around the world. In the language of Alan Lomax’s cantometrics, such performances are “strongly characterized by glottal activity,” and sometimes feature singers actually manipulating the larynx with their fingers, as Lomax points out.61 The latter is an interesting envisioning of Lambertus’s use of the word repercussione. This “stroke,” as I have translated it, could indeed have been prompted by a singer’s fingers. The Pakistani and Kurdish examples mentioned just now are by no means the only possible interpretations of Lambertus’s plica, and it would be historically imprudent to associate Lambertus’s description with any one contemporary performance tradition. But this much is clear: singing in the Middle Ages, when sprinkled with such embellishments as the plica, must have sounded different from the smooth, generally unadorned line heard in a great deal of classical music (certainly the bel canto tradition) or standard renditions of plainchant. The small furore which recently erupted following the publication of Timothy McGee’s valuable 1998 book on The Sound of Medieval Song has only gone to show how much research remains to be done on the medieval voice, especially in the area of sound or timbre.62 Blame for negligence in this area belongs not only to musicology but to 59

Nusrat Fateh Ali Khan, Pakistan: Nusrat Fateh ali Khan en concert à Paris (Ocora, 1997), CD 558658, vol. 1, track 1. 60 Jean Jenkins and Paul Rovsing Olsen, Music in the World of Islam: Human Voice / Lutes (Tangent Records, 1976/1994), CD TSCD901, track 3. 61 Alan Lomax, Cantometrics: A Method in Musical Anthropology (University of California Extension Media Center, 1976), p. 132; idem, Folk Song Style and Culture (Washington, D.C., 1968), p. 70. See also Alan Lomax, Selected Writings, 1934–1997 (New York, 2003), pp. 233–318. 62 Reviews of Sound of Medieval Song: Silvia Scozzi in Rivista Italiana di Musicologia 34 (1999), 405–08, and Theodore Karp in Journal of the American Musicological Society 53 (2000), 613–23. See especially Dyer, “Voice in the Middle Ages,” pp. 176–77 and p. 254, n. 4, and Benjamin Bagby’s “What is the Sound of Medieval Song?,” Medieval Academy News 151 (2005), 12.

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other areas of medieval studies as well. Karl Lachmann wrote in a landmark 1833 essay that singing and speaking were often bound together in medieval literature, and it is hard to say when a particular work was destined for one or the other.63 Since Lachmann’s time, and especially from the 1980s to the present day, the phenomenon of orality has seized the historical imagination, with much written about the “voice” in medieval literature. As John Miles Foley has recently put it, reading an oral poem – medieval or otherwise – involves taking into account its vocal performance.64 Paul Zumthor in particular has emphasized that most medieval poetry was a performed, and not a read, activity; the sound of a given performer’s individual voice was the most important aspect of this activity.65 Little has been said in a specific way, though, about the “sound of the sound” of the performing voice in the Middle Ages. But there is some historical evidence to discover on several fronts, beginning with the larynx. As vocal pedagogue Richard Wistreich has pointed out, the singing practice of permanently lowering the larynx in order to obtain greater volume, common nowadays, is a relatively recent phenomenon. Historical evidence from the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries shows that a free floating larynx, which allowed for greater flexibility in the execution of rapid or otherwise difficult passages, was the norm in earlier times. The result would have been a “softer sound and [a] much faster and more accurate opening and closing of the glottis [the opening between the vocal cords].”66 A flexible larynx would have easily permitted the execution of the plica just as Lambertus describes it. We know that sound or timbre in vocal performance mattered to medieval listeners. Isidore of Seville, for example, distinguished different voice types, such as the delicate voices “which emit delicate and fine sounds” (“subtiles ac tenues sonos emittunt”).67 Although it is impossible to elucidate medieval vocalization to our satisfaction, certain

63

Karl Lachmann, “Über Singen und Sagen,” repr. in Lachmann, Kleinere Schriften zur deutschen Philologie, ed. Karl Müllenhoff (Berlin, 1876), pp. 461–79. 64 John Miles Foley, How To Read an Oral Poem (Urbana-Champaign, IL, 2002). 65 Paul Zumthor, La lettre et la voix: de la littérature médiévale (Paris, 1987), especially ch. 8. 66 Richard Wistreich, “Practising and Teaching Historically Informed Singing – Who Cares?,” Basler Jahrbuch für historische Musikpraxis 26 (2002), 28. See also Wistreich, “Reconstructing Pre-Romantic Singing Technique,” in Cambridge Companion to Singing, pp. 179–80. 67 Dyer, “Voice in the Middle Ages,” pp. 166–67 and 255.

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small steps in an historical investigation are possible – small steps such as a clarification of Lambertus’s epiglotus. John Haines, University of Toronto

More Poems by Philip the Chancellor by David A. Traill Philip the Chancellor (ca. 1160–1236) was the youngest of the great Latin poets of the latter part of the twelfth century.1 His earliest datable poem commemorates the death of the Henry the Liberal, Count of Champagne, and so must be dated after, but presumably not long after, 17 March 1181.2 He studied and probably taught theology in Paris before becoming chancellor of Notre Dame in 1217. He seems to have had close connections with the composers of music there, for he is by far the most prolific contributor of lyrics to the collection of musical pieces known as the Notre Dame repertory. The manuscript that most fully reflects this repertory is the large Florence manuscript known to musicologists as F.3 No fewer than 68 of the 83 poems in the tenth fascicle (F10) of that manuscript have been ascribed to Philip either by medieval manuscripts or by modern scholars.4

1

Of fundamental importance for the study of Philip’s poetry is Peter Dronke’s groundbreaking article: “The Lyrical Compositions of Philip the Chancellor,” SM, ser. 3, 28 (1987), 563–92, with a catalogue of his poems on pp. 588–92. “D” numbers in this article refer to this catalogue (for “K” numbers, see n. 4 below). The fullest treatment of Philip’s life and work is to be found in Thomas Payne, “Poetry, Politics and Polyphony: Philip the Chancellor’s Contribution to the Music of the Notre Dame School” (Ph.D. diss., University of Chicago, 1991). For a short account with useful bibliography, see his article “Philip the Chancellor,” in The New Grove Dictionary of Music and Musicians, 2nd ed., vol. 19 (New York, 2001), pp. 594–97. Since then: David Traill, “Philip the Chancellor and F10: Expanding the Canon,” FM 10 (2003), 219–48 and “A Cluster of Poems by Philip the Chancellor in the Carmina Burana,” SM ser. 3, 47 ( 2006), 267–85. 2 Traill, “F10,” pp. 224–27. 3 Florence, Biblioteca Mediceo-Laurenziana, MS Pluteo 29.1 (F); facsimile in Luther Dittmer, Firenze, Biblioteca Mediceo-Laurenziana, Pluteo 29,1, 2 vols., Publications of Mediaeval Musical Manuscripts 10–11 (Brooklyn, n.d.). 4 Texts, translations, and musical settings in Gordon A. Anderson, Notre Dame and Related Conductus: Opera Omnia, 10 vols. (Henryville, PA, 1979–88), vol. 6. Medieval manuscripts attribute 38 of these poems to Philip. Of these attributions only one is known to be false. The remaining 30 attributions have been made by modern scholars; for details, see Traill, “F10,” pp. 220–24 and 247. “K” numbers in what follows identify poems in F10

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Though F10 contains the greatest concentration of Philip’s poems, they are by no means confined to that fascicle. Each of fascicles 7 (fols. 263– 380), 8 (fols. 381–98) and 9 (fols. 399–414), for instance, contains at least one poem attributed to Philip by a medieval manuscript and several poems ascribed to him by modern scholars. There are, however, certainly more poems in these fascicles of F and in related manuscripts that can, with considerable confidence, be attributed to Philip, as I hope to show. Let us begin with Relegentur ab area, which is found in F and in five other manuscripts that reflect the Notre Dame repertory.5

1. Relegentur ab area fidelis conscientie lutum, later et palea servitutis Egyptie. pressuris mancipati sint libertatis hodie caractere signati. 1.3 luctum W2

5

Let the mud, brick, and straw of Egyptian servitude be banished from the floor of believers’ consciences.6 Let them be released from their anguish and marked today with the sign of their liberty.

1.7 signati om. W1

attributed to Philip that are not listed in Dronke’s catalogue; for further details, see Traill, “F10,” pp. 222–24 and passim. 5 These other manuscripts are: Wolfenbüttel, Herzog-August-Bibliothek, MS 677 (W1), fols. 87v–89r; facsimile in J.H. Baxter, ed., An Old St. Andrews Music Book (London, 1931) Wolfenbüttel, Herzog-August-Bibliothek, MS 1099 (W2); facsimile in Luther Dittmer, ed., Wolfenbüttel 1099 (1206), Publications of Mediaeval Musical Manuscripts 2 (Brooklyn, 1960) Madrid, Biblioteca Nacional, MS 20486 (Ma); facsimile in Luther Dittmer, ed., Madrid 20486, Publications of Mediaeval Musical Manuscripts 1 (Brooklyn, 1957) Oxford, Bodleian Library, MS Add. A 44 (O); for a detailed description of O, see André Wilmart, “Le Florilège mixte de Thomas Bekynton,” Mediaeval and Renaissance Studies 1 (1941–43), 41–83, and 4 (1958), 35–90 London, British Library, MS Egerton 2615 (LoA) Relegentur ab area is found complete in F (fols. 202v–203r and 287v–288v), O (fol. 80r) and W1 (fols. 87v–89r); first stanza only in W2 (fols. 34v–36r), Ma (fols. 109v–110v), and LoA (fol. 89v). 6 Conscientia here seems to mean something like “self-identity”; cf. DMLBS, s.v. 2a.

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2. Clausus in testa figulus univit sibi fictile. fons idem, fons et rivulus immo fluentum stabile se nobis propinavit 5 assumensque mutabile quod erat non mutavit.

Enclosed within his pot, the potter became one with his creation. Also, as spring, spring and stream, or rather a steady stream of water, he even offered himself to us as a drink, and though taking on a form subject to change, he did not change what he was.

3. Ad vitem pullus, asina colligatur ad vineam. vite panduntur limina, quibus amovit rumpheam, cuius virtute sarcina 5 legalis leviatur, novelle vetus pagina spiritu complanatur.

The foal was tied to a vine, the ass tied up in the vineyard. The threshold of life, from which he removed the sword, was opened. By his power the burden of the Law was lightened and the old page made smooth with the spirit of the new.

3.4 amovit O : ammovit F : admovit W1 Dreves

3.6 leviatur O F W1 : leniatur Dreves

Thanks to the pervasive use of a coded language filled with allegorical terms unfamiliar to the modern reader, the meaning of the poem is not immediately apparent. The first stanza is a call for non-Christians to forget the symbols of their earlier enslavement (lutum, later, palea) in Egypt (heathenism or Judaism) and convert to Christianity (“sint libertatis hodie / caractere signati”). The second stanza marvels at the willingness of God to shed his immortality and become a mere mortal, even offering himself to save his creation. The third stanza alludes to Christ’s entry into Jerusalem (1–2) and his ensuing death, which opened the door to eternal life. The New Testament story of Christ’s life and death necessitates a new, spiritual (i.e. non-literal) interpretation of the Law (Old Testament). What evidence is there that Relegentur ab area was written by Philip? First, there is the contextual evidence of the six manuscripts in which the poem is attested. In four of them it is immediately adjacent to (and in a fifth close to) a poem securely attributed to Philip.7 Next there is the general impression that the poem conveys; its polish, sophistication, and learning are all in keeping with Philip’s style. More specifically, the poem closely 7

In F, LoA, and W2 it is immediately adjacent to Dic, Christi veritas (D60) and in O it is immediately followed by Sol oritur in sidere (D51). In Ma it is separated from Dic, Christi veritas by three anonymous hymns.

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resembles other poems of Philip in theme and treatment.8 Finally, there is the matter of word choice. Short as it is, the poem contains several words and usages that are in themselves comparatively rare but for which Philip had a distinct predilection. Just how characteristic of Philip these are can be judged from the frequency lists in Table 1, where Philip’s usage (as seen in the poems listed in Dronke’s catalogue) is compared with corresponding frequencies in the Arundel collection (Ar), Walter of Châtillon’s shorter poems (O and W) the poems of Peter of Blois (PoB), and the Carmina Burana (CB). Also included is the number of occurrences in PoetriaNova, a large database of some 900,000 lines of Medieval Latin poetry.9 The rhyming conjunction of area / palea (1.1 and 3) crops up repeatedly in Philip’s poems, as, for example, in In hoc ortus occidente (D31), Associa tecum in patria (D66 l), Veritas veritatum (D11). Even better markers for Philip, however, are the words conscientia (1.2), pressura (1.5), and character (1.7). Conscientia is a rare word in poetry. As is clear from Table 1, it does not occur at all in the Carmina Burana, the authentic poems of Peter of Blois (the letter-writer),10 or the Arundel lyrics, and only twice in the shorter poems of Walter of Châtillon, but no less than nine times in Philip’s verse. Philip’s preoccupation with this word is not surprising because he devotes a substantial section of his Summa de bono to a philosophical discussion of conscience.11 Similarly striking is Philip’s liking for pressura and character, which turn up seven and five times respectively in his poems.12 In the comparison sources (excluding PoetriaNova) pressura crops up only twice and character only once and that is in Crucifigat omnes (CB 47), which has recently been attributed to Philip on musicological

8

Notably, Luto carens et latere (D22) in Analecta Hymnica, vol. 21, p. 39. For the image of Christ the potter enclosing himself within his pot (2.1–2), compare Philip’s Centrum capit circulus (D55) 1.7–8: “Dum se mundi figulus / inclusit in vasculo …”; see Dronke, “Compositions,” p. 580. 9 Available from SISMEL—Edizioni del Galluzzo, Tavernuzze (Florence). 10 The only poems I count as authentically written by Peter of Blois, letter-writer, are nos. 1.1–7 and 9–10 in Carsten Wollin, ed., Petri Blesensis Carmina, CCCM 128 (Turnhout, 1998), pp. 229–85 and 305–17; see further, Traill, “F10,” p. 221, n. 12. 11 For a discussion of Philip’s views on conscience see Timothy C. Potts, Conscience in Medieval Philosophy (Cambridge, 1980), pp. 12–31. 12 Character crops up in the same context of Jews converting to Christianity in Philip’s essentially similar Luto carens et latere (D22); for complete text see Analecta Hymnica, vol. 21, p. 39.

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grounds.13 With such a concentration of words favoured by Philip but largely avoided by other poets, there can be no doubt that Relegentur ab area is by Philip. Table 1. Comparative Frequency of Unusual Words Favoured by Philip

area / palea* character conscientia considera homo (voc.) pressura

Dronke’s Cat. 1–66p 67–88 5 0 5 0 6 3 6 2 14 5 6 1

Ar WoC PoB O+W 0 1 0 0 0 0 0 4 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0

CB Tot. PC 4 1 1 0 0 0 7 1 5 2 2 0

PoetriaNova

(PC) 1 1 0 2 2 0

5 37 22 17 ? 51

PoB: number of occurrences in Peter of Blois (ed. Wollin) 1.1–7, 9, 10 PC: number of occurrences in CB poems attributed to Philip by medieval manuscripts (PC): number of occurrences in CB poems attributed to Philip by modern scholars * With area and palea rhyming at the end of corresponding lines

It has recently become clear that Philip composed a considerable number of laments commemorating the deaths of important contemporaries, such as Philip Augustus, Henry I, count of Champagne, his son, Henry II of Champagne, Geoffrey, duke of Brittany (son of Henry II of England), and Ferdinand II, king of Leon.14 The following lament for Young King Henry (joint king with Henry II, 1170–1183) has been tentatively attributed to Peter of Blois by Dronke and Wollin largely because in the only manuscript where it occurs (O), it follows two poems known to be by him.15 It is followed immediately by the lengthy Apocalypse of Golias (of unknown authorship) and then by Olim sudor Herculis (K4), which Dronke and Wollin ascribe to

13

T.B. Payne, “Associa tecum in patria: A Newly Identified Organum Trope by Philip the Chancellor,” Journal of the American Musicological Society, 39 (1986), p. 238, n. 12 and “Poetry, Politics and Polyphony,” pp. 242–43. 14 See Traill, “F10,” pp. 224–31. 15 Da plaudens organo is found only in O (fol. 66r–66v); on O, see n. 5 above. For text and commentary, see Wollin, Carmina, pp. 339–43; for attributions, see Peter Dronke, “Peter of Blois and Poetry at the Court of Henry II,” in Dronke, The Medieval Poet and his World, Storia e Letteratura: Raccolta di Studi e Testi 164 (Rome, 1984), pp. 281–339, at 320 (“possibly”) and Wollin, Carmina, p. 95.

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Peter of Blois but which I have recently argued should be attributed to Philip.16

1a. Da plaudens organo plausus cum tympano et choro reici dulcesque lirici clangoris strepitus 5 in uberes transferre properes dolorum gemitus. aquarum exitus singuli 10 deducant oculi in novos cineres!

Allow the celebratory sounds you are making with the organ, drum and chorus to be put aside and make haste to change the sweet strumming of the lyre into deep groans of grief. Let every eye shed streams of tears over the fresh ashes of the deceased.

1b.

Ah, exceptionally bitter are the deaths of the exalted! In the case of a prince, never does the countenance of the world fall, shrouded in thick gloom, without a partner, for when the luminary passes on, the rays shed by the sun are stolen from the earth.

O tristes nimium lapsus sublimium! nunquam in principe sine participe mundane machine 5 frons labitur, que circumscribitur crebra caligine, dum lapso lumine radius, 10 quem fudit Cinthius, terris subripitur.

2a. Etate pululat a primula in mores patrios mens emula. licet cor regium libret sublimia, precordia 5 venantur omnium 16

See Traill, “F10,” pp. 239–40.

From his earliest years, his emulous spirit made him grow into his father’s ways. Though his kingly mind weighed the highest matters of state, his jovial nature and affability

170

Traill iocunditas et dulciloquium, mens cuius pietas, forma dominium, dextra refugium, 10 fama serenitas.

sought to win over the hearts of everyone. His heart was benevolence itself, his appearance authority, his right hand a refuge for others, his serene calm a source of fame.

2b. O seva veritas!17 o termini, quos transgredi non licet homini! vir mentis predite virtutum predio, vir regio 5 creatus stipite, in duce rex, et dux in comite, post vite modicum cursu precipite fatali semite 10 ruit in lubricum.

Ah, the grim truth! The boundaries that man is not permitted to transgress! A man whose heart was endowed with an estate of virtues, a man born of royal stock, regal in his capacity as duke, and like a duke where he was count, was carried, after a brief span of life, at precipitous speed along the fateful path to his downfall.

3a.

Of what value is the brief flower of beauty, of what value rectitude or fame, title, wealth, liberality or a full store of the good, when the grave, thirsty for victims, sucks so suddenly down its maw, gaping wide as is its custom, qualities that once were renowned?

Quid forme flosculus? quid probitas? quid opes, largitas fama vel titulus vel boni cumulus, 5 dum rerum bibulus tam subito hiatu solito res prius inclitas absorbet tumulus? 10

2b 1 veritas Traill : severitas O, Wollin

17

O’s reading here, “severitas,” gives this line 11 syllables instead of the required 10. For the personification of Veritas, see Dronke, “Compositions,” p. 580, “Philip’s familiar personified Veritas,” and p. 581. There is a characteristic play with veritas and severitas in Adulari nesciens, which Dronke quotes and tentatively attributes to Philip on pp. 587–88.

Philip the Chancellor 3b. Qua spe producitur fiducie qui natus hodie? ut flos, egreditur, mane conteritur. 5 ad multas oritur miserias, post breves nuptias fallacis glorie momento moritur. 10

With what expectation that he can put his trust in does the man born today come forth? Like a flower he comes out and is crushed in the morning. He is born to many sorrows and a moment after his brief nuptials with treacherous glory, he dies.

4.

Mankind, why do you kiss, out of ambition, the lips of things whose full embraces delude you with a brief spell of sunny days and then deceive you? Whatever advantage you adduce – wealth, looks, birth, foresight, merit, victory, ability – is of no account if you remember Henry’s ashes.

Quid, homo, lambis ambitu labella rerum singula, quem plena fallunt oscula brevi delusum transitu temporis aprici? 5 quicquid allegaveris rerum, forme, generis, prudencie, laudis et victorie vel indolis, 10 nichil est, si recolis cineres Henrici.

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That the deceased Henry is Henry Plantagenet, the Young King (1155– 1183), is clear from the reference (2b.7–8) to his claim to the titles of king (of England), duke (of Normandy) and count (of Anjou), titles which he held jointly with his father from his coronation (1170) till his death (1183).18 That the author of the lament is Philip follows from a number of considerations. In the first place, there is the very close structural resemblance to Philip’s Omnis in lacrimas of 1181.19 Both laments are sequences consisting of three sets of paired stanzas and an additional unpaired closing stanza. Secondly, there is the address to mankind in the 18

Although the Young Henry was officially joint king, duke, and count of these lands, Henry II gave him no real authority in any of them; see W.L. Warren, King John (London, 1978), p. 31: “the shadow of authority that the Young King had had in England, Normandy and Anjou.” 19 For text, translation, and commentary, see Traill, “F10,” pp. 224–27.

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closing stanza. Addressing mankind with a series of rhetorical questions (or peremptory commands) is not characteristic of Peter of Blois or indeed of any known poet of the period with the exception of Philip the Chancellor, of whom it is so characteristic that we might call it one of his signature traits.20 It is found in eleven poems securely attributed to Philip in medieval manuscripts.21 At least six more with this feature have been attributed to Philip by modern scholars.22 Often the opening word of these poems is the vocative homo. Sometimes the address is repeated throughout, as in Homo, considera (D6), and sometimes, as in Nitimur in vetitum (D8), Omnis in lacrimas (K2), Iherusalem, Iherusalem (K46), and here, it is found only in the last stanza.23 Thirdly, the subject matter here, man’s folly in letting ambition drive him to pursue wealth and other worldly vanities, is identical to that of the closing stanza of Omnis in lacrimas (lament for Henry I, count of Champagne): 4. Quid, homo, vanis deditus, quid nisi vanum jactitas? quid opes? quid nobilitas? quid gloria mundana, cuius te torquet ambitus? 5 quod vanitatum vanitas sit tota sors humana Henrici probat exitus.

Mankind, given up to vanities, what is your boast but vanity? What is wealth, high birth, or worldly glory, when striving for it torments you? The entire human experience is vanity of vanities. And this is proved by Henry’s death.

Note the identical opening (“Quid, homo,”), the same driving force (ambitus), the same list of vanities that men see as significant advantages – wealth, high birth, fame – and the same conclusion: that the dead Henry’s ashes are proof that these “advantages” are of no account. Finally, with 20

See Dronke, “Compositions,” p. 569 and Traill, “F10,” p. 226. Homo, vide que pro te patior (D4), Homo, considera (D6), Cum sit omnis caro fenum (D10), Suspirat spiritus (D15), Homo natus ad laborem / et avis (D17), Ad cor tuum revertere (D32), Excutere de pulvere (D41), Homo, qui semper moreris (D44), Homo, quam sit pura (D53), Dic, Christi veritas (D60), and Homo, cum mandato (D63). 22 Homo, quo vigeas (D75), Homo, cur degeneras (D82), Homo, cur properas (D83), Omnis in lacrimas (K2), Iherusalem, Iherusalem (K46), and Homo, qui te scis pulverem (K73). The last three are not in Dronke’s catalogue. Their “K’ numbers refer to their position in the tenth fascicle of F; see Traill, “F10,” pp. 224–28 and 232–24. 23 On Omnis in lacrimas, see Traill, “F10,” pp. 224–27. Strictly speaking, the word homo does not actually appear in the last stanza of Nitimur in vetitum; it has to be understood with the vocative “miserrime.” 21

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stanza 3b, compare the opening of D36: “O labilis / sortis humane status!/ egreditur, / ut flos conteritur / et labitur, / homo labori natus. / flens oritur, / vivendo moritur.” (“Ah, the treacherous nature of the human condition! Man born to sorrow comes into this world, is crushed like a flower and falls to the ground. He is born weeping, and lives a life of death”).24 Notice the similarity in thought and expression and in particular the same set of rhyming words (egreditur, conteritur, oritur, moritur) in exactly the same order. In short, the reservations Dronke and Wollin expressed about attributing Da plaudens organo to Peter of Blois are justified. It is hard to believe that this poem could have been written by anyone other than Philip the Chancellor. Another lament, which should almost certainly be attributed to Philip is Eclipsim patitur. 25 1. Eclipsim patitur splendor milicie. solis extinguitur radius hodie. lux mundi labitur, dum flos Britannie de via mittitur in sedem patrie.26 Ref. Mors sortis aspere cunctis equa non novit parcere. 2. Virtutis fomitem, fontem irriguum, iam Christi militem, mundo residuum mors rapit comitem. fit regnum viduum, dum vite limitem linquit ambiguum. Ref. Mors sortis etc. 24

5

5

The glory of our knighthood has suffered an eclipse. The sun’s rays are today extinguished. The light of the world slipped away when the flower of Brittany was sent back from his journeying to his abode in his homeland. Ref. The cruel fate of death, impartial to all alike, knows no mercy. Death has snatched away from us the source and unquenchable fount of virtue, now a soldier of Christ, but when he was still in this world, a count. The kingdom was widowed when he crossed the ambiguous boundary of life. Ref. The cruel fate of death, etc.

For text, translation, and music, see Anderson, Conductus, vol. 6, pp. xlvii and 44–45. Found only in F (fols. 322v–323r) and W1 (fol. 101r). F contains only the first stanza and refrain. 26 Patria here, as often in Medieval Latin, means “homeland” in the sense of “heaven.” 25

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3. Comes, qui tenuit mundi dominium, qui fortes domuit, piis suffragium, fatis occubuit. ergo solatium absit, nam affuit fatale tedium. Ref. Mors sortis etc. 4. Morum maturitas comiti nupserat. vultus simplicitas gratiam hauserat. dandi serenitas sedem elegerat. in eo largitas omnibus preerat. Ref. Mors sortis etc

5

5

A count who held lordship over the world, who subdued brave adversaries, and who lent his support to the pious, has met his fate. So let there be no comforting, for the sorrow of death has come over us. Ref. The cruel fate of death, etc. Maturity of character was wedded to the count. His guileless looks had imbibed grace. A serene liberality had chosen its abode in him. He surpassed all others in largesse. Ref. The cruel fate of death, etc.

Dreves identified the deceased as Geoffrey, count (or duke) of Brittany (son of Henry II and younger brother of Richard the Lionheart), who died in Paris in 1186.27 There seems little doubt that this identification is correct. The deceased is called “flos Britannie” but his importance must have extended considerably beyond the borders of Brittany because he is said to have held “mundi dominium” (3.1–2). After the death of the Young King Henry in 1183, Richard the Lionheart was heir apparent to the English throne, Normandy, and Anjou, but his father’s stubborn refusal to acknowledge this publicly prompted rumours that he would choose one of his younger sons as his successor. These rumours were strengthened in September 1183, when Henry tried to wrest Aquitaine from Richard and give it to John and in 1184, when he gave Normandy to Geoffrey with instructions “to hold it in custody.”28 This latter gesture probably seemed particularly significant, as Normandy and Anjou along with England had been reserved for the Young King Henry’s share of the Angevin empire. 27

W.L. Warren, Henry II (Berkeley, 1973), p. 599. Warren, Henry II, p. 597.

28

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Moreover, just before Geoffrey’s death in 1186 Philip Augustus had made him seneschal of France. John Gillingham points out that this “suggests that was aiming at Anjou, since this was a title claimed by the counts of Anjou.”29 Given his role as ruler of Brittany and Normandy and his potential to be recognized as heir to England and Anjou, Geoffrey could pardonably be lauded in an obituary as having had “mundi dominium” at the time of his death and it is hard to imagine any other “flos Britanniae” of whom this could be said.30 Philip Augustus gave him a magnificent funeral in Paris, had him buried in the choir of Notre Dame, and endowed masses for him.31 It seems likely that Eclipsim patitur and Anglia, planctus itera (K12) were commissioned for two of these occasions and that Philip, still in his twenties but already the leading lyricist associated with Notre Dame music, was assigned the task.32 Philip’s authorship is suggested by the opening words. Among his other laments, Sol eclipsim patitur (K83) and Eclipsim passus totiens (K33) have similar openings, and Omnis in lacrimas (K2) and Anglia planctus itera (K12) also liken the gloom generated by the deaths they commemorate to a solar eclipse.33 In addition, there are some striking parallels with Omnis in lacrimas in particular:

29

John Gillingham, Richard I (New Haven, 1999), p. 80. The closest contender would be Geoffrey’s son, Arthur. By the year of Arthur’s death (1203), however, his star had dimmed considerably from its brilliance in 1190, when Richard, now king, had officially acknowledged his three-year-old nephew as his heir (Gillingham, Richard, p. 136). On his deathbed in April 1199 Richard had named John as his successor (Warren, King John, p. 48), thus seriously undermining Arthur’s claim. John moved quickly to secure England, Normandy and Anjou for himself and international recognition of the legitimacy of his succession (Gillingham, Richard, pp. 335–36). In the Treaty of le Goulet (22 May 1200) even Philip Augustus, who had invaded the Angevin territories of Normandy, Maine, and Touraine to protect, as he maintained, Arthur’s interests, recognized John “as the rightful heir of Richard to all the fiefs that his father and brother had held on the continent” (Warren, King John, p. 54). By 1203, when John apparently murdered his sixteen-year-old rival held in his custody, he had been king for nearly four years and all the principal players on the European stage had accepted the legitimacy of the succession. Besides, if the count of our poem were Arthur, one would have expected some reference to his youth. 31 See Michael Jones’s article on Geoffrey in The Oxford Dictionary of National Biography (Oxford, 2004), vol. 21, pp. 769–71, at 771. 32 For text and discussion of Anglia, planctus itera, see Traill, “F10,” pp. 230–31. 33 For the attribution of these poems to Philip, see Traill, “F10,” pp. 224–32. 30

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Eclipsim patitur

Omnis in lacrimas

flos Britannie (1.6) virtutis fomitem (2.1) fontem irriguum (2.2) comes qui tenuit (3.1) mundi dominium (3.2) piis suffragium (3.4) in eo largitas (4.7) omnibus preerat (4.8)

flos comitum (1b.9) fomite / rancoris (2b.3–4) fons virtutum qui non aret (3a.7) comes mundi titulus (3a.9) pauperes suffragiis (2a.10) largus erat absque pare (3b.6)

Almost as striking as the similarities in topics and word choice is the virtually identical order in which these topics occur. In Eclipsim patitur we have: 1) flos of X 2) fomes of Y 3) fons of virtue 4) count of the world 5) suffragium to Z 6) peerless liberality. In Omnis in lacrimas the only difference is that items 4 and 5 are reversed. The metre of Eclipsim patitur, 8x6pp, is also found in Philip’s Beata viscera (D37). In the twenty-first volume of Analecta hymnica Dreves brings together four hymns, which he labels planctus Christi. As Dronke has pointed out, speaking in the persona of Christ was a very unusual device at this time but one that figures prominently in Philip’s corpus; he calls it “one of Philip’s distinctive devices.”34 To the three poems adduced by Dronke that clearly fall into this category, Homo, vide que pro te patior (D4), Quid ultra tibi facere (D38) and Homo, quam sit pura (D53), we can now add Homo, qui scis pulverem (K73).35 It is not surprising therefore that of the four planctus Christi printed by Dreves, two (Homo, vide que pro te patior and Homo, quam sit pura), are known to be by Philip.36 I believe that he is also the author of the other two, to which we will now turn. The first of these is O quotiens vos volui. It is found only in W1 (fol. 100v–101r) immediately before Eclipsim patitur (see above).37

34

Dronke, “Compositions,” p. 580; cf. also pp. 569 and 574. On Homo, qui scis pulverem, see Wollin, Carmina, p. 52 and Traill, “F10,” pp. 233–34. Dronke, “Compositions,” p. 574, holds that a fourth poem, Quo vadis, quo progrederis, falls into this category, but I agree with Anderson, Conductus, vol. 6, p. xlviii, that it is a debate between body and soul. 36 The four poems appear at Analecta Hymnica, vol. 21, pp. 18–20. 37 On this manuscript, see n. 5 above. Eclipsim patitur follows immediately. The poem appears in Analecta Hymnica, vol. 21, p. 19 and Anderson, Conductus, vol. 5, p. ii (where the accompanying translation needs to be treated with great caution). 35

Philip the Chancellor 1. O quotiens vos volui blande sub ala cogere, quos iam natos regenui. deperditis aperui viam salutis terere. 5 set crucis fracto foedere, me relicto contemptui, causas vultis exquirere ne sanctorum senatui vos possitis adiungere. 10 2. Numquid inter vos vilui, quod crucem meam perdere gentem pravam sustinui? nonne scitis quod potui mihi solus sufficere 5 et angelis praecipere ne morerentur fatui? sed hoc crucis charactere plus gloriari volui quos me scitis compellere. 10

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How often I have wanted to gather you gently under my wing, my children – you whom I have now caused to be born again! For those who have lost your way I have opened up a road to salvation for you to tread. But you have broken the pact of the cross and have abandoned me to contempt, choosing to seek reasons not to be admitted to the company of saints. Have I become of no account among you because I allowed an evil people to destroy my cross? Do you not know that I could have looked after my own affairs myself and instructed my angels that people should not die for acting foolishly? But I wanted those whom you know I am assembling to take more pride in this sign of the cross.

1.1 vos Dreves : om. W1 1.2 blande W1 : blanda Dreves 1.4 deperditis sugg. Dreves, Anderson : reperditis W1 Dreves 2.8 hoc edd. : hõi W1 2.9 volui edd. : nolui W1

Though the language is allusive and difficult, it is clear that Christ is talking, with sad resignation, to all mankind, or more precisely, to all Christians. The context appears to be the time of the Third Crusade. In September 1187 the king of Jerusalem, Guy of Lusignan, suffered a disastrous defeat at the Battle of Hattin. Saladin had even captured the True Cross (cf. 2.2–3), which the Latins had carried into battle, and a few weeks later took Jerusalem itself.38 There was a long delay – more than three years – before the West responded effectively to these events.39 Accordingly, the poem is to be dated to the period 1187–1190.

38

On these events see Jonathan Philips, The Crusades 1095–1197 (Harlow, 2002), pp. 135–36. 39 Philips, Crusades, p. 139: “Europe roused itself to avenge the injury to Christ’s patrimony, but it was not until the late spring of 1191 – over three and a half years after the

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In the first stanza, Christ, echoing the language of Matthew 23.37,40 compares himself to a mother hen protecting her brood (1–2), and chastises Christians for their eagerness to find excuses for not joining the crusade (6– 7) and so losing the opportunity of being admitted to the company of saints through martyrdom (9–10). In the second stanza he explains that he could have prevented the Saracens from capturing the Cross and Jerusalem (1–5) but chose not to do so to provide his followers with an opportunity to take greater pride in crusading (8–10). Besides its location in W1 next to Eclipsim patitur there are several indications that Philip is the author of O quotiens vos volui. For instance, Philip’s love of annominatio shows itself in the play between the endings of 1.1 (“vos volui”) and 2.1 (“vos vilui”). Also, the poem shares with Quid ultra tibi facere (D38) not only the distinctive device of speaking in the persona of Christ but also the same rhythmical structure: stanzas consisting of ten lines of 8pp. There are a number of remarkable similarities too in phrasing, as can be seen from the following comparisons: Quid ultra tibi facere Baptismi fracto federe Non cessas opes querere Relicto Christo paupere Et, que signari volui Paupertatis charactere

(1.7) (2.6) (2.7) (2.8) (2.9)

O quotiens vos volui Sed crucis fracto federe (1.6) Causas vultis exquirere (1. 8) Me relicto contemptui (1.7) Plus gloriari volui (2.9) Sed hoc crucis charactere (2.8)

These similarities in word choice and word placement leave little doubt that the author of Quid ultra tibi facere (known to be Philip) is also the author of O quotiens vos volui. Moreover, as already indicated and as can be seen from Table 1, character (2.8) is a very rare word in poetry in general but one for which Philip had a special fondness. The last of the four planctus Christi in Dreves is O levis aurula. It is found only in the seventh fascicle of F.41 It is a short anonymous hymn, whose exceptional quality has not received the attention it deserves. Anderson included it (with text, translation and brief notes) in his edition of

Battle of Hattin – that the most effective crusading armies arrived in the Eastern Mediterranean.” 40 “Quoties volui congregare filios tuos, quemadmodum gallina congregat pullos suos sub alas, et noluisti.” 41 Text and music appear on fols. 355v–356r; see Dittmer, Pluteo 29,1.

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the Notre Dame conductus.42 He suggested that the author might be Philip the Chancellor but offered no argument in support of this attribution. Dronke, however, did not include O levis aurula in his catalogue of Philip’s poems.43 The text as it appears in the manuscript is certainly corrupt for there is a syllable missing somewhere in the last two lines. 1. O levis aurula cur credula videbaris primitus? quis vel qualis et cur erit exitus? imprimi sedula 5 cur vincula velox fert interitus, mors extrema quia mortis anhelitus?

Ah! light little breeze, why did you seem so reliable at first? What will be the end, what kind of end will it be, and why? These shackles, all eager to be applied – why is swift Death44 bringing them, because my last gasp in death is the end of death?

2. Gens nimis aspera, considera, quod adnector nexibus, sic in vestris cogor mori manibus. per te, Florigera, 5 sint prospera pro malorum mentibus. omne malum malis malo fruentibus

Reflect, my cruel, cruel people, that it is at your hands that I am bound in chains and forced to die like this. May you, mother who bore the Flower, bring happiness to replace the designs of evil men. May every evil befall the evil men who find their joy in evil.

1.4 erit Dreves : exit F 2.8–9 Traill : et omne malum malo fruentibus F : et omine malum malo fruentibus Dreves.

The poem is highly sophisticated. It does not reveal that Christ is the speaker – at least not to a modern reader – until well into the second stanza. A medieval audience, cued perhaps by the context of the performance, would no doubt have grasped the situation more quickly. Ambiguity begins with the opening line. How are we to understand aurula? Breeze? Breath? Rumor? Spirit? The adjective credula might be thought to indicate that we 42

Anderson, Conductus, vol. 5, pp. xxxvii; Anderson’s translation has many inaccuracies. For text, see also Analecta Hymnica, vol. 21, p. 20. 43 Dronke, “Compositions,” pp. 588–92. 44 For the personification of interitus, see Job 18.14: “et calcet super eum, quasi rex, interitus”; see also, TLL 7: 2217, line 75, where interitus is described as a demon mortuorum.

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should take aurula as aurula popularis “the breath of popular favour.”45 Levis would then be “fickle” rather than “light,” as indeed the opposition between primitus and the implied nunc suggests. Christ, facing his accusers, is musing on the changing emotions of the Jews towards him over the past few days. The major difficulty lies in understanding aurula in this sense without a clarifying popularis. It is better therefore to take credula in the sense of “reliable” and understand the sentence as a nautical metaphor: the breeze seemed reliable enough when I set out on my journey.46 Imprimi sedula (6) is placed before cur (7) for emphasis, with sedula agreeing with vincula (7) rather than with gens aspera (11), as Anderson suggests.47 The conceit of applying to inanimate objects adjectives such as sedula that are usually applicable only to persons was strongly urged in such manuals as Geoffrey of Vinsauf’s Poetria nova and was by this time standard practice in medieval poetry.48 The question asked in lines 1.4–5 is answered in 1.9–10: Christ’s last gasp on the cross (Matt. 27.50) marks the end of death, for his death opens the way to eternal life. These lines also point to the irony inherent in Death’s attempt to shackle Christ.49 In the second stanza Christ chastises the Jews for bringing about his death and then turns to Mary, whom he calls Florigera because she bore the flos (Christ). He hopes that she can bring happier times to replace the evil intentions of evil men, presumably the religious leaders who have condemned him. The manuscript’s reading of the second last line is one syllable short but Dreves’s emendation (“et omine malum / malo fruentibus”) does not yield acceptable sense. It seems preferable to assume that malis dropped out between malum and malo and that et is an inadequate attempt to plug the gap. The et is not needed. Asyndeton is more effective. 45

For parallels, see Albert Blaise, Dictionnaire latin-français des auteurs chrétiens (Strasbourg, 1954), p. 107. The expression “aurula popularis” actually occurs in Philip’s O labilis sortis 2.2: see Analecta Hymnica, vol. 21, p. 97. 46 For this meaning of credulus, see DMLBS, s.v.. 47 For the rather disconcerting dislocation of normal word order here and in 1.9–10 (where “mors extrema” belongs in the quia clause), compare Philip’s Vide, qui fastu rumperis (D42) 2.5–8: “Hinc errant qui nobilibus / naturales connumerant, / adulterinis moribus / qui matrum probra reserant” (“Hence, they are wrong who count among the nobility bastard children, who tend to betray their mothers’ sins by their adulterous behaviour”), where “adulterinis moribus” belongs in the second qui clause. 48 See, for example, Geoffrey of Vinsauf, Poetria nova, 777–871 in Edmond Faral, Les arts poétiques du xii e et du xiii e siècle (Paris, 1962), pp. 221–24. 49 For the shackling of Christ, see Matt. 27.2. For the personification of death here, see n. 44 above. Matt. 27.1 (“consilium iniecerunt … ut eum morti traderent”) may have suggested the personification.

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O levis aurula is followed in F by Vite perdite, Frater en Iordanus, Caput in caudam vertitur, Centrum capit circulus, and Clavis pungens acumine. I am inclined to believe that Philip is the author of Vite perdite, though others have attributed that poem to Peter of Blois, the letter-writer.50 Salimbene, a younger contemporary of Philip, ascribes Centrum capit circulus (D55) to Philip, and Dronke has tentatively attributed Caput in caudam vertitur (D71) and Clavus pungens acumine (D80) to him.51 In short, the overall context in F lends support for the view that O levis aurula might be one of Philip’s poems. In such a short poem one cannot expect much in the way of vocabulary that is particularly suggestive of Philip’s authorship. However, the imperative considera is one such word. It crops up eight times in Philip’s poems listed in Dronke’s catalogue, never in the short poems of Walter of Châtillon, Peter of Blois, or the Arundel collection and only 17 times in the PoetriaNova database; see Table 1. Of the seven occurrences in Carmina Burana, three are in poems attributed to Philip. Certainly the strongest argument, however, in favour of Philip’s authorship is the fact that the poet employs Philip’s distinctive device of speaking in the persona of Christ. David A. Traill, University of California at Davis

50

See the brief discussion in Traill, “Cluster,” p. 276 with n. 32. The ascription of Vite perdite to Philip is not without difficulties, which I hope to address more fully on another occasion. 51 Dronke, “Compositions,” pp. 590–92; on Salimbene, p. 580.

Goscelin of St. Bertin and the Life of St. Eadwold of Cerne* by Tom Licence In the late tenth century Æthelweard the chronicler, ealdorman of the western provinces, or maybe his son, Æthelmær, built a monastery at Cerne in Dorset. The latter, in a writ of ca. 987, confirmed various gifts of land to its church of SS Mary, Peter, and Benedict.1 About this time an erudite teacher was recruited: Ælfric, monk of Winchester, homilist, and hagiographer.2 Later, Æthelmær built a new monastery at Eynsham in Oxfordshire. Ælfric departed from Cerne, ca. 1005, to become its first abbot, and its founder retired there. His shift of attention to Eynsham may suggest that the older monastery was somehow failing (patrons did not abandon their foundations without cause), but, by 1086, Cerne had become the third richest abbey in western England.3 How did this come about? The answer lies in the obscure intervening period, when the monastery annexed a cult by acquiring the relics of the local saint Eadwold. Eadwold was a holy hermit reputed to have been the brother of King Eadmund of East Anglia (d. 869), the saintly martyr venerated at Bury St. Edmunds. In twelfth-century England Eadwold was by no means an obscure figure. William of Malmesbury gives an * I am grateful to Jesse Billett, Peter Jackson, Simon Keynes, Rosalind Love, Rebecca Rushforth, and David Townsend for their help in various matters. 1 G.D. Squibb, “The Foundation of Cerne Abbey,” in The Cerne Abbey Memorial Lectures, ed. Katherine Barker (Cerne Abbas, 1988), pp. 11–14; and Simon Keynes, “Cnut’s Earls,” in The Reign of Cnut, King of England, Denmark and Norway, ed. Alexander R. Rumble (London and New York, 1994), pp. 43–88, at 67–70. William of Malmesbury makes Æthelweard the founder: Gesta pontificum Anglorum, ed. N.E.S.A. Hamilton, RS 52 (London, 1870), p. 185. 2 See Peter Clemoes, “Ælfric,” in Continuations and Beginnings: Studies in Old English Literature, ed. E.G. Stanley (London, 1966), pp. 176–209. 3 David Knowles, The Monastic Order in England, 940–1216, 2nd ed. (Cambridge, 1966), pp. 702–3. West of Winchester and Abingdon, the only houses of monks wealthier than Cerne at the time of the Domesday survey were Glastonbury and Malmesbury. Cerne was richer than Coventry, Evesham, Gloucester, Pershore, Bath, Tavistock, Worcester, Sherborne, Muchelney, Eynsham, and Athelney.

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account of him in his Gesta pontificum that passed, in abbreviated form, into the chronicle of John of Worcester.4 Bury St. Edmunds knew of him by 1133 x 1141, at the latest, when it acquired a copy of the Worcester chronicle, and at some point its monks added him to their calendar.5 The Peterborough chronicle associated with Hugh ‘Candidus’, which incorporates a lateeleventh-century list of saints’ resting places, also identifies Cerne as the home of Eadwold’s remains.6 In the twenty first century, by comparison, Eadwold lies neglected.7 The form in which his Life was transmitted is unclear, its author and date are unknown, and the earlier of the two witnesses to it has never been edited. This article aims to meet these deficiencies by providing an edition of the primary witness and opening a discussion about the text, the author, and the saint. More importantly, and for the first time, a date of composition is proposed and an attribution made. The primary witness to Eadwold’s Life is a set of eight lessons: In natale sancti Edwoldi. The text is bound as one of an assortment, mostly hagiographical, of disparate hands and dates, within London, British Library, MS Sloane 1772 – an antiquarian quarto assemblage that reveals nothing about its provenance – as fols. 15r–18v.8 The work of one copyist, it occupies a single ruled column per page and was intended for recitation (there are accent marks). The script, Pregothic, displays conservative elements: the st ligature is employed throughout, and round s is entirely absent. However, it is also rectangular in its proportions, round-backed d is common, the arches of letters like m and n are broken, conjoint pp is employed, ii is accompanied by diacritical marks, the curved common mark of abbreviation mixes with a dash, and the ampersand, turned on its side, 4

Gesta pontificum, ed. Hamilton, p. 185; The Chronicle of John of Worcester, ed. R.R. Darlington and Patrick McGurk, trans. Jennifer Bray and Patrick McGurk, vol. 2 (Oxford, 1995), p. 538. 5 John of Worcester, ed. Darlington and McGurk, vol. 2, p. liii; London, British Library, MS Harley 1005, fol. 56v (Bury, saec. XIV). 6 The Chronicle of Hugh Candidus: a Monk of Peterborough, ed. W.T. Mellows (London, 1949), p. 61; Lawrence Butler, “Two Twelfth-Century Lists of Saints’ Resting Places,” Analecta Bollandiana 105 (1987), 87–103, at p. 94. For “Candidus,” see Richard Sharpe, A Handlist of the Latin Writers of Great Britain and Ireland before 1540 (Turnhout, 1997; repr. 2001, with additions and corrections), no. 503. 7 Eadwold has received only superficial attention. See Laurence Keen, “St Edwold the Confessor of Cerne,” in Memorial Lectures, ed. Barker, pp. 7–10; and John Blair, “A Handlist of Anglo-Saxon Saints,” in Local Saints and Local Churches in the Early Medieval West, ed. Alan Thacker and Richard Sharpe (Oxford, 2002), pp. 495–566, at 530. 8 The components of this compilation, including miracles of St. Cuthbert and Lives of SS Giles and Richard of Chichester, are in various hands of various dates.

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vies with a tironian nota.9 These features suggest a date of saec. XIIex. A Lincoln bookhand of ca. 1155 shares nearly all of them.10 The scribe appears to have copied an exemplar in which prepositions were joined to the nouns that they governed (a scribal practice in decline in the early twelfth century). Although the copyist was aware that these formations should be separated, his Latin was so poor that he often unwittingly retained them, while erroneously bisecting words that to him seemed suspicious. Thus at 15v.13 he reproduced aterra for a terra, but at 15v.9 ad huc for adhuc; at 17v.2 he divided infernales into in fernales, and, at 17v.7, adheserit into ad heserit, but he thought that inieiuniis (17v.5) was one word; at 18v.16 he gives ineadem but at 18r.20 in telligatur, and at 18r.17 ad mirantibus.11 Slight gaps in other words beginning with a, in, ad, and con suggest that elsewhere the copyist was hedging his bets. For our purposes this is important because it is unlikely that such a copyist would have wittingly tampered with the text of his exemplar. The second witness to Eadwold’s Life is the vast hagiographical compendium, first assembled by John of Tynemouth (ca. 1290–1349), known as the Sanctilogium.12 John’s modus operandi was to copy sections of his sources verbatim, rephrase others and paraphrase narratives. Miracles, colourful tales, and historical details could interest him, but commentary, hyperbole, and prologues he stripped away.13 Comparison reveals that John’s account of Eadwold derives from the same text as the Lessons, and that his source has undergone the customary surgery.14 John, however, supplies additional passages. The first, an account of Eadwold’s wandering quest, is situated between the vision that initiates it and his discovery of its object, a holy wellspring. After copying “in quibus terris inueniendus esset locus, non est ei ostensum” John skipped the ensuing parenthesis and continued – “A 9

For Praegothica, see Albert Derolez, The Palaeography of Gothic Manuscript Books: from the Twelfth to the Early Sixteenth Century (Cambridge, 2003), pp. 56–71. 10 Samuel Harrison Thomson, Latin Bookhands of the Later Middle Ages 1100–1500 (Cambridge, 1969), no. 85. 11 References are to folio and line numbers. 12 Nova Legenda Angliae: as Collected by John of Tynemouth, John Capgrave and others, and first printed, with new Lives, by Wynkyn de Worde A. D. MDXVI, ed. Carl Horstman, vol. 1 (Oxford, 1901), pp. ix–x; Sharpe, A Handlist, no. 949. 13 On John’s treatment of works by Goscelin, see M.L. Colker, “Texts of Jocelyn of Canterbury which relate to the History of Barking Abbey,” Studia monastica 7 (1965), 383– 460, at p. 385. 14 Nova Legenda, ed. Horstman, vol. 1, pp. 362–63; the full account, pp. 362–64, is BHL 2429.

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patria igitur latenter fugiens…” – through four sentences not witnessed by the Lessons.15 This substantial passage coincides with the break between lessons four and five. Lesson five begins “Beatus uero Eadwoldus, dum paululum respirat, baculum in deuexo montis cacumine affixit”; and John, after his excursus, likewise continues: “Quo cum peruenisset, baculum in deuexo montis cacumine affixit.”16 Eadwold’s short rest at the beginning of this lesson is explained by the omission of the passage witnessed by Tynemouth. Moreover, lessons five and seven refer to a shepherd introduced in the omitted passage. The only conclusion that can be drawn is that the Lessons are extracted from a Life, and that Tynemouth’s source was the latter. Tynemouth shows that apart from omitting the divagation episode the Lessons faithfully replicate the lost text. Tynemouth’s second additional passage may, for convenience, be termed a Translatio. This, without separate introduction, follows the account of Eadwold’s burial. After an enumeration of miracles comes a story about the refusal of Eadwold’s bones to be moved to Sherborne but their willingness, after humble prayer, to relocate to Cerne.17 The Life, as witnessed by the Lessons, meets this account only with the comment that Eadwold worked many miracles until his translation. Nowhere is Cerne mentioned, but it presumably supplied Tynemouth’s source, for he tells us that he had been there.18 The Translatio creates an anachronism by identifying as agents in Eadwold’s translation to Cerne – a westward journey of a few miles – Archbishop Dunstan, Bishop Ælfmær, and Æthelmær the ealdorman or earl (comes).19 Ælfmær, bishop of Sherborne and abbot of St. Augustine’s, Canterbury, only attained the see during Cnut’s reign.20 Æthelmær might

15

Nova Legenda, ed. Horstman, vol. 1, p. 362; cf. BL, Sloane 1772, fol. 16v. Ibid. 17 Nova legenda, ed. Horstman, vol. 1, p. 363. 18 “Modo uero Cern dicitur, et est in prouincia Dorsetana, quem locum et fontem ego Iohannes uidi”: Nova Legenda, ed. Horstman, vol. 1, p. 97. 19 “Procurante igitur Almaro episcopo et decernente sancto Dunstano … Almarus comes … tunc aderat”: Nova Legenda, ed. Horstman, vol. 1, p. 363. 20 Simon Keynes, “Wulfsige, Monk of Glastonbury, Abbot of Westminster and Bishop of Sherborne (c. 993–1002)” in St Wulfsige and Sherborne. Essays to Celebrate the Millenium of the Benedictine Abbey 998–1998, ed. Katherine Barker, David A. Hinton; Alan Hunt (Oxford, 2005), p. 74, suggests that Ælfmær attained the see in the mid 1020s; cf. Handbook of British Chronology, ed. E.B. Fryde, D.E. Greenway, S. Porter, and I. Roy, 3rd ed. (Cambridge, 1986; repr. 1996, with corrections), p. 222, which makes him bishop 1017–23; cf. The Heads of Religious Houses: England and Wales, I. 940–1216, ed. David Knowles, C.N.L. Brooke, and Vera C. London, 2nd ed. (Cambridge, 2001), p. 35. 16

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have lived into Ælfmær’s episcopacy, but Dunstan died in 988.21 The most plausible explanation for this anachronism is that tradition or the hagiographer had associated Cerne’s earliest patrons with a later translation event. It cannot be ruled out that Almarus episcopus is a forgotten tenthcentury bishop, or the result of a copying error, but the case that Eadwold’s bones reached Cerne in the tenth century is unconvincing, and there is reason for favouring a date in the 1020s. Ælfric might have been disinclined towards the solitary life, but his silence regarding Eadwold – doubly emphatic given that he wrote a Life of St. Eadmund – suggests that Eadwold’s relics arrived only after his departure.22 It is also unlikely that Æthelmær should have shifted his attention to Eynsham after acquiring for Cerne an established local saint. The acquisition of such saints could and often did pay lasting dividends for a monastery from oblations left by the faithful.23 It is also worth noting, although arguments cannot proceed from silence, that to the compiler of the Secgan, the Old English list of saints’ resting places completed by ca. 1013 x+x 1031, Eadwold was unknown.24 Conversely, to propose a date in the 1020s is to have Eadwold’s translation coincide with a revival in the cult of his alleged brother. During Ælfmær’s episcopate monastic life was being introduced at Bury, and it could be that the monks of Cerne acquired the sainted hermit and promoted his genealogical credentials in order to tap the fashionable East Anglian cult.25 In the context of the 1020s, the implied struggle between Sherborne and Cerne to acquire Eadwold’s remains is entirely conceivable. Thus far no attempt has been made to identify the author of the Life from which the Lessons were extracted. Now, the case shall be put for Goscelin of St. Bertin.26 Goscelin, who became the most prolific hagiographer of his era, 21

Æthelmær’s son probably took over as earl in 1015x18: Keynes, “Cnut’s earls,” p. 68. For his attitude to eremitism, see Mary Clayton, “Hermits and the Contemplative Life in Anglo-Saxon England,” in Holy Men and Holy Women: Old English Prose Saints’ Lives and their Contexts, ed. P.E. Szarmach (New York, 1996), pp. 147–75, at 162–64. 23 John Blair, “A Saint for Every Minster? Local Cults in Anglo-Saxon England,” in Local Saints and Local Churches, ed. Thacker and Sharpe, pp. 455–94. 24 Felix Liebermann edited the Old English Secgan in Die Heilegen Englands (Hanover, 1889); David Rollason discusses its variants in “Lists of Saints’ Resting-Places in AngloSaxon England,” Anglo Saxon England 7 (1978), 61–93. 25 For Bury, see T. Licence, “The Origins of the Monastic Communities of St. Benedict at Holme and Bury St Edmunds,” Revue bénédictine 116 (2006), 42–61. 26 Sharpe, A Handlist, no. 395. For a provisional introduction to Goscelin, see Frank Barlow, “Goscelin (b. c. 1035, d. in or after 1107)”: http://www.oxforddnb.com/ view/article/11105 accessed 6 March 2005; and The Life of King Edward who Rests at Westminster, ed. and trans. idem, 2nd ed. (Oxford, 1992), pp. xlvi–lii and 133–49. The fullest 22

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arrived in England to join the household of his mentor Hereman after the latter returned as bishop of Ramsbury in 1058; exactly when Goscelin arrived is unknown.27 The lodgings first assigned to him sat centrally within the episcopal estates of the Wiltshire see, but it is likely that Goscelin later found quarters at the cathedral priory of Sherborne in Dorset, to which Hereman removed it in 1062 x 1072.28 Goscelin’s literary canon is contested, but he is known to have written the Life of St Wulfsige in commemoration of that Sherborne saint, and he was well placed to have fulfilled a similar commission in honour of Eadwold. The only extant calendar to commemorate Wulfsige (in majuscules) is the only one to commemorate Eadwold (in minuscules). Datable ca. 1061, it was most probably made for Sherborne, and is further evidence of Sherborne’s interest in the hermit.29 Goscelin, therefore, was in the right place at the right time, but on what internal evidence can the text of the Lessons be attributed to him? The present scholarly consensus is that the attribution of any anonymous text to Goscelin should proceed from the conjunction of a number of features

study is T.J. Hamilton, “Goscelin of Canterbury, a Critical Study of his Life, Works and Accomplishments” (Ph.D. diss., University of Virginia, 1973). 27 Daphne Stroud, “Eve of Wilton and Goscelin of St. Bertin at Old Sarum,” Wiltshire Archaeological and Natural History Magazine 99 (2006), 204–12, unintentionally demolishes our evidence that Goscelin arrived before the Conquest: all we know is that he arrived when Eve (born ca. 1060) was a child (infantula); for it is far from evident that he knew Abbess Ælfgifu of Wilton (ca. 1065–67) personally, for he had access to her sister: cf. Stephanie Hollis, “Goscelin and the Wilton Women,” in Writing the Wilton Women: Goscelin’s Legend of Edith and Liber confortatorius, ed. eadem, Medieval Women: Texts and Contexts 9 (Turnhout, 2004), 217–44, at p. 219 28 “The Cult of St Swithun,” ed. Michael Lapidge, Winchester Studies 4, vol. 2 (Oxford, 2003), p. 614, wrongly makes the move to Sherborne a criterion for dating Goscelin’s arrival in England. The Dorset Domesday claims that on the death of Bishop Ælfwold (d. 1062 x 1065) Sherborne passed to Queen Edith, and that she held it on 5 January 1066: Domesday Book 7: Dorset, ed. Caroline Thorn and Frank Thorn, (Chichester, 1983), 2.6. William of Malmesbury mistakenly conflates Hereman’s return, in 1058, with his accession to Sherborne: Gesta pontificum, p. 183. Hereman was certainly at Sherborne by 1072. For Potterne and Bishop’s Canning, Goscelin’s earliest lodgings in England, see Domesday Book 6: Wiltshire, ed. Caroline Thorn and Frank Thorn (Chichester, 1979), 3.1,2. 29 “The Red Book of Darley” has Tr. Eadwold anch. (12 Aug): English Kalendars Before A.D. 1100, ed. Francis Wormald, Henry Bradshaw Society 72 (London, 1934), no. 14; and Rebecca Rushforth, “An Atlas of Saints in Anglo-Saxon Calendars,” Anglo-Saxon, Norse and Celtic (ASNC) Guides, Texts and Studies 6 (Cambridge, 2002), no. 19; and Keynes, “Wulfsige,” pp. 75–76.

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known to characterise his work.30 His stylistic traits include obtrusively rhyming prose, the staccato accumulation of parallel rhyming phrases, the use of lavish, sensual simile (saints are likened to flowers, fragrances, celestial bodies, and gemstones), and the almost predictable reiteration of stock metaphors. Lexical features typically associated with his work include agentive nouns, Grecizing verbs ending in –izo, compound adjectives, and superlatives. Among his favoured rhetorical devices were climax, antithesis, and apostrophe. With a genre as formulaic as hagiography, however, the tests must be rigorous, and it is doubtful whether the conjunction of criteria such as those just listed can distinguish the authentic Goscelin, as it were, from the hypothetical disciple saturated in his prose. Something more is needed. We really need evidence of the more idiosyncratic creative processes going on inside Goscelin’s head. To satisfy the usual criteria of style is therefore only the first task. The second is to nail the attribution to the individual.31 What, then, of the aforementioned stylistic criteria? All are present except for Grecizing verbs in -izo. The prose of the Lessons is a poetical fabric of 30

For Goscelin’s style, see Hamilton, “Goscelin.” See also Three Eleventh-Century Anglo-Latin Saints’ Lives, ed. and trans. Rosalind C. Love (Oxford, 1996), pp. xc–ci; Goscelin of Saint-Bertin, The Hagiography of the Female Saints of Ely, ed. and trans. eadem (Oxford, 2004), pp. lv–lxxx; “Swithun,” ed. Lapidge, vol. 2, pp. 614–21; and Rosalind C. Love ‘“Et quis me tanto oneri parem faciet?’ Goscelin of Saint-Bertin and the Life of St Amelberga,” in Latin Learning and English Lore: Studies in Anglo-Saxon Literature for Michael Lapidge, ed. Katherine O’Brien O’Keeffe and Andy Orchard, 2 vols. (Toronto, Buffalo and London, 2005), 2. 232–52. 31 I shall refer to selected works by Goscelin thus: C.H. Talbot, “The Liber confortatorius of Goscelin of Saint-Bertin,” Analecta monastica 3, Studia Anselmiana 37 (Rome, 1955), 1– 117 (= L. Conf.). “The Life of Saint Wulsin of Sherborne by Goscelin,” ed. C.H. Talbot, Revue bénédictine 69 (1959), 68–85 (BHL 8753 = V. Wuls.); Vita S. Edithe: “La légende de sainte Édithe en prose et vers par le moine Goscelin,” ed. André Wilmart, Analecta Bollandiana 56 (1938), 5–101, 265–307 (BHL 2388 = V. Edi.); Vita S. Werburge uirginis and Vita S. Wihtburge: Saints of Ely, ed. Love, pp. 25–50, 54–93 (BHL 8855, 8978 = V. Wer., V. Wiht.); Vita et Miracula S. Ethelburge: “Texts of Jocelyn of Canterbury,” ed. Colker, pp. 398–417 (= V. Ethel.); Lectiones de S. Hildelitha: “Texts of Jocelyn of Canterbury,” ed. Colker, pp. 455–58 (= L. Hild.); Vita et Translatio S. Wulfhilde: “Texts of Jocelyn of Canterbury,” ed. Colker, pp. 418–34 (BHL 8736b, d = V. Wulf.); Vita S. Iuonis: Acta SS. Iun. II, pp. 288–92 (BHL 4621 = V. Iuo.); Miracula S. Iuonis: Chronicon Abbatiae Ramesiensis, ed. W.D. Macray, RS 83 (London, 1886), pp. lix–lxxxiv (BHL 4622–3 = M. Iuo.); Vita et Translatio S. Mildrethe: David Rollason, The Mildrith Legend (Leicester, 1982), pp. 108–43 (BHL 5960–61 = V. Mil.); Vita S. Amelberge: Acta SS. Iul. III, pp. 88–111 (BHL 323 = V. Amel.); Historia, Miracula et Translatio S. Augustini: Acta SS. Maii VI, pp. 373–443 (BHL 777, 779, 781 = H. Aug.).

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assonance and consonance woven together by obtrusive monosyllabic and disyllabic rhyme. Its ostentation, nevertheless, does not extend to the murkiest of the Grecisms, neologisms and archaisms of the hermeneutic idiom. Its goals are aesthetic but also edifying, its allusions more resonant than obscure. In this respect it is closer to Goscelin than to the cryptic Frithegod of Canterbury, the convoluted Beorhtferth of Ramsey, and the obfuscating eccentricities of St Neot’s hagiographer.32 Climax, antithesis, and apostrophe are all used to striking effect.33 Lofty imagery, sensual ornamentation, and superlatives abound. The word blandifluum might be noted, given that Goscelin relished compound adjectives in –fluus, like almifluus, dulcifluus, latifluus and mellifluus. So too the many superlatives, like gloriosissimi, feruentissimus, and decentissimum, betray a penchant for ringing accolades akin to that exemplified in Goscelin’s precellentissimus … Augustinus, dignissima … Mildretha, decentissima … Werburga, eligantissima et generosissima … Wulfhilda, etc.34 By way of agentive nouns, the Lessons supply imitator, precursor, bellator, auditor and proditor.35 They also contain sundry motifs that formed a stock part of Goscelin’s repertoire. One such is the standard of the cross. Eadwold, “arrepto sibi crucis uexillo, sequi nitebatur regem suum,” and Goscelin instructed the recluse Eve, “attolle uexillum uictoriosissime crucis, et in Domino sperans non infirmeris,” as Jerome’s archetypal eremite, “Paulus heremita, diuina attollens uexilla,” had done.36 Augustine and his missionaries “attollebant potius uexilla Dominica,” and Augustine went 32 For the hermeneutic style, see Michael Lapidge, Anglo-Latin Literature 900–1066 (London and Rio Grande, 1993), pp. 105–114; for Frithegod and Beorhtferth, pp. 117–32, and for Frithegod, see also David Townsend, “Anglo-Latin Hagiography and the Norman Transition,” Exemplaria 3 (1991), 385–433, at p. 392. For the prose style of Neot’s earliest hagiographer, see The Annals of St Neots with Vita Prima sancti Neoti, ed. David Dumville and Michael Lapidge, The Anglo-Saxon Chronicle: a Collaborative Edition, ed. David Dumville and Simon Keynes, vol. 17 (Cambridge, 1985), pp. xcvi–civ. 33 E.g., climax: “In ipsa adolescencia uel etiam pueritia cepit que Dei erant amare, sacras eruditiones supernorum gaudiorum sicienter audire, sanctam ecclesiam colere, uisceribus indui misericordie, indigentibus auxilii et largitatis manus porrigere, paulatim secularem pompam declinare, delicias, blandimenta, gaudia suspecta habere, iam terrenam gloriam exuere, iam tota mente Christo adherere uelle”; antithesis: “Regno preposuit solitudinem, et diuitiis seculi Christi pauperiem”; apostrophe: “te Antoni, te Machari, te maxime precursor Domini et princeps heremi deuotus famulus cupiens imitari.” 34 For the use of compound adjectives, see L. Conf., p.15; V. Wulf., p. 419. 35 L. Ead., fols. 15r, 16r, 17v, 18v; for the use of agentive nouns, see Love, “Life of St Amelberga.” 36 L. Ead., fol. 15v; L. Conf., pp. 47, 75.

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forth, “elato ex more crucis Domini argentee triumphali uexillo.” Mildrith was a crucis uexillifera; Edith, who bore the crucis uexillo, was likewise a cru[cis] Christi … uexillifera.37 To the standard of the cross can be added the coiled dragon of Is. 27.1, the royal sceptre, the motif of trampling earthly things, and the bowels of mercy from Col. 3.12, all of which, along with other staple motifs, surface in most of Goscelin’s works.38 It is not that these and similar motifs are absent from the works of other hagiographers: rather, they are less likely to cluster in them. Such parallels alone cannot prove Goscelin’s authorship of the given text, but they can extend the case for his authorship from the realm of the historically viable to the realm of the stylistically plausible. Further parallels should in theory push it towards the probable, so to this end a few more may be cited. The openings of Goscelin’s hagiographies, for one, follow an almost stereotyped pattern. To “Regius Christi miles Eadwoldus” compare “Egregius Dei pontifex Deusdedit,” “Dignus Dei antistes Letardus,” “Doctor apostolicus et ueri solis nuntius Iuo” etc.39 Equally typical is the terminology in which Goscelin couches saintly genealogies. Compare the following: “Regius Christi miles Eadwoldus gloriosissimi regis et martiris Eadmundi per[h]ibetur fuisse germanus.” “Rex Ethelredus gloriosi Edgari filius regis, qui et martiris pretiosi Edwardi sanctissimeque uirginis Edgithe germanus ….” 40

The Lessons contain the exclamation: “O diuine dispensationis benignitas admiranda!” In Goscelin’s Vita Mildrethe this seemingly reappears,

37

H. Aug., pp. 382C, 382F; V. Mil., p. 133; V. Edi., pp. 88, 75. For the dragon: “serpentem tortuosum et milleformem scorpionem”: V. Mil., p. 123; “ille tortuosus leuiathan … in omnia transformabilis”: L. Conf., p. 92; cf. “leuiathan tortuosum serpentem”: L. Ead., fol. 15v; for Eve, see L. Conf., p. 70; cf. draco tortuosus: V. Mil., p. 138. For the sceptre: “urget in regni sceptra”: L. Ead., fol. 16v; sceptrum regis, sceptrigera: L. Conf., pp. 38, 15; sceptrum imperii delegauit: V. Mil., p. 116; superuixit sceptra: V. Wulf., p. 418; and “honeste agebat in sceptris”: V. Amel.. p. 91C. For trampling: “de calcanda huius seculi uanitate”: L. Ead., fol. 16r; mundi uanitate calcata, calcato mundi: L. Conf., pp. 106, 306; “terrena uelut inania calcauit,” “gloriam et diuitias huius seculi calcaui”: V. Amel., pp. 90E, 101C; and fastum mundi calcare: V. Wer., p. 34. For the bowels: uisceribus indui misericordie: L. Ead., fol. 15v; “uiscera misericordie sibi induerat”: V. Edi., p. 64; uisceribus dilectionis: V. Wulf., p. 428; uisceribus pietatis, uisceribus clementissimis: V. Mil., pp. 121, 137; pietatis uiscera: L. Conf., p. 117; caritatis uiscera, clementie uisceribus: V. Wer., pp. 34, 36; uisceribus caritatis: V. Ethel., p. 402; and the ubiquitous maternis uisceribus: V. Mil., p. 133, and V. Wulf., p. 424. 39 L. Conf., p. 15. 40 L. Ead., fol. 15r; V. Wuls., p. 76; cf. L. Conf., p. 15. 38

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rearranged: “O ineffabilem diuine benignitatis dispensationem!”41 A more interesting parallel, this time from Tynemouth’s Translatio, concerns columns of light rising to heaven from the shrines of saints and illuminating their surroundings. Although Rosalind Love rightly observes that the column of light is a common topos (it was, at least, one of Goscelin’s stock motifs), note the similarity of the following:42 “Columpna lucis a tumba sancti usque in celum extensa sepius conspicitur, unde ampla regio irradiatur.” “Conspicantur fulgidas auree lucis columnas a tumulo … ethera penetrantes, et terrum confinia late irradiantes.”43

Both have the column, the tomb, the reaching to heaven, the illumination of the entire backdrop, and the verbs conspicio and irradio. None of this evidence is conclusive of course, but it should confirm that Goscelin’s authorship is plausible, if not probable. The next stage is to develop the argument by analysing the author’s treatment of his sources, in particular the Bible. To what extent does the idiosyncratic blend of biblical citations and concomitant exegesis found in the Lessons harmonize with Goscelin’s scriptural repertoire? Is there evidence, in other words, that behind the text Goscelin’s mind was at work? Our enquiry begins with St Jerome. Eadwold’s hagiographer, in search of images on which to model his subject’s anachoresis, turned, it would seem, to Jerome’s Letter 22: specifically, to the sections which describe life in the desert. One clue that he did so is the epithet he accords the Baptist, princeps heremi, whom Eadwold is made to imitate. This epithet derives from Letter 22.44 Far more telling is its deployment in conjunction with two verses used by Jerome in the same letter to describe eremitism (verses otherwise unconnected). In his lonely waste, the hermit Jerome, blackened by the burning sun, would sing to Christ: “Post te in odorem unguentorum tuorum currimus” (Jerome, Ep. 22.7; Ct 1.3). According to Eadwold’s hagiographer, Christ would draw to himself all who clamabant: “Trahe me post te; in odore unguentorum tuorum curremus.”45 Jerome wrote that a monk in the desert, told of Christ’s 41

V. Mil., p. 126; L. Ead., fol. 16v. Anglo-Latin Saints’ Lives, ed. Love, pp. xciii and 62n. Cf. “splendida lucis columna de celo”: V. Wer., p. 30; prefulgida lucis columpna: L. Hild., p. 458, columna lucis, “columna ignis et lucis”: V. Mil., pp. 130, 136; and lucis columna: L. Conf., p. 69. 43 Nova Legenda, ed. Horstman, vol. 1, p. 363; M. Iuo., p. lxiv. 44 Epistulae, ed. Isidor Hilberg, Corpus scriptorum ecclesiasticorum Latinorum 54, 55 and 56, 2nd ed. (Vienna, 1996), no. 22.36. 45 L. Ead., fol. 15v. 42

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coming kingdom, “moderato suspirio et oculis ad caelum leuatis,” would say intra se: “Quis dabit mihi pinnas sicut columbae, et uolabo et requiescam” (Jerome, Ep. 22.35; Ps. 54.7). Eadwold likewise “in corde suo sua cantabat suspiria: Quis dabit mihi pennas … [and, running with the scripture up to the ninth verse of the psalm,] … expectabo eum qui saluum me faciat.” In both cases the hagiographer offers fuller citations than Jerome, but the reappearance of Jerome’s inner sigh in the second citation betrays his Hieronymian inspiration: neither suspirium nor suspiro appears in the psalm. Turning to Goscelin’s Vita Ethelburge, we find: Inter hec tam sacra comercia cor beate Ethelburge redundans eterna dulcedine, quod uerbum bonum cum sua prole poterat Domino satis eructare? “In odore unguentorum tuorum curremus post te. Adolescentule tue dilexerunt te.”46

Although several variants of the verse Ct. 1.3 were in circulation, here is found the same wording that is used in the Lessons.47 The reference to Ct. 1.3 is followed by a reference to Ct. 1.2 (adulescentulae dilexerunt te), which suggests that Goscelin was recalling the antiphon “In odore unguentorum tuorum curremus; adolescentule dilexerunt te nimis.”48 Here, as in the Lessons, the image from Ct. 1.3 is associated with the yearning of the contemplative life. Again, Letter 22 could have been the inspiration. Turning to the Liber confortatorius, we find: Et exaltatus a terra omnia ad se traxit, … Tunc, inquit beatus Augustinus, a Deo trahimur… Quod si non traheris, ora ut traheris, quia affectuosissime amat sibi clamari benignitas saluatoris: “Trahe me post te,” ut cunctis fibris cordis et corporis et longis suspiriis clametur: “Trahe.”49

To which we may compare, from the Lessons: Qui exaltatus a terra trahit ad se omnia; cui clamabant sua desideria: “Trahe,” etc.50

In both these passages, similar allusions to Io. 12.32 (“et ego si exaltatus fuero a terra omnia traham ad me ipsum”) are linked to citations of Ct. 1.3 and to the action, expressed with the verb clamo, of crying out to God. Here, 46

V. Ethel., p. 403. Variants gave odorem for odore, currimus for curremus, and some omitted in odorem unguentorum tuorum altogether; some place the semicolon after me, some after te: Proverbia, Ecclesiastes, Canticum Canticorum, ed. monachi abbatiae pontificiae sancti Hieronymi in urbe, O. S. B., Biblia sacra iuxta Latinam vulgatam versionem ad codicum fidem 11 (Rome, 1957), p. 180. 48 Antiphon c3261: http://www.cursus.uea.ac.uk/ed/c3261accessed 14 March 2005. 49 L. Conf., p. 55; cf. longis suspiriis: V. Ethel., p. 412. 50 L. Ead., fol. 15v. 47

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again, is vented the yearning of the contemplative, here with longis suspiriis. Subtler instances of the blending, in Goscelin’s mind, of Io. 12.32 with Ct. 1.3 may be detectable elsewhere where the triptych of Christ, the verb traho, and the motif of brides being drawn to the bridegroom, is displayed. Consider: [Ethelburga] se Christo perpetua uirginitate desponsauerat … et ad diuinum thalamum plures secum sponsas trahebat.51

Images of Hildelitha “exhortatione materna … trahens omnes ad celestia” and of Wulfhilda “ad infinitum gaudium trahens omnium corda [sororum]” nod in a similar direction.52 In the Liber confortatorius, clearly, and more obliquely in the cases of Ethelburga and Hildelith the bonding of affiliated verses in Goscelin’s mind and the blending of their imagery in his memory are discernible. Here, significantly, the author of the Lessons synthesized the same two verses. He also merged two verses that employ the metaphor of God’s umbrageous wings. In Ps. 16.8 God’s wings are protective: “sub umbra alarum tuarum proteges me”; in Ps. 56.2, an object of hope: “in umbra alarum tuarum sperabo.” According to the Lessons, Eadwold passed his days “conmorans in protectione Dei celi, et sperans in umbra alarum Domini.”53 In Goscelin’s writing we find the same juxtaposition of protego/protectio and spero in the use of this biblical metaphor. Mildrith, for example, “in umbra alarum Dei sperans,” cries: Sub umbra alarum tuarum protege me et in umbra alarum tuarum sperabo donec transeat iniquitas.54

And Goscelin advises Eve: Nec uero timeas aduersarium, timens Deum et sperans in protectione alarum suarum.55

Once more our anonymous author was uniting verses Goscelin united. The second biblical verse that Eadwold’s hagiographer seems to have recovered from Letter 22, “O for the wings of a dove” (Ps. 54.7), held no

51

V. Ethel., p. 402. V. Wulf., p. 429; L. Hild., p. 458. 53 L. Ead., fol. 17r; “conmorans in protectione Dei celi” is from Ps. 90.1. 54 V. Mil., p. 138; cf. “in umbra alarum Domini” and “in umbra alarum Dei sperans”: V. Mil., pp. 124, 127; “in umbra alarum Dei sperans”: V. Wiht., p. 56; “sub ala protectionis sue”: V. Amel., p. 95F. 55 L. Conf., p. 64; cf. “in umbra alarum eius sperare”; “sub umbra alarum tuarum protege me”: L. Conf., pp. 32, 38; “sub pennis eius sperabis”: V. Edi., p. 43. 52

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less prominent a position in Goscelin’s scriptural repertoire.56 Wærburh, for example, “uero columbinis pennis meritorum ad celum uolita[uit].”57 In the Historia Augustini we find the dying saint, a pilgrim in the civitas terrena, calling out to God climactically: Que precum incensa, que sanctorum desideriorum lamenta, quam inenarrabilia mittebat celo suspiria? “Quis,” inquit, “dabit mihi pennas sicut columbe, et volabo et requiescam?”58

The verse is also used as a climax in the Lessons. So, too, Domne Eafe, “ardens ad Christum pennis columbe euolare, in quo possit requiescere,” desired to flee the world.59 When she fled, “pennas uentorum ante uolabant alta suspiria et sancta puelle desideria.”60 It is notable that in both these instances, as in the Lessons, appended to the scriptural quotation is the Heironymian suspiria, suggesting that the context in which Jerome had utilized Ps. 54.7 (and indeed Ct. 1.3) influenced Goscelin’s use of these scriptures.61 Their connexion grows even stronger when we find them working in tandem once more in the Vita Edithe: Assumptisque pennis columbe in eius sanctificos amplexus uolare estuat et requiescere [Ps. 54.7], clamans desideriis sponse: “Unguentum effusum nomen tuum, et odor tuus super omnia aromata. Trahe me post te, in odore unguentorum tuorum curremus.” [Ct. 1.3]62

Assuming that Goscelin did write both of these works, which was written first? We may have a clue. Eadwold was a vocational hermit who was commemorated as such and had to conform to that model. Contextually, his hagiographer’s apostrophe to the desert fathers is apt: “Anachorita Christi esse flagrabat; te Antoni, te Machari … cupiens imitari.” Edith, however, was a nun. An excursus describing her eremitical inclinations – “mente uisebat anachorita, ut Antoniane et Machariane solitudinis amica” – looks very much indeed like it has been borrowed from the text of the Lessons 56

For the popularity of this verse and similar ones in representations of the contemplative life, see F.N.M. Diekstra, “The Flight of the Exile’s Soul to its Fatherland,” Neophilologus 55 (1971), 433–46. 57 V. Wer., p. 36. 58 H. Aug., p. 394C; cf. gemitibus inenarrabilibus suspirabat: V. Wer., p. 34. 59 V. Mil., p. 120; like Eadwold, who longed terrenam gloriam exuere, Mildrith exuere flagrabat earthly things: L. Ead., fol. 15v. 60 V. Mil., p. 120. 61 In the Liber confortatorius we again find Ps. 54.8–9 associated with the solitary life: L. Conf., p. 38. 62 V. Edi., p. 45.

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(although it is only found in the extended version of her Vita).63 The evidence so far suggests that Eadwold’s lost Life, inasmuch as the author turned to Letter 22 for a model of anachoresis, was the project through which Goscelin’s enthusiasm for Ps. 54.7 and for Ct. 1.3 was kindled. By the 1080s, Goscelin had come to regard Jerome as a diuinus interpres, a saint of prelustris … eruditione; on the patristic reading list he recommended to Eve, first before Augustine, Gregory, and the works ceterorumque uirtutis doctorum was Jerome.64 One final passage in the Lessons bears such striking similarities to a passage in the Vita Wihtburge that the two must be referential. Of Eadwold we read: … ut ei soli placeret cui se probauit [2 Tim. 2.4]. Quantus autem Christi bellator in antiquum hostem insurrexerit, quibus armis infernales potestates debellauerit, sanctorum desideriorum longas dilationes quo zelo laborum ultus sit, quibus mortificationibus carnis, in ieiuniis, uigiliis, orationibus, lacrimis et patiencia se Deo immolauerit, qua caritate Domino adheserit, qua longanimitate in finem perseuerauerit, ipse testis est cui causam suam reuelauit, cui credidit, quia potens est depositum suum seruare in illum diem [2 Tim. 1.12]. Ibi orabat patrem in abscondo clauso ostio latibuli, et pater suus qui uidit in abscondo reddidit sibi. [C]uius merita tanto sunt in supernis splendoribus sanctorum clariora, quanto erant humane noticie occulciora. Vita eius cum Christo in Deo erat abscondita, ut cum Christus apparuerit, uita sua, tunc et ipse appareat cum ipso in gloria [Col. 3.3–4]. Quin etiam inter mortales eo sunt ipsa illustriora post funera, quo fuerant obscuriora in uita.

Of Wihtburh’s life as a recluse we read: … ut ei soli placeret cui se probauit [2 Tim. 2.4]. Signa que per eam Dominus declarare dignatus est ut inuentum thesaurum abscondit, quatinus in ipso gaudet, in quo furi et tinee inaccessibilem possideret, et cum apostolo diceret, ‘scio cui credidi et certa sum quia potens est depositum meum seruare in illum diem’ [2 Tim. 1.12]. Que eo gloriosior in regeneratione sanctorum apparebit, quo contemptibilior inter mortales uideri appetiit, ut idem gentium doctor concinit, “Mortui enim estis, et uita uestra abscondita est cum Christo in Deo. Cum enim Christus apparuerit, uita uestra, tunc et uos apparebitis cum ipso in gloria.” [Col. 3.3–4.]65

Both excerpts use the same three biblical citations, 2 Tim. 2.4, 2 Tim. 1.12, and Col. 3.3–4, in the same order, and both idiosyncratically insert the word soli into 2 Tim. 2.4 (“ut ei placeret cui se probauit”) to create “ut ei soli 63

L. Ead., fol. 15v; V. Edi., p. 66. L. Conf., pp. 16, 56, 61, and 80; cf. Reginald of Canterbury’s description of Jerome as Interpresque sacer: The Vita Sancti Malchi of Reginald of Canterbury, ed. Levi Robert Lind, Illinois Studies in Language and Literature 27, nos. 3–4 (Urbana, 1942), p. 150. For Goscelin’s use of Jerome, see also Saints of Ely, ed. Love, pp. cxii–iii, and V. Edi., p. 73. 65 L. Ead., fols. 17r–v; V. Wiht., p. 64. 64

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placeret cui se probauit.”66 Both intrude a couplet of comparative adjectives between the last two citations (clariora … occulciora, gloriosior … contemptibilior) to articulate similar ideas, and both employ the expression inter mortales. The pairing of neuter plural comparative adjectives, as in the Lessons excerpt, is a noteworthy trick of Goscelin’s.67 In that excerpt, the metaphor of being hidden in Christ fits well with the image of the hidden hermit, but in the Wihtburh excerpt it sits ill with the concomitant theme of the saint’s self-abasement. The first is presumably the model, the second, derivative. Like the Vita Edithe, the Vita Wihtburge appears to have borrowed biblical images of anachoresis from the Life of Eadwold to bolster its own protagonist’s sanctity with eremitical credentials. An itinerant scholar like Goscelin, one imagines, might have carried his own books around with him. This would explain how he was able to rework a complex passage from one of his hagiographies in another Goscelin’s favourite classical analogy, or antithesis, of anachoresis was the Trojans’ quest for Latium. The Virgilian tag stirpe recisum (Aen. 12.208), making Eadwold’s staff recall the sceptre on which Aeneas swore, alludes to it. Latium is used three times in the Liber confortatorius as an analogue for the exiled solitary’s homeland.68 When Eadwold reaches this sedem quietis (cf. Aen. 1.205) his barren staff-sceptre burgeons.69 As in the Liber confortatorius, Aeneas serves as the antithesis of the spiritual pilgrim as Goscelin humorously subverts Virgil by having the staff-sceptre, which Aeneas swore could never bud, burst into leaf.70 The second allusive function of the budding-staff topos points more clearly to Goscelin. Discerning in this sign the divine notification of his journey’s end, Eadwold looks down at the long-sought spring:

66

Cf. “cui te soli inclusisti”: L. Conf., p. 33. Cf. “clariora per ipsam futura, cuius tam gloriosa essent principia”: V. Amel., p. 91F; “suspiria eo grauiora quo dilatiora,” “maiora fuerint certamina, eo fortiora aderunt diuina auxilia,” “exteriora bella significant anime interiora”: L. Conf., pp. 45, 47, 56. 68 Cf. “tendimus in Latium,” etc. (Virgil, Aen. 1.205), “requies ea certa laborum”: L. Conf., pp. 47, 72, 88 (Virgil, Aen. 3.393 is used in all three instances). 69 “Sicque stabili baculi radice recognoscit aduena Domini, finita peregrinatione, paratam sibi sedem quietis”: L. Ead., fol. 17r. 70 On Goscelin’s use of the Trojans as an antithesis to spiritual pilgrimage see Rebecca Hayward and Stephanie Hollis, “The Anchorite’s Progress: Structure and Motif in the Liber confortatorius,” in Wilton Women, ed. Hollis, 369–83, at pp. 377–78. 67

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“Et diu desideratum locum nactus ad pedes Christi cecidit, fontemque … adorauit, acsi ipsum angelum qui in Apocalipsi ostendit fontem aque uiue Iohanni, dicentem sibi: ‘Hic Deum adora’.”71

The significance of this spring of living water, of the feet of Christ, and of Eadwold’s budding staff is explained in Goscelin’s Historia Augustini. Journeying into the west, Augustine has a vision of God. After this: “Adorans uero ibidem, sentiensque illi loco ubi steterunt pedes Domini superna beneficia redundare, nec illam terram pati ariditatem, in qua apparuit Fons uite, illico itineris baculum ibidem affixit. Nec mora, purissimus fons uelut icta uena exsiliit … Ipse [Augustinus] … ad eternam tante gratie memoriam, locum a cernendo Deum Cernhel appellauit.”72

Goscelin observes that Cerne is a thriving monastery, and he reports a miracle that recently (nuper) occurred there through the merits of St. Augustine, identifying the man involved. Bede, his main source, does not recount the fountain tale. Tynemouth adds it after Eadwold’s Translatio but took it from Goscelin’s Historia Augustini, also witnessed in his collection, to which he refers the reader.73 Although the relationship between the two legends is never made explicit, the pedes Domini of the Historia Augustini and the pedes Christi of the Lessons, the fons uite that they share, the reappearance of the verb adoro, and the double dose of baculum … affixit cannot be coincidental.74 Now, with evidence of cross referencing added to evidence of style, imagery, vocabulary, scriptural exegesis, and historical circumstance, a very strong case can be put that the text of the Lessons – from the lost Vita Eadwoldi – is Goscelin’s.75 Goscelin might also have written the Translatio. Tynemouth, who despite his restless editorial pen still copied bits of his sources verbatim, to a certain extent betrays this by writing 71 L. Ead., fol. 17r. This is a reference to Respond c7344: “Ostendit mihi angelus fontem aque uiue et dixit ad me alleluia hic Deum adora”: http://www.cursus.uea.ac.uk/ed/c7344 accessed 20 March 2005; cf. Apc. 22.1, 9. 72 H. Aug., cols. 391F–392A. Is there a subtle allusion to Cerne in the Liber confortatorius? Cf. “Israel enim interpretatur uidens Deum. Suspirabis cum filia Caleph, terram irriguam petendo a superno patre, ut det compunctionis lacrimas de fonte misericordie, qui de petra, que Christum prefigurabat, fontem produxit aque uiue’: L. Conf., p. 106. 73 “Ibi enim sanctus Augustinus, ut in uita eius superius exprimitur, Deum sibi loquentem audire meruit”: Nova Legenda, ed. Horstman, vol. 1, p. 364; cf. Gesta pontificum, ed. Hamilton, pp. 184–85, where there is a more elaborate version of this story. 74 Compare “baculum in deuexo montis cacumine affixit” (L. Ead., fol. 16v) to “baculum ibidem affixit” (H. Aug., p. 392A). 75 Goscelin’s lessons, when he wrote lessons, were more “clipped” in their style of rhyming prose: Saints of Ely, ed. Love, p. lxxix and references.

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uncharacteristically in obtrusively rhyming prose.76 Goscelin’s favoured motif of the sacking of the saint’s shrine by doomed Danes (there were many other potential victims of vendetta miracles) makes an appearance; so too does the aforementioned column of light similar to that in the Miracles of St. Ive.77 Where, finally, do the Vita and Translatio Eadwoldi fit within Goscelin’s known career? Goscelin completed his first hagiographical project, the Vita Amelburge, in 1058 x 1073 (either abroad or in England), and the Vita Wulsini shortly after Hereman’s death in 1078. By then he was an established member of the bishop’s household and confrère of the Sherborne convent. Some quarrel with Osmund, the new bishop, occasioned his departure; in the early 1080s he was staying at Peterborough, and thereafter he is found only within the Eastern monastic circuit, visiting Barking, Ely and Ramsey before eventually settling at St. Augustine’s, Canterbury, in or after 1089.78 As we have seen, there are clues that the Vita Eadwoldi predated the Vita Wihtburge and the Vita Edithe (1078 x 1087);79 but if we accept Goscelin’s likely authorship of the Translatio witnessed by Tynemouth we can perhaps push it back further. By the time Goscelin wrote the Vita Wulsini he knew that Dunstan and Bishop Ælfmær were not contemporaries. Had he written the Translatio subsequently, it is unlikely he should have made this mistake.80 It may also be significant that Sherborne is referred to as though at the time of writing it were still the episcopal see, 76

“Claudus quidam aqua fontis … curatur. Mulier … ceca et ibidem lota illuminatur. Diuersi etiam ceci oculorum uisui restituuntur; resiliunt contracti; surdi et muti officiis redduntur; leprosi diuersorumque morborum molestia pressi sanatur. Columpna lucis a tumba sancti usque in celum extensa sepius conspicitur, unde ampla regio irradiatur”: Nova Legenda, ed. Horstman, vol. 1, p. 363. 77 See, for example, M. Iuo., pp. lix–lx; V. Ethel., p. 413. Two sequences dedicated to Eadwold, for use during the mass, copied in a hand of saec. XIV as part of a cycle arranged according to the calendar and bound with the Book of Cerne, might also be Goscelin’s: see Thesaurus hymnologicus, ed. Eugène Misset and William Henry James Weale, Analecta liturgica 2 (1888–1892), vol. 1, pp. 586–87. 78 Scholars still query whether the Burg of the Liber confortatorius is Peterborough or Bury, but Bury is never called Burg, but Beodricisworth or St. Edmunds; Goscelin calls Peterborough Burcg elsewhere: L. Conf., p. 49; M. Iuo., p. lx. On Goscelin’s arrival at St. Augustine’s, see Richard Sharpe, “Goscelin’s St Augustine and St Mildreth,” Journal of Theological Studies 41 (1990), 502–16, at pp. 502–5. 79 Hollis’s assertion that Goscelin identifies the V. Edi. as ‘his first completed work’ derives from a subjective interpretation of an ambiguous biblical analogy: “Goscelin and the Wilton Women,” in Wilton Women, ed. idem, p. 218n. 80 For Ælfmær and Goscelin’s comments on him see Keynes, “Wulfsige,” p. 74.

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which it ceased to be after 1075.81 Dunstan’s role calls to mind Paul Hayward’s suggestion that the prelate’s involvement, no less anachronistic, in Goscelin’s account of Edith’s translation was fabricated to appeal to Lanfranc, its intended recipient.82 This however is speculation; Dunstan’s appearance in Æthelmær’s writ was itself a basis for weaving him into the legend; his presence could alternatively be an error. In style and content the Vita Eadwoldi seemingly represents a seminal project in which exegetical formulae from Jerome’s Letter 22 caught Goscelin’s eye. Later they would flow from his pen. Two favourites, the biblical (and Hieronymian) images of the dove’s wings and of running in the fragrance of Christ’s perfumes, became standard motifs for his model contemplative. They reappear in the Vita Edithe, the Liber confortatorius, and later works dealing with the contemplative model, but are notably absent from the Vita Amelburge, despite the eminent suitability of its subject matter. When Goscelin wrote of Amelburga, Ps. 54.7 and Ct. 1.3 had not yet fired his imagination. On the strength of these various clues his account of Eadwold may be dated to the 1060s or 1070s. In Natale sancti Edwoldi83 [fol. 15r] Lectio prima: [R]egius Christi miles Eadwoldus gloriosissimi regis et martiris Eadmundi per[h]ibetur fuisse germanus. Nec altius querenda est eius in seculo generositas, quam tanti regis commendat eadem regia et germana sullimitas. Nec uite ipsius preclara sanctitas est dissimulanda, quam tam preciosi martyris fraterna illustrat corona. Sancta enim fuit illa progenies, et radix sancta et rami,84 tamque apud Deum plerique ex illo germine fulserunt celesti uita, quam apud homines dignitate terrena. Lectio secunda: [C]um esset igitur beatus Eadmundus tam sanctitate quam regalitate insignis, tam liberalitate quam opibus illustris, tam benignitate quam potentia uenerabilis, beatus Eadwoldus deuotus imitator et coheres uirtutum extitit fratris.85 In ipsa adolescencia uel etiam pueritia cepit 81 This point, of course, cannot be pressed: “ad episcopalem sedem Schireburnie”: Nova Legenda, ed. Horstman, vol. 1, p. 363. 82 Paul Antony Hayward, “Translation-Narratives in Post-Conquest Hagiography and English Resistance to the Norman Conquest,” Anglo-Norman Studies 21 (1999), 67–93, at pp. 78–79. 83 BL, Sloane 1772, fols. 15r–18v. Contractions have been silently expanded, capitalization normalized, and prepositions separated from nouns where necessary; ML modified spellings have been retained. 84 Rm. 11.16. 85 In this sentence, for regalitate Tynemouth has prosapia, for opibus, operibus.

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que Dei erant amare, sacras eruditiones supernorum gaudiorum sicienter audire, sanctam ecclesiam colere, uisceribus indui misericordie,86 indigentibus au- [fol. 15v] xilii et largitatis manus porrigere, paulatim secularem pompam declinare, delicias, blandimenta, gaudia suspecta habere, iam terrenam gloriam exuere, iam tota mente Christo adherere uelle. Regno preposuit solitudinem, et diuitiis seculi Christi pauperiem. Inter honores et rerum affluentiam, ac domi forisque populosum inpetum, recordabatur tui Syon, de medio Babilonis,87 set tenebatur adhuc uinculis terrene captiuitatis. Estuabat ad Christum inuitantem, trahentem, inpellentem, set patiebatur Leuiathan tortuosum serpentem88 incumbentem, inuoluentem, 89 opprimentem. Verum Christo semper debetur uictoria, qui exaltatus a terra trahit ad se omnia,90 cui clamabant sua desideria: “Trahe me post te; in odore unguentorum tuorum curremus.”91 Sic feruentissimus miles, arrepto sibi crucis uexillo, sequi nitebatur regem suum. Lectio tertia: In conuentu patrum et principum, in iuditiis magistratuum, in siluis et oblectamentis uenationum, in ludis et turba spectaculorum solitudinem desiderabat, heremum suspirabat, anachorita Christi esse flagrabat; te Antoni, te Machari, te maxime [fol. 16r] precursor Domini et princeps heremi92 deuotus famulus cupiens imitari. Set et inter curie sue delicias, inter regales epulas,93 inter citharas et organa,94 inter exultantis ciuitatis choreas et carmina95 ipse in corde suo sua cantabat suspiria: “Quis dabit mihi pennas sicut columbe, et uolabo et requiescam, ut elongem fugiens et maneam in solitudine? Expectabo eum qui saluum me faciat.”96 Sepe conferebat cum sanctissimo fratre cognate probitatis preuio duce de calcanda huius seculi uanitate, de amplectenda supernorum beatitudine, de regum Domino97 toto mentis affectu et subiectione colendo, in cuius

86

Col. 3.12. Ps. 136.1. 88 Isa. 27.1. 89 To this dense homoeoteleuton on participles cf. “post querelam discessionis commendatum, admissum, susceptum, respice tecum assidentem, ausculta tecum sermocinantem”: L. Conf., p. 34. 90 Io. 12.32. 91 Ct. 1.3; Jerome, Ep. 22.7. 92 Jerome, Ep. 22.36. 93 Statius, Theb. 2.306. 94 Cf. Iob 30.31. 95 Vergil, Aen. 6.644. 96 Ps. 54.7–9; Jerome, Ep. 22.35. 97 Dn. 2.47. 87

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seruitutem seruilis98 mundi imperium transferre imperare est, cum quo regnare id demum est regem esse.99 Ambo florentes etatibus,100 ambo iuuenili uernantes rosa senili canescebant prudentia, ac de thesauro cordis et abundantia101 ostendebant accensa in se fraterna desideria. Lectio quarta: [V]erum ubi beatissimus rex Eadmundus per triumphum martyrii mutauit in ethere regna, uniuersa patrum principum tociusque populi turba102 unicum solatium Eaduuoldum [fol. 16v] urget in regni sceptra, tamquam residuum lumen regie posteritatis, et columnam patrie labentis,103 et heredem decentissimum fraterne dignitatis. Ille contra gemere,104 quod superesset exempto fratre; pati se non posse eius iugulo succedere, cum quo uel pro quo debuisset in Domino potius occumbere. Omnia itaque retinacula forti ictu recidit, et inprecans eis meliorem regem liber a mundi uinculis exiuit. Hinc toto affectu conuersus ad Dominum flagitabat ut dirigeret consilium suum.105 Interea reuelatum est ei in pace diuine uisionis oportere illum qui Fons Argenteus diceretur querere locum, ibi tandem eum desideratam requiem inuenturum, set in quibus terris inueniendus esset locus, non est ei ostensum. O iocunda Dei iuditia, o diuine dispensationis benignitas admiranda, que humana desideria ad suam gratiam premonstratis benefitiis inuitat ut intretur, intrare autem uolentibus quasi ostium claudit ut pulsetur,106 et pulsando aditum tandem perseuerantia mereatur, quatinus ex dif[f]icultate crescat uiolentum desiderium, et maiorum laborum maius reconpensetur premium.107 Lectio quinta: [B]eatus uero Eaduuoldus, dum paululum respirat, baculum in deuexo montis cacumine affixit. Ecce autem signum uenerabile gratie superne arrisit sibi bene prosperate. Lignum enim olim a sua stir- [fol.

98

MS: seruile. Cf. Sallust, Bell. Jug. 31. 100 Vergil, Ecl. 7.4. 101 Lc. 6.45. 102 “Uniuersa … turba”: cf. Lc. 23.18. 103 Cf. Vergil, Aen. 4.318 (Aeneas abandons Dido and Carthage). 104 There is no finite verb in the transmitted text. 105 Prv. 3.6. 106 Lc. 13.25, Mt. 7.7, Lc. 11.9. 107 Tynemouth witnesses the missing section thus: “A patria igitur latenter fugiens, res suas ad celum iter et ante se premittere sollicitus erat et terras ecclesiis, cetera pauperibus erogabat. Cumque uarias prouincias nauigio lustrasset, quod querebat inuenire non potuit. Reiectus tandem diuino nutu in patriam, et Septoniam [Shaftesbury] pro multos labores ueniens, pastorem inuenit puerum. Qui asseruit proximum adesse fontem quem querebat argenteum.” 99

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17r] pe recisum,108 atque in manu longinqui uiatoris excoctum et emortuum, iam uirescere, iam frondere, iam gemmis et flosculis ac foliis turgescere conspicit; quod in arborem erumpere sese ostendit, unde adhuc spectabilis fraxinus ibidem persistit; sicque stabili baculi radice recognoscit aduena Domini, finita peregrinatione, paratam sibi sedem quietis109 eterne. Hinc respiciens fontem subter fluentem purum et lucidum, ac digne dictum argenteum, diuino signo cum pastoris inditio declaratum, cum triumphali gaudio de monte decurrit, et diu desideratum locum nactus ad pedes Christi cecidit, fontemque uite110 quem alta mente siciebat111 adorauit, acsi ipsum angelum qui in Apocalipsi ostendit fontem aque uiue Iohanni, dicentem sibi: “Hic Deum adora.”112 Lectio sexta: [I]gitur athleta Domini in loco diuinitus dato arta et humili cellula habitacionem instituit, quam dilatato corde113 in Deo Romanis arcibus114 et hereditario Britannie imperio cum mundo preponit. Hic habitans in adiutorio Altissimi, et conmorans in protectione Dei celi,115 et sperans in umbra alarum Domini,116 gloriabatur nimium, cunctisque delitiis carnalibus preferebat euasisse et abscidisse se gloriam et inpetum et ipsa oblectamenta seculi, atque in Domino delectari et gloriari, qui daret sibi peticiones cordis sui,117 ut ei soli placeret cui se probauit.118 [fol. 17v] Quantus autem Christi bellator in antiquum hostem insurrexerit, quibus armis infernales potestates debellauerit, sanctorum desideriorum longas dilationes quo zelo laborum ultus sit, quibus mortificationibus carnis, in ieiuniis, uigiliis, orationibus,119 lacrimis et patiencia se Deo immolauerit,120 qua caritate Domino adheserit,121 qua longanimitate in finem perseuerauerit,122 ipse testis est123 cui causam suam reuelauit, cui credidit, quia potens est depositum suum seruare in illum 108

Vergil, Aen. 12.208. Vergil, Aen. 1.205. 110 Ps. 35.10. 111 Cf. Ps. 62.2. 112 Apc. 22.1, 9; Respond c7344. 113 St. Benedict, Reg. prologue, 49. 114 Vergil, Georg. 2.172. 115 Ps. 90.1. 116 Ps. 56.2; cf. Ps. 16.8, 35.8, 62.8. 117 Ps. 36.4. 118 2 Tim. 2.4. 119 MS: ortioniobus (sic). 120 Cf. Rm. 12.1. 121 Cf. Ps. 62.9. 122 Mt. 10.22; cf. Augustine, Ep. 140.36 (82). 123 Jerome, Ep. 22.7. 109

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diem.124 Ibi orabat patrem in abscondo clauso ostio latibuli, et pater suus qui uidit in abscondo reddidit sibi.125 Lectio septima: [C]uius merita tanto sunt in supernis splendoribus sanctorum clariora, quanto erant humane noticie occulciora.126 Vita eius cum Christo in Deo erat abscondita, ut cum Christus apparuerit, uita sua, tunc et ipse appareat cum ipso in gloria.127 Quin etiam inter mortales eo sunt ipsa illustriora post funera, quo fuerant obscuriora in uita. Quanta autem instancia humanam128 noticiam fugerit, hinc eluscescit. Fertur supradictum pas- [fol. 18r] torem habuisse ministrum et conscium solum, qui sibi tantum ter in ebdomada,129 hoc est dominica, tercia et quinta feria, panem attulerit ordeaceum cum lacte interdum, cui et ipse sacer anachorita in cotidianum stipendium cotidianum dederit argenteum, tale ei interminando mandatum: “Vide,” dicebat, “ne quisquam me hic tua delatione nouerit. Quocumque enim die me prodideris, extremus tibi usus erit huius nostri muneris.” Lectio octava: [A]udierat homo preceptoris sui indictionem, diuque seruauit largitori uel questui suo fidem. Verum ubi cotidianis incrementis et benefactoris sui meritis facultate dilatatus est, gloriatus iam ditioribus uideri et placere posse, dominos suos cum affinibus sollemni apparatu conuiuiorum attraxit. Ubi in ebrietate ab his conuentus admirantibus unde pastor tantos adquisisset sumptus, tandem rem ordine exposuit. Quod siue leuitate siue gratia fecerit, intelligitur quod Dominus lucernam suam accensam sub modio latere130 diutius noluerit. Cumque [fol. 18v] ille sancti patris auditor siue iam proditor ad solitum beneficium mane redisset, inuenit diuino spiritu sue temeritatis ueridicum uatem131 et indicem, quem offenderat blandifluum preceptorem. A quo ubi assuetum nummum accepit, hec ab eo prophetantis uoce audiuit: “Accipe munus132 nostrum ab hac die ultimum, quia sicut tibi quondam predixi, iam ex quo me prodidisti, extremum hoc tibi fecisti.” Ad hec ille confusus abscedit;133 sequenti tamen die quamquam desperatior 124

2 Tim. 1.12. Mt. 6.4. 126 Tynemouth has: “Cuius merita tanto sunt in supernis splendoribus sanctorum clariora, quanto sunt humane notitie propter antiquorum negligentia, et tempore Danorum librorum combustionem occultiora et incognita.” 127 Col. 3.3–4. 128 MS: hunanam. 129 MS: ebdomoda. 130 Cf. Mt. 5.15, Mc. 4.21, Lc. 11.33. 131 Cf. ueriloquum uatem: H. Aug., p. 389C. 132 Ovid, Met. 4.655 (?) 133 Isidore, Sent. 3.5.7. 125

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redit, ubi non solum non prius datiuum, set nec responsum repperit. Iam enim anachorita Christi labores suos quarto kal. Septembris finierat, et suscepto ab angelis spiritu in regnum supernum, corpus exanime iacebat.134 Quo uiso minister clamans et eiulans135 proximos quosque aduocat; et presbiter accurrens iusta religione Dei aduenam in eadem cella sua tumulat. Ubi multis clarus miraculis multis requieuit annis, usque ad tempus uidelicet a Deo ordinate translationis. Upon the Nativity of St. Eadwold First lesson: Christ’s royal warrior Eadwold it is told was blood brother to that most glorious king and martyr Eadmund. Loftier noblesse than his is sought in vain beneath these skies, as the great king’s royal and fraternal grandeur testifies. Nor is the resplendant sanctity of this man to be concealed, which by the brotherly crown of so precious a martyr is revealed. Holy was that progeny, and holy root bore holy branches; so in God’s domain as many from that shoot shone brightly with heavenly life as shone among men in worldly dignity. Second lesson: For blessed Eadmund’s sanctity was as conspicuous as his regality, his mighty deeds matched by his magnanimity, his august splendour equalled by his liberality. Blessed Eadwold was assuredly the devoted imitator and co-heir of his brother’s piety. In youthful manhood, even in childhood, he began to love the things of God, to harken thirstily unto the sacred teachings of the joys of heaven, to venerate holy Church, to put on a heart of mercy, to incline an open hand and assign help to the needy, little by little to decline earthly pomp, to deem luxuries and diversions deceptive delights, to shed even now the worldly show, to long even now to cleave to Christ with all his mind. Isolation he preferred to royalty, to worldly wealth Christ’s poverty. Midst acclaim and material abundance, midst the pressing multitude at home and at the gates, from the middle of Babylon he remembered you, O Syon, yet earthly fetters still held him in his prison. He was aflame for Christ, who entices, induces, impels, but tolerating the coiled dragon Leviathan, who oppresses, envelops, overwhelms. However, Christ always has the victory; exalted over the earth he draws to himself all things that call out to him their longings: “Take me with you; let us hurry in the fragrance of your perfumes.” So this hot-blooded warrior seized the standard of the cross and advanced to accompany his king. 134 135

Jerome, Ep. 38.2. Jerome, Ep. 22.30.

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Third lesson: In the leaders’ and chieftains’ assembly, in the courts of the functionaries, in the sylvan delights of hunting parties, in the uproarious entertainment of the public festivities, he longed for solitude, he yearned for a wilderness, he burned to be a hermit of Christ. You Antony, you Macarius, you above all Christ’s precursor, prince of the desert, this devoted familiar was desirous to follow. Midst the charms of his court, midst regal banquets, midst harmonies of tongue and lyre, midst the exultant rhythmic dances and singing of the city, in his heart was a song of sighs: “O for the wings of a dove, that I may fly away and be at rest, that far I may fly and abide in the wilderness. I await my saviour.” He often talked with his saintly brother (the elder in his cognate virtue guiding these discussions) of trampling worldly vanity, embracing supernal felicity, and worshipping the Lord of kings in total humility, compelled to exchange servile worldly rule for service to Him, with whom to reign is indeed to be a king. Both were in the flower of youth, both roses fresh in bloom came to be speckled silver with the wisdom of venerable age, and they revealed from the heart’s overflowing treasury the brotherly longings kindled inwardly. Fourth lesson: When the most holy king Eadmund went to reign on high through triumphant martyrdom, the whole throng of leaders and chieftains along with all of the people urges Eadwold, their sole consolation, to fulfil his kingly duty as the last light of royal posterity, the pillar of the fallen fatherland, and an heir most worthy of his brother’s dignity. For his part, he laments that he has outlived his liberated brother; he cannot permit himself to succeed him for whom or with whom he should rather have gone in the Lord to his tomb. Accordingly, with a mighty blow he breaks his bonds, and wishing them a fitter ruler walked free from the fetters of worldly captivity. From here, having turned to the Lord with all his passion, he implored His direction. Meanwhile, he was shown by leave of a divine vision to search for a place called Silver Fountain, where at length he should find his longed-for seclusion, though he was not shown the lands of its location. O delightful God-given ordeal! O wondrous liberality of divine dispensation, which with kindly foresights entices human desires towards its favour, that it be entered on, as if closing the door to those willing to enter, that it be knocked upon, and with persistent knocking that entry at last be won. For the desire that must struggle for its object waxes intense, and greater toil wins the greatest recompense. Fifth lesson: Stopping awhile, blessed Eadwold fixed his staff in the top of the sloping cliff. But behold, a magnificent and very propitious sign of celestial favour smiled upon him. For the wood once cut from the stem,

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dried-up and dead in the seasoned traveller’s hand, he now sees turn green, now sprout, now burgeon with buds, leaves and blossom; having ostensibly burst forth into a tree it remains there still, a prominent ash. When his staff took stable root, God’s exile recognized, with the end of his quest, the home prepared for his eternal rest. From his vantage point he gazed at the fountain flowing below, pure and clear and worthily called silver, as was declared by this heavenly sign and the shepherd’s information. Down the hillside he ran with triumphant jubilation; having found the long-sought place he fell at Christ’s feet and adored the Living Fountain whom he thirsted for deep within his heart, as if that angel who in Apocalypse shows John the fount of living water were commanding him: “here worship God.” Sixth lesson: And so in the plot divinely allotted him the Lord’s athlete built for his abode a cramped and lowly dwelling, which, with his heart opened wide in God, he extolled over the citadels of Rome and Britannia’s hereditary monarchy, together with the world. In living here in the service of the Most High, and abiding in the God of heaven’s safety, and trusting in the shade of the wings of the Almighty, he prided himself exceedingly, and over all fleshly indulgence preferred to avoid and banish himself from the fury and vainglory of worldly dalliance, and to delight and boast in the Lord, who granted him the petitions of his heart, that he might please Him alone whose approval he had won. How greatly Christ’s champion rose in rebellion against the ancient enemy, what armoury he loosed against the infernal powers, with what zealous hardships he avenged the long adjournments of his holy desires, with what mortifications of the flesh, in fastings, vigils, prayers, tears and endurance, he sacrificed himself to God, how closely he clung to the Lord in loving affection, and with what forbearance he saw this through to completion He stands witness who received his deposition. In Him lay his expectation, because come that fateful day He is mighty to save that which is in His safekeeping. There in that hidden place behind closed doors he prayed to the Father, and his Father, who sees what is hidden, granted him what he prayed for. Seventh lesson: His good deeds, among the heavenly splendours of the saints, shine the more brightly for having been done from human eyes the more covertly. His life was hidden in God with Christ, and when Christ, his life, appears, he too shall appear with Him in glory. Moreover, deeds done in life the more secretly, after men’s funerals, shine among them the more lucidly. How very eagerly he shunned human company, and his light shone through accordingly. The aforementioned herdsman is said to have been his servant and sole companion, who thrice weekly only, that is on Sunday,

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Tuesday and Thursday, brought him barley bread and, occasionally, milk, and to whom daily that holy solitary gave for his daily pay a silver penny, with this foreboding decree: “See that your activity reveals my presence here to nobody. For come the day you betray me you shall cease to enjoy my pay.” Eighth lesson: The man obeyed his teacher’s instruction, and long served the giver faithfully, or perhaps the remuneration. But when he grew rich through his benefactor’s daily increments and rewards, revelling now in the attention and entertainment of high society he invited his lords and neighbours to sumptuously stocked banquets. In that drunken festivity his astonished guests asked the shepherd how such feasts were funded, and at length the story unfolded. With regard to which, whether the act was fickle or respectful, it is understood that God no longer wished His lamp to burn beneath a bushel. And when the sacred father’s disciple, or now his betrayer, had returned to perform his usual service the morning thereafter, he who had hurt his redolent mentor discovered with the Holy Spirit the truth-telling prophet and informant of his effrontery. When he took his customary penny from him he heard him utter this oracle: “Receive this day my final pay, because, as I did once foresee, from now on you have betrayed me; let this be the last of your pay.” At this he departs in dismay; nevertheless still he returns in greater desperation the next day, in which not only is his pay lacking but also no answer is forthcoming. For on 29th August, Christ’s hermit had fulfilled his labours; angels had taken his soul up to the heavenly kingdom, and his body lay lifeless. Crying out and wailing at this discovery, the servant called for what people were nearby; a priest made haste, and with proper ceremony buried God’s exile in that very oratory. Illustrious in that place for many years he brought many miracles to fruition, that is, until God’s appointed time for his translation. Tom Licence, Magdalene College, Cambridge

An Early Medieval Treatise on the Virtues and Vices Rediscovered* by István P. Bejczy and Michiel Verweij Treatises on the virtues and vices constitute a medieval genre of great popularity. In the Later Middle Ages, in particular, such treatises were produced on a large scale in Latin as well as in the vernacular. By contrast, early medieval specimens of the genre are relatively rare. Martin of Braga’s Formula vitae honestae and Alcuin’s De vitiis et virtutibus are exceptional products; early medieval authors discussed the virtues and vices much more often in a wider context, notably in exegetical works.1 It is all the more fortunate that a short treatise on virtues and vices has come to light which must date, at least in part, from the ninth or tenth century. The treatise has a complicated history of transmission. In most extant manuscripts, it consists of three short sections, often distinguished from each other with separate headings. The first section discusses the four cardinal virtues; the third section concerns the eight capital vices, following John Cassian’s scheme. The repertory of medieval moral treatises by Morton Bloomfield et al. list these items as separate texts on the virtues and the vices, respectively.2 Still, both sections normally go together; we know of five manuscripts having the first section only (Fl, G, T, Vi, Vr), but the third section does not appear to have survived apart from the first. Between them * This article results from the research programme “A Genealogy of Morals: The Cardinal Virtues in the Middle Ages,” co-sponsored by the Netherlands Organisation of Scientific Research (NWO) and the Radboud University Nijmegen and directed by István Bejczy. We should like to thank the following persons for their help in checking manuscripts: Friedrich Buchmayr (St. Florian), Miquel S. Gros i Pujol (Vich), P. Odo Lang OSB (Einsiedeln), Richard G. Newhauser (San Antonio, TX), Giovanna Rao (Florence), Sonja Schreiner and Martin Wagendorfer (Vienna), Christoph Stöttinger (Lambach) and especially Pedro Parcerias (Porto) to whom we owe a transcription of MS Po. 1 For a survey of the genre, see Richard G. Newhauser, The Treatise on Vices and Virtues in Latin and the Vernacular, Typologie des sources du moyen âge occidental 68 (Turnhout, 1993). 2 Morton W. Bloomfield et al., Incipits of Latin Works on the Virtues and Vices, 1100– 1500 AD (Cambridge MA, 1979), nos. 5857 (virtues) and 4056 (vices).

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comes in the majority of manuscripts – but not, unfortunately, in the oldest one we have been able to identify – a text on the distinctions of the soul, mostly entitled De discretionibus anime. This text has been separately transmitted from the tenth century onward3 and may therefore be older than our treatise; in any case, it has a somewhat looser connection with the treatise than both other sections. None the less, most manuscripts present the three sections as a unity, and we have decided to do likewise in our edition. The first section of our treatise also survives as the opening part of Pseudo-Thomas Aquinas, De vitiis et virtutibus or Quaternarius, a work that enjoyed considerable popularity in the Late Middle Ages: at least fifteen printed editions appeared between 1471 and 1500.4 Our first section is entirely integrated into this work, but in adapted (not to say distorted) form and with a different incipit,5 so that the early medieval provenance of Pseudo-Thomas’s opening words has thus far remained in the dark. Manuscripts Bloomfield et al. list two fourteenth-century manuscripts (P2 and S) containing the first text, mentioning only one of these (S) as having the

3

Einsiedeln, Stiftsbibliothek, MS 326 (saec. IX/X), fol. 91r–v (without title and final phrase; the catalogue attributes the text to Alcuin, but not the MS itself); Stuttgart, Württembergische Landesbibliothek, MS HB.XII.6 (saec. XI), fol. 1r; Paris, Bibliothèque nationale de France, MS lat. 3454 (saec. XI/XII), fol. 44v. According to Brepols’ on-line database In Principio (Turnhout), the text is also in Troyes, Bibliothèque municipale, MS 1875 (saec. XIII), fol. 115v; according to the Catalogue général des manuscrits des bibliothèques publiques des départements, vol. 2 (Paris, 1855), this MS should contain Hugh of Fouilloy’s Claustrum animae. 4 For references to manuscripts and printed editions, see Palémon Glorieux, Répertoire des maîtres en théologie de Paris au XIIIe siècle, 2 vols. (Paris, 1933–34), no. 14ee (1: 100); Bloomfield et al., Incipits, no. 4455; the database In Principio; and the on-line Incunabula Short Title Catalogue composed by The British Library. We used the edition in S. Thomae Aquinatis opera omnia, ed. Robert Busa, 7 vols. (Stuttgart-Bad Canstatt, 1980), 7: 718–20. 5 Pseudo-Thomas Aquinas, De vitiis et virtutibus, ed. Busa, 718, begins thus: “Quatuor sunt virtutum species: scilicet prudentia, ex hac memoria, intelligentia, providentia, dignitas.” In the original treatise (and in its sources), dignitas forms part of iustitia, while prudence has only three subspecies. In fact, Pseudo-Thomas’s treatise systematically dissects every concept under discussion into four parts (hence its alternative title Quaternarius) and therefore adds dignitas to prudence. For the same reason, obedientia, another subspecies of justice, appears under temperance: “temperantia, ex hac continentia, obedientia, clementia et modestia” (ibid.).

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second text as well. We have been able to trace seventeen more manuscripts which contain our treatise partly or in its entirety:6 C = Cambridge, Fitzwilliam Museum, MS McClean 107 (saec. XII), fols. 121v–122v E = Escorial, Monasterio de San Lorenzo, MS d.IV.22 (saec. XIV), fols. 4v–6v F = Sankt Florian, Stiftsbibliothek, MS XI.126 (saec. XIV), fol. 208ra–rb (second section missing) Fl = Florence, Biblioteca Medicea Laurenziana (saec. XIV), MS Plut. XXXIII.33, fol. 46ra (only first section) G = St. Gall, Stiftsbibliothek, MS 62 (saec. XIII), p. 222 (only first section) L = Lambach, Stiftsbibliothek, MS 79 (saec. XIV), fol. 81ra–rb (second section missing) Me = Melk, Stiftsbibliothek, MS 731 (saec. XIV), fol. 82rb–va Mü = Munich, Bayerische Staatsbibliothek, MS clm 16217 (saec. XV), fols. 290ra–291ra P1 = Paris, Bibliothèque nationale, MS lat. 2531A (saec. XII), fols. 157v–158r P2 = Paris, Bibliothèque nationale, MS lat. 2029 (saec. XIV), fol. 70va–vb Pa = Paris, Bibliothèque de l’Arsenal, MS 1116 (saec. XII), fol. 169rb–va Po = Porto, Biblioteca Pública Municipal, MS 859 (Santa Cruz 80) (saec. XII), fols. 115r–116r S = Schlägl, Stiftsbibliothek, MS 38 (Cpl 182) (saec. XIV; 1391), fol. 117r–v T = Tarragona, Biblioteca Pública, MS 63 (saec. XII/XIII), fol. 123v (only first section) 6

We have seen C, G, Mü, Pa, P1, P2, T, Va, Vr and Vv; information on the other MSS rests on catalogues and on the persons mentioned before n. 1 above. See also Die handschriftliche Überlieferung der Werke des heiligen Augustinus (Vienna, 1969–), vol. 2 (Franz Römer) for C; vol. 4 (Johannes Divjak) for E, T, Va, Vi; vol. 5 (Rainer Kurz) for Mü; vol. 6 (Dorothea Weber) for F, L, S, W; vol. 9 (Sara Janner and Romain Jurot) for G. For W, see also Katalog der datierten Handschriften in lateinischer Schrift in Österreich, vol. 1 (Vienna, 1969); for Pa, see also Gilbert Ouy, Les manuscrits de l’abbaye de Saint-Victor: Catalogue établi sur la base du répertoire de Claude de Grandrue (1514), vol. 2 (Turnhout, 1999), pp. 354–55; for Po, see also Aires A. Nascimento and José F. Meirinhos, Catalogo dos códices da livraria de mao do mosteiro de Santa Cruz de Coímbra na Biblioteca pública municipal do Porto (Porto, 1997).

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Va = Valencia, Biblioteca Universitaria, MS 486 (27) (saec. XII/XIII),7 fols. 49vb–50rb Vi = Vich, Museo Episcopal, MS 21 (saec. XIII), fol. 163v (only first section) Vr = Vatican City, Bibliotheca Apostolica Vaticana, MS Reg. lat. 1561 (saec. XII/XIII), fol. 19r (breaks off in first section) Vv = Vatican City, Bibliotheca Apostolica Vaticana, MS Vat. lat. 644 (saec. X), fol. 75v (second section missing, breaks off in what may be third section) W = Vienna, Österreichische Nationalbibliothek, MS lat. 4253 (saec. XIV; anno 1377), fol. 177rb–va (second section missing) We assume that many more manuscripts with our treatise exist, as we have found out that many cataloguers have overlooked the text or supposed that it formed part of a more extensive work together with preceding and/or following items in the manuscripts. The provenance of the manuscripts known to us argues for a Southern European (perhaps Iberian) origin of our text. Unfortunately, little is known about the provenance of the oldest manuscript (Vv), dating from the tenth century (see next section). Of the seven manuscripts dated to the twelfth century, four are preserved in Southern Europe (Po, T, Va, Vr), two in Paris (Pa, P1), one in Cambridge (C). The Porto manuscript comes from the library of the monastery of Santa Cruz in Coímbra, whereas the catalogue assigns a Spanish or perhaps Italian origin to the Cambridge manuscript.8 Only from the thirteenth century did our treatise apparently spread to Central Europe (G contains the mark “liber sancti galli” in a thirteenth- or fourteenth-century hand on p. 2; Me is probably an Austrian product; Mü belonged to the library of St. Nicholas near Passau, a convent of Augustinian canons; W was written in Prague), while copies were still being made in Spain.

7 The manuscript has been dated to the fifteenth century by Marcelino Gutiérrez del Caño, Catálogo de los manuscritos existentes en la Biblioteca de la Universidad de Valencia (Valencia, 1913), no. 27, as well as by Divjak, Die handschriftliche Überlieferung, vol. 4. We are convinced that this date is erroneous: the handwriting definitely points to the twelfth or early thirteenth century. 8 Montague R. James, A Descriptive Catalogue of the McClean Collection of Manuscripts in the Fitzwilliam Museum (Cambridge, 1912). Pa might betray a similar provenance by its repeated and unusual writing of con for cum in the section De discretionibus anime (Con scit... Con recolit... Con rectum iudicat...): perhaps the error is based on the scribe’s vernacular?

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It is possible to divide our manuscripts into two groups. Group A consists of four manuscripts, including the oldest one (Fl, G, Vr, Vv). Group B contains all other manuscripts, dating from the twelfth to the fifteenth centuries. We will separately discuss both groups before analysing the sources of our treatise; finally, we will produce a preliminary edition of the treatise, based on the oldest known manuscripts of group B. Group A Group A has three distinctive characteristics. First, the incipit of our treatise is Virtutes animi (animę Vr) sunt, whereas group B invariably has Sunt animi virtutes; only Fl has an incipit of its own. Second, the treatise is incomplete in all four known manuscripts: the second and third sections are partly or completely lacking. Third, the treatise appears near the end of the manuscripts as an item of secondary interest. Our earliest extant manuscript is Vv. Its first 77 folios, written in a beautiful Carolingian minuscule, date from the tenth century. These folios mainly contain works on astronomy and chronology attributed to Bede, of which the catalogue gives an adequate description.9 The catalogue does not mention, however, a calendar appearing on fols. 24v–28v with some interesting entries in the hand of the original scribe: “Guthberti episcopi” (20 March), “Germani conf<essoris> Depositio iohannis pape” (28 May), “Hic desinunt aves cantare Bonifacii” (5 June), “Edildrudę virginis” (23 June), “Trofimi” (18 September), “Depositio sancti Galli” (16 October), “Sancti Quintini in Gallia” (31 October), “Otmari” (16 November), “Verone zenonis episcopi” (8 December; perhaps a later addition). We identify these saints as Cuthbert of Lindesfarne (d. 687); Germain of Paris († 576); Pope John I (r. 523–26); Boniface (d. 754); Etheldreda († 679), patroness of Ely cathedral; the martyr Trophimus;10 Gallus († ca. 635), the legendary founder of St. Gall abbey; Quentin (third century), martyr and patron of Saint-Quentin in 9

Marco Vatasso and Pio Franchi de’ Cavalieri, Codices Vaticani Latini vol. 1: Codices 1– 678 (Rome, 1902), 495–96. Some additional data: fol. 23r depicts the SATOR AREPO diagram; the calendar on fols. 24v–28v has marginal additions in a later hand listing a series of ancient Roman feasts and memorial days during the first six months of the year, possibly based on Ovid’s Fasti; fol. 57r has a marginal drawing of a man’s head from the fourteenth or fifteenth centuries; fol. 76r contains a tenth-century astronomical drawing representing somebody looking to heaven or to the orbits of the stars. 10 For Trophimus, of whom almost nothing is known, see Acta Sanctorum Sept. V, p. 579. The better known Trophimus of Arles has his feast on 29 December; by coincidence (?) 18 September is the feast of Roland or Rotland (d. 569), a successor of Trophimus as bishop of Arles.

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northern France; Othmar (d. 759), first abbot of St. Gall; and Zeno of Verona (fourth century), who, however, has his feast on 12 April. The mixture of essentially British saints such as Cuthbert and Etheldreda with continental saints from Gaul (Germain of Paris, Trophimus [?], Quinten) and saints linked with St. Gall abbey (Gallus, Othmar) in this selection would suggest that the manuscript might originate from an Anglo-Saxon monastery on the European continent, perhaps in Gaul and/or linked with St. Gall. The works attributed to Bede end at the top of fol. 75v. After two white lines, the same hand continues with a series of short texts. The first is entitled De primordiis creaturarum. Next comes the first section of our treatise (we provide a transcription with resolved abbreviations and modernized punctuation): De iiiior principalibus uirtutibus. Virtutes animi sunt quattuor: prudentia, iustitia, fortitudo, temperantia. Prudentia in anignitionem11 ueritatis inducit hominem; iustitia dilectionem dei et proximi seruat; fortitudo uincit aduersa mortemque contemniter;12 temperantia pernitiosas uoluptates deprimit et omnia moderat. Haec sunt quattuor uirtutes principales quae mores ornant, merita praebent, diabolum uincunt, celum aperiunt. Prima intellegit; secunda diligit; tertia uictoriam dat; quarta modum imponit. Partes prudentiae: memoria, intellegentia, prouidentia. Partes iustitiae: religio, pietas, gratia, uindicatio, obseruantia, ueritas, dignitas. Partes fortitudinis: magnificentia, fidentia, patientia, perseuerantia. Partes temperantiae: continentia, clementia, modestia.

Hereupon follow Nomina Musarum (a list of the names of the Muses) and De divisione musicae artis. This text is followed by a single written line at the bottom of fol. 75v. This line explains the names of three capital vices following Cassian’s Collationes; similar explanations occur in the third section of our treatise. The text begins with a coloured initial, a clear sign that the scribe considered it a text standing on its own, independently from previous items: Castrimargia, id est uentris ingluuies; filargiria, id est auaritia; cenodoxia, id est uana gloria.

Fol. 76r continues with a list of names of the nymphs and then resumes the theme of chronology until fol. 77r. 11 The MS has inanignitionem as one word; the exemplar may have read in agnitionem (in accordance with Pseudo-Alcuin’s schemata, PL 101: 949; see below, 220) or ad agnitionem (in accordance with the later tradition of our treatise). Or perhaps the scribe was thinking of the term inanis? 12 The scribe or his model apparently took mortemque for the object of vincit rather than contemnit, and subsequently transformed contemnit into an adverb.

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The manuscript obviously contains an inchoate version of our treatise. In comparison with our edited text, the first section is incomplete (the two final sentences are missing) and presented in a different order; moreover, some faults spring to the eye (anignitionem, contemniter). The second section is altogether absent, whereas the bottom line on fol. 75v, separated from the first section by two texts unrelated to our treatise, may or may not be related to the third section; in any case, the text is hopelessly incomplete. Perhaps the mutilation of our treatise in Vv explains itself by its function in the manuscript. It forms part of a series of short, encyclopaedic texts which were probably inserted to fill the last few folia. It is not inconceivable that a scribe collecting material for this purpose took some liberties with the texts he found in his original manuscript. That would account for the flaws in the first section, the absence of the second (maybe thought of as irrelevant) and the abortive character of the third, as well as the interpolation of two other items. The alternative, viz., that the manuscript faithfully renders the treatise as found in the scribe’s exemplar, cannot be substantiated by other elements in the tradition as it is presently known, and, furthermore, would create the same problem for a different and as yet hypothetical manuscript. However, it is precisely the corrupt state of the text which suggests that our treatise is older than our earliest extant manuscript: if the bottom line of fol. 75v is indeed related to the third section, the first and third sections must have circulated together before Vv was written. The fact that Vv lacks the section De discretionibus anime might indicate that this text was added to our treatise in a later stage of transmission. Indeed, this section is equally lacking in G, T, Vr and Vi (which only contain the first section) and, more significantly perhaps, in F, L and W, which have both other sections. The version of our treatise surviving in our second Vatican manuscript (Vr) has a similar incipit as Vv: Virtutes animę sunt iiii. Otherwise, the text corresponds to our edition, but it breaks off in the middle of the first section. As no catalogue description is available for Vr, we give here a detailed survey of its contents: Città del Vaticano, Bibliotheca Apostolica Vaticana, MS Reg. lat. 1561, 26 fols.; convolute consisting of two parts. Part 1 (fols. 1–22): one column, 28 lines, gothic hand (ca. 1200?); double foliation (“1– 22” in a sixteenth-century hand; “79–100” in a modern hand); some quire numbers (fol. 2v/80v: XVI; fol. 10v/88v: XVII; fol. 18v/96v: XVIII); one or more folios lacking between fols. 1 and 2; owner’s

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mark on fol. 22r (“Ex libb. Petri Donnelis Aurelii 1565”).13 Part 2 (fols. 23–26): perhaps by the same scribe, but more densely written and with smaller margins; at least four folios lacking. fol. 1r–v: Fragment of a text on the prophets and the apostles (inc.: obiit lxx. annorum sepultus est in arce iherusalem; Salomon filius eius .xl. annis regnavit in ierusalem. obiit ibidem. anno ętatis .l. Helias propheta igneo curru levatus est in celum. mortem in fine mundi passurus ab antichristo; expl.: ad ultimum in albano maioris armenię urbe. vivens decoriatus a barbaris sicque terrę conditus est. Matheus evangelista). fol. 2r–v: Concise world chronicle; beginning missing (inc.: inventor insignes habentur. darius regn ann xxxiiii; huius secundo anno iudeorum est resoluta captivitas; expl.: Nero ann xiii interfecit petrum et paulum. et senecam magistrum suum et lucanum. Persius hoc tempore moritur). fols. 2v–11v: Palladius de agricultura libro primo de qualitate terrarum (abridgement or excerpts including an agricultural calendar; inc.: Pinguem terram sic agnoscis. glebam parvulam dulci aqua conspargis; expl.: nec de aere aliquid nec de fontibus suspiceris). fols. 11v–16r: Information on rivers and mountains (fols. 11v–15v; inc.: Vibius sequester virgiliano filio salutem; Quanto ingenio ac studio fili karissime apud plerosque poetas fluminum mentio habita sit) and the seven wonders of the world (fols. 15v–16r, inc: Edes Diane Epheso; expl.: Piramides in Egipto late et alte pedum DC) collected from ancient poets. fols. 16r–19r: Figmenta aristotelis philosophi (fol. 16r, 9 lines, inc.: Stateram ne transilias); Aliorum sententię (fols. 16r–19r, inc.: Quę sunt maximę divitię? non desiderare divitias); Precepta pitagorę (fol. 19r, 7 lines, inc.: Fugienda sunt omnibus modis. et igne ac ferro abscidenda. totoque artificio separanda; expl.: Post deum veritatem colendam. que sola homines deo proximos facit). fol. 19r: Our treatise (first section only, end missing; untitled, but with a red initial).

13

This must be Pierre Daniel from Orléans (1531–1604). At the Calvinists’ attack on the abbey of Saint-Benoît-sur-Loire in 1562 he rescued a number of books by buying them. Afterwards he conveyed them to his own house. These manuscripts were dispersed after his death; a part of them came to the Vatican Library. It is, therefore, possible that this manuscript originally came from Saint-Benoît.

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fols. 19v–22r: Collection of sentences of Christian authors on various subjects such as the Eucharist, simony, the keys of heaven etc. (inc.: Diuiditur hostia in tres partes; expl.: Gregorius dicit... ita sine sonitu predicationis vivere non debeat). fol. 22v: Various probationes pennae. fols. 23r–26v: Fragments of Priscian (inc.: huic sapienti. hic et hęc sapientior. et hoc sapientius; expl.: predabundus furibundus loquendu<s>). The beginning of our treatise fills the last six lines of fol. 19r. The text is as follows: Virtutes animę sunt iiii: prudentia, iusticia, fortitudo, temperantia. Partes prudentię: memoria, intellegentia, prouidentia. Partes iusticię: religio, pietas, gracia, uindicatio, obseruantia, ueritas, dignitas. Partes fortitudinis: magnificentia, confidentia, patientia, perseuerantia. Partes temperantię: continentia, clementia, modestia. Prudentia in agnitionem ueritatis inducit hominem.

The text breaks off in the middle of the bottom line of fol. 19r, the scribe apparently not being interested in the remainder of the treatise. We suspect that our scribe (or the scribe of the exemplar) copied the final phrase by accident and was only interested in the preceding scheme of the divisions of the four cardinal virtues. This interest would be congruent with the encyclopaedic nature of the manuscript. After discussing history, agriculture and geography, the manuscript turns to moral issues on fol. 16r. The division of the cardinal virtues is properly placed between the wise sayings of the ancients and the sentences of Christian authorities. Again, the encyclopaedic interests of the scribe can explain the partial transmission of the text. The third manuscript of group A is G, dating from the thirteenth century. The manuscript contains a Gospel of John with marginal glosses, ending on p. 221. On p. 222 (the verso of the last folio in the manuscript) appears the complete first section of our treatise (inc. Virtutes anini [sic] sunt iiiior, expl. hoc agit temperantia [sic] in cohercendis viciis) which has repeatedly been misidentified in catalogues.14 The text is written in a different hand, somewhat obliquely (the folios are unruled) and makes the impression of mere afterthought, added in order to fill up the otherwise empty last page of the manuscript. The fact that the second and third sections are lacking can be 14

Confusing the text with Pseudo-Alcuin’s, its principal source (see below, p. 219), Gustav Scherrer, Verzeichniss der Handschriften der Stiftsbibliothek von St. Gallen (Halle, 1875; repr. Hildesheim and New York, 1975), and Marie-Hélène Jullien and Françoise Perelman, Clavis scriptorum Latinorum Medii Aevi: auctores Galliae, 735–987, vol. 2: Alcuin (Turnhout, 1999), 160, state that p. 222 contains the last part of Alcuin’s Rhetorica.

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explained by assuming that the exemplar lacked these sections as well (as in Vr and, more or less, in Vv). The last manuscript which we classify in group A is Fl, an autograph of no other than Giovanni Boccaccio.15 Fl only contains the first section of our treatise in adapted form, with a deviant incipit so that Bloomfield et al. classified it separately.16 The context of its transmission reminds one of Vv. While in Vv our text was followed by a list of Nomina musarum, Fl fol. 46ra opens with an Interpretatio novem musarum, composed of two parts: Pseudo-Cato’s De musis (inc.: Clio gesta canens; expl.: omnia Phebus) followed by a brief commentary taken from Fulgentius’s Mitologiae (inc. Ista est expositio. Clio quasi cogitatio prima descendi; expl.: Nonum bene proferre quod eligeris).17 On this text follows an untitled poem (inc.: Non sine re iusta te cedunt barbara busta; expl.: Oderunt peccare boni uirtutis amore = Horace, Ep. 1.16.54).18 Then follows our text as the last item on fol. 46ra. At fol. 46rb appears another untitled poem (inc.: Militie iurisque tenens porsina decorem; expl.: Nam sic morte cades sit procul ergo mora),19 followed by a poem of six lines (inc. Iuno thesiphone pallas bellona dyone; expl: Vite terroris animi mauortis amoris) which may be written somewhat later, as Boccacio’s handwriting slightly changes.20 Then a set of texts begin 15

A recent study on the manuscript is Virginia Brown, “Boccaccio in Naples: The Beneventan Liturgical Palimpsest of the Laurentian Autographs (Mss. 29.8 and 33.31),” Italia medioevale e umanistica 34 (1991), 41–126. 16 See Bloomfield et al., Incipits, no. 2880. Text: “DE QUATVOR PRINCIPALIBVS VIRTVTIBVS. Iustitia, fortitudo, prudentia, temperantia. Virtutes hec animi iiijor. Prudentia enim in angnitionem ueritatis inducit hominem. Iustitia uero dilectiones Dei et proximi seruat. Fortitudo autem uincit aduersa mortemque contempnit. Temperantia quidem pernitiosas uoluptates deprimit et omnia moderat. Hec sunt iiijor uirtutes principales que mores ornant, merita prebent, diabolum uincunt, celum aperiunt. Prima intelligit, secunda diligit, tertia uictoriam dat, quarta modum ponit. Partes prudentie memoria, intelligentia, prouidentia. Partes iustitie religio, pietas, gratia, vindicatio, obseruantia, ueritas, b<e>nignitas (or rather bingnitas). Partes fortitudinis mangnificentia, fiducia, patientia, perseuerantia. Partes temperantie continentia, clementia, modestia, etc.” 17 See Fulgentius, Mitologiae 1.15, in idem, Opera, ed. Rudolf Helm (Leipzig, 1970), pp. 25–27. The first part of this fragment appears in condensed form in Fl. Pseudo-Cato’s poem and the fragment of Fulgentius also occur in the work of the so-called Vatican Mythographer II; see Mythographi Vaticani I et II, ed. Péter Kulcsár, CCSL 91C: 121–22 (text 34: Fulgentius), 323 (supplement R: Pseudo-Cato). 18 See Hans Walther, Initia carminum et versuum medii aevi posterioris latinorum (Göttingen, 1959), no. 12171 (mentioning only this manuscript). 19 See ibid. no. 11028, mentioning one more manuscript and titling the poem De justitia et jure. 20 See ibid. no. 9949 (several manuscripts).

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which were definitely written much later, as Boccaccio’s handwriting manifestly differs from the previous pieces. It is conceivable that Boccaccio copied on fols. 46ra–rb the final texts included in his exemplar and then stopped copying for some time until he had new material at his disposal. In this case, our text would again have appeared near the end of a manuscript amidst other short, encyclopaedic pieces partly resembling those in Vv. Group B Group B, consisting of the manuscripts in which our treatise begins with the words Sunt animi virtutes, is much larger than group A, even though the oldest known manuscripts of group B date only from the twelfth century. Moreover, the context of transmission of our treatise in group B differs considerably from the situation in group A. In most of the fifteen manuscripts known to us, our treatise comprises all three sections (exceptions are F, L and W, which lack the second section, and T and Vi, which contain only the first section).21 As a rule, the text survives among various genuine and spurious works of Augustine; indeed, five manuscripts even attribute the text to him (F, L, T, Va, Vi). The treatise is often combined with six texts in particular: Augustine, Sermon 60 (C, E, Me, Mü, P1, Pa, Po, S, Va, W); Ambrose Autpertus (Pseudo-Augustine), De conflictu virtutum et vitiorum (C, E, L, Mü, P1, P2, Pa, Po, Va, W; often directly preceding our text); De tribus que sunt in mundo, inc. Tria sunt omnia que in mundo sunt, scilicet bonum, malum, medium (C, E, F, L, Me [inc.: Terrestria sunt omnia], Mü, P1, P2, Pa [reading “bonum et malum” for “bonum, malum, medium”], Po, S, Va, W; often following directly on our text); Pseudo-Augustine, De misericordia, inc. Misericordia, fratres carissimi, peccatorum est remedium (E, Me, Mü, P1, P2, Pa, Po, S, Va); a fragment of Augustine’s Ep. 153 Ad Macedonium, inc. In tantum hominum iniquitas (C, E, Mü, P2, Pa, Po, S [inc.: Inter alia in tantum], Va, W); and Pseudo-Augustine, Sermones ad fratres in eremo 56 (C, E, F, L, Mü, S, W). A systematic investigation of manuscripts containing these texts might well result in finding additional copies of our treatise. In fact, the presence of our treatise, complete or partial, could be an argument in establishing the relationships between these Augustinian manuscripts, mostly dating from a

21

F, L and W – all three preserved in Austrian libraries and dating from the fourteenth century – may belong to a separate branch of transmission of our text. The same hypothesis applies to T and Vi, the only manuscripts of group B to contain the first section only as well as to attribute the text to Augustine without combining it with other Augustinian items.

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later period and therefore not taken into account in editions of Augustine’s works. The much larger diffusion of our treatise in its B-version, the generally complete state of the treatise and the better version of the text – not fragmentarily added as an encyclopaedic item of secondary interest, but mostly honoured in its integrity as a specimen of Augustine’s moral thought – make us believe that group B constitutes a more reliable witness of the text as it was conceived by its author than group A. In any case, group B is more representative of the textual transmission than group A from a quantitative point of view. We therefore decided to base our preliminary edition on the oldest currently known manuscripts of group B. Sources The first section of our treatise, De quatuor virtutibus principalibus or De quatuor principalibus virtutibus (alternatives: De virtutibus cardinalibus sive principalibus, F; De quattuor virtutibus cardinalibus, Me; De quattuor virtutibus cardinalibus sive principalibus, L and W), largely depends on the schemata added from an early date between Alcuin’s De rhetorica et virtutibus and his Dialectica in the numerous manuscripts which transmit both works together. Modern scholars reject Alcuin’s authorship, although the schemata already appear in the oldest manuscript containing both of his works (Munich, Bayerische Staatsbibliothek, MS clm 6407, fol. 38 seq., composed around 800).22 One of the schemata represents the cardinal virtues; it is followed by a few lines on the functions of each virtue. Theoretically, our treatise may have been the source of this schema rather than the reverse. But this possibility seems improbable, as the schema on the virtues is just one of the many schemata added to Alcuin’s works; in fact, Pseudo-Alcuin’s schema appears rather to depend on Isidore of Seville’s De differentiis. Moreover, Alcuin’s works constituted authoritative texts of early and wide diffusion, to which authors of lesser renown such as the anonymous composer of our treatise may easily have taken recourse. We therefore assume that our author made use of the schemata attached to Alcuin’s Rhetorica, which provides us with the year 800 as a terminus a quo for the composition of the treatise. Our treatise presents the cardinal virtues in the same order as PseudoAlcuin’s schemata as well as Alcuin’s genuine Rhetorica. Next, every virtue 22

See Luitpold Wallach, Alcuin and Charlemagne: Studies in Carolingian History and Literature (Ithaca, 1959), 86–89; Jullien and Perelman, Clavis: Alcuin, pp. 159–62, esp. 160. The schemata are edited in PL 101: 945–50.

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is divided into several partes or subordinate virtues. These divisions, based on the Rhetorica, likewise appear in the schemata; the only difference is that our treatise adds dignitas to the partes of justice. This addition can easily be explained as a resonance of Alcuin’s definition of justice in the same work: “Iustitia est habitus animi unicuique rei propriam tribuens dignitatem.”23 Alcuin borrowed his divisions and definitions of the virtues from Cicero, De inventione 2.53, a passage reiterated in Augustine, De diversis quaestionibus 31. This latter circumstance, as well as the predominantly Augustinian context of transmission of our treatise in group B, has led several bibliographers wrongly to assume that our treatise is based on De diversis quaestionibus.24 The definitions of the four virtues which follow in our treatise are directly taken from the schemata, reading in the edition of Migne: “Prudentia in agnitionem veritatis inducit hominem. Justitia dilectionem Dei et [amorem] proximi servat. Fortitudo vincit adversa, mortemque contemnit. Temperantia vitiosas voluptates reprimit, et omnia moderatur. Hae sunt quatuor virtutes principales, quae mores ornant, merita praebent, diabolum vincunt, coelum aperiunt. Prima intelligit; secunda diligit; tertia victoriam dat; quarta modum imponit.”25 This passage goes back to Isidore of Seville, De differentiis 158: “Sed ex his prudentia agnitione veri delectatur, justitia dilectionem Dei et proximi servat, fortitudo vim virtutis habet metumque mortis contemnit, temperantia affectiones carnis moderatur, et restinguit appetitum. Prima credit et intelligit, secunda diligit, tertia appetitum cohibet, quarta modum imponit.”26 Only the two final phrases of the first section of our text are really adapted from Augustine’s work. Discussing the character of the cardinal virtues in heaven, Augustine observed in De Trinitate 14.9: “nunc autem quod agit iustitia in subueniendo miseris, quod prudentia in praecauendis insidiis, quod fortitudo in perferendis molestiis, quod temperantia in coercendis delectationibus prauis non ibi erit ubi nihil omnino mali erit.”27 Our author used Augustine’s words to express the four respective functions assigned to the virtues on earth. 23

Alcuin, The Rhetoric of Alcuin and Charlemagne, ed. Wilbur S. Howell (New York, 1941), p. 146. Martin Irvine is preparing a critical edition of Alcuin’s Rhetorica for CCCM. 24 See the catalogue descriptions of S and Me; Bloomfield et al., Incipits, no. 5857; Weber, Die handschriftliche Überlieferung 6.1: 413, 6.2: 171, 267, 289, 392. 25 PL 101: 949–50; also in Angelomus of Luxeuil, Commentarius in Genesin (ca. 845/55), PL 115: 132B. 26 Isidore of Sevilla, De differentiis 158, PL 83: 95B. 27 Augustine, De Trinitate 14.9, ed. W.J. Mountain and F. Glorie, CCSL 50A: 439.

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The second part of the treatise, De discretionibus anime (De anime discretionibus, E, P2, Va; De anime disaccione, Me) is based on Isidore of Seville, Etymologiae 11.1.13: “Nam et memoria mens est, unde et immemores amentes. Dum ergo vivificat corpus, anima est: dum vult, animus est: dum scit, mens est: dum recolit, memoria est: dum rectum iudicat, ratio est: dum spirat, spiritus est: dum aliquid sentit, sensus est.”28 It is not without interest to note that this Isidorian passage survives in a couple of Carolingian sources, including the Disputatio puerorum which may be an authentic work of Alcuin; moreover, Alcuin’s De ratione animae quotes it in adapted form.29 (Pseudo-)Alcuiniana thus appear to have determined to a large extent the first two parts of our treatise. The third section of the treatise, Hec sunt octo (octo sunt E) vitia principalia (alternative: Nota ex hiis viciis consequentibus multa oriuntur, L) does not depend on Alcuin but combines two passages found in John Cassian’s Collationes, Book 5. The first passage introduces the eight capital vices: “Octo sunt principalia uitia quae humanum infestant genus, id est primum gastrimargia, quod sonat uentris ingluuies, secundum fornicatio, tertium filargyria, id est auaritia siue amor pecuniae, quartum ira, quintum tristitia, sextum acedia, id est anxietas seu taedium cordis, septimum cenodoxia, id est iactantia seu uana gloria, octauum superbia.” The second passage lists the various vices which emerge from each of the capital vices: “De gastrimargia namque nascuntur comesationes, ebrietates: de fornicatione turpiloquia, scurrilitas, ludicra ac stultiloquia; de filargyria mendacium, fraudatio, furta, periuria, turpis lucri adpetitus, falsa testimonia, uiolentiae, inhumanitas ac rapacitas: de ira homicidia, clamor et indignatio: de tristitia rancor, pusillanimitas, amaritudo, desperatio: de acedia otiositas, somnolentia, inportunitas, inquietudo, peruagatio, instabilitas mentis et corporis, uerbositas, curiositas: de cenodoxia contentiones, haereses, iactantia ac praesumptio nouitatum: de superbia contemptus, inuidia, inoboedientia, blasphemia, murmuratio, detractatio.”30 Our text follows the structure of the first passage; after the names of each capital vice follow the names of subordinate vices taken from the second passage. In some cases, 28

Isidore of Seville, Etymologiae 11.1.13, ed. Wallace M. Lindsay, 2 vols. (Oxford, 1911), vol. 2. 29 Alcuin (?), Disputatio puerorum, PL 101: 1104B (see on this work Jullien and Perelman, Clavis: Alcuin, pp. 165–66); Rhabanus Maurus, De universo 6.1, PL 111: 141B; Alcuin, De ratione animae 11, PL 101: 644B. See also Pseudo-Augustine, De spiritu et anima 34, PL 40: 803. 30 John Cassian, Collationes 5.2 and 5.16, ed. Michael Petschenig and Gottfried Kreuz, CSEL 13: 121, 142–43.

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the author expands on Cassian’s lists of subordinate vices. Our treatise adds detractio (classified by Cassian under superbia), discordia, dissensio and perturbatio to the daughters of ira, and inutilitas and mentis obliuio to those of tristitia. The vices flowing from cenodoxia only partially overlap in both texts: Cassian has contentiones, haereses, iactantia and praesumptio nouitatum, while our treatise lists contentiones, hereses, extollentia, presumptio and ipochrisis. Particularly striking are the many additions to the subspecies of superbia. Our treatise omits Cassian’s detractio (which appears under ira) but adds a long series of other vices: “infidelitas, multiloquium, irrisio, concupiscentia, nimietas, uersutia, inordinata exasperatio, in peccatis excusatio, pauperum Christi conculcatio, in malefactis gloriatio, arrogantia, elatio, ambitio, criminum suorum obliuio, negligentia que mater et nutrix erroris est, presumptuosa audatia per quam tota cum suis sequacibus sustentatur superbia.” We have not found parallels for these additions, but the fact that superbia is credited with so many evils may be explained by the fact that Gregory the Great, whose views dominated moral thought in the early Middle Ages, singled out pride as the mother of all vices. Moreover, Gregory used the expression superbiae sequaces in his Moralia in Iob.31 The final sentence of the third section, with the allusion to 2 Tim. 2.5: “nam et qui certat in agone non coronatur nisi legitime certaverit,” does not go back to Cassian’s work. It may be the work of our author; the phrase “ut singulis uiciis uirtutes singulas opponamus” has echoes in the work of the Carolingian authors Smaragdus of Saint Mihiel and Theodulf of Orléans.32 In spite of its largely derivative character, the treatise is not without interest. It stands out as one of the very few early medieval texts presenting the cardinal virtues, in Christianized form, as the principal guidelines of morality, without regard to monastic, remedial or other virtues. Humility, considered the basic Christian virtue since Gregory the Great, is not even mentioned; it is the cardinal virtues which not only guarantee civilized life on earth but also protect believers from evil and lead them to heaven (mores ornant, merita prebent, diabolum uincunt, celum aperiunt). To be sure, the cardinal virtues were generally accepted in the early Middle Ages as 31

Gregory the Great, Moralia in Iob 1.36.54, CCCM 143: 55. Smaragdus of Saint Mihiel, Commentaria in Regulam S. Benedicti 4.59, ed. Alfredus Spannagel and Pius Engelbert (Siegburg, 1974), 138 (= PL 102: 786D-787A): “Et sic singulis vitiis singulas opponit virtutes, ut non eis superatus succumbat, sed illis superatis victor existat”; Theodulf of Orléans, Fragmenta sermonum aliquot, PL 105: 279B-C: “Sicque singulis vitiis singulas virtutes contrarias opponat, et bonis se moribus adornare studeat, ut de vitiis veniam et de bonis actibus praemium mereatur.” 32

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ingredients of Christian morality, but few authors gave them a preferential treatment (except Martin of Braga, but he followed Stoic models and refrained from Christianizing the virtues).33 Our anonymous author appears to follow Alcuin’s Rhetorica, in which the four virtues stand on their own (although Alcuin’s De vitiis et virtutibus, which resumes in its final chapter the treatment of the cardinal virtues in the Rhetorica, discusses many other virtues as well). Following the Rhetorica, our treatise concentrates on the ancient quartet of virtues while reinforcing their importance. In the final sentence, the author invites the reader to take seriously his little work by opposing each of the eight capital vices to the four virtues (or their subspecies?) which “subdue the devil and open heaven.” It is thus that the four classical virtues can appear as the principal instruments of salvation. Edition Our edition is based on the six manuscripts belonging to group B which date, or may date, from the twelfth century (C, P1, Pa, Po, T, Va) and thus constitute the oldest surviving manuscripts in the group as it is known to us. We follow the text of Po, as this appears to be the manuscript with the lowest number of singular readings: C, Pa, P1, T and Va all have some readings particular to their own (while T, moreover, contains only the first section), whereas all readings of Po except one occur in at least one of the five other manuscripts. This apparent normality of Po (measured by the standards of our present knowledge) suggests that this manuscript might contain a more representative text – though not necessarily a better or a more reliable text – than C, P1, Pa, T and Va. We have collated Po against the other five manuscripts; variant readings appear in the apparatus, whereas variations in orthography have been ignored. The use of capitals and the punctuation have been modernized. In one case, we have rejected a reading found in Po, replacing perducit with inducit in the first section (inducit is attested not only in C, P1, Pa, T and Va, but also in all other manuscripts we studied (Mü, P2 and the four manuscripts belonging to group A). It goes without saying that unknown manuscripts containing our treatise may come to light in the future, e.g. French manuscripts with Augustine’s works (the volume on France in the series Die handschriftliche 33

For the role of the cardinal virtues in Carolingian intellectual history, see Sibylle Mähl, Quadriga virtutum: die Kardinaltugenden in der Geistesgeschichte der Karolingerzeit (Cologne, 1969); Jasmijn Bovendeert, Kardinale deugden gekerstend: De vier kardinale deugden vanaf Ambrosius tot het jaar 1000 (Ph.D. diss. Radboud University Nijmegen, 2007).

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Überlieferung der Werke des heiligen Augustinus has yet to appear), which may change our view of the textual transmission and even necessitate a revised edition. Our present edition therefore bears a preliminary character. We believe, however, that providing an edition in as good a shape as our present knowledge allows may be a service to scholarship. INCIPIT DE IIIIOR VIRTVTIBVS PRINCIPALIBVS1

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Sunt animi uirtutes quatuor,2 prudentia, iusticia, fortitudo, temperantia. Partes uero3 prudentie memoria, intelligentia, prouidentia. Partes iusticie religio, pietas, gratia, uindicatio, obseruantia, ueritas, dignitas. Partes fortitudinis magnificentia, confidentia,4 patientia, perseuerantia. Partes temperantie continentia, clementia, modestia. Prudentia ad agnitionem ueritatis inducit5 hominem. Iustitia dilectionem Dei et proximi seruat. Fortitudo uincit aduersa mortemque6 contempnit. Temperantia uoluntates7 reprimit et moderatur8 omnia. He9 sunt quatuor10 uirtutes principales11 que mores ornant, merita prebent,12 diabolum uincunt, celum aperiunt. Prima intelligit, secunda diligit, tertia uictoriam prestat, quarta modum in omnibus ponit. Quod agit prudentia in precauendis insidiis, hoc agit temperantia in subueniendis miseriis. Quod agit fortitudo in tolerandis molestiis, hoc agit iusticia in cohercendis13 uiciis. De discretionibus anime14 Anima pro diuersis actibus diuersa nomina sortitur. Cum uero uiuificat corpus, anima dicitur.15 Cum uult, animus dicitur. Cum16 scit, 1

virtutibus principalibus inv. P1PaVa; tit. deest T quatuor om. T 3 uero] u P1 4 confidentia] considerantia Pa 5 inducit CFlGMüPaP1P2TVaVrVv] perducit Po 6 mortemque] mortem C 7 uoluntates] uoluptates C 8 moderatur] moderat CP1 9 He] Hec C 10 quatuor add. interl. T (manu posteriore?) 11 uirtutes principales inv. Pa] uirtus principiter T 12 prebent] probant T 13 cohercendis] exercendis Pa 14 De discretionibus anime] De anime discretionibus CVa Hec sunt viii vitia principalia P1 15 Cum uero... dicitur om. C 2

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mens dicitur. Cum17 recolit, memoria dicitur.18 Cum19 rectum20 iudicat, ratio dicitur. Cum spirat, spiritus dicitur. Cum sentit, sensus dicitur.21 Cum discernit, intellectus appellatur. Hec sunt VIII uitia principalia22

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Prima23 castrimargia, id est uentris ingluuies, unde nascuntur comessationes et ebrietates.24 Secunda25 fornicatio ex qua26 nascuntur turpiloquia, scurrilitas, ludibria ac27 stultiloquia. Tertia28 filargiria, id est auaritia uel amor pecuniarum, unde nascuntur mendacium,29 fraudatio, furta, penuria,30 turpis lucri appetitus, falsa testimonia,31 uiolentie, inhumanitas, rapacitas. Quarta32 ira ex qua nascuntur homicidia, clamor, indignatio, detractio, discordia,33 dissensio, perturbatio. Quinta34 tristicia ex qua oriuntur rancor, pusillanimitas, amaritudo, desperatio, inutilitas, mentis obliuio. Sexta35 accidia, id est anxietas uel tedium cordis, ex qua oriuntur ociositas, somnolentia, importunitas, inquietudo, peruagatio, instabilitas, uerbositas et curiositas. Septima36 cenodoxia, id est uana gloria siue iactantia,37 unde nascuntur contentiones,38 hereses, extollentia, presumptio, 16

Cum] Con Pa Cum] Con Pa 18 Cum recolit... dicitur om. C (posuit infra) 19 Cum] Con Pa 20 rectum] recte P1 21 Cum recolit, memoria dicitur add. C 22 Hec... principalia om. P1 (posuit supra) 23 Prima] Primum C 24 unde nascuntur... ebrietates om. Va 25 Secunda] Secundum C 26 qua om. Pa 27 ac] et Pa 28 Tertia] Tercium C 29 nascuntur mendacium] mendatium nascitur Pa 30 penuria] periuria CVa 31 pecuniarum... falsa testimonia] pluria verba omnia vel partim humiditate perierunt P1 32 Quarta] Quartum C 33 detractio, discordia humiditate perierunt P1 34 Quinta] Quintum C 35 Sexta] Sextum C 36 Septima] Septimum C 37 siue iactantia bis Pa 38 contentiones] contemptiones PaVa 17

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ipochrisis. Octaua39 superbia unde oriuntur contemptus, inuidia, inobedientia, blasphemie,40 murmuratio, infidelitas,41 multiloquium, irrisio, concupiscentia, nimietas, uersutia, inordinata exasperatio, in peccatis excusatio, pauperum Christi conculcatio, in malefactis gloriatio,42 arrogantia, elatio, ambitio, criminum suorum obliuio, negligentia que mater et nutrix erroris est, presumptuosa audatia per quam tota cum suis sequacibus43 sustentatur superbia. Igitur contra hec omnia elaborare unumquemque nostrum oportet ut singulis uiciis uirtutes singulas44 opponamus, si legitimi certaminis coronari triumpho uoluerimus. István P. Bejczy, Nijmegen Michiel Verweij, Royal Library of Belgium, Brussels

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Octaua] Octauum C blasphemie] blasphemia PaVa 41 infidelitas] infidelium Va 42 gloriatio] excusatio C 43 sequacibus] sequatibus P1 44 uirtutes singulas inv. P1 40

The Interrogationes de littera et de singulis causis: An Early Medieval School Text1 by Nicholas Everett An anonymously compiled text, the Interrogationes de littera et de singulis causis, as it is titled in most manuscripts, consists of a dialogue of 102 separate questions and answers on, firstly, the Latin alphabet, secondly, the books of the Bible, and thirdly, certain passages of the Old Testament.2 Despite enjoying a considerable degree of popularity in the ninth century, the full text of the Interrogationes (as we shall call it hereafter) has never been published or sufficiently studied. The present article and accompanying critical edition aim to address that deficiency. The first thirty-five Interrogationes were transcribed and published in the 1780s by Giuseppe Muccioli in his catalogue of manuscripts preserved at Cesena’s Biblioteca Malatestiana.3 The text has since been largely ignored by modern scholarship, though claimed by some as an Irish exegetical text.4 1

My sincere thanks to Michael Gorman, who drew my attention to this text, encouraged its study and generously shared his expertise on early exegesis and manuscripts. Thanks also to Charles Wright, who identified this text in his The Irish Tradition in Old English Literature (Cambridge, 1993), pp. 70–72, and for advice generously given (n. 75). I am extremely grateful to the editors at JMLat for their insightful suggestions to improve the text and article. Thanks also to Marina Smyth and Consuelo Dutschke for advice on points (n. 76, and sigla of manuscripts, P). 2 The title is somewhat artificial as it is taken from the slightly later recensions contained in the Carolingian miscellany (MSS T, F, N, P, A – see sigla of manuscripts, pp. 252–54. The manuscripts connected with Italy (C, M, E, R, V) unhelpfully title the work generically Interrogationes or Interrogationes seu responsiones, and so on. 3 J.M. Mucciolus, Catalogus codicum manuscriptorum existentium ad sinistram ingredientium partem Malatestianae Caesenatis Bibliothecae, 2 vols. (Cesena, 1780–1784), 2:249–51. Noted by Raimondo Zazzeri, Sui codici e libri a stampa della Biblioteca malatestiana (Cesena, 1887), pp. 430–33. 4 See below, nn. 53–56. The text was listed in Friedrich Stegmüller, Repertorium Biblicum Medii Aevi, 11 vols. (Madrid, 1950–1980), nos. 5263–4 (vol. 3, 1951), 9454–546 (vol. 6, 1958) 10321–2 ( vol. 7, 1961). Robert McNally, “Isidorian Pseudepigrapha in the Early Middle Ages,” Isidoriana (Léon, 1961), pp. 305–16, at 308 “an Irish collectaneum”; also J.F. Kelly, “A Catalogue of Early Medieval Hiberno-Latin Biblical Commentaries,”

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The origin and date of the text’s compilation is uncertain. Its earliest two manuscripts, Cesena S.XXI.5 (C) and Paris lat. 10616 (E), contain the works of Isidore of Seville and were written in Italy towards the end of the eighth century or beginning of the ninth. Thereafter our witnesses of the ninth century are almost exclusively manuscripts of a particular Carolingian miscellany of exegetical texts identified by Michael Gorman which seems to have first surfaced in southern France. It is possible that Theodulf of Orléans was involved in its compilation.5 After the ninth century, the popularity of the Interrogationes waned considerably, with few witnesses (it seems) beyond the tenth century.6 The pre-Vulgate language of the biblical citations in the Interrogationes, its extensive use of Isidore’s works, principally the Etymologiae, and its use of the rare works of Julian of Toledo, suggest a date of composition from the late seventh to the second half of the eighth century. While some references in the text and the manuscript tradition point to the work’s early reception in northern Italy, the sources used suggest the Interrogationes originated in Visigothic Spain. But before discussing the vexed question of origins, a brief description of the Interrogationes and its sources is necessary. We shall then consider the implications of the manuscript tradition for the dissemination of this work, and finally, offer some considerations on the text’s purpose and style. The Interrogationes de littera, Int. 1–22 The text begins with the opening question of a teacher to his student, signalled with initials in the Italian manuscript tradition in various ways (Int. [interrogatio] and R. [responsio] in C, M, R, and V [“RP ” responsio]; magisŧ [magister] and discipł. [discipulus], in E), though not, oddly, signalled at all in the slightly later tradition of the Carolingian miscellany: Int. Because I see how much you wish to excel with respect to the scriptures, let us go to the root of scripture itself, and commence with the letters, from which all

Traditio 44 (1988), 537–71; ibid., 45 (1989–90), 393–438, no. 7. Note the cautious comments of Wright, Irish Tradition, pp. 71–72; and idem with Roger Wright, “Additions to the Bobbio Missal,” in The Bobbio Missal, ed. Yitzhak Hen and Rob Meens (Cambridge, 2004), pp. 84– 87. 5 See Michael Gorman, “The Carolingian Miscellany of Exegetical Texts in Albi 39 and Paris lat. 2175,” Scriptorium 51 (1997), 336–54. The MSS are K, A, F, N, T, Q, P. 6 A copy of the miscellany made it to Britain: François Dolbeau, “Du nouveau sur un sermonnaire de Cambridge,” Scriptorium 43 (1988), 255–57, a review of James E. Cross, Cambridge Pembroke College Ms 25: A Carolingian Sermonary Used by Anglo-Saxon Preachers (London, 1987).

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branches of scripture spring. I want you to tell me first, if you have learned your letters, why is a letter called a letter.

The response draws on a common tradition found in Isidore and also in a text attributed to the grammarian Marius Victorinus, which plays on the common etymology of the words littera, legere, and lex: R. A letter is called so as though it were a reading-journey (legitera), because it shows the journey to its readers, that is, it demonstrates the road, and because it shows the way of the law, in that it travels by reading, that is to say, each time when it is read it is sought again, it nourishes and then it suffers, because when it is written it is 7 destroyed.

From this somewhat quirky introduction, the text proceeds to cover twentytwo questions concerning the origin and nature of different alphabets (genera litterarum), quickly focusing solely on the Latin alphabet, dividing it up into consonants (B, C, D, F, G, H, [K],8 M, N, P, Q, R, S, T, X), vowels (A, E, I, O, U), then subdividing these into semivowels (F, L, M, N, R, S, X) and mutes (B, C, D, H, K, P, Q, T). A further subdivision between duplices and simplices is then introduced, the former consisting of X and Z (Int. 20– 21). For all this the text leans heavily on Isidore of Seville’s Etymologiae, though departs from Isidore at certain points and ignores much of the information that enlivens Isidore’s text – absences which highlight the basic level of the Interrogationes as an instructional tool. Although the Interrogationes refers, somewhat dismissively, to children “learning Latin letters at school,”9 the text excludes passages of Isidore that might be 7

The last, enigmatic statement (“each time … it is destroyed,” Int. l.9–10) is probably owed to corruption: deletur seems to have been substituted for delectat, as we find in Marius Victorinus, Ars grammatica, 1.3 (GL 6:5): “De litteris. Littera est vox simplex una figura notabilis, litteram quidam quid putant dictam? quasi legiteram. quare? quia legenti iter praebat. quidam quid dixerunt? leviteram. quare? quia levat ut iteretur, id est delectat, iterum ut scribatur.” Compare Julian, Ars Iuliani Toletani episcopi, ed. Maria Maestre Yenes (Toledo, 1973), p. 114, line 131: “Item quare dicta littera? Quasi legitera. Quomodo? Eo quod legentibus iter praebeat, uel quod in legendo iteretur.” Julian’s source is Sergius, Explanationes in artes Donati. On Julian, see below n. 28. 8 Not included in Int. 12 (except in C), but mentioned when discussing mute consonants, Int. 14. 9 Int. 7. The comment recalls that of Alcuin in Pippini regalis … cum Albuino scholastico disputatio (PL 101: 979A): “Pueris in scholis hoc sciunt” [100, also 95: “ne pueri audiant”]. On this text, see Clavis Scriptorum Latinorum Medii Aevi Auctores Galliae 735–987, vol. 2, Alcuin, ed. Marie-Hélène Jullien and François Perelman (Turnhout, 1999), pp. 164–65 (= ALC 41); Martha Bayless, “Alcuin’s Disputatio Pippini and the Early Medieval Riddle Tradition,” in Humour, History and Politics in Late Antiquity and the Early Middle Ages, ed. Guy Halsall (Cambridge, 2002), pp. 157–78. Alcuin’s authorship of this text is impugned by

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considered relevant or of interest for a school text. For example, Y is noted as a Greek import in the Latin alphabet (Int. 9–10), but the compiler ignored Isidore’s additional comment that Pythagoras designed it to signify the path of human life and the fork representing the paths of sin and virtue which begin to diverge in adolescence.10 The Interrogationes de libris sacris, Int. 23–56 At the end of this first section on letters, a new theme is introduced by the teacher, who turns the student’s attention to the subject of the scriptures: Int (23). If I were to ask you all of the things that could be asked about letters, believe me the day would end before the lesson. But because I see that you have responded to each of my questions, let us come now to holy scripture, and let us begin with the number of sacred books. First of all, I want you to tell me which books are considered canonical by the holy church.

After providing a list of canonical books of the Old and New Testaments, which may or may not have been culled from Isidore’s Etymologiae,11 the Interrogationes focuses on providing short answers to questions of who wrote the individual books of the Bible, what subjects the books cover, and why they are so named (Int. 24–56). Here the information is taken often verbatim from the Etymologiae, though in other instances greatly simplified, as in the omission of Hebrew words and meanings, or other things which Isidore thought worth including.12 In some cases the Interrogationes has lifted language directly from Isidore’s Proemia only (Int. 26, 34), suggesting that the compiler may have had a compendium of Isidore’s writings on these topics before him, rather than having diligently combed through the two works to create a pastiche of Isidoriana on the books of the Bible. Elsewhere the text seems to depart from Isidore altogether,13 though often the Michael Gorman, “Alcuin before Migne,” Revue Bénédictine 112 (2002), 101–30, at 128, not without reason. On Alcuin’s use of the dialogue genre, see below, n. 14. 10 Isidore, Etym. 1.3.7. 11 The list of Int. 23 may have been extracted from Etym. 6.1.1–11, as suggested by direct phrases “id est Lamentatio Hieramiae”; see also Etym. 6.1.8, and 6.2.24. Alternatively, Isidore’s Proemia, c. 11 (PL 83:159) which the author has used (e.g. Int. 26), may have served as a list of titles (with Thessalonians and Colossians switched in order), though the subheading in the Interrogationes, “isti sunt libri veteris Testamenti,” suggests a simple list of canonical books of the OT and NT at hand. 12 E.g. Int. 24, 30, Hebrew names and concept of Pentateuch; Int. 30, Deuteronomy as “praefiguratio evangelicae” (Etym. 6.2.7) ignored; Int. 32 boiled down and confused version of Etym. 6.2.8. Also Int. 35; Int. 43, information on the Psalms, Etym. 6.2.15, their authorship and metres ignored. Compare Int. 44, 45, 46, 47, and 53. 13 E.g. Int. 38, 40, 41, 42.

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commonality, or banality, of the information simply reflects commonplace knowledge of church history, even if legendary, such as Peter being the author of Mark’s Gospel (Int. 54). The Interrogationes de vetere et novo testamento and its sources: Int. 57–102 At Int. 57, the text of the Interrogationes moves up a cognitive notch to the level of biblical exegesis, asking questions about particular passages of the Old Testament and answering them with literal, historical, and allegorical readings of scripture. We are treated to twenty three different quaestiones on Genesis (Int. 57–80), followed by another four on Exodus (Int. 81–84, signalled in most manuscripts at Int. 81 with the title Item de exodo or similar), and thereafter a few questions from different books of Deuteronomy (Int. 85–86), Ezechiel (Int. 87), Isaiah (Int. 88), Amos (Int. 89), Zacharias (Int. 90), Hoseah (Int. 91), Isaiah (Int. 92), and finally, selected Psalms (Int. 93–102), although manuscripts A, K, F, P, N, T, and Q, all omit Int. 99–101, reflecting the common tradition of the Carolingian miscellany (on which see below). The Interrogationes in this final and considerably more intellectually demanding section are based, for the most part, on a relatively small selection of sources, though the brevity of the information given often makes it difficult to pin-point precisely dependence on any one source over another. Around half of the interrogationes (both the quaestiones and responsiones) in this section were cribbed verbatim from earlier question-and-answer texts, a literary genre that became increasingly popular in late antiquity as it was transformed from the philosophical dialogue of the ancient world to a catechetical use among Christian educators. The dialogue form, with its (much needed) humanizing touch to the otherwise dry exercise of rapidly surveying the major themes of the Bible, was used to impart the basic tenets of the faith and to smooth over contradictions and difficult passages of scripture with the cement of sound doctrine.14 In fulfilling a demand for such 14

The seminal study is that of Gustave Bardy, “La littérature patristique des Quaestiones et Responsiones sur l’écriture sainte,” Revue biblique 41 (1932), 210–36, 341–69, 515–37; ibid., 42 (1933), 14–30, 211–19, 328–52. More recently, Erotapokriseis. Early Christian Question-and-Answer Literature in Context. Proceedings of the Utrecht Colloquium, 13–14 October 2003, ed. Annelie Volgers and Claudio Zamagni (Leuven, 2004). A useful survey of such texts is L.W. Daly and Walther Suchier, Altercatio Hadriani Augusti et Epicteti philosophi, Illinois Studies in Language and Literature 24.1 (Urbana, 1939), pp. 5–38. See also Peter Stotz, “Conflictus. Il contrasto poetico nella letteratura latina medievale,” Il Genere “Tenzone” nelle letterature romanze delle origini, ed. Matteo Pedroni and Antonio Stäuble (Ravenna, 1999), pp. 165–87; Pierre Riché, “Instruments de travail et méthodes de l’exégète à

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texts, the Interrogationes drew directly upon earlier, established favourites of the same genre, such as Eucherius of Lyons’ Instructionum ad Salonium Libri Duo,15 the Quaestiones Orosii et Augustini (siue Dialogus Quaestionum LXV),16 Ambrosiaster’s Quaestiones Veteris et Novi Testamenti CXXVII,17 and Julian of Toledo’s Antikeimenon (Ἀντικειμένων) libri duo.18 To a large extent, the genre lent itself to direct borrowing, or straight plagiarism in modern terms,19 and the Interrogationes makes no attempt to acknowledge its sources. It is impossible to tell whether the compiler of the Interrogationes worked from full texts of the sources or from a compilation of similar nature to his own. The difficulty of determining the sources in any precise manner can be seen in the Interrogationes de genesi (Int. 57–80), as they are sub-titled in l’époque carolingienne,” Le Moyen Âge et la Bible, Bible de tous les temps 4 (Paris, 1984), pp. 158–60; E.A. Matter, “Alcuin’s Question-and-Answer Texts,” Rivista di storia della filosofia 4 (1990) 645–56; Michael Fox, “Alcuin the Exegete: the Evidence of the Quaestiones in Genesim,” The Study of the Bible in the Carolingian Era, ed. Celia Chazelle and Burton Van Name Edwards (Turnhout, 2003), pp. 39–60. 15 For editions of these works, see below, pp. 250–51. On Eucherius’s text, see Alexander Souter, “Cassiodorus’ Copy of Eucherius’ Instructiones,” Journal of Theological Studies 15 (1913), 69–72. Carmela Mandolfo, “Le regole di Ticonio e le Quaestiones et responsiones di Eucherio,” Annali di storia dell’ exegesi. (Atti dell’ VIII Seminario nazionale di ricerca su ‘Studi sulla letteratura esegetica cristiana e giudaica antica’, Trani 10–12 Ottobre 1990) 8 (1991), 535–46. 16 A modern, critical edition is needed. The text was quoted by Taio of Saragossa, Sententiae, 1.4 (PL 80:739B); see Anne Freeman, “Theodulf of Orléans, a Visigoth at Charlemagne’s Court,” L’Europe héritière de l’Espagne Wisigothique, ed. Jacques Fontaine and Christine Pellistrandi (Madrid, 1992), pp. 185–94, at 186–87. 17 See Coelestinus Martini, “De ordinatione duarum collectionum quibus Ambrosiastri quaestiones traduntur,” Antonianum 23 (1947), 23–48; idem, “Le recensioni delle Quaestiones Veteris et Novi Testamenti dell’Ambrosiaster, “ Ricerche di storia religiosa 1 (1954), 40–62; Ambrosiaster, de auctore, operibus, theologia. Spicilegium Pontificii Athenaei Antoniani 4 (Roma, 1944), pp. 9–73. Despite his elusive identity, Ambrosiaster’s importance increases with the attention given to his works: bibliographic updates are Othmar Heggelbacher, “Beziehungen zwischen Ambrosiaster und Maximus von Turin?,” Freiburger Zeitschrift für Philosophie und Theologie 41 (1994), 5–44; and Andreas Merkt, “Wer war der Ambrosiaster?,” Wissenschaft und Weisheit 59 (1996), 19–33. Ambrosiaster’s Quaestiones (6, 9, 10, 11 12) may have spurred an exchange between Jerome and Damasus: see Andrew Cain, “In Ambrosiaster’s Shadow: A Critical Re-Evaluation of the Last Surviving Letter Exchange between Pope Damasus and Jerome,” Revue d’ études augustiniennes et patristiques 51 (2005), 257–77. 18 See nn. 28–29. 19 Or as Eucherius put it: “non ex meo ingenio, sed ex illustrium doctorum iudicio, neque ex propria temeritate, sed ex aliorum auctoritate respondeam,” Instr. pref., ed. Wotke, p. 64.

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several manuscripts. The opening interrogatio (57) concerning the first mention of the Trinity in scripture calls upon a popular theme, in which the first words of the Bible (“in principio fecit deus caelum et terram”) are read allegorically as an allusion to Christ (the beginning) and the Father, with the Holy Spirit following immediately after in the words “et spiritus dei ferebatur super aquas.” The indirect source here is Augustine’s De genesi ad litteram, though the notion can certainly be found in other authors, particularly Ambrose. But similarities of language reveal that our author gleaned the idea from the opening of Eucherius’s Instructiones rather than from Augustine, a hypothesis supported by the verbatim use of Eucherius’s only two interrogationes later (Int. 59) on asking how was the “spirit of God borne across the waters” (Gen. 1.2),20 and again (Int. 67) concerning how the tree represents the knowledge of good and evil.21 While some interrogationes do appear to be based directly on Augustine’s De genesi ad litteram,22 in others Augustine appears to have been mediated from the Quaestiones Orosii et Augustini, which leans heavily on Augustine’s text in places,23 and from Ambrosiaster’s Quaestiones.24 Despite the often close similarity between Cassiodorus’s Expositio Psalmorum and his main source, Augustine’s Enarrationes in Psalmos,25 the author appears to have used Augustine’s text rather than that of Cassiodorus, as in Int. 99, which borrows Augustine’s phrase “ineffabilis laetitia,” whereas Cassiodorus takes an altogether different approach to the 20

Int. 59. Eucherius, Instr. 1 “non pervagatione, sed potestate dum creaturae supereminet regentis imperio,” ed. Wotke, p. 66. Compare Alcuin, Int. et Resp. 29 (PL 101:519D), “Non pervagatione, sed potestate, et regentis imperio, ad formandum et vivificandum informem materiam, quae hoc loco aquae nomine significatur.” Neither of these comments seems to derive from Augustine. Previous commentators tend to focus upon the spirit as generative, e.g. Jerome, Liber quaest. hebraec. in Gen., ed. Paulus de Lagarde, Sancti Hieronymi Presbyteri Opera CCSL 72 (1959), p. 4, “in similitudinem volucris ova calore animantis”; or as prefigurative of baptism, e.g. Leo Magnus, Tractatus septem et nonaginta, ed. Antoine Chavasse, CCSL 138A (Turnhout, 1973) p. 75; Caesarius of Arles, Sermo 212, ed. Germain Morin, Sancti Caesari Arelatensis Sermones CCSL 104 (Turnhout, 1953), pp. 103–4. 21 Eucherius appears verbatim or nearly so in Int. 96, 97, and possibly 65. For references consult the apparatus fontium. 22 Int. 66, 68. Note Int. 75 appears to be derived from Augustine’s De genesi cotra Manichaeos. 23 Int. 69, 71, 74. 24 Int. 70, 73, 76, 77 [possibly], 78, 79, 80. 25 Int. 94, 97. But compare Int. 100. Note James J. O’Donnell, Cassiodorus (Berkeley, 1979), p. 139: “the relationship between the two works is not as close as Cassiodorus pretended, nor as distant as modern scholars believe.”

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passage in question.26 Yet there are some cases where Cassiodorus appears to have been consulted, and Augustine was ignored.27 A Spanish or Italian origin? Elsewhere the Interrogationes copies verbatim from Julian’s Antikeimenon, particularly for the string of interrogationes (Int. 86–93) wherein the author appears to have chosen from Julian one quaestio for each biblical book treated.28 This is unusual, as Julian’s Antikeimenon enjoyed a very limited circulation in the early Middle Ages, to judge from its manuscript tradition and subsequent influence.29 Moreover, in the first section of the text on letters (Int. 2–3), the author appears to borrow from post-Isidorian Spanish tradition of naming the seven different types of alphabet and their founders. Isidore only mentioned six alphabets in the Etymologiae, but Eugenius of Toledo, in a poem entitled “De inventoribus litterarum,” and after Eugenius, the Ars grammatica attributed to Julian of Toledo, added a seventh alphabet, that of Getica, or as our author in the Interrogationes clarifies, “id est Gothica,” invented by Ulfilas.30 But both Eugenius and the Julian Ars differ 26

Int. 84, and compare Augustine’s Epistula 143 [ad Marcellinum], ed. Alois Goldbacher, Aureli Augustini Hipponensis episcopi Epistulae, CSEL 44 (Vienna, 1904), pp. 250–51. 27 E.g. Int. 83 (possibly), 96 (the kiss), 100. 28 Deuteronomy (Int.) 86, Ezechiel 87, Isaiah 88, Amos 89, Hosea 91, Isaiah 92, Psalms 93. See also Int. 63 (probably the influence behind 61 and 62), 64, 102. 29 A new edition of the Antikeimenon is much needed. The proposed edition of Adolfo Robles Sierra, as signalled in idem, “Prologómenos e la edición crítica del Antikeimenon de Julián de Toledo,” Analecta sacra Tarraconensia 42 (1969), 111–42, and by J.N. Hillgarth, Sancti Iuliani Toletanae sedis episcopi opera, CCSL 115 (Turnhout, 1976), p. v, xvi, has not appeared. On Julian’s sources, see Robles Sierra, “Fuentes literarias del Antikeimenon de Julián de Toledo,” Escritos del Vedat 1 (1967), 59–135; J.N. Hillgarth, “Las fuentes de san Julián de Toledo,” Anales Toledanos 3 (1971), 97–118. On the manuscript tradition and influence see Lorenzo Galmés, “Traditión manuscrita y fuentes de los Antikeimenon libri II de San Julián de Toledo,” Studia Patristica 3 (Berlin, 1961), pp. 47–56; Hillgarth, “Towards a Critical Edition of the Works of St Julian of Toledo,” Studia Patristica 1 (Berlin, 1957), pp. 37–43; idem,”St Julian of Toledo in the Middle Ages,” Journal of the Warburg and Courtauld Institutes 21 (1958), 7–26. 30 Julian, Ars, ed. Maestre Jenes, 2.1.4: “Quot sunt genera litterarum? Septem. Quae? Hebrae, atticae, latinae, syrae, chaldicae, aegyptiae, et geticae. Quis quales adinuenit litteras? Moyses hebraeas, Phonices atticas, Nicostrata latinas, Abraham syras et chaldaicas, Isis aegyptias, Gulfilas geticas.” The Ars then cites verbatim its source, Eugenius, Carm. 39.6 (a second poem [40] on the same theme is fragmentary), ed. Friedrich Vollmer, MGH AA 14, p. 257: “Gulfila promisit Getarum quas [litteras] videmus ultimas.” Eugenius was not widely known either: see Yves F. Riou, “Quelques aspects de la tradition manuscrite des Carmina d’Eugène de Tolède: du Liber Catonianus aux Auctores octo morales,” Revue d’histoire des textes 2 (1972), 11–44. If the Ars Juliani was not by the hand of Julian himself there is little

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from Isidore in stating that the Phonecians founded the Greek alphabet, whereas the Interrogationes follows Isidore in specifying that Cadmos filius Aginoris was the individual responsible for transposing the letters. The Eugenius-Julian tradition also differs in calling the Greek letters atticae. The common source for all these citations of Gothic as the seventh alphabet is possibly the relevant notice in Isidore’s Chronicon, probably present in an earlier manuscript of Jerome’s Chronicle used by Isidore or taken from Cassiodorus’s Historia ecclesiastica tripartita.31 The use of the extremely rare Antikemenon of Julian, and the nods to Ulfilas and the Gothic alphabet, would suggest a Spanish origin for the Interrogationes. But another sign points to Italy. Int. 10 asks why the Greek letters Y and Z were incorporated into the Latin alphabet. The response is straightforward: “So that Greek names can be written out. Just as in Zeno and hymnus, and other Greek words similar to these, for they cannot be written except with Greek letters.” The example of Zeno for the use of Z seems telling in that no other commentator in this tradition, such as Marius Victorinus, Bede, and perhaps more importantly, the Ars Juliani, used anything remotely similar.32 Now, the cult of Zeno was established in Verona at an early date, so that by the end of the sixth century Zeno was considered to be the patron saint of the town, as the story in Gregory the

doubt it derived from his circle at Toledo: see Maestre Yenes, Ars, pp. xxi–xxvii; Louis Holtz, Donat et la tradition de l’enseignement grammatical (Paris, 1981), pp. 260–63, “le manuel tolédan”; on its influence, Vivien Law, Grammar and Grammarians in the Early Middle Ages (London, New York, 1997), pp. 99–100. 31 Isidore, Chronica, ed. J.C. Martín, CCSL 112 (Turnhout, 2003), 166–68, [anno] 350, “Tunc Gulfilas eorum episcopus Gothicas litteras repperit et utrumque testamentum in linguam propriam transtulit,” from Cassiodorus, Hist. 8.13.5. The notice also appears in the Pseudo-Jerome Chronicon; see below, n. 77. 32 Marius Victorinus, Ars grammatica 1.3 (GL 6:5) “hylas” and “zephrus,” and Bede, De arte metrica 1.1, ed C.W. Jones, CCSL 123A, p. 82, line 10, “typum” and “zelum.” Julian, Ars, 2.1.27 (Maestre Yenes, p. 125), “hymnus,” “zephirus.” According to Isidore (Etym. 1.4.15), Z is used for the duplex “ss” in Latin, for which he gives the example of hilarissat. The Interrogationes mention Z again as duplex for “ss” in Int. 22, but here the text follows the lead of other, earlier sources, and cites the same examples as those of Marius, Bede, namely, Mezentius/Messentius, Pix/picis and rex/reges: Ars gramm. 1.3 (GL 6:5), 9.6 (GL 6:196); Bede, De arte metrica 1.2, ed. C.W. Jones CCSL 123A, p. 87, line 33. Noticeably, the Ars Juliani (ibid.) also uses “Mezentius” and “rex” (p. 121) as examples of duplices, again pointing to common sources or perhaps dependence of the Interrogationes on the Ars. The notices of Marius Victorinus and Bede on Mezentius (an Etruscan king, Aen. 10. 786, 907) were made in the context of discussing verse, and the dissimilarity of both Marius’s and Bede’s comments to the Interrogationes tends to rule them out as a direct source.

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Great’s Dialogues seems to suggest.33 It is not impossible that “Zeno” was substituted for the traditional examples in a Spanish environment, but it is more likely that we are witnessing a latter Veronese, or north-eastern Italian, amendment to the text. Interest in Gothic as a seventh alphabet of the world is certainly not out place for a Veronese compiler: Verona was a centre of Ostrogothic power, the site of Theoderic’s palace, and the storehouse of the regime’s treasure.34 References to the Gothic alphabet, to its founder Ulfilas, and to the patron saint of Verona, and certainly the manuscript tradition, all point to Verona as the origin of the text that has come down to us, whether or not it was originally compiled in Visigothic Spain.

33

Dialogues, 3:19, ed. Adalbert de Vogüé, Grégoire le Grand, Dialogues, Sources chrétiennes, nos. 251, 260, 265 (Paris, 1978–80), 2:346–50. See Paolo Gollinelli, “Il cristianesimo nella ‘Venetia’ altomedievale. Diffusione, istituzionalizzazione e forme di religiositB dalle origini al secolo X,” Il Veneto nel medioevo. Dalla ‘Venetia’ alla Marca Veronese, ed. Andrea Castagnetti and G.M. Varanni, vol. 1 (Verona, 1989), pp. 237–331, at 239–50; idem, “Zeno,” in Il Grande Libro dei Santi: dizionario enciclopedio, ed. Elio Guerriero and Dorino Tuniz, 3 vols. (San Paolo, 1998), 3:1980–82; Jean-Charles Picard, Le souvenir des évêques : sépultures, listes épiscopales et culte des évêques en Italie du Nord des origines au Xe siècle (Rome, 1988), pp. 645–47. Given the orientation of the text, it is difficult to imagine any other “Zeno” as inspiration, such as the ancient philosophers Zeno of Elea (ca. 490–ca. 430 BC) or Zeno of Citium (333–264 BC). After the Emperor Zeno (474– 491) we hear of three or four more of that name associated with the court of Justinian, including one who lead a cavalry force to Italy to help Belisarius, Procopius, Wars 6.5.2, 6.5.7, ed. H.B. Dewing, 7 vols. (Cambridge, MA, 1954–1962), 3:328–29, 3:350–51, but thereafter we find none in Byzantine or Lombard Italy besides Verona’s patron: Prosopography of the Later Roman Empire IIIB (527–641) ed. J.R. Martindale et al., (Cambridge, 1992), p. 1418; Prosopographie Chrétienne du bas-empire II.2 (Italie 313–604), ed. Charles and Luce Pietri (Rome, 2000), pp. 2376–77; Jörg Jarnut, Prosopographische und Sozialgeschichtliche Studien zum Langobardenreich in Italien (568–774), Bonner Historische Forschungen 38 (Bonn, 1972). 34 G.P. Bognetti, “Teodorico di Verona e Verona longobarda capitale del regno,” L’età longobarda, 4 vols. (Milan, 1966–70), 1:339–79. One thinks of the Gothic marginalia in the collection of Latin Arian sermons written ca. 500 in Verona, Bib. Cap. LI (CLA 4:504): see Roger Gryson, Le recueil arien de Vérone, Instrumenta Patristica (The Hague, 1992), pp. 21– 8. The revisionist arguments of Patrick Amory, People and Identity in Ostrogothic Italy 489– 554 (Cambridge, 1997), pp. 102–8, 246–67, 481–82, that by the sixth century written Gothic was “an archaic, artificial and liturgical language” (p. 102 and n. 87), fail to counter the contemporary references to spoken Gothic, e.g. Procopius, Wars 5.10.10, ed. Dewing, 3:94– 95, and Cassiodorus, Variae 11.1, ed. Th. Mommsen, MGH AA 12 (Berlin, 1894), pp. 327– 30.

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Inter peninsulas et ultra alpes It is certain that one of our two earliest manuscripts of the Interrogationes, Paris lat. 10616 (E) was written in Verona, and possibly the other, Cesena S.XXI.5 (C), was as well35 Whether the original text was compiled in Spain or Italy, its use of Julian’s Antikeimenon raises further “questions that cannot be easily answered”36 about the rapid dissemination of works by Spanish authors, particularly Isidore, and especially in Italy.37 Once again Verona supplies compelling evidence, such as the manuscripts of Isidore copied from Spanish exemplars: the Karlsruhe manuscript of the Etymologiae (Aug. LVII);38 and a copy of the Sententiae.39 Most famously, the (anachronistically titled) Mozarabic Orational made its way to Verona via Sardinia and Pisa in the first half of the eighth century, perhaps due to the Islamic conquest of Spain.40 But not only at Verona do we find traces of Visigothic script. The episcopal school at Lucca also seems to have harboured Spanish scribal habits and clergy,41 and the text of the earliest example of Beneventan script, again a copy of Isidore, seems to have been copied from a Spanish exemplar.42 In any case, the paleographical evidence tends to suggest a considerable degree of otherwise unattested contact between the two peninsulas,43 for which we only have suggestive echoes, such as Paul the Deacon’s heavy reliance on Spanish sources for his grammar.44 35

See sigla of manuscripts below for bibliography. Bernhard Bischoff, “Manuscripts in the Early Middle Ages,” in Manuscripts and Libraries in the Age of Charlemagne, trans. Michael Gorman (Cambridge, 1990), p. 4. 37 Bischoff, “Die europäische Verbreitung der Werke Isidors von Sevilla,” Mittelalterliche Studien, 3 vols. (Stuttgart, 1966–1981), 1:171–94, at pp. 86–90 (orig. pub. in Isidoriana, ed. Manuel Díaz y Díaz [Léon, 1961], pp. 317–44); Jacques Fontaine, “La diffusion de l’oeuvre d’Isidore de Séville dans les scriptoria helvétiques du haut moyen âge,” Revue Suisse d’Histoire 12 (1962), 305–26, at pp. 308, 322–24; idem, “La diffusion carolingienne du De natura rerum d’Isidore de Séville d’après les manuscrits conservés en Italie,” SM 7 (1966), 108–27; Marc Reydellet, “La diffusion des Origines d’Isidore de Séville au haut moyen âge,” École Française de Rome, Mélanges d’archéologie et d’histoire 78 (1966), 383–437, at pp. 390, 426–32 ; Michael Gorman, “The Diagrams in the Oldest Manuscripts of Isidore’s De natura rerum with a Note on the Manuscript Tradition of Isidore’s Works,” SM 42 (2001), 529–45, at 540–44. 38 Below, n. 45. Also Berlin, Deutsche Staatsbibliothek, Phillipps 1831 (not in CLA), = Isidore, Etym., books 3 and 13, saec. VIII–IX, written at Verona. According to W.M. Lindsay, Etym. (full ref. below, p. 251), 1:xi, Karlsruhe 57 belongs to the manuscript tradition of Cavensis 23, Paris lat. 7350, and Berlin Phillipps 1831. 39 Verona LV (53) (CLA 4.4507), saec. VIII2. See Luigi Schiaparelli, Influenze straniere nella scrittura italiana dei secoli VIII e IX, Studi e Testi 47 (Rome, 1927), pp. 5–6. Others 36

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Wherever the text of the Interrogationes originated, it was certainly copied in Verona in the late eighth century, and its transmission over the Alps in Paris lat. 10616 can be traced to the travels of Bishop Egino (796– 99). Besides wanting the copy of Isidore’s De rerum natura in Paris lat. 10616, Egino also took back with him to his beloved Reichenau a copy of Isidore’s Etymologiae,45 and other exegetical material, including copies of Gregory’s Moralia in Job,46 Homiliae in Evangelia,47 and possibly the copied from Visigothic exemplars at Verona include: Verona XXXIII (26) (CLA 4:491), saec. VII. Augustine, De agone christiano, De fide (Schiapparelli, Influenze, p. 6); Verona LXI (59) (CLA 4:511), saec. VII–VIII, Collectio Canonum Epitome Hispana (Schiaparelli, Influenze, p. 6); Paris lat. 653 (Pelagius); see Souter, Pelagius’ Expositions, p. 254 (as below n. 70), and Schiapparelli, Influenze, pp. 7–8 40 Verona, LXXXIX (84) (CLA 4:515). See Schiaparelli, “Note paleografiche. Sulla data e provenienza del cod. LXXXIX della Biblioteca Capitolare di Verona (l’Orazionale mozarabico),” Archivio storico italiano, ser. 7, 1 (1924), 106–17; Armando Petrucci and Carlo Romeo, “L’orazionale visigotico di Verona. Aggiunte avventizie, indovinello grafico, tagli maffeiani,” Scrittura e civiltà 22 (1998), 13–30. 41 See Schiaparelli, Influenze, pp. 12–15; and idem, Il codice 490 della biblioteca capitolare di Lucca e la scuola scrittoria Lucchese (secoli VIII–IX), Studi e Testi 36 (Rome, 1924), pp. 25–46, 78, 107. 42 Monte Cassino 753 (CLA 3:381), saec. VIIImed., Isidore, Sententiae. See Schiaparelli, Influenze, p. 12. 43 For an example of traffic the other way, see Jacques Fontaine, “Les relations culturelles entre l’Italie byzantine e l’Espagne Wisigothique: la présence d’Eugippius dans la bibliothèque de Séville,” Apophoreta philologica Emmanueli Fernández-Galiano a sodalibus oblata, pars altera, ed. Luis Gil and R.M. Aguilar (Mantuae Carpetanorum, 1984), pp. 9–26, repr. in Jacques Fontaine, Tradition et actualité chez Isidore de Séville (London, 1988), no. 2. 44 Vivien Law, “The sources of the Ars Donati quam Paulus Diaconus exposuit,” FM 1 (1994), 71–80. 45 Karlsruhe, Landesbibliothek, Aug. LVII (CLA 8:1077): Isidore, Etym. (13.6, 2–20 fin.), pre-Caroline minuscule, saec. VIII–IX. Written in north Italy, probably Verona, to judge by the distinctive “ma” (with horizontal stroke above) abbreviation for misericordia. Later at Reichenau. Bischoff, “Manuscripts in the Age of Charlemagne,” in Manuscripts and Libraries, p. 48, n. 139. Lindsay’s N, “fortasse Veronae scriptus.” Another Isidore manuscript (De ecclesiasticis officis), Karlsruhe, Aug. CCLIV, fols. 72–213 (CLA 8:1110) has been attibuted by Ettore Cau (“Scrittura e cultura a Novara, secoli VIII–X,” Ricerche medievali 6– 9 (1971–74), 6:1–81 + pl., at pp. 29–31, to Novara on the basis of the similarities of its minuscule script with that of Novara 2 (CLA 3:406). See also Bischoff, Manuscripts, p. 47, p. 54. 46 Karlsruhe, Landesbibliothek, Aug. II + III + IV + CLXXVI (frag.) (CLA 8:1076), Moralia in Job (11–16, 23–24, 33.4), Caroline minuscule, saec. VIII–IX, Verona. It was listed in Reichenau catalogue of 822 (“Moralia in Job libri XXXV in codicibus VI”), where Egino retired (d. 802), and was still there in the fifteenth century. The hand of this manuscript is very similar to that which penned our E (Paris lat. 10616 + lat. 10457).

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Regula Pastoralis,48 Jerome’s Explanationes in Isaiam,49 and Alan of Farfa’s Homiliarium (the famous “Egino Codex” and another copy),50 to name only those which seem certainly indebted to Egino’s efforts to stock Reichenau’s library with manuscripts he found in Italy.51 We need not attribute all of these manuscripts to Egino’s entrepeneurship: traffic between the two centres had perhaps already been underway decades earlier, if an Italian origin for a manuscript of Jerome’s In Matthaeum can be secured.52 But the 47

Karlsruhe, Landesbibliothek, Aug. CC (CLA 8:1093), Homiliae in Evangelia 2, preCaroline minuscule, saec. VIIIex.. Whereas Lowe would assign its origin to a scriptorium in south-western Germany or Switzerland (possibly Reichenau, where the manuscript was later), north Italy is just as likely, particularly given the use of typically veronese abbreviations for misericordia (as above, n. 45) and noster (‘n‘r’), and the confluence of characteristics and interests surrounding this manuscript and others later preserved at Reichenau: see also St. Gall 108 and 207 (CLA 7:905 and 920), and Karlesruhe Aug. CCXXII (CLA 8:1096) and CCLXI (CLA 8:1111). 48 Karlsruhe, Landesbibliothek, Aug. CCXL, Regula pastoralis (CLA 8:1098). Halfuncial, saec. VII–VIII, written at Verona. The manuscript was in Germany by tenth century, to judge from the German glosses, and was certainly at Reichenau. Bischoff, Mittelalterliche Studien, 2:32. 49 Karlsruhe, Aug. CLXXXI (CLA 8.1086) Explanationes in Isaiam (books 1–5). PreCaroline minuscule, saec. VIII–IX, written in north Italy. Later belonged to Reichenau. E.J. Beer, Initial und Miniatur (Basel, 1965), p. 73; Bischoff, Manuscripts and Libraries, p. 48, n. 139. 50 Karlsruhe, Landesbibliothek, frag. Aug. 80. + Heidelberg, Universitätsbibliothek, Salem 10, 12 (fly-leaves) (CLA 8:1119) Homiliarium (frag., 4 fols.), Caroline minuscule, saec. VIII–IX. Written in north Italy, probably in or near Verona. Seems to have once contained the same one-volume edition of Alanus’s homiliary as the Egino Codex, Berlin, Deutsche Staatsbibliothek, Phillipps 1676 (CLA 8:1057). See Marcus Adriaen, ed., Sancti Ambrosii Mediolanensis Opera, CCSL 14 (Turnhout,1957), pp. xiv, xx; Klaus Gamber, Codices Liturgici Latini Antiquiores, 2 vols. (Freiburg, 1968), 2: no. 1655; Raymond Étaix, “Le prologue du sermonnaire d’Alain de Farfa,” Scriptorium 18 (1964), 3–10, at pp. 5–7. Aug. 80 + Salem 10, Homiliarii, pars hiemalis (in Nat. Dom. II, VII), was dismembered for bindings at Reichenau: A. Holder, Die Reichenauer Handschriften, 3 vols. (1970–1973), 2: 498; Bischoff, Manuscripts and Libraries, p. 45. 51 Consult the (shorter) list of minuscule MSS given by Walter Berschin (with Alfons Zettler), Egino von Verona, Der Gründer von Reichenau-Niederzell (799) (Stuttgart, 1999), pp. 23–24. Another possibility is Karlsruhe Aug. CCLXI (CLA 8:1111). Jerome, In Matthaeum, pre-Caroline minuscule, saec. VIII–IX. Lowe suggests Swiss or north Italian origin, but Bischoff, Manuscripts and Libraries, p. 46 and n. 132, places it at Monza or near Monza. It appears in the Reichenau catalogue of 822. 52 Karlsruhe, Landesbibliothek, Aug. CCLIII (CLA 8:1099–1109), In Matthaeum. Uncial and pre-Caroline minuscule, saec. VIII (ante 782). The manuscript was at Reichenau by 782, as indicated by the prayer for John II, bishop of Constance and abbott of Reichenau ca. 760– 81/2, in Alemannic hand at end of volume: see also CLA 7:899. According to Lowe, origin

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focus of the material at Reichenau which we know was owed to Egino’s retirement from episcopal office in Verona lends support to notion that the Interrogationes were included as part of Egino’s plan to furnish his monastery with exegetical materials. One element of the manuscript tradition worth noting is the transmission along with the Interrogationes of supposedly “insular” or “Irish” texts. In Cesena S.XXI.5 (C), on the folios between Isidore’s Etymologiae (fols. 1– 273v) and the partial, corrupted version of the Interrogationes (fols. 276– 277v), there are eight or so different short texts, including parts of the text known as the Liber de numeris, and some sermons claimed to be of insular origin, notably the “Doomsday sermon.”53 Cesena’s copy, Venice lat. II.46 (M), contains the same material plus another exegetical text previously considered to be Irish, 54 and Paris lat. 10616, our other early Italian witness “probably Switzerland since the manuscript combines some Italian features with the use of French palimpsests.” On these last, see CLA 8:1101–1109, but France is one possibility among others, and CLA 8:1107, Evagrius, half-uncial, saec. VI, was undoubtedly written in north Italy. 53 C, fols. 274–274v, “epistula sancti Augustini,” otherwise known as the “Three Utterances of the Soul” sermon (see Wright, Irish Tradition, p. 216, n. 7), published by R.E. McNally, “In nomine summi: Seven Hiberno-Latin Sermons,” Traditio 35 (1979), 134–36, transcribed from Vat. Pal. lat 220 (saec. IX), but another edition appeared earlier (1967) in PLS 4:1980–1. Other manuscripts containing it are noted by Réginald Grégoire, Homéliares liturgiques médiévaux: analyse de manuscrits (Spoleto, 1980), pp. 310–11 (missing, however, our C). Grégoire locates the origin of the text in the Homiliarium Toletanum (no. 80): idem, Les Homéliaires du moyen âge. Inventaire et analyse des manuscrits (Rome, 1966), pp. 224– 25; C, fols. 275v–276, “Augustini de die iudicii,” = “Doomsday” sermon, Wright, Irish Tradition, p. 218, n.17, text in PL 39: 2210 (Sermo App. 251). The text also appears in our A (Albi, BM 39, see sigla) fols. 24–25. I would further point out that the text appears in an earlier Verona manuscript, Verona, Bib. Cap. II (2), Kings and Julius Honorius Cosmographia, saec. VII (CLA 4:477), fol. 1, in uncial saec. VIIex–VIIIin.; C, fols 275v– 276 = Liber de numeris, PL 83:1297D–1298D (= “De via iustorum,” “De anima et eius uirtutibus”); C, fols 274v–275 contains two unidentified short texts, “sermo Sancti Augustini de dies malos,” “Incipit nomina prophetarum,” which greatly resemble other Veronese marginal additions (see Everett, below n. 57). A recent edition of “de dies malos” and full commentary is Charles Wright, “Additions to the Bobbio missal,” Bobbio Missal, ed. Hen and Meens, pp. 82–104. 54 M, fols. 138–140v. Commemoratorium in Apocalypsim sancti Iohannis, published in PLS 4:1850–1863. Identified by Bischoff, “Wendepunkte in der Geschichte der lateinischen Exegese im Mittelalter,” Sacris erudiri 6 (1954), 189–281, no. 37 (repr. in idem, Mittelalterliche Studien 1: 205–273) as Irish, and subsequently by Wright, Irish Tradition, p. 36, Lapidge and Sharpe, Bibliography (see next note), no. 781, Kelly, “Catalogue,” no. 112. But see Roger Gryson, “Les commentaires patristiques latins de l’Apocalypse,” Revue théologique de Louvain 28 (1997), 333–37; and Michael Gorman, “Theodulf of Orleans and

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(E) contains one text on the final folio that has likewise been attributed to Ireland.55 This is not the place to investigate or dispute the origins of this material, but its presence in manuscripts of Italian origin of an such early date casts further shadows on attributions that look increasingly untenable in the light of more recent research.56 Moreover, the elementary nature of these texts, along with some of the marginal entries of seventh- and eighth-century date in manuscripts preserved at Verona,57 accords well with the pedagogical and exegetical ethos of the Interrogationes. the Exegetical Miscellany in Paris lat. 15679,” Revue biblique 109 (1999), 317–18; idem, “The Myth,” p. 78 (see n. 56). See also below, n. 77, on the Ps. Jerome Chronica. 55 E, fol.131v, De duodecim neglegentias mundi, a highly abbreviated version of the text known as the De duodecim abusivis saeculi, here truncated down to the form of its individual titles (Sapiens sine operibus bonis, Senex sine religione, etc.). For the longer text, see Michael Lapidge and Richard Sharpe, A Bibliography of Celtic-Latin literature 400–1200, Royal Irish Academy Dictionary of Medieval Latin from Celtic Sources Ancillary Publications 1 (Dublin 1985), no. 339; Pseudo Cyprianus de xii abusivis saeculi, ed. Siegmund Hellmann, Texte und Untersuchungen 1.1 (Leipzig, 1909). Also in PL 40:1079–88 (De duodecim abusionum gradibus Liber Unus). See H.H. Anton, “Pseudo-Cyprian De duodecim abusivis saeculi und sein Einfluss auf den Kontintent, insbesondere auf die karolingische Fürstenspiegel,” Die Iren und Europa im früheren Mittelalter, ed. Heinz Löwe, 2. vols. (Stuttgart, 1982), 2:568–617. Pieces of the text turn up in later Anglo-Saxon works: see Wright, Irish Tradition, p. 98, who postulates the existence of a vernacular (Irish) original. Irish origin also proposed by Aidan Breen, “De XII abusiuis: Text and Transmission,” Ireland and Europe in the Early Middle Ages, ed. Proinséas Ní Catháin and Michael Richter (Dublin, 2001), pp. 78–94, but the argument, as presented, is not convincing. The text was also used by Aelfric of Eynsham, who on the whole avoided Hiberno-Latin texts for sources: see J.C. Pope, Homilies of Aelfric: a Supplementary Collection, 2 vols. (London, 1967–1968), 1:373–74; and J.E. Cross, “More Sources for Two of Aelfric’s Catholic Homilies,” Anglia 86 (1968), 59–78, at pp. 77–78. 56 There is little scholarly consensus yet, but the lively debate is sure to generate more attention to these texts, and more care in attributing authorship and origins. See Michael Gorman, “A Critique of Bischoff’s Theory of Irish Exegesis. The Commentary on Genesis in Munich clm 6302 (Wendepunkte 2),” JMLat 7 (1997), 178–233; and the response of Gabriel Silagi, “Notwendige Bemerkungen zu Gormans ‘Critique of Bischoff’s theory of Irish Exegesis,’” Peritia 12 (1998), 87–94, and Charles Wright, “Bischoff’s Theory of Irish Exegesis and the Genesis Commentary in Munich Clm 6302: A Critique of a Critique,” JMLat 10 (2000), 115–75. Further: Michael Gorman, “The Myth of Hiberno-Latin Exegesis,” Revue biblique 110 (2000), 42–85; Dáibhí Ó Cróinín, “Bischoff’s Wendepunkte Fifty Years On,” Revue biblique 110 (2000), 204–37; Michael Herren, “Irish Biblical Commentaries before 800”, Roma, magistra mundi: Itineraria culturae medievalis. Mélanges offerts au Père L.E. Boyle à l’occasion de son 75e anniversaire, ed. Jacqueline Hamesse (Leuven, 1998), pp. 391–407; Michael Gorman, “Frigulis: Hiberno-Latin Author or Pseudo-Irish Phantom? Comments on the Edition of the Liber questionum in Evangeliis (CCSL 108F),” Revue d’histoire ecclésiastique 100 (2005), 425–56. 57 See Nicholas Everett, Literacy in Lombard Italy (Cambridge, 2003), pp. 286–90.

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Language and style By beginning with the fundamentals of the alphabet and continuing with naming and describing the canonical books of the Bible, the Interrogationes marks itself out as an elementary pedagogical text, introducing the student to a literate world in which written language and the scriptures are inextricably linked. Although the subsequent questions and answers on certain passages of the Old Testament represent a level higher in the student’s reading skills, they remain aimed at an elementary level of catechetical instruction, as can be seen in the language used, which remains fairly simple in syntax and style. Case usage and verb tense are for the most part correct, although one suspects that this and the text's overall orthographic propriety is owed more to the manuscript tradition and scribal concession to Carolingian reforms.58 The manner of reading allegorically is introduced with the opening question on the Trinity, and twice is spelled out explicitly (spiritaliter intellegitur), while other times it is implied.59 A good example of the simplification of language, but not necessarily the underlying concept, is Int. 87, taken from Julian’s Antikeimenon, which in turn was derived from Gregory’s Homilies on Ezechiel. Here the compiler of the Interrogationes has taken Julian’s quaestio in contrasting the two, ostensibly contradictory statements of Ezechiel: Int. Cum Ezechiel de uolumine quae ei dominus comedere iusserat, dixisset, Factum est in os meum sicut mel dulce [Eze. 3.3], quomodo post de se loquitur, dicens, Abii 60 amarus in indignatione spiritus mei [ibid. 3.14]?

Gregory’s answer, which Julian has taken verbatim for his responsio, moves smoothly on well-oiled rhetorical hinges (“mirum quippe valde est,” “si … simul … et conveniant.” “Sed sciendum est,” “proculdubio,” “contra semetipsum,” ‘subtiliter … qualiter,” “quod tanto … quanto” and so on),61 58

This not a subject that can be tackled here, but see Roger Wright, ed., Latin and the Romance Languages in the Early Middle Ages (London, 1991); Everett, Literacy, pp. 130– 138. Of philological interest is the description of Adam’s amor muliebris for Eve (Int. 68). The source here, Augustine, De gen. ad litt., 11.42, ed. Zycha, CSEL 28, p. 376, has “amicabili quadam benevolentia.” Compare Gen. 18.11, and Hincmar, De divortio Lotharii (PL 125:715C). 59 Explicit: Int. 85. The source here is Gregory, Hom. in Evang. 2.26.3, ed. Étaix CCSL 141, p. 315; Int. 100. Implied: e.g. Int. 101. 60 Compare Julian, Antikeimenon 51 (PL 96:618D), where the language of the quaestio varies slightly. 61 ”Mirum quippe valde est, si dulcedo simul et amaritudo conveniant. Sed sciendum est, qui cui sermo Dei in ore dulcescere coeperit, huius proculdubio contra semetipsum animus amarescit. Cum enim in nullo subtiliter discit, qualiter se reprehendere debeat, eo se durius

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whereas the compiler’s language is much more straightforward, rendering the same idea of initial sweetness of scripture and subsequent penitence that comes with understanding in the simplest terms possible: R. Volumen illud sancta scriptura intellegitur quae primum dulcis est et post amara. Hoc modo quia cui sermo Dei in ore cordis dulcescere coeperit, statim contra semetipsum animus amarescit, et de malis suis se incipiat paenitere.

Elsewhere, as with the first half of the Interrogationes based on Isidore, we witness the gross simplification of the contents of a particular source. A good example is Int. 81, which asks why, in the presence of the Pharaoh (Ex. 7.10), Moses’ staff was transformed into a serpent, “rather than into a lion or a bear or some other animal?.” The source here was Ambrosiaster, who gave the zoologically reasoned response that a serpent both inspired terror and was quite slow at hurting people, whereas a lion, or a bear, or some other such animal, would have harmed anybody standing by: an answer good enough for the compiler of the Interrogationes.62 As we might expect, however, Ambrosiaster goes on to interpret the scene before the Pharoah in an allegorical fashion, linking the serpent with original sin, an obvious connection which the Interrogationes has left out altogether. Another snake surfaces for exegesis when Int. 70 asks the profound question: did the serpent actually understand what it was saying to Eve? The source here is Augustine’s De genesi ad litteram, which quickly dismissed the possibility, pointing out the analogous situation of demonic possession, wherein the victims have no idea of what the devil is attempting to say through them.63 Augustine also felt compelled to refute the example of the Marsian snake-charmers, famous in the ancient world, as nothing more than trickery. The Quaestiones Orosii et Augustini follows the bishop of Hippo’s lead concerning the serpentes Marsorum in its responsio, but it misunderstands Augustine’s point, and ascribes the snake’s response to the devil himself.64 Typically it is Ambrosiaster who takes the issue further by asking what language the serpent spoke and pointing out that snake language

per amaritudinem poenitentiae castigat; quod tanto sibi magis displicet, quanto in sacro volumine amplius de omnipotente Deo videt quae amet,” Gregory, Hom. in Ezech. 1.10.44, ed. Adriaen, CCSL 142, p. 167 . 62 The compiler of the Interrogationes rendered Ambrosiaster’s “quod stupore quodam ad nocendum tardior est” (Quaest. Vet. et Nov., 8, ed. Souter, p. 423), with a weaker “quod tardum est animal est et terribile” and an uncomprehending “ut timorem quidem incutere non possit,” which makes little sense. 63 Augustine, De gen. ad litt. 11.28, ed. Zycha, CSEL 28, pp. 360–61. 64 Quaest. Oros. 41, PL 40:747C.

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and Eve’s comprehension of it are not impossibilities, since there are those who can understand the barking of dogs, the howls of wolves, the snorting of elephants and the crow of a cock – even Ambrosiaster himself can recognize the different voices used by birds – so it was not impossible that Eve understood the hiss of the serpent.65 The compiler of the Interrogationes thought it best to leave these philosophical matters aside, and stuck to demonic possession as the key to the serpent’s communication skills.66 Only once does the compiler of the Interrogationes go beyond a simple, eminently orthodox responsio to the question, and even this is dependent on its source, the Quaestiones Orosii et Augustini. When it is asked why Adam did not die upon eating the forbidden fruit when the Lord said explicitly that he would (Int. 69, concerning Gen. 2.17), the responsio distinguishes between four different types of death, seeing Adam’s death here as the first type, in which God abandons the soul (anima) because of sin. The compiler’s interest in the quattuor genera mortis provides secure testimony of his use of the Quaestiones Orosii et Augustini, for the theme occurs in no other patristic source and appears to have been of limited popularity.67 This theme of God’s abandonment in the act of sin occurs elsewhere, Int. 82, when it is asked concerning Exodus 4.21 (“Indurabo cor pharaonis”), why God hardens the heart of evil men. In seeking to answer with the affirmation that it is not God who hardens hearts but human beings themselves, the text draws attention to the Lord’s prayer, “Ne nos inducas in temptationem” as a figurative description, in that God does not lead us into evil, but rather abandons us (“nos propter nostra mala deserit … et ab eo relicti induramus”), leaving us to be tempted (“relinquens nos temptari permittit”). Neither Augustine, nor Isidore, who also singled out this passage from Exodus and devoted an entire, page length section to the problem in his 65

Ambrosiaster, Quaest. Vet. et Nov. 31, ed. Souter, CSEL 50, p. 58. Likewise, Alcuin, Int. et Resp., 62 (PL 101:523). For a similar avoidance of philosophical content, compare Int. 76 on Cain and Abel with the treatment of Ambrosiaster, Quaest. Vet.et Nov., 5, ed. Souter, CSEL 50, p. 26, who analyses their language, as recorded in the scriptures, as the key to their different character. 67 Quaest. Oros., 32, PL 40:744. Both Augustine and Isidore speak of tria genera mortis, though in a very different sense: Augustine, Contra Gaudentium, chs. 27–30 (PL 43:724A); Isidore, Etym. 20.32, and verbatim in Julian of Toledo, Prognosticon 5 (PL 96:462C). Augustine provides a different interpretation in De diversis quaestionibus, ch. 25 (PL 40:17D). Alcuin, Int. et Resp. 53 (PL 101:522), lists only two types of death, spiritual and corporeal. “Four types” was a common patristic theme: see Augustine, Sermon 370, De nativitate Domini (PL 39:1657), on the four conditions of man; Bede, Commentari in Pentateuchum (PL 91:300A); idem, Quaestiones super Leviticum (PL 93:387B). 66

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Quaestiones Veteris Testamenti (section subtitled “De obduratione Pharoaonis”), viewed the matter in this way, which surely sits on the margins of orthodoxy.68 Conclusion The sources used to compile the Interrogationes testify to a modest collection of exegetical texts, and moreover, to the pre-existence of similar types of catechetical dialogues, upon which the compiler of the Interrogationes drew to cover a range of different topics in order to complement the introductory first part of the text on Latin letters and the books of the Bible. While the presence of Augustine and Ambrose offers no surprises, and the use of Gregory and Cassiodorus may point further to an Italian environment, the novelty of the Interrogationes with respect to its sources lies in its use of the relatively rare works of Ambrosiaster’s Quaestiones, the Quaestiones Orosii et Augustini, and especially Julian’s Antikeimenon. The verbatim use of this last tends to suggest Spain and Julian’s circle as the origin for the text (the same circle that put together the Ars Juliani?), but the Interrogationes quickly found a home in Verona, and from there was disseminated beyond the Alps as one of the many exegetical and Pseudo-Isidorian works which Egino brought back to Reichenau from Verona. Cassiodorus explained to his monks at Vivarium that with God’s aid, he had prepared his Insitutiones as “introductory books in place of a teacher (ad vicem magistri).69 Cassiodorus’s idea of a follow-up textbook was to pack the works of Tyconius, Augustine (De doctrina christiana), Adrian, Eucherius, and Junilius (Junillus) together into one single codex introductorius.70 In attempting to separate his monks from the “ranks of the 68

Compare Augustine’s treatment in Locutiones in Heptateuchum (Exod. 4.21), ed. Iohannes Fraipont, CCSL 23, p. 408. Nowhere does Augustine refer to the matter as a question of temptation and the subsequent abandonment by God: see Expositio propositionum ex epistula ad Romanos (PL 35:2079); In Iohannis evangelium tractatus, ch. 124 (PL 35:1825); Contra Iulianum (PL 44:738). Likewise, Isidore, Quaestiones in Vetus Testamentum 13 (PL 83:292), ‘De obduratione Pharoaonis’: “Induravit Dominus cor Pharaonis scilicet quia diabolum ita duravit post peccatum ut penitentiae compunctione numquam emolliatur sicut in Iob de eo scriptum est, Indurabitur quasi lapis [Job 41].” 69 Cassiodorus, Institutiones, ed. Roger Mynors (Oxford, 1961), 1.1. 70 Inst. 1.10, and note the addendum in MS B at the end of 2.9, ed. Mynors, p. 163. The unnamed works of the authors mentioned appear to be Tyconius’s Liber regularum, Adrian’s Isagoge in sacras scripturas, Eucherius’s Formulae and Junilius’s Instituta regularia divinae legis. See O’Donnell, Cassiodorus, p. 247, n. 36; Thomas O’Loughlin, “Early Medieval Introductions to the Holy Book: Adjuncts of Hermeneutics?,” Studies in Church History 38

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unlearned,” Cassiodorus clearly aimed too high, to judge by their complaints recorded in his last work, the De orthographia,71 and by the subsequent fate of Vivarium, which seems to have disappeared not long after its founder's death.72 The Interrogationes provide us with some insight into the type of “introductory” text that was much more successful. The dialogue it “records” is in fact a clever, user-friendly pedagogical device that coaches the reader through progressive levels of elementary education: learning the alphabet and its origins, the basics of the Bible and sacred history, and finally the principles of biblical exegesis. In the context of the history of education, we are witnessing at the everyday, micro level what Robert Markus aptly called the “epistemological excision” of ancient secular culture from the intellect of Europe.73 Christian culture in the early Middle Ages became exclusively scriptural, the clearest example of which, at the macro level, is Pope Gregory the Great. The Interrogationes de littera et de singulis causis allows us to see how this took place for so many more people at a more humble level. The Text and Manuscripts of the Interrogationes The text provided here has been established by collation of all the manuscripts listed below. While perhaps closer to the archetype by date and origin, corruption of the text of C (and its later, full copy, M) warrants substituted readings, and our other Italian witnesses, E, R, and V, (though these last two are fragmentary) have been privileged. Differences between recensions are mainly limited to slight omissions, words, phrases, but rarely whole sections. As remarked above, A, K, F, P, T, and Q, all exclude Int. 99–101, reflecting a common manuscript tradition for the Carolingian miscellany. I have rarely noted minor grammatical or orthographic errors, except when it points to a common tradition for several recensions. Variants

(2004), 22–31. Cassiodorus used Eucherius’s Instructionum ad Salonium in his revision of Pelagius’s Expositiones XII epistularum Pauli: See Inst. 1.8, and Alexander Souter, “The Commentary of Pelagius on the Epistles of St. Paul: the Problem of its Restoration,” Proceedings of British Academy 2 (1905–1906), 409–39; and idem, ed., Pelagius’ Expositions of Thirteen Episles of St Paul, 3 vols. (Cambridge, 1922). 71 PL 70:1239–70, at 1293C, 1241D. See O’Donnell, Cassiodorus, pp. 229–33; Mark Stansbury, “Early-Medieval Biblical Commentaries, Their Writers and Readers,” Frühmittelalterliche Studien 33 (1999), 49–82, at pp. 58–69. 72 O’Donnell, Cassiodorus, pp. 177–222; Fabio Troncarelli, “I codici di Cassiodoro. Le testimonianze più antiche,” Scrittura e civiltà 12 (1988), 47–99; idem, Vivarium. I libri, il destino (Turnhout, 1998). 73 R.A. Markus, The End of Ancient Christianity (Cambridge, 1990), pp. 219–28.

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of any significance, usually no more than a single word, are few. This uniformity undoubtedly stems from the text’s elementary level of language and scope, its simple Latinity reflecting the sermo humilis of the Vulgate Bible. The uniformity perhaps also derives, particularly in view of the text’s survival in the Carolingian miscellany, from the Carolingian concern to produce authoritative, uniform texts for dissemination. In manuscripts of the Carolingian miscellany (K, F, N, A, P, T, Q), the text is interrupted in the transition from discussing letters to books of the Bible (Int. 23). In place of the more humane topos of “if I asked you everything about letters that could be asked, the day would end before your responses did,” to justify the switch to biblical books, the text of these manuscripts preferred to end the discussion of letters with “Quid est littera? Pars minima evocet articulata litterarum. Quid est pars minima? Pars minima est littera, pars maxima est deus in aeternum,” or a garbled version of such. The following section is then introduced with the heading, “Incipiamus de sancta scriptura.” Likewise, in the miscellany copies of the text (with the exception of P, defective at this point) the text breaks off after explaining the term, “evangelium” (Int. 52), to give the following short notice on the septem principalia doctrinarum: Evangelium graece dicitur, latine bona adnuntiatio interpretatur, quod septem principalia doctrinarum enuntiat. Hoc est poenitentia post peccatum, transitum de terrenis ad caelestia, de immunditia ad scientatem [sic], ab brevibus ad aeternam [sic], de peregrinatione ad veri hereditatem; et ad requiem post laborem; et ad vitam post mortem.

This is an obscure theme, and quite different from well established tradition of “septem principalia vitia” treated in patristic texts.74 Charles Wright has kindly forwarded to me his transcriptions of several Latin and Old English texts that contain the same theme and are clearly working in the same tradition.75 Our text is almost verbatim as that which appears in the Liber de 74

E.g. Gregory, In Job 31.45 (PL 76:620C); Isidore, Sent. 2.37 (PL 83:639A); Bede Comm. in Pent. 5.7 (PL 91: 384D); In Matt. 2.13 (PL 92:64D). 75 Other texts listed by Wright: “De suggestione diaboli,” Summi VI, ed. McNally, “‘In nomine Dei summi’: Seven Hiberno-Latin Sermons,” Traditio 35 (1979), 121–43; Apocrypha Priscillianistica, ed. Donatien De Bruyne, “Fragments retrouvés d’apocryphes priscillianistes,” Revue Bénédictine 24 (1907), 318–35, at 322.51–7, 23r; Verona homilies 42v/58r, Homiliarium Veronense, ed. Lawrence Martin CCCM 186 (Turnhout, 2000), p. 20, lines 552–54; Ps. Augustine, Sermo 42 (PL 40:1386). The theme was taken up by insular authors: D.F. Johnson, “The Five Horrors of Hell: an Insular Homiletic Motif,” English Studies 74 (1993), 414–31; Leabhar Breac no. 387,

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numeris, and very similar to that which Sedulius Scottus included in his In Matthaeum: poenitentia post peccatum, transitum de terrenis ad caelestia, de immunditia ad scientatem, ab brevibus ad aeternam, de peregrinatione ad veri hereditatem; et ad requiem post laborem; et ad vitam post mortem.

Penitentia post peccatum transitus de terrenis ad caelestia de immundicia ad sanctitatem de brevi vita ad aeternam. de peregrinatione ad veram patriam de labore ad requiem de morte ad vitam

Poenitentiam post peccatum ideo autem oportet exitare animas nostras transitum ad de terrenis ad caelestia de immunditia ad sanctitatem de breuibus ad aeterna ad uitam post mortem

Int. MSS K, A, F, T, N, Q.

VII.19, ed. R. McNally, Der irische Liber de numeris: Eine Quellenanalyse des pseudoisidorischen Liber de numeris (Munich, 1975), p. 116.

In Matt. 14.59–63. ed. Bengt Löfstedt, Sedulius Scottus. Kommentar zum Evangelium nach Matthäum 11.1 bis Schluss. Vetus Latina, Aus der Geschichte der lateinischen Bibel 19. (Freiburg, 1991).

Whatever the origin of this passage, the Carolingian copyists who inserted the Septem principalia doctrinarum into the Interrogationes obviously saw it ed. Robert Atkinson, The Passions and the Homilies from the Leabhar Breac, Todd Lecture Series 2 (Dublin, 1887); Leabhar Breac Homilies 35–36, ed. E. Hogan, The Irish Nennius from L. na Huidre and Homilies and Legends from L. Brecc, Todd Lecture Series 6 (Dublin, 1895); De questione apostoli, ed. Aidan Breen, “The Liturgical Materials in MS Oxford, Bodleian Library, Auct. F.4./ 32,” Archiv für Liturgiewissenschaft 34 (1992), 121–53; Catechesis Celtica, in Vatican, BAV Reg. lat. 49 [Lapidge and Sharpe, no. 974]; Vercelli X and XII, ed. D.G. Scragg, The Vercelli Homilies and Related Texts, Early English Text Society o.s. 300 (Oxford, 1992), p. 212, lines 254–56, Vercelli XII, p. 229–30, lines 58–62; Nuove omelie anglosassoni della Rinascenza benedettina, ed. A.M. Luiselli Fadda (Florence, 1977), 8.149, pp. 50–57; “Marcarius Homily,” ed. Hans Sauer, Theodulfi Capitula in England, Texte und Untersuchungen zur Englischen Philologie 8 (Munich, 1978), p. 413, lines 64–69: Oxford, Bodleian Library, Laud misc. 129: an unpublished text in the same manuscript as “De suggestione diaboli.”

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as complimentary to the overall orientation of the text. That a passage resembling the Liber de numeris should appear in Carolingian copies of the Interrogationes should hardly be a cause for surprise. Bits of the Liber de numeris seem to pop up everywhere,76 and as noted above, bits even appeared in our earliest manuscript of the Interrogationes (C, fols. 275 r/v), though not interpolated into our text. The same should be said for the other, major addition to the Interrogationes found in the manuscripts of the Carolingian miscellany. Immediately after Int. 57–60, the miscellany interrupts the flow of the question-and-answer dialogue to insert a substantial excerpt from the Ps. Jerome Chronica, another anonymously compiled text of pseudoisidoriana, which has affinities with our Interrogationes, and which was possibly also compiled in northeastern Italy around the same time (and also appears in M, the copy of C).77 The interpolation matches this section of the Interrogationes well, in that it elaborates upon the individual days of creation and how they might be read allegorically, before descending into the type of numerological weirdness (four parts of the world, four rivers that flow in paradise, four senses, seven “rational modes” of man, the seven

76

See Marina Smyth, “The Irish Liber de numeris,” The Scriptures and Early Medieval Ireland, ed. T. O’Loughlin (Turnhout, 1999), pp. 291–97, esp. 292–93. I thank Dr. Smyth for advice about this difficult text. 77 See Charles Munier, “Pseudo-Hiéronymienne de Sélestat. Un schéma de catéchèse baptismale?,” Revue Bénédictine 104 (1994), 106–22. M, fols. 135v–136v, = ed. Munier, p. 108, line 2; p. 109, line 29. The more historical part of Chronica (part II, ed. Munier, pp. 110–14, as opposed to the catechetical, part II, pp. 108–9, our interpolation) ends with the dating of the Lombard invasion: (part II.41) “Fuit autem ab principium mundi usque quod Langobardi in Italia praesiderunt, V DCCIXX et II anni tempore Iustiniano imperatore.” The entry before this (part II.40), “Quis primus litteras guticas inuenit? Goulphyla Gothorum ep[iscopu]s,” points to Int. 4. (n.b. “inventor” of Greek letters also appears in pt. II.26. The source is Isidore. Etym. 5.39.10.9, or idem, Chron. 19, as above, n. 31). The few Roman historical references in part II.34–41 merely highlight the importance of the Lombard invasion and Ulfilas’ invention of Gothic to the compiler[s]. Munier (p. 121, n. 36) notes that Isidore’s Chronicon could not have been the source for these, and I add that neither was the list of selected world headline-events that Isidore used in the calculations of Etym. 5.39, for Ulfilas is not mentioned there, and the Lombard invasion of Italy is tallied at VMDCCLXXIX, rather than V[M] DCCIXX. Munier, p. 122, suggests that the manuscript tradition of this text, and text of the lectionary of Selestat itself, points to Milan or Aquileia, saec. VII or VIII, as its place of origin, perhaps at an Italian monastic or cathedral centre under insular influence.

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weights of man, etc.) that has often been trumpeted as Irish, but usually turns out to be disappointingly patristic in origin.78 Why did Carolingian compilers of the miscellany interpolate this section of the Ps. Jerome Chronica into the copies of the Interrogationes? Apart from the complimentary nature of the two texts at this point (on the days of creation), the answer appears to lie in transmission of these texts together across the Alps. For if M really is a later copy of C, as Bischoff, Gorman and others have speculated (though it is not certain: see manuscript description below), the text that followed the Interrogationes in C where it becomes defective was none other than the Ps. Jerome Chronica. The corruption would hardly be worth noting if it did not provide us with a possible date for the compilation of C, therefore helping us to date our text, for the copy of the Ps. Jerome Chronica that appears immediately after the Interrogationes in M, and therefore was likely in C also, contains an interpolation that refers to Charles Martel’s campaigns against Neustria in 719.79 Paleographic hypotheses are even less satisfying than historical ones, but for what it is worth: if this historical note was also originally in C, then we have a terminus post quem for the manuscript (or its archetype). But this, of course, hardly rules out the possibility that the Interrogationes or the Ps. Jerome Chronica were written earlier than 719. It is just as likely, however, that the note about Charles Martel in M, a manuscript dating from the late tenth or early eleventh century, derived from earlier Carolingian sources and interests. Sources and apparatus fontium Biblical references are cited in bolded Italic script at the end of the text on each page before the apparatus fontium and apparatus criticus. For the apparatus fontium, I have used the system of reference in H.J. Frede, Kirchenschrifsteller: Verzeichnis und Sigel, Vetus Latina 1/1 (Freiburg, 1995). The final entry of the references indicate page and line numbers, except for AU Gn li, IS ety (book and chapter), and EUG-T carm (poem no. and line). Other coordinates (e.g. Interrogatio or Psalm numbers) are given where helpful. The use of “cf.” before a source citation suggests a possible 78

See Max Foerster, “Adams Erschaffung und Namengebung,” Archiv für Religionswissenschaft 11 (1907), 477–529; Emil Turdeanu, “Dieu créa l’homme de huit éléments et tira son nom des quatre coins du monde,” Revue des études roumaines 13–14 (1974), 184–99; Dominique Cerberlaud, “Le nom d’Adam et les points cardinaux,” Vigiliae Christianae 38 (1984), 258–301. 79 M, fol.136, “Modo restant anno de sexto milario L. XXX post isto anno quando carulus pugnavit in neustria contra regem et rangifrido.”

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source, influence, or parallel worth noting (e.g. ALC q). Sources cited without “cf.” indicate a verbatim or near verbatim borrowing, particularly for Isidore (Int. 25, 27, 28, 30, 31, 36, 37, 43, 44, 47–49, 52, 56) and Julian (Int. 63, 64, 77, 87–93, 102). ALC q

Alcuin, Interrogationes et responsiones in Genesin (ALC 76, pp. 485–8). PL100:516–66. AMst q Ambrosiaster, Quaestiones Veteris et Novi Testamenti CXXVII ed. Alexander Souter, CSEL 50 (Vienna, 1908) (PL 35: 2207– 302). AU Gn li Augustine, ed. Joseph Zycha, Sancti Aureli Augustini operis de genesi ad litteram capitula seu summaria librorum XII, CSEL 28 (Vienna, 1894), pp. 1–435. AU Gn man Augustine, De genesi contra Manichaeos, ed. Dorothea Weber, CSEL 91 (Vienna, 1998). AU loc Locutionum in Heptateuchum libri septem, ed. Iulius Fraipont, CCSL 23 (Turnhout, 1958), pp. 379–465. AU Ps Augustine, Enarrationes in Psalmos, ed. Eligius Dekkers and Iulius Fraipont, CCSL 38 (Ps. 1–50) (Turnhout, 1956). AU Jo Augustine, Tractatus in Evangelium Iohannis, ed. Radbodus Willems, CCSL 36 (Turnhout, 1954). BED metr Bede, De arte metrica, ed. C.W. Jones, CCSL 123A (Turnhout, 1975), pp. 81–141. CAr Ps Cassiodorus, Expositio Psalmorum, ed. Marcus Adriaen, CCSL 97 (Ps.1–70) (Turnhout, 1958). EUCH inst Eucherius of Lyon, Instructionum libri duo, ed. C. Wotke, Sancti Eucherii Lugdunensis, CCSL 31 (Vienna, 1894), pp. 63–161 EUG-T carm Eugenius of Toledo, Carmina, ed. Friedrich Vollmer MGH, AA 14 (Berlin,1905), pp. 231–70. GR-M Ev Pope Gregory I, Homiliae in Evangelia, ed. Raymond Étaix, CCSL 141 (Turnhout, 1999). GR-M Jb Pope Gregory I, Homiliae in Hiezechihelem Prophetam, ed. Marcus Adriaen, CCSL 142 (Turnhout, 1971). GR-M Jb Pope Gregory I, Moralia siue Expositio in Iob, ed. Marcus Adriaen, CCSL 143 A-B (Turnhout, 1979–85). IS ety Isidore, Etymologiae sive origines, ed. W.M. Lindsay, 2 vols. (Oxford, 1911).

252 IS pro JUL-T ars

JUL-T ant MAR ars PS-AU q

Everett Isidore, In libros ueteris ac noui Testamenti proemia (CPL 1192), PL 83:155–80. Julian of Toledo, ed. M.A.H. Maestre Yenes, Ars Iuliani Toletani episcopi. Una grammatica latina de la España visigoda. Estudio y edicion critica (Toledo, 1973). Julian of Toledo, Antikeimenon, PL 96:595–704. Marius Victorinus Ars grammatica, ed. Keil, GL 6 (Leipzig, 1874), pp. 3–31. Ps. Augustine, Dialogus quaestionum lxv Orosii percontantis et Augustini respondentis (CPL 373a), PL 40: 733–52

Sigla C Cesena, Biblioteca Malatestiana, S. XXI.5, fols. 276–7v, saec. VIII–IX, northeast Italy, possibly Verona: see Bischoff, Manuscripts (full ref. above n. 36), p. 46; idem, Katalog der festländischen Handschriften des neunten Jahrhunderts (mit Ausnahme der wisigotischen), 2 vols., ed. Birgit Ebersperger (Wiesbaden, 1998, 2004), 1:189, no. 855 Full description in J. Carlos Martin, ed., Isidori Hispalensis Chronica, CCSL 112 (Turnhout, 2003), pp. 61–64. On its relationship to M, see Charles Wright, “Additions to the Bobbio Missal,” in The Bobbio Missal, ed. Hen and Meens, pp. 84–87. Mucciolus, Catalogus codicum manuscriptorum (above n. 3), 2:249–51; Zazzeri, Sui codici e libri (above n. 3) pp. 430–33.

M Venice, Biblioteca Marciana, lat. II.46 (2400), fols. 131v–135v, saec. XI. J. Valentinelli, Bibliotheca Manuscripta ad S. Marci Venetiarum, 6 vols. (Venice, 1868–73), 2:46–9. Bischoff, Katalog, no. 855 (1:189), “A.D. 1270.” Thought to be a direct (though slightly muddled) copy of C: see Gorman, “Carolingian Miscellany,” p. 350; Wright, “Additions,” p. 84, notes problems with this theory.

E Paris, Bibliothèque nationale de France, lat. 10616 (+10457), fols. 94– 131 (CLA 5:601), saec. VIII–IX, written at Verona. Probably taken to Reichenau by Egino: Berschin, Egino, pp. 24–25. Bischoff, Manuscripts, p. 45, n. 127. Originally bound with lat. 10457, a copy of the Commemoratio Geneseos, of which another copy is found in Verona, Bib cap. XXVII (25), saec. IX in.

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K Cologne, Dombibliothek 85, fols. 103–10, 114v–118, saec. IXmed. See Bischoff, Katalog, no. 1907 (1:395), saec. X. Missing Int. 99–101. Gorman, “Carolingian Miscellany,” pp. 338, 353. Full description of manuscript available on line at http://www.ceec.uni-koeln.de/ceec-cgi/kleioc

A Albi, Bibliothèque municipale, 39 fols., 115v–123v, 129–33v (CLA 6:706), saec. VIII–IX, southern France. Missing Int. 99–101. Bischoff, Katolog, no. 21 (1:11), saec IX in.–med.. Gorman, “Carolingian Miscellany,” pp. 339, 353.

F Orléans, Bibliothèque municipale, no. 313, pp. 204–13, 218–22, saec. IX. Tours-Fleury. Missing Int. 99–101. Bischoff, Katalog, no. 3741 (2:351), notes connection with Bern, Burgerbibliothek 225 (+223). See Marco Mostert, The Library of Fleury. A Provisional List of Manuscripts (Hilversum, 1989), nos. 125, 126, 820, 821. Gorman, “Carolingian Miscellany,” pp. 339, 353.

N Paris, Bibliothèque nationale de France, lat. 2175, fols. 108–15, 120v– 124, saec. IXin., Weissenburg [Vissembourg], CLA 8:1051 and CLA Supp., p. 10 [**1051]. Missing Int. 99–101. Philippe Lauer, ed., Catalogue général des manuscrits latins. Bibliothèque nationale (France), 7 vols. (Paris, 1939– 1963), 2:353. Gorman, “Carolingian Miscellany,” pp. 344, 353.

T Paris, Bibliothèque nationale de France, lat. 10612, fols. 106v–112v, 117–20 saec. IX in., St. Julien, Tours. Associated with Theodulf of Orléans. Missing Int. 99–101. Description: G. Morin, Sancti Caesarii episcopi arelatensis opera, CCSL 103–104 (Turnhout, 1953), 1:ciii, and Gorman, “Carolingian Miscellany,” pp. 344–48. See also Thomas Amos, “Augustine and the Education of an Early Medieval Preacher,” Reading and Wisdom: The De Doctrina Christiana of Augustine in the Middle Ages, ed. E.D. English (Notre Dame, IN., 1995), pp. 23–40; Martin Wittek, “A propos de deux inscriptions du Paris lat. 10612,” Scriptorium 55 (2001), 142–45; David Vitali, “Arbor natus in Paradiso – ein Rhythmus über den Paradiesbaum,” Poetry of Early Medieval Europe: Manuscripts, Language

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and Music of the Rhythmical Latin Texts, ed. Edoardo D’Angelo and Francesco Stella, Millennio Medievale 39 (Florence, 2003), pp. 105–15. Q Paris, Bibliothèque nationale de France, lat. 614A, fols. 172–77v, 183– 76, saec. X. Stegmüller, Repertorium Biblicum, nos. 10301–22. Missing Int. 99–101. The entry in Lauer, ed., Catalogue général BN, 1:218–19, is misleading: see now the description in Gorman, “Carolingian Miscellany,” pp. 340–44.

P New York, Columbia University Library, Plimpton 58, fols. 101v–107v, saec. IX 2/3, southern France. Bischoff, Katalog, no. 3603 (2:315), saec. IXin.-med.. Missing Int. 99–101. The text is defective due to missing several missing folios of text between 104v and 105r, causing it to jump from Int. 53 (“…a civitate Colosis”) to Int. 96 (Resp. “Sed dum heretici”). See Gorman, “Carolingian Miscellany,” p. 339. I thank Consuelo Dutschke for sending me her detailed notes on the manuscript and for her advice.

Fragmenta V Vatican City, Biblioteca Apostolica Vaticana, lat. 6018, fols. 97–97v saec. IXin., Italy. Int. 1–22, seemingly left incomplete by the scribe. See A.D. von den Brincken, “Gyrus und Spera-Relikte griechischer Geographie im Weltbild der Frühscholastik,” Sudhoffs Archiv 73 (1989), 129–44, at p. 133.

R Rome, Biblioteca nazionale, Sessor. 76, fols. 107v–110, 99–101, saec. IX, Nonantola. Marco Palma, Sessoriana, Sussidi eruditi 32 (Rome, 1980), p. 42, no. 80.

Fragments not collated Leiden, Bibliotheek der Rijksuniversiteit, Voss. lat. Q. 122, fols. 89–96, saec. IXmed., K.A. De Meyier, Codices Vossiani Latini, 4 vols. (Leiden, 1973–84), 2:266–70. Bischoff, Katalog, no. 2241 (2:63). A single, surviving quire preserves excerpts from the Interrogationes (Int. 57–93), probably as part of the Carolingian miscellany (Gorman, “Carolingian Miscellany,” pp. 338–39), but the end to Int. 93 (fol. 96), as recorded by Stegmüller

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(Repertorium Biblicum, no. 9548) and De Meyier (ibid.), “debemus accipere, ut supra, qui pecuniam suam non dedit ad usuram,” is actually Augustine, Enarr. in Ps. 14.5. Paris, Bibliothèque nationale de France, lat. 1877, fols. 9–12, saec. XI–IX. Lauer, ed., Catalogue général BN, 2:213: “Quia te de scripturis … in uno corpore sed una (?).” See D. Missone, “La législation canoniale de Saint-Ruf d’Avignon à ses origines. Règle du saint Augustin et contumier,” Revue biblique 111 (2001), 246–66.

Stemma codicum 600 (A.D.) ? 700

800

C V

E

α A F T K N

R

P

900 Q 1000

1100 M

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5

10

15

20

Quia uideo te de scripturis uelle contendere, ad ipsius scripturae radicem ueniamus, et a litteris summamus exordium, a quibus omnes rami pullulant scripturarum. [1] Volo itaque ut hoc mihi primum dicas, si didicisti litteras, quare ipsa littera sic appellatur? R. Littera dicta est quasi diceretur legitera, quia legentibus iter, hoc est, uiam demonstrat, uel quia legis iter ostendit, siue quia legendo iteratur, id est, quia iterum atque iterum dum legitur repetitur uel alitur quam patitur, quia scripta deletur. [2] Int. Et quanta sunt genera litterarum? R. Septem. [3] Int. Quomodo nominantur? R. Hebreae, graecae, latinae, syreae, chaldeae, aegyptiae, geticae, id est, gothicae. [4] Int. Volo ut etiam hoc mihi dicas, quis eas inuenit? R. Moyses repperit hebreas, Cadmos Aginoris filius graecas, Nicostrata Euandri regis mater latinas, Abraham syras et chaldeas, Ysis regina aegyptias, Gulfila gothorum episcopus geticas. [5] Int. Longum est si te de omnibus his per ordinem interrogem. Hoc tantum cupio, ut de solis mihi latinis litteris reddas responsum. Dic ergo mihi, Nicostrata quam latinas litteras inuenisse dixisti, quibus aliis nominibus appellata est? 7 cf. IS ety 1.3.3, cf. JUL-T ars 114,31 11 cf. JUL-T ars 115,43–55, EUG-T carm 39.6 14 cf. IS ety 1.3.4–11; 1.4 22 Nicostrata – 27 habitabat] IS ety 1.4; 8.11.96, cf. JUL-T ars 114,36–37 30 cf. ALC q 6, 979A, JUL-T ars 115,48–50 1 INCIPIVNT INTERROGATIONES C INCIPIT INTERROGATIONES M IN NOMINE DOMINI INCIPIVNT INTERROGATIONES SEV RESPONSIONES V INCIPIT QVESTIONES EX NOVO ET VETERE TESTAMENTO R INCIPIT INTERROGATIO DE SINGVLAS QVESTIONES QVEM DISCIPVLVS POSTVLAVIT MAGISTRVM E INCIPIVNT QVESTIONES DE LITTERIS ET LIBRIS VEL SINGVLIS CAVSIS INTERROGATIO ET RESPONSIO K INCIPIVNT QVESTIONES DE LITTERIS VEL SINGVLIS CAVSIS FNPAT INCIPIT QVESTIO DE LITTERIS VEL SINGVLIS CAVSIS Q 2 uelle contendere] contendere uelle C 3 pululant] polulant P 8 legendo] legentibus CMNF legendum V 9 repetitur] reperitur CM alitur] additus V quam] atque CM scripta] scriptura A 15 gothicae] cocthicae AK cothice K coctiche P goticae R gudicas CM gocie V 16 volo – dicas] dicamus quis eas invenit K dicimus A ut etiam] etiam ut CM 17 Cadmos] Comas R Cathmos V 19 Gulfila] Fulgila R Culfidae V 20 his] om. CM longum – responsum ] om.KFAN 21 ergo] om. KFAN 22 aliis nominibus] nominibus illius A

Interrogationes 25

30

35

40

45

50

257

R. Dicta est Carmentis, dicta est nimpha. [6] Int. Quare Carmentis et quare nimpha? R. Carmentis ideo, quia carminibus suis futura canebat. Nimpha uero, quia in locis aquosis habitabat. [7] Int. Dic ergo, postquam dixisti, quis latinas litteras inuenisset, quantae sunt litterae latinorum? R. XXIII sunt quae sic nominantur: A, B, C, D et reliqua, sicut a pueris in scola discuntur. [8] Int. Istae XXIII litterae principaliter quomodo diuiduntur? R. Prima earum diuisio est, quia aliae sunt latinae, aliae graecae. [9] Int. Quae sunt latinae, uel quae graecae? R. Latinae sunt XXI, id est, A, B usque ad X. Duae uero, id est, Y et Z, graecae sunt. [10] Int. Et graecae inter latinas, quare positae sunt? R. Propter graeca nomina scribenda. Nam Zeno et ymnus et his similia graeca nomina sunt, et nisi per graecas litteras scribi non possunt. [11] Int. Istae litterae quas latinas dixisti, quomodo diuiduntur? R. In uocalibus et in consonantibus. [12] Int. Dic, quae sunt uocales uel quae consonantes? R. Vocales istae sunt numero V: A, E, I, O, V. Consonantes istae sunt numero XVI: A, B, C, D, F, G, H, L, M, N, P, Q, R, S, T, X. [13] Int. Consonantes iterum possunt diuidi, an non? R. Diuiduntur nam aliae ex eis dicuntur semiuocales, aliae mutae. [14] Int. Enarra ergo mihi, quae sunt semiuocales, et quae mutae? R. Semiuocales VII istae sunt: F, L, M, N, R, S, X. Mutae uero VIIII istae sunt: B, C, D, G, H, K, P, Q, T. [15] Int. Obsecro ut exponas mihi, quare dictae sunt uocales? R. Vocales ideo dicuntur, quia per se faciunt uocem, ut A, E, I, O, V.

33 cf. IS ety 1.4.3–5; 1.3.7 38 cf. JUL-T ars 125,244–246 115,48–50 48 cf. MAR ars 1.3, 5

41 cf. JUL-T ars

25 quare – nimpha] om. KFNP nimpha] nymfa A 26 ideo] om. F 30 reliqua] reliquas CM pueris] puerolis KAP puerulis TQ 38 ymnus] K ymnum CM hymnus] himnus AV 41 et] om. RCMV in] om. K 42 uocales] uocales quinque FA 43 numero – 47 sunt] om. RCM 44 XVI] decim A 46 ex – aliae] om. K 47 Int. Enarra – mutae] om. R 48 VIIII] nouem K om. CM 50 Obsecro – mihi] Dic mihi KFA

258

55

60

65

70

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Everett

[16] Int. Dic etiam, quare consonantes dicuntur? R. Consonantes dictae sunt, quia consonant ueluti cum dicimus BE, CE, audis quia illic E sonat. Tolle E et nihil sonat. [17] Int. Semiuocales quare dicuntur? R. Semiuocales dictae sunt, quia etsi non habent plenam uocem, tamen uel mediam habent, ut EF. Et tolle E et uidebis, quia sibilus quidam naturalis in illis sonat. [18] Int. Mutae uero quare dicuntur? R. Quia ut supra dictum est. Cum dicis BE, nihil ibi aliud sonat, sed tantum E, similiter CE, et cetera. Nam si E tolles et illa cum eis non sonat, sine uoce erunt et ideo mutae dicuntur. [19] Int. Prudenter mihi dixisti, sed hoc uolo ut dicas mihi, quare in capite litterarum non alia littera, sed A posita est? R. Quia nascentis hominis uox prima ipsa est, uel sicut aliqui dicunt, quia de nomine primi hominis prima est, uel pro aliis causis, quas nunc dicere longum est. [20] Int. Alia adhuc diuisio litterarum qualis est? R. Aliae namque sunt simplices, aliae duplices. [21] Int. Quae sunt duplices, quae simplices? R. X et Z duplices sunt. Reliquae omnes simplices. [22] Int. Quare dicuntur duplices? R. Quia pro duabus litteris habentur. Nam quod nos per X scribimus, antiqui per C et S scribebant. Nos scribimus modo per X, illi per CS, uel quod nos modo per X scribimus, ut rex, illi per G et S scribebant, ut reges. Similiter quod nos modo per unam Z scribimus, illi per duos SS scribebant. Nos namque Mezentius scribimus, illi Messentius. Et pro hac causa duplices appellantur, quia pro duabus ponuntur. Simplices uero dicuntur, quia singulae pro singulis ponuntur.

56 cf. IS ety 1.4.4 65 cf. IS ety 1.4.16 73–77 cf. IS ety 1.4.14; cf. MAR ars 1.2.5; BED met 87.33; JUL-T ars 125:245–57. 52 Dic etiam] om.CM consonantes dicuntur] dicuntur consonantes K 54 Tolle – sonat] om. V 57 quidam] quid amplius CM 60 aliud] aliut CMK 61 tolles] tollas RKV sonat] sonet R sonit CM 63 dicas mihi] dic mihi FNPA 65 ipsa] om. RVCMK est a TQK 66 quas] quod A 70 Int. quae – duplices] om. CM 71 et] om. K

Interrogationes 80

85

90

95

100

105

259

[23] Int. Si te de litteris cuncta quae interrogari possunt interrogem, ante crede mihi dies quam sermo cessauit. Sed quia uideo te ex parte mihi dedisse responsum, nunc ad sanctam scripturam ueniamus et a sacrorum librorum numero incipiamus. Primum omnium dicas uolo, quanti libri canonici in sancta ecclesia recipiuntur? R. LXXII, quorum nomina ista sunt: Genesis, Exodus, Leuiticus, Numeri, Deuteronomium, Iesu Naue, Iudicum, Ruth, quattuor libri Regum, duo libri Paralipomenon, Iob, Tobias, Ester, Iudith, duo libri Esdrae, duo Machabeorum, liber Psalmorum unus, Salomonis libri tres, id est, Prouerbia, Ecclesiastes et Cantica canticorum, Iesus filii Syrac libri duo, id est, liber Sapientiae et Ecclesiasticus, libri XVI prophetarum singuli, id est, Esaiae, Hieremiae, Hieremiae alius liber qui Cinoth dicitur, id est, Lamentationum, Ezechiel, Daniel, Oseae, Iohel, Amos, Ionae, Michae, Abdiae, Naum, Abbacuc, Sophoniae, Aggei, Zachariae, Malachiae. Isti sunt libri ueteris testamenti. Item noui testamenti libri isti sunt: Primum, euangeliorum libri quattuor: Matheus, Marcus, Lucas et Iohannes. Item apostoli Pauli epistulae XIIII, id est, ad Romanos, ad Corinthios II, ad Galathas, ad Ephesios, ad Philippenses, ad Colosenses, ad Tesalonicenses II, ad Timotheum II, ad Titum uero et ad Philimonem et ad Hebreos singulae, necnon epistolae Petri II, Iacobi I, Iohannis III, Iudae I, Actuum apostolorum et Apocalipsis Iohannis. Isti sunt libri ueteris ac noui testamenti LXXII, quos catholica et apostolica recipit ecclesia. [24] Int. Librum Genesis quis scripsit? R. Librum Genesis repletus spiritu sancto Moyses scripsit, et non solum illum, sed et Exodum et Leuiticum atque Numerum, necnon et Deuteronomium. [25] Int. Quare Genesis appellatur? R. Genesis liber ideo sic appellatur eo quod exordium mundi et generatio saeculi in eo contineatur.

85 cf. IS ety 1.1.11; 6.1.8; 6.2.24; IS pro 11, 159A 103 cf. IS ety 6.1.5 107 IS ety 6.2.3 80–83 Si – volo] Quis est littera pars minima evocet articulata litterarum quid est pars minima quid est pars maxima pars minima est littera pars maxima est Deus in aeternum KFANPTQ Incipiamus de sacrorum scripturarum numerorum librorum quanti KFANP Incipiamus de sancta scriptura sacrorum numero librorum quanti TQ 81 mihi dedisse] dedisse mihi CM 85 LXII] septuaginta et duo K 89 liber] om. K 91 Cinoth] noth K 93 Sophoniae] soffoniae K 98 uero et] om. CM 102 Librum – scripsit] om. K 103 librum – sancto] om. A 107 Genesis – appellatur] om. R

260 110

115

120

125

130

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[26] Int. In Genesi quid scribitur? R. Genesis describit fabricam mundi et hominum conditionem, cataclismum, id est, diluuium, et diuisionem terrae uel linguarum, gestaque omnium patriarcharum usque quo filii Israel ingressi sunt in Aegyptum. [27] Int. Exodus quare sic appellatur? R. Quia egressio filiorum Israel de Aegypto in eius textu continetur. [28] Int. Leuiticus quare sic appellatur? R. Pro eo quod Leuitarum ministeria et uictimarum diuersitas et totus in eo Leuiticus ordo notatur. [29] Int. Numerorum liber cur sic uocatur? R. Quia in eo egressae de Aegypto tribus enumerantur, et XLII mansiones filiorum Israel in eremo in eo describuntur. [30] Int. Deuteronomium, quare ita appellatur? R. Deuteronomium graeco sermone dicitur, quod latine appellatur secunda lex pro eo quod in ipso libro omnis lex superius data recapitulatur. [31] Int. Hii quinque libri Moysi, id est, Genesis, Exodus, Leuiticus, Numerus, Deuteronomium, hebraice quomodo nominantur? R. Bresith, Helesmoth, Vagecra, Vagedaber, Helleaddabarim. Hos totos insimul Hebrei Thorath, id est, legem appellant. [32] Int. Iosuae librum, id est, Iesu naue, quis scripsit, aut quid in eo scribitur? R. Iste liber de scriptoris nomine sic appellatur. Iesus namque Naue eum conscripsit eiusque pugnas et reliqua gesta conscripsit. [33] Int. Iudicum liber, ut quid sic dicitur, aut a quo scriptus est? R. Iudicum liber appellatur a iudicibus qui praefuerunt populo Israel post Moysen et Iosue antequam reges haberent, et quia eorum gesta describit. Ideo sic appellatur. Scriptum est autem a Samuhel. [34] Int. Liber Ruth quare dicitur? R. Liber Ruth ideo sic appellatur, quia Ruth cuiusdam mulieris Moabitidis, id est, quia de gente Moab fuerat. Texit historiam de cuius stirpe Dauid regis origo discendit, et de eius nomine sic appellatur. 114 IS ety 6.2.5 116 IS ety 6.2.5; IS pro 19, 159B 120 in eremo] IS ety 6.2.6 122 Deuteronomium – 123 lex] IS ety 6.2.7 126 IS ety 6.4.5 130 cf. IS ety 6.2.8 133 cf. IS ety 6.2.9 137 cf. IS ety 6.1.8 7.6.58; cf. IS pro 20,161A 110 IS pro 18, 159A 112 sunt] fuerunt CM 116 ministeria] om. CM 120 eremo] heremo N 122 appellatur] interpretatur KAN 124 id est – 125 Deuteronomium] om. R 126 Helleaddabarim] Addabarim R Addauarim CM 129 scribitur] scribuntur QAKPTF 131 reliqua] om. CM conscripsit] cotinent K continentur N 133 populo Israel] om. KA 134 et Iosue] om. KAN 135 Scriptum est – 137 sic appellatur] om. R 138 historiam] istoriam R storiam CM

Interrogationes 140

145

150

155

160

165

170

261

[35] Int. Libri regum quare sic appellantur, uel a quibus scripti sunt? R. Libri regum dicti sunt pro eo quod in eis contineatur Saulis et Dauid et Salomonis et ceterorum regum diuersa bella et cetera gesta, necnon et captiuitas filiorum Israel in Babilonia, quorum primum librum Samuhel propheta dicitur scripsisse, secundum Dauid, tertium uero et quartum Hieremias, de singulorum regum historiis colligens in unum uolumen redigit, qui propter suam prolixitatem apud nos in duobus diuisus est libris. [36] Int. Paralipomenon cur sic appellatur? R. Paralipomenon graece dicitur, quod nos praetermissorum dicere possumus, quia ea quae in lege uel regum libris omnia sic uel non plene dicta sunt, in isto breuiter replicantur, et iste propter prolixitatem suam apud Latinos in duobus diuisus est libris. [37] Int. Iob librum quis scripsit? R. Alii Moysen eum scripsisse putant, alii unum ex prophetis, sed certum est, quia ipse Iob eum scripserit, ut qui certamina spiritalis pugnae sustinuit. Ipse narrat uictorias quas expediuit. [38] Int. Tobi librum quis scripsit, aut quid in se continet? R. Tobi liber gesta eiusdem Tobi continet, quomodo excaecatus est et a filio suo inluminatur. Cuius scriptor apud Hebreos nescitur. Sed credendum est, quia ipse suos actos conscripserit, sicut et ab angelo Raphahelo ei praeceptum est. [39] Int. Hester liber quare ita appellatur, aut a quo scriptum est? R. Quia reginae Hester gesta continet, quomodo illa Israelitarum populum de morte liberauit. Proinde sic appellatur, qui conscriptus ab Hesdra creditur. [40] Int. Quare liber Iudith ita uocatur? R. Quia eiusdem Iudith mulieris texit historiam, quomodo Holofernen Chaldeorum ducem interemit et populum suum a morte liberauit ac de eius nomine sic uocatur. [41] Int. Hesdrae libri quare dicuntur, aut quid in illis scribitur? R. Hesdrae libri de nomine auctoris uocantur. Scribitur autem in eis quomodo filii Israel de terra captiuitatis reuersi sunt, et quomodo Hierusalem templumque restauratum est.

141 cf. IS ety 6.2.9–10; cf. IS pro 27, 162C 148 Paralipomenon – 150 replicantur] IS ety 6.2.12 153 scripsisse – 155 expediuit] IS ety 6.12.13 162 cf. IS ety 6.2.29 169 cf. IS ety 6.2.28 141 eis] eo CM 146 propter suam prolixitatem – 150 replicantur et iste] om. KR 146 libris om.] CM 153 putant] putabant AN 157 Tobi liber – quomodo] om. M 162 quia reginae] om. A reginae Hester] Hester regina KN 165 historiam] storiam M Holofernen] Olofernen N

262

175

180

185

190

195

200

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[42] Int. Machabeorum libri quare ita dicti sunt, uel quid in se continent? R. Machabeorum libri ideo sic uocantur, quia Machabeorum, id est, Iudae, Simonis et Ionathae, dum Israelitarum filiorum Machabei bella et cetera gesta describunt, a quorum nominibus sic appellantur. Quis uero eos uel librum Iudae scripserit incertum est. [43] Int. Psalmorum liber cur sic appellatur, aut a quo scriptum est? R. Psalmorum liber Graece psalterium, hebrece ac latine organum dicitur. Vocatur autem psalterium pro eo quod Dauid propheta canente ad psalterium eius carmina populus consonando responderit. Omnes uero psalmos decem uiri exposuerunt, id est, Moyses, Dauid, Salomon, Asaph, Ethan et Eman et Idithun et filii Core duo, Asir et Eliezab, siue Hesdrae. Nonnulli Aggei et Zachariae existimantur. [44] Int. Salomonis libri pro quibus causis sic appellantur? R. Salomon tres libros edidit, e quibus primus Prouerbia apud Latinos dicitur, quae Graeci Parabolas uocant, quia per parabolam in eo libro loquitur. Secundus Ecclesiastes ideo dicitur, quia in ecclesia, hoc est, multitudine, conditus est. Tertius Canticum canticorum appellatur, in quo sub specie sponsi et sponsae Christi et ecclesiae mysteria describuntur. Dictum est autem Canticum canticorum quod omnibus canticis praeferatur quae in scripturis habentur. Sicut dicimus deum sanctum sanctorum, quia omnibus sanctis praefertur. [45] Int. Sapientiae liber, uel Ecclesiasticus, ut quid sic uocantur, uel a quo scripti sunt? R. Sapientiae liber ideo sic appellatur, quia in eo Christi aduentus, qui est sapientia dei patris, et passio eius euidenter exprimitur. Ecclesiasticus uero ideo sic dicitur eo quod totius ecclesiae disciplina religiosa et conuersationis magna cura sit editus. Hos duos libros Iesus filius Sirach scripsisse dicitur, quamuis Iudaei librum Sapientiae Philonem quendam conscripsisse adfirment, qui liber apud eos nusquam inuenitur. [46] Int. Esaiae librum quis scripsit? R. Esaias de cuius et nomine dicitur. [47] Int. Hieremiae librum quis scripsit?

173 cf. IS ety 6.2.33 178 Psalmorum – 179 psalterium] IS ety 6.2.15 182 nonnulli – 183 Zachariae] IS pro 33, 163C 185 IS ety 6.2.18–21 190 dictum – 191 habentur] IS ety 6.2.20 195 cf. IS ety 6.2.30–32 202 cf. IS ety 6.2.22 175 quorum] quorum et M 177 sic] ita M 178 hebrece ac] om. KFAN 182 Core] Coreph MFN Coroph K Asir] assyr F 184 Salomonis libri – 185 R.] om. M 188 multitudine] multitudinem KF 192 sanctis] om. A 200 nusquam] numquam A

Interrogationes 205

210

215

220

225

230

263

R. Hieremias, a quo et appellatus est. Scripsit autem et Cinoth quas lamentationes uocamus, eo quod in tristioribus rebus funeribus quae adhibeantur, in quibus quadruplex diuerso metro conposuit alfabetum. [48] Int. Ezechiel et Daniel, quis scripserunt? R. Ezechiel et Daniel a uiris quibusdam sapientibus scripti esse dicuntur, et quamquam ab aliis scripti sunt, ab eis tamen nomen acceperunt a quibusque in illis continentur sancto spiritu reuelante uisa sunt. [49] Int. Libros XII prophetarum quis scripserunt? R. Libros XII prophetarum, qui iam supra nominati sunt, auctorum suorum nominibus praenotantur. Omnes hii duodecim prophetae et quattuor quod superius diximus futura praedixerunt, id est, de Christo et ecclesia, de Iudaeorum abiectione et gentium uocatione, uel de iudicio, siue de uita futura. [50] Int. Quattuor euangeliorum libri, a quibus scripti sunt uel nominati? R. Quattuor euangeliorum libri scriptorum suorum nominibus appellantur, id est, Matheus, Marcus, Lucas, Iohannes. [51] Int. Et in qua lingua conscripti sunt? R. Solus Matheus hebreo sermone euangelium conscripsit. Reliqui tres graeco sermone ediderunt. [52] Int. Dic ergo, quare euangelium nominatur? R. Euangelium graece dicitur, latine bona adnuntiatio interpretatur, et re uera bona adnuntiatio, quae nobis uitae nostrae nuntiauit auctorem. [53] Int. Qui sunt Romani uel Corinthi uel ceteri quibus apostolus scribit? R. Romani sunt hii qui in Roma et per Italiam habitant. Corinthi uero dicti sunt a ciuitate Corintho prouinciae Achaiae. Galathae autem ipsi sunt Graeci. Ephesi uero a ciuitate Epheso appellantur, quae est in prouincia Asiae. Philipenses ipsi sunt Macedones qui in Macedonia prouincia commorantur. Dicti sunt autem Philippenses a Philippo patre Alexandri regis magni Macedonis, qui eiusdem prouinciae rex fuit. Thesalonicenses similiter a ciuitate Macedoniae Thessalonia appellati sunt. Eodem modo Colosenses a

205 eo – 206 alfabetum] IS ety 6.2.23 208 Ezechiel – dicuntur] IS ety 6.2.25 212 Libros – 213 praenotantur] IS ety 6.2.26 221 cf. IS ety 6.2.35 224 bona – interpretatur] IS ety 6.2.43 208 scripti] conscripti AN 211 quis scripserunt – 212 prophetarum] om. R 212 XII] duodecim A 214 superimus diximus] om. A superius de iudicio de futura N de Christo et] om. N 215 vita] om.FA 221 solus] solum AKTQ 223 dic ergo] om. N 224 adnuntiatio] nuntatio KF nuntiatio TQ interpretatur] interpretatur [eo TQ] quod septem principalia doctrinarum enuntiat [..etc.] qui sunt qui nominati sunt qui paulus apostolus scribit? Romani Corinthi [Chorinthi Q] Galatae Ephesi uel caeteri alii quibus apostolus scribit. Romani sunt [-227] KFNATQ 233 Eodem – 234 Colosis] similter a civitate Colonensis PTQ

264 235

240

245

250

Everett

ciuitate Colosis, quae in prouincia Asiae appellatur. Timotheus uero et Titus et Philemon discipuli eiusdem apostoli fuerunt, ex quibus Timotheum et Titum episcopos legitur ordinasse. Hebrei hii sunt qui ex Iudaeis ad Christi fidem conuersi sunt. [54] Int. Epistulae Petri apostoli uel Iacobi et Iohannis, a quibus scriptae sunt? R. Ab eis quibus esse dicuntur, sed dicunt aliqui quod Petri epistolas Marcus eius discipulus conscripserit. [55] Int. Librum Actum apostolorum quis scripsit, aut quare ita appellatur? R. Lucas euangelista Pauli discipulus eundem librum conscripsit, in quo continetur quomodo apostoli post ascensionem domini docuerunt, uel quibus miraculis mundo fulserunt, et pro hoc apostolorum Actus appellatur. [56] Int. Apocalipsin librum quis scripsit, aut cur ita uocatur? R. Apocalipsin librum Iohannes apostolus et euangelista conscripsit, cum esset in Patmos insula pro Christi nomine religatus. Graece namque apocalipsis, latine reuelatio dicitur, quia quae in eo scribuntur a deo Iohanni reuelata sunt. Isti sunt scriptores sacrorum librorum qui per spiritum sanctum loquentes eruditionem nostram et praecepta uiuendi et credendi regulam conscripserunt. Propter haec alia uolumina apocrifa nominantur. Apocrifa autem dicta, id est, secreta, quia eorum est origo incerta. INTERROGATIONES DE GENESI

255

260

[57] Int. Vbi primum in sacris scripturis sancta trinitas describitur? R. In exordio libri Genesis. Nam ibi patris nomen manifestatur, cum dicitur, In principio fecit deus caelum et terram. In principio, hoc est, in filio. Per filium enim pater omnia condidit, sicut apostolus de eodem filio dicit, Per quem fecit et saecula. Ecce habes patris et filii nomen. Spiritus autem sanctus in subsequentibus manifestatur, cum dicitur, Et spiritus dei ferebatur super aquas. [58] Int. Cum Moyses in sex diebus omnia quae in mundo sunt creata describit, quid est quod Salomon e contrario uidetur dicere, Qui manet in aeternum creauit omnia simul? 257 Gen 1.1 258 Heb 1.2 260 Gen 1.2 263 Sir 18.1 243 cf. IS ety 6.2.48 247 cf. IS ety 6.2.49 250 Isti – 253 secreta] IS ety 6.2.51 256 cf. EUCH inst. 66.13; AU Gn li 1.6, 10.15; PS-AU q 1, 734A; AMst q 41, 2239D–2240A 237 conversi] reversi F 242 actum] om. AKN 254 GENESI] GENESE RCV ITEM QVESTIONES IN GENESIS E INCIPIT QVESTIO DE LIBRO GENESIS KNFTQ defective M 255 sancta] om. A 256 cum] dum K

Interrogationes 265

270

275

280

285

290

265

R. Omnis creatura simul per substantiam extitit, sed non simul per speciem processit. Rerum quippe origo simul creata est, sed simul species formata non est. Cum enim simul factum caelum et terra scribitur, simul quicquid de caelo oritur, simul factum, quicquid de terra producitur indicatur. [59] Int. Spiritus dei quomodo ferebatur super aquas. R. Non per uagationem, sed potestatem, dum creaturae suae supereminit regentis imperio. [60] Int. Quanta genera operum creauit dominus deus in principio, uel quanta ex his per singulos dies? R. XXII opera fecit in principio. Nam prima die VII opera fecit, id est, materiam informem, angelos, lucem, caelos superiores, terram, aquam atque aerem. Secunda die firmamentum solum. Tertia die IIII: materia, semina, rationes atque plantaria. Quarta die III: solem et lunam et stellas. Quinta die II: pisces et volucres. Sexta die IIII: bestias, pecora, reptiliae terrae et hominem. Et facta sunt omnia XXII genera in diebus sex. [61] Int. Cum sol et luna quarta die facta esse describuntur, tres illi dies superiores unde lumen habuerunt? R. Tres illi dies ex luce illa quae primo die facta est lumen habuerunt. [62] Int. Lux illa quae primo die facta est, nunc ubi est, aut quid exinde factum est? R. Lux illa in superioribus nunc esse dicitur, de qua dicuntur sidera inluminari. [63] Int. Primo, secundo et tertio die, quomodo legitur, Factum est uespere et mane, cum in quarto die facta sunt sidera, per quae dies a noctibus discernuntur? Sic enim in quarto die dixisse dominus legitur, Fiant sidera in firmamento caeli ut luceant super terram, et diuidant inter diem ac noctem. R. In tres illos dies qui sine sole et luna fuerunt, uesperum dictum est propter transactionem consummati operis, et mane propter inchoationem futuri operis, de similitudine scilicet humanorum operum, quae mane inchoari et uespere finiri solent.

269 Gen 1.2 287 Gen 1.5 289 Gen 1.14 265 JUL-T ant 8, 599B 270 EUCH inst, 67.17; cf. ALC q 29, 519A 274 prima – 279 sex] IS ety 16.26.10 289 Sic – 293 operum] JUL-T ant 1, 595B; cf. PS-AU q 26, 741B 267 quicquid] quidquid 270 vagationem] vocationem FN 274 nam] om. K 279 hominem] hominum F homines N 279 ff.. = ed. Munier 108.2 – 109.20 KFANTQ (above, pp. 249–50). 285 de qua dicuntur] om. M 292 consummati] consummationem FN 293 scilicet] om. M

266 295

300

305

310

315

320

Everett

[64] Int. Cum in Genesi scriptum sit quod in septimo die requieuerit deus ab omnibus operibus suis, quomodo dominus in euangelio dicit, Pater meus usque modo operatur, et ego operor? R. Requieuit deus in die septimo ab omnibus operibus suis, quia deinceps nullam creaturam nouam fecit. Vsque modo operatur, quia omnia ex eis facit quae in illis sex diebus fecit. Ergo requieuit a condendis nouis creaturis et non cessat operari regendo ea quae fecit. [65] Int. Quid est quod scriptum est in Genesi de illis primis hominibus, quod eis deus Adam nomen inposuerit? Sic enim ibi legitur, Et uocauit nomen eorum Adam. Quomodo postea scribitur quod uir Adam uxor uero eius Eua dicta fuit? R. Adam hebraice dicitur, quod latine interpretatur homo. Recte ergo Adam ambo appellati sunt, quia homo tam de uiro quam de femina dicimus. [66] Int. Scriptum est in Genesis, Posuit deus hominem in paradiso, ut operaretur et custodiret illum. Quid operabatur Adam in paradiso, aut unde illum custodiebat, cum neque fur neque latro tunc nullus erat? R. Operabatur in paradiso non pro necessitate, sed pro deliciosa uoluptate. Custodiebat autem sibi ipsi paradisum ne eum peccando amitteret. [67] Int. Quid intellegendum est de arbore illa scientiae boni et mali? R. In primis ne ut quidam heretici interpretantur malorum ita sicut bonorum putetur ex hoc conditor deus. In arbore uero illa, qualiscumque fuerit, praeceptum dei intellegendum est. In obseruatione praecepti scientia erat boni, in transgressione praecepti scientia erat mali. [68] Int. Cum utrique, id est, Adam et uxor eius, ex eodem fructu comedentes uerbum dei transgressi sunt, quomodo apostolus Paulus dicit, Vir non est seductus, mulier autem seducta est? R. Certe sola mulier a serpente seducta comedit, sed cum uidisset Adam mulierem comedisse, ne eam contristaret, tulit etiam ipse et comedit, non quia eam amore muliebrio tunc diligeret quem adhuc nesciebat, sed quasi collegam et consortem eam diligens. Propterea etiam ipse comedit.

295 Gen 2.2 296 Io 5.17 303 Gen 2.20 308 Gen 2.15 313 Gen 2.17 318 Gen 2.17 320 1 Tim 2.14 295 JUL-T ant 10, 599–600; cf. AU Gn li 4.10–12, 106–109; cf. PS-AU q 42, 747A; cf. ALC q 1, 517C 302 cf. EUCH inst, 71.6 308 cf. AU Gn li 8.5, 237.26; 8.10, 244.12; cf. PS-AU q 31, 743D; cf. ALC q 51, 521D 313 EUCH inst, 69.3; cf. ALC q 6, 517B; 52, 522A 318 cf. AU Gn li 11.42, 376–378 298 deus] dominus M 299 facit quae in illis sex diebus] om. M 301 ea] om. MK quae] qui A 304 uero] uiro AFN 307 dicimus] dicitur ANK 308 deus] om. A 309 Adam] om. A 310 nullus] ullus M illic R illius A 314 bonorum] malorum RM 318 id est] item A 322 et] om. RM

Interrogationes 325

330

335

340

345

350

267

[69] Int. Cum dominus Adae dixisset de eodem ligno, Quacumque die comederis ex eo, morte morieris, quomodo non est mortuus dum comedit? R. Quattuor sunt genera mortis. Prima est cum deus propter peccatum relinquit animam. Secunda cum anima relinquit corpus. Tertia cum anima post mortem corporis in inferno damna tur. Quarta cum post resurrectionem caro simul et anima cremabuntur. Mortuus est tunc Adam secundum hanc primam mortem, quam diximus recedendo a deo. [70] Int. Loquebatur tunc serpens, quando primos homines seduxit, aut sciebat quid loqueretur? R. Serpens tunc sicut nec modo loqui non poterat, sed per eum diabolus locutus est, nesciente ipso serpente quid loqueretur, sicut et nunc diabolus per daemoniacos loquitur, cum ipsi nesciant quid loquantur. [71] Int. Quid est quod dicitur de Adam et Eua cum comedissent, Aperti sunt oculi eorum? Numquid prius caeci erant, aut a deo sine oculis creati sunt? R. Habebant utique tunc oculos, sed ad bonum non ad malum apertos. Ante illam enim praeuaricationem et uidere ualebant, et cum tamen nudi essent male se, id est, per concupiscentiam non uidebant. Postquam uero de arbore illa unde comederunt, in eo aperti dicuntur eorum oculi, cum se turpiter concupiscendo uidere coeperunt. Sic enim e contrario et in euangelio de duobus discipulis legimus quibus dominus post resurrectionem suam panem porrigebat, et aperti sunt oculi eorum, et cognouerunt eum in fractione panis. Qui utique et ante uiderant, sed ad hoc tantum eorum oculi aperti dicuntur ut dominum cognoscerent. [72] Int. Cur sibi illi primi homines mox ut comederunt, genitalia texuerunt? Os enim cooperire debuerunt, per quod comedendo peccauerunt. R. Mox contra dei praeceptum cibum uetitum comederunt, statim in se libidinem senserunt, et quia contra auctorem suum superbi erant, iusto iudicio contra illos superbire coepit caro illorum. Cumque corpus suum turpiter moueri conspicerent, sicut antea numquam eis contingerat, ideo ne turpes coram deo apparerent sibi genitalia texuerunt.

325 Gen 2.17

332 Gen 3.1 337 Gen 3.7 345 Lc 24.31, 35 348 Gen 3.21

325 cf. PS-AU q 32, 744A 332 cf. AU Gn li 11.28, 360–1; cf. PS-AU q 41, 747C; cf. AMst q 31, 58:14; cf. ALC q 62, 523A 337 cf. AU Gn li 11.31, 364–6; cf. PSAU q 34, 744D-745A; cf. ALC a 69, 523A 348 cf. AU Gn li 11.31, 364–366. 332 homines] om. N 335 quid loqueretur] om. M sicut et – 336 quid loquantur] om. R 339 tunc oculos] oculos tunc M 343 enim] om. A 347 cognoscerent] agnoscerent A 348 ut] om. C 349 cooperire] cooperisse RM 350 contra] ante A

268 355

360

365

370

375

380

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[73] Int. Mortale corpus, an inmortale primis hominibus creatum est? R. Sic a deo creati sunt ut possint si uellint semper uiuere, si tamen praecepta dei seruassent. Et si uoluissent eius uerba contemnere, possent utique mori. Nam quomodo non habebant mortale corpus, qui cibo sustentabantur et potu? Cibus enim illis uires prestabat, uitae autem arbor in modum medicinae corruptionem ab eis omnem prohibebat, ut ipsi custodientes se a peccato labore suo gauderent se esse inmortales. Neglegentes uero ipsi sibi inputarent et quia accepissent esse mortales. [74] Int. Quomodo factus est Adam ad similitudinem dei? R. Absit ut credamus quod secundum corpus homo ad dei similitudinem factus sit, quem incorporeum confitemur, sed in anima factus est ad similitudinem dei, quia sicut deus semper erat et deus semper est. Ita humana anima a deo creata semper manebit, uel quia deus sapientia est. Ad imaginem dei homo factus est, quia rationalis et non ut bruta animalia creatus est. [75] Int. Cum scribitur in Genesis, quod deus Adae et uxori eius tunicas pellicias fecerit, de cuius animalis pelle factae fuerunt? R. Non est impossibile deo, quomodocumque uoluit, pelles easdem facere potuisse, qui cuncta ex nihilo fecit. [76] Int. Ob quam causam sacrificium Abel susceptum est, Cain uero reprobatus? R. Quia Abel de grege suo potiora et meliora obtulit, Cain uero de fructibus terrae munera offerens, meliora suis usibus Gen 4.7 reseruauit, unde et ei dominus dixit, Si recte offeras, recte non diuidas, peccasti. [77] Int. Cum dominus ad Noe dixisset, Non permanebit spiritus meus in hominibus in aeternum, quia caro sunt, sed erunt dies eorum CXX anni, quomodo inuenimus postea homines multum plus uixisse, sicut Iacob qui, interrogatus a Pharaone, CXXX annos uitae suae habere respondit?

363 Gen 1.26 370 Gen 3.21 374 Gen 4.5 379 Gen 6.3 381 Gen 47.9 355 cf. AMst q 19, 45:23; cf. ALC q 6, 517C 363 cf. PS-AU q 18, 739A; JUL-T ant 4, 596–7; cf. AMst q 21, 47:27; AMst q 24, 51:14; AMst 45, 81:9; cf. ALC q 38–40, 530C 370 cf. AU Gn li 11.39, 373–4; cf. AU Gn man 21.32, 155:4; cf. ALC q 80, 524B 374 cf. AMst q 5, 26:12; cf. ALC q 15, 518B; cf. PS-AU q 47, 748B 379 Cum – 382 respondit] JUL-T ant 14, 691B; cf. AMst q 37 app. 421:10; cf. ALC q 97–98, 526 356 uellint] uelle M 362 imputarent] impotarent A esse] essent EM om. AQK 364 ut credamus quod] credamus ut quod AN 366 deus (semper)] om. RM 368 rationalis] racionalis A 373 potuisse] potuisset A 374 Abel] Habel A Cain] Chain A 378 dixit] dicit A 381 multum] multo RM 382 CXXX] centem triginta K uitae suae] uite se MR

Interrogationes

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R. Non hoc dominus ad Noe de uita hominum dixit, quod nemo CXX annos transcenderit, sed de illis dixerunt, Et erunt dies eorum CXX anni, qui diluuio perierunt. Centum uero annis hoc ante diluuium dictum est a domino, sed illi homines propter multam malitiam suam ad uiginti illos supra centum non peruenerunt. [78] Int. Si omnia bona deus fecit, et ualde bona, quid ipse dominus dicit ad Noe, De mundis et immundis induc tecum in arcam, cum inmundum bonum dici non possit? R. Inmunda dixit aliqua ad conparationem, id est, similitudinem pulcherrimarum rerum. Nam et plumbum cum bonum sit ad similitudinem auri inmundum est, et coruus ad similitudinem pauonis. Isto ergo modo aliqua inmunda appellata sunt. [79] Int. Si iudicium dei iustum est, quare infantes in Sodomis cum parentibus cremati sunt? R. Non iniuste, sed misericorditer, cum illis infantibus operatus est deus, ne diu uiuentes exempla sequerentur patrum, et in perpetuo incendio aequaliter cum illis cremarentur. [80] Int. Quare Ioseph adiurauit fratres suos ut ossa illius de Aegypto exeuntes secum portarent? R. Metuebat Ioseph ne corpus eius Aegyptii pro tantis beneficiis quibus illis inpenderat diuino cultu adorarent. Ideo petit fratres suos ut eius ossa exportarent. ITEM DE EXODO INTERROGATIONES [81] Int. Quare Moyses non aliud signum coram Pharaonem ostendit nisi serpentem? Proiecit namque in terra uirgam suam et uersa est in colubrum. Quare non uersa est in leonem aut ursum aut aliud animal?

389 Gen 7.8 400 Gen 50.24 406 Ex 7.10 388 AMst q 9, 33:3 391 cf. AMst q 9, 33:3 395 Si iudicium – 396 sunt] AMst q 13, 37:23 397 cf. AMst 13, 37:23–39:3; ALC q 183, 574A 400 cf. AMst q 25, 51:21 406 cf. AMst q 40, 423.1 383 ad Noe – dixit] dixisset ad nos KFAN 389 arcam] arca K bonum] om. RM 392 et] om.K 398 et in] et ne K ut ne N 404 exportarent] portarent R 405 ITEM – interrogationes] om. R DE EXODO INTERPRETATIO M ITEM DE EXODO AKNE 407 proiecit namque] namque proiecit K

270 410

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R. Ideo serpentem Moyses fieri uoluit, quod tardum animal est et terribile, ut timorem quidem incutere possit. Si leonem uero aut ursum aut huiuscemodi animalia fecisset, uix sine lesione adstantium fieri possit. [82] Int. Quid est quod dicit dominus, Ego indurabo cor pharaonis? Numquid dominus cor malorum indurat? R. Absit ut hoc credamus quod humana corda dominus induret, sed indurare dominus dicitur cum indurare permittit. Similiter et in oratione dominica dicimus, Ne nos inducas in temptationem, non quod nos dominus in temptationem inducat, sed cum nos propter mala nostra deserit, nos statim in temptationem introimus. Eodem modo uero et ab eo relicti induramus. Ergo in temptationem inducere dicitur, cum relinquens nos temptari permittit. [83] Int. Cum Moyses nihil loqueretur, quid est quod ei dominius dicit, Quid clamas ad me? R. Quamuis corpore taceret, mente clamabat et hunc clamorem dominus audiuit, unde in Psalmo dicitur, Desiderium cordis eorum audiuit auris tua. [84] Int. Cum scriptum sit in Exodo, quod Moyses omnes aquas Aegypti uertisset in sanguinem, quomodo inferius dicitur, Fecerunt autem et magi per incantationes? Similiter sicut Moyses omnem aquam Aegypti ante uertit, unde ergo magi illi aquam habuerunt ut similiter facerent? R. Lege diligenter Exodum et ibi inuenies, quia in terra Gessen, ubi filii Israel commanebant, aqua in sanguinem non est uersa. Inde ergo adduci potuit aqua quam magi in sanguinem uerterunt. [85] Int. Legimus in cantico Deuteronomii, Suxerunt mel de petra et oleum de firma petra. Vbi factum est istud? R. Hoc secundum historiam factum nusquam legitur, sed spiritaliter sic intellegitur factum. Suxerunt mel de petra, hoc est, de Christo, apostoli quando dulcedinem uerborum eius audierunt, sed quasi infirma petra. Tunc eis mel protulit, quia adhuc corpus dominicum infirmum erat propter futuram passionem. Oleum uero de firma petra suxerunt, quando iam

412 Ex 4.21 416 Mt 6.13, Lc 11.4 420 Ex 14.15 423 Ps 20.3 424 Ex 7.19 425 Ex 7.22 431 Dt 32.13 412 cf. AU loc Exod.4.7.10, 408:138; cf. AU Jo 14.12–14, 511:10 420 cf. CAr Ps 27.1, 243:21 431 cf. GR-M Ev 26.3, 220:67 409 serpentem Moyses] moyses serpentem AK quod tardum animal est] animal quid est tardum A 416 non quod nos dominus in temptationem] om. R in temptationem] om. M 417 statim] om. FK 418 introimus] inimus KFN 424 omnes aquas] omnem aquam KN 426 similiter sicut] om. si moyses AK 428 Gessen] Iessen M Gerser R 433 secundum historiam] de istoria N spiritaliter] psalliter AF aliter N

Interrogationes

440

445

450

455

460

465

271

resurgente domino et numquam morituro aduenientem super se in speciem ignis sanctum spiritum acceperunt. [86] Int. Quomodo in eodem libro Deuteronomii Moyses dixit filiis Israel, Temptauit uos dominus deus uester, et e contrario Iacob apostolus dicit, Deus intemptator malorum est. Ipse autem neminem temptat? R. Duae sunt temptationes: una quae decepit, altera quae probat. Secundum illam quae probat, dictum est, Temptat uos dominus deus noster. Secundum illam quae decepit, Iacobus dicit, Deus neminem temptat. [87] Int. Cum Ezechiel de uolumine quod ei dominus comedere iusserat, dixisset, Factum est in os meum sicut mel dulce, quomodo post de se loquitur, dicens, Abii amarus in indignatione spiritus mei? R. Volumen illud sancta scriptura intellegitur, quae primum dulcis est et post amara. Hoc modo quia cui sermo dei in ore cordis dulcescere coeperit, statim contra semetipsum animus amarescit, et de malis suis se incipit paenitere. [88] Int. Cum dominus Esaiae prophetae praecipiat dicens, Clama ne cesses, quomodo e contrario uidetur apostolus clamorem prohibens dicere, Ira et indignatio et clamor tollatur a uobis? R. Alius est clamor, qui de praedicatione uel postulatione, alius qui de ira descendit. Et ideo clamorem hunc qui de ira descendit apostolus prohibuit, non illum quod aut Esaias praedicare iubetur, aut contritorum corda ad dominum gemebundos clamores emittunt. [89] Int. Quomodo Amos propheta iniquisitus respondit, Non sum propheta, cum et prophetam eum nouerimus et uerba prophetiae illius teneamus? R. Eadem hora qua requisitus est prophetiae sibi spiritum deesse sensit et de semetipso testimonium ueraciter intulit dicens, Non sum propheta, qui tamen secutus adiunxit, Et nunc audite uerbum domini. Haec dicit dominus, Vxor tua in ciuitate fornicabitur et filii tui et filiae tuae in gladio cadent et humus tua funiculo metietur, et tu in terra polluta morieris. Quibus prophetae uerbis aperte ostenditur, quia dum de se illa loqueretur impletum est. Et mox habere prophetandi spiritum meruit, quia se prophetam non esse humiliter agnouit.

441 Dt 13.3 442 Iac 1.13 447 Ez 3.3 448 Ez 3.14 452 Is 58.1 453 Eph 4.31 459 Amos 7.14 463 Amos 7.17 440 Quomodo – 443 decepit] JUL-T ant 37, 614A 446 JUL-T ant 51, 618D 449 cf. GR-M Ez 1.10.44, 167:820 452 JUL-T ant 45, 616D-617A 459 JUL-T ant 60, 622D-3A; cf. GR-M Jb 2.56, 112:17 438 resurgente] refulgente M morituro] moriturum N 442 intemptator] temptator RM 453 dicere] dicens RME 457 contritorum] contritum K contriturum N 458 clamores] clamorem AKN 459 iniquisitus – 460 prophetam] om. R

272 470

475

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490

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500

Everett

[90] Int. Cum Zacharias dicat pro derisoribus Christi, Videbunt in quem pupugerunt, quomodo quasi e contrario de ipsis uidetur Esaias dixisset, Tollatur impius ut non uideat claritatem domini? R. Excaecatur impius ut aliquid uideat. Tollitur ut aliquid non uideat. Visurus est formam hominis, de qua dictum est, Sic ueniet. Non uisurus est formam dei, de qua dicitur, Ostendam me ipsum illi, quam non impii, sed soli iusti uidebunt, unde propter solam formam hominis, quae et a iustis et ab iniustis uisura est, dictum est, Videbunt in quem pupugerunt. Propter formam autem dei, quae a solis iustis uidebitur, dictum est, Tollatur impius, et reliqua. [91] Int. Cum dominus per Oseae propheta de reprobis regibus dicat, Ipsi regnauerunt et non ex me principes extiterunt, et non cognoui, quomodo e contrario Iob dicit, Qui regnare facit hypochritam propter peccata populi? Quis enim recte sentiens dicat, quia faciet dominus quem minime cognoscit? R. Scire dei adprobare est, nescire reprobare. Vnde et quibusdam quos reprobat dicens, Nescio uos unde sitis, et aliquando facere dei est, id quae fieri prohibet, irascendo permittere, unde et regis Aegypti cor se obdurare asseruit, quia uidelicet obdurari permisit. Miro modo hypocritas dominus et regnare facit et nescit, facit sinendo, nescit reprobando. [92] Int. Quomodo Esaias de Christo dicit, Generationem eius quis enarrabit, cum euangelista omnem Christi generationem denumerans inter cetera dicat, Christi autem generatio sic erat? R. Propheta de diuinitatis generatione praedixit, euangelista incarnationis mysterium sequens, generationem Christi secundum humanitatem exposuit. [93] Int. Cum Dauid in Psalmo quarto dicat, Irascimini et nolite peccare, quomodo Paulus in epistolis suis dicit, Deponite omnem iram et indignationem? R. Alia est ira qua zelo iustitiae commouemur, alia qua inrationabili motu efferimur. Non ergo illam apostolus quae de iustitia descendit, abscidere uoluit, praesertim cum idipsum testimonium de Psalmo in epistola ad Ephesios adsumpserit, dicens, Irascimini et nolite peccare, ac si dixisset, Sic irascimini ut a culpa abstineatis, sed omnem potius iram quae de irrationabili motu procedit, uoluit amputare. 469 Zach 12.10 471 Is 26.10 473 Act 1.11 474 Io 14.21 479 Os 8.4 481 Iob 34.30 484 Lc 13.25 488 Is 53.8 490 Mt 1.18 493 Ps 4.5 494 Col 3.8 499 Eph 4.26 469 JUL-T ant 61, 625B 479 JUL-T ant 59, 622C; cf. GR-M Jb 25.16.41, 1264:190 488 JUL-T ant 43, 616B 493 JUL-T ant 62, 625C 472 Excaecatur JUL-T] Excitatur KFRMNTQ Tollitur ut aliquid non uideat] om. R 476 Videbunt] uiderunt AFKN 481 hypochritam] hypocritam AKF ypocritum N 499 si] om K

Interrogationes

505

510

515

520

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[94] Int. Quid est quod scriptum est in Psalmo, Vt destruas inimicum et defensorem? R. Inimicus est Iudaeus negando filium, defensor confitendo patrem, uel certe inimicus et defensor est omnis hereticus qui fidem confitendo quam defendere nititur inpugnat. [95] Int. Quid est quod scribitur in Psalmo, Pluit super peccatores laqueos? Quis pluit uel quid laqueos intellegere debemus? R. Istos laqueos dominus pluit. Audi quomodo sancti prophetae uel apostoli nubes sunt, quia terrena dispiciunt, et per uitae meritum alta petunt. Per hos nobis dominus praedicationis pluuiam donat, ut terram cordis nostri germinare faciat. Sed dum heretici male eorum dicta intellegunt, eis procul dubio ea ipsa quae alios uiuificant laquei sunt. [96] Int. Quid est quod scriptum est in Psalmo, Dies diei eructat uerbum et nox nocti indicat scientiam? R. Dies diei uerbum eructat, id est, Christus apostolis. Et nox nocti scientia indicat, id est, Iudas de Iudaeis dicendo, Quemcumque osculatus fuero ipse est tenete eum. [97] Int. Quid est quod scriptum est, Virga tua et baculus tuus ipsa me consolata sunt? R. Per uirgam correptio diuina, per baculum sustentatio intellegitur. [98] Int. Quid est quod propheta exorat dominum, dicens, Vre renes meos et cor meum? R. Dum postulat uri renes suos et cor suum, luxuriam a se carnis et cogitationis per ardorem sancti spiritus orat abscidi. Hinc dominus in euangelio dicit, Ignem ueni mittere in terram, et quid uolo nisi ut ardeat Ignis enim spiritus sanctus intellegitur, qui terrenum cor quod tetigerit exurendo a uitiis purgat et ad amorem dei inflammat.

502 Ps 8.3 507 Ps 10.7 514 Ps 18.3 517 Mt 26.48 519 Ps 22.4 522 Ps 25.2 526 Lc 12.49 504 cf. AU Ps 8.3, 51:20; cf. CAr Ps.8.3, 90:79 507 cf. GR-M Jb 15.49, 783:25; cf. AU Ps 8.6, 51:21; cf. CAr Ps 8.3, 80:79 516 cf. EUCH inst, 72.23; cf. AU Ps 17.3, 95:4; cf. CAr Ps 18.3, 170:44 519 cf. EUCH inst, 91.4; AU Ps 22.4, 134:7; cf. CAr Ps 22.4, 212:109; GR-M Jb 20.5.14, 1012:97 522 cf. AU Ps 25.2, 140.5 504 defensor confitendo] defensor est confitendo A 505 confitendo] om. K 507 scribitur] scriptum est AKFN Pluit] pluet KFN 517 quemcumque] queacum K 518 eum] quem A 519 quid – scriptum est] om. AFKNP 522 Quid] quod A

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[99] Int. Quae est illa ebrietas de qua in Psalmo dicitur, Inebriabuntur ab ubertate domus tuae, et torrente deliciarum uoluntatis tuae potum dabis ei? R. Hoc loco propheta ebrietatem aeternam illam laetitiam appellat, quae ideo inebrietati adsimilatur, quia sicut ebrietas totum corpus occupat et nihil inebrio uacat. Ideo cum accepta fuerit illa ineffabilis laetitia, in illas delectationes tota mens rapietur humana, quas nec audire nec experire prius poterat. Bene etiam exultatio illa torrenti adsimilatur, quia torrentis modo, id est, fluminis inundantis electis abundantissime tribuetur. [100] Int. Quando factum est, aut ubi, quod in Psalmo dicitur, Transferentur montes in cor maris? R. Hoc spiritaliter debes intellegere. Montes namque apostoli sunt, altitudine meritorum exaltati, mare gentiles populi hoc loco intelleguntur. Tunc enim montes in cor maris translati sunt, quando apostoli a Iudaeis ad gentilem populum instruendum a domino missi sunt. [101] Int. Quid est quod scriptum est in Psalmo, Aduocabit caelum desursum et terram discernere populum suum? Quomodo possunt caeli uel terra sursum aduocari? Numquid altius aliquando ascendunt? R. Caeli hoc loco animae iustorum intelleguntur, terra uero corpora. Tunc dominus caelum et terra sursum aduocauit, cum in mundi finem sancti uiri resurgentes cum corporibus suis Christo in aere obuiam ibunt. Tunc etiam populum suum qui numquam reprobis permixtum est, ab iniquis per iudicium discernit. [102] Int. Cum in sexagesimo primo Psalmo loquatur propheta, dicens, Semel locutus est deus, quomodo quasi e contra uidetur subiungere, Duo haec audiui, praesertim cum et Paulus apostolus ad Hebreos scribat, Multifariam multisque modis olim deus locutus est patribus in prophetis?

529 Ps 35.14 537 Ps 45.3 543 Ps 49.4 551–3 Ps 61.12 554 Heb 1.1 529 cf. AU Ps 35.4, 334:4; cf. ALC q 266, 556A-B 533 ineffabilis laetitia AU Ps 35.14, 333:16 537 cf. CAr Ps 45.3, 416:46; cf. GR-M Jb 9.6, 459:10; cf. GR-M Jb 18.31, 918:18; cf. AU Ps 45.3, 521:18 543 cf. CAr Ps 49.4, 443:115 546 cf. GR-M Jb 15.31, 772:32 551 Cum – 557 uerbo] JUL-T ant 78, 630; cf. EUCH inst, 93.21 529 Int. 99 – fin. Int. 101 discernit] om. AKFPTQ 530 et torrente] torrentes et torrentem M 544 possunt] sunt M 548 suis] om. M aere] aera M 549 numquam] nunc cum M 551 loquatur] loquitur AK 552 deus – 553 audiui] deus duo haec audiui quomodo– subiungere duo haec audiui AFKNPTQ

Interrogationes 555

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R. Sciendum quia inter homines saepe multis modis multis patribus per multiformam creaturam locutus est deus. Apud se semel locutus est deus, quia unum uerbum genuit deus in illo uerbo.

555 inter homines] inter homines hominibus JUL-T ant 78 in homines omnibus AKP quia homines omnibus N 557 deus in illo uerbo] om. P in illo verbo] om. FNTQ quia-uerbo] om. K

Reviews RAINER BERNDT, ed. Schrift, Schreiber, Schenker: Studien zur Abtei Sankt Viktor in Paris und den Victorinern. Corpus Victorinum, Volume 1: Instrumenta. Berlin: Akademie Verlag, 2005. Pp. 394. Schrift, Schreiber, Schenker: Studien zur Abtei Sankt Viktor in Paris und den Victorinern represents the inaugural volume of the ambitious Corpus Victorinum, a series of studies of authors, works, and manuscripts associated with the Abbey of St. Victor and editions of the relevant texts, under the direction of the Hugo von Sankt Viktor Institut in Frankfurt am Main. The Corpus is intended to consist of four series: Textus historici, Opera ad fidem codicum recollecta, German translations of the works of the Victorines, and the Instrumenta, presenting original research on the Victorine masters, their works, and influence. Rainer Berndt’s introduction to this volume is an apologia for the Corpus, explaining the division of labour (the four series), the decision to work as a team, and, especially, the editorial decisions of the Institut. The documentary evidence of life and thought at the Parisian abbey is enormous, and the labour involved in examining, collating, and editing the manuscripts involved is of monumental proportions. Thus, the Corpus will not only represent the work of a team, but it will also incorporate the TUSTEP (Tübingen System of Text Processing Programs) software developed at the University of Tübingen for processing the data provided by manuscript witnesses. In addition to traditional critical editions of the works associated with the abbey, the Corpus intends to publish historical editions of certain texts where the manuscript evidence makes this possible. Of the works of Hugh of St. Victor, there exist almost a thousand manuscripts from the twelfth century alone. Of these, a handful allow for the reconstruction of the editio princeps made by the abbot Gilduin (†1155) shortly after the death of Hugh in 1141. The Gilduin-edition is no longer preserved in any extant manuscript. However, the fifteenth-century manuscript, Oxford, Merton 277

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College, MS 49, preserves a list of the contents of the four volumes of Gilduin’s edition. A comparison of this table of contents – the so-called Indiculum – with four twelfth-century manuscripts reveals that, although quires have been rearranged, these manuscripts witness the edition made by the Parisian abbot. It has long been understood that the Indiculum is an indispensable tool for answering the question of the authenticity of certain works attributed to Hugh. However, the Corpus Victorinum will also consider the reconstructed Gilduin-edition, a critical witness of the state of the works within the lifetime of Hugh, and the historical edition of the works of this Victorine master will be based upon this editio princeps. In two articles under the heading “Die Abtei,” Matthias M. Tischler discusses the contents of the abbey library in the twelfth and thirteenth centuries, concentrating on its biblical holdings. “Die Auftraggeber, Vorbesitzer und Schenker der Bibeln von Saint-Victor” examines the older necrologies of St. Victor, which contain the details of donations to the library. The survey reveals the social origin and religious status of benefactors, the conditions under which donations were made, the size of donations, and the compensation rendered for donations of different sizes. A large proportion of benefactors to the abbey were canons or masters who retired to St. Victor, and whose donations assured them prayers after their deaths. A few names stand out as notable exceptions, including the queen of France, Blanca of Castile (1188–1252), whose donation to the abbey is preserved in Paris, Bibliothèque nationale de France, MS lat. 14397. In all, Tischler is able to identify sixteen extant bible manuscripts with entries in the necrologies. Tischler’s second article, “Die glossierten Bibeln von SaintVictor,” is simply a handlist of manuscripts of glossed bibles, which were once housed in the abbey library. The list, according to Tischler, provides evidence that the canons of St. Victor were attempting to assemble a complete glossed bible as early as the twelfth or thirteenth century. The rest of the articles contained in this volume are placed under the heading “Die Victoriner.” Constant J. Mews begins this section with an article on “Logica in the Service of Philosophy: William of Champeaux and his Influence.” Mews’s article discusses William’s relationship to his near contemporaries, including Manegold of Lautenbach, Peter Abelard, and John of Salisbury. Mews suggests that certain of William’s teachings on logic – for example, that the science encompasses the disciplines of grammar and rhetoric as well as dialectic – argue in favour of William’s authorship of two commentaries on Cicero’s De inventione (In primis) and Rhetorica ad Herennium (Etsi cum Tullius), as well as certain Glosule on Priscian Minor.

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Following Mews, Ralf M.W. Stammberger presents two articles on the textual tradition and influence of the works of Hugh of St. Victor – “Die Edition der Werke Hugos von Sankt Viktor (†1141) durch Abt Gilduin von Sankt Viktor (†1155) – Eine Rekonstruction” and “The Works of Hugh of St. Victor at Admont, A Glance at an Intellectual Landscape in the Twelfth Century.” The first of these is doubtless the most important contribution of this volume, showing precisely how the editio princeps of Gilduin may be reconstructed from four twelfth-century manuscripts. Although the order of the works has been rearranged in these manuscripts, they preserve the same groupings as indicated by the Indiculum. It is precisely this reconstruction of the Gilduin-edition that will form the basis of the historical edition of the works of Hugh, which the Institut intends to publish in its series Textus historici. Stammberger’s second article examines the twelfth-century manuscripts of the works of Hugh at the abbey of Admont and the religious houses affiliated with it. Six of the nine extant manuscripts of the works of Hugh, which come from Admont, are datable to the twelfth century, and are thus invaluable for the textual criticism of the works of the Victorine master. In the case of at least one text, the De scripturis, the Admont manuscripts reveal a recension distinct from – and perhaps earlier than – that represented by the manuscripts of the Gilduin-edition. The antiquity of such a witness reveals the importance of Admont both for the textual criticism of the works of Hugh and as a theological centre in the twelfth century. Julian Harrison’s “Hugh of Saint-Victor’s Chronicle in the British Isles” re-examines the question of Hugh’s influence in England and Scotland. The presence of six manuscripts of Hugh’s Chronicle (De tribus maximis circumstantiis gestorum) in the British Library, all of English origin, suggests an influence in the British Isles, which has up to now been considered virtually non-existent. The volume ends with an article by Greti Dinkova-Bruun on “Leonius of Paris and his Liber Ruth.” Leonius (d. ca. 1021) versified the whole of the Octateuch in twelve books (Historie ueteris testamenti). Leonius’s versification of the Old Testament is not the only, nor the first of its kind (Dinkova-Bruun mentions those of Peter of Riga and Alexander of Ashby). Nevertheless, the Historie ueteris testamenti distinguishes itself from the others both by his division into twelve books (rather than the traditional eight, following the natural division of the Octateuch) as well as his choice of metre (the classical hexameter rather than the elegiac couplets preferred in the twelfth and thirteenth centuries). Dinkova-Bruun describes the eight © JMLat 16 (2006)

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extant manuscripts of the Historie, and the article is followed by an edition of the Liber Ruth, the last part of book twelve of the Historie. The volume suffers from a few minor problems. First, certain articles (especially that of Mews) have been very poorly copy-edited, presenting orthographic, grammatical, and syntactical errors as well as incorrect punctuation. Second, Berndt’s apology for the Gilduin-edition fails to discuss the medieval readership of this editio princeps, which readership would give relevance to a historical edition. Nevertheless, Schrift, Schreiber, Schenker presents formidable research, and the volumes which follow should be eagerly anticipated. Timothy Budde, University of Toronto SUSAN BOYNTON. Shaping a Monastic Identity: Liturgy and History at the Imperial Abbey of Farfa, 1000–1125. Conjunctions of Religion and Power in the Medieval Past. Ithaca: Cornell University Press, 2006. Pp. 289, 10 plates and many figures. I would venture to guess that the great majority of medieval donors to monasteries made their gifts pro anima sua, for the salvation of their souls. Men and women gave their land, their goods, and sometimes even their children to these great religious corporations, at least in part, because they believed the prayers of monks and nuns helped cleanse them of their sins and allowed them entrance into heaven. But the great majority of scholars have ignored this fundamental fact that helps to explain the existence and popularity of monasticism. Liturgists trace the labyrinthine ways in which prayers, rituals, and other texts changed and evolved over time; art historians examine the crafts, architecture, and art that monasteries produced; musicologists analyse changing styles in composition; and historians seek to understand how monasteries functioned politically, socially, and economically. In her excellent new book on the great central Italian monastery of Farfa, Susan Boynton offers a corrective by foregrounding the centrality of liturgy in monastic life. She tells us that her central argument will be that the various kinds of identity at Farfa can be understood most fully “only by taking into consideration the centrality of liturgical performance” (p. 3). For Boynton, monastic liturgy was both the foundation of an institution’s identity and the site of ongoing negotiations over the meaning of that identity.

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extant manuscripts of the Historie, and the article is followed by an edition of the Liber Ruth, the last part of book twelve of the Historie. The volume suffers from a few minor problems. First, certain articles (especially that of Mews) have been very poorly copy-edited, presenting orthographic, grammatical, and syntactical errors as well as incorrect punctuation. Second, Berndt’s apology for the Gilduin-edition fails to discuss the medieval readership of this editio princeps, which readership would give relevance to a historical edition. Nevertheless, Schrift, Schreiber, Schenker presents formidable research, and the volumes which follow should be eagerly anticipated. Timothy Budde, University of Toronto SUSAN BOYNTON. Shaping a Monastic Identity: Liturgy and History at the Imperial Abbey of Farfa, 1000–1125. Conjunctions of Religion and Power in the Medieval Past. Ithaca: Cornell University Press, 2006. Pp. 289, 10 plates and many figures. I would venture to guess that the great majority of medieval donors to monasteries made their gifts pro anima sua, for the salvation of their souls. Men and women gave their land, their goods, and sometimes even their children to these great religious corporations, at least in part, because they believed the prayers of monks and nuns helped cleanse them of their sins and allowed them entrance into heaven. But the great majority of scholars have ignored this fundamental fact that helps to explain the existence and popularity of monasticism. Liturgists trace the labyrinthine ways in which prayers, rituals, and other texts changed and evolved over time; art historians examine the crafts, architecture, and art that monasteries produced; musicologists analyse changing styles in composition; and historians seek to understand how monasteries functioned politically, socially, and economically. In her excellent new book on the great central Italian monastery of Farfa, Susan Boynton offers a corrective by foregrounding the centrality of liturgy in monastic life. She tells us that her central argument will be that the various kinds of identity at Farfa can be understood most fully “only by taking into consideration the centrality of liturgical performance” (p. 3). For Boynton, monastic liturgy was both the foundation of an institution’s identity and the site of ongoing negotiations over the meaning of that identity.

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After a short introduction that outlines her thesis and sketches the history of Farfa in the eleventh and twelfth centuries, the first chapter is centred on Gregory of Catino, Farfa’s prolific chronicler and the compiler of its cartulary. While acknowledging that Gregory, in editing the “archival memory” of his abbey, is part of a broader trend examined by both Patrick Geary and Mary Carruthers, Boynton claims that Gregory’s role as editor, compiler, and scribe gave his historical judgements an unusual kind of authority in shaping the corporate understanding of Farfa’s past and present. But most surprising is Boynton’s linking of Gregory’s historical method of mixing sources and interpretation with some musical compositions written around the same time. Just as Gregory based his new historical interpretations on older texts, so too Farfa composers recast existing texts into new forms to commemorate saints. Her analysis of one of these pieces – a hymn to Benedict of Nursia – is a tour de force of textual and musical analysis. For Boynton, the rewriting of pre-existing materials in new forms, whether it be legal documents, historical writing, or liturgical texts, leads to new kinds of meanings, and becomes a characteristic of Farfa in this period. The second chapter is a broad-ranging examination of the monastic liturgies at Farfa. Boynton begins by examining the exegetical nature of monastic liturgical readings, especially in the office of Matins. There, the synergy between readings drawn from the Bible and the Fathers allowed the monks to create new meanings and associations from the convergence and juxtaposition of different kinds of texts. Boynton explores the performative aspects of chanting the psalms as well, arguing that the singer gained an intimate spiritual identification with the authors of the various psalms. Finally, she problematizes the whole notion of private prayer in high medieval monasteries, noting how the Farfa manuscripts of the libelli precum do not make such a distinction. Her examination of an unusual prayer to Mary in Rome, Biblioteca nazionale, Farfa 4, offers a brilliant analysis both of its context and its language. Chapter 3 analyses the relationship between Farfa and Cluny. Although Farfa was not officially part of the ecclesia Cluniacensis, the two monasteries had a bond based on the reform of Hugh of Farfa, who became abbot in 997. After discussing the problematic notion of what exactly “Cluniac” means, Boynton takes a fairly fundamentalist or literalist approach, one that makes great sense given the limited evidence that is available. The Liber tramitis, one of the earliest texts transmitting Cluniac consuetudines, was written at Farfa in the mid-eleventh century, but scholars now hold that its use in understanding Farfa is very limited. Boynton urges a © JMLat 16 (2006)

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reconsideration of this idea, noting that the Liber tramitis was copied, used, annotated, and maintained at Farfa for centuries, and that it must have been seen by Farfa monks as having some relevance to their own lives and liturgy. Boynton illustrates how the “Cluniac” rituals described in the Liber tramitis took on new and different meanings when performed at Farfa. Likewise, chapter 4 examines the influence of lay donors at the monastery. Her analysis of the impact of Farfa’s imperial patrons, especially as it manifested itself in manuscript illumination, highlights Boynton’s careful and sensitive ability to read texts of all sorts. Her comparison of the Farfa evangelistary from Madrid (Biblioteca nacional, Vitr. 20–6) with the near contemporary Bernulphus Gospels from Reichenau is another exemplary piece of analysis. While a quick glance might indicate that the Farfa artists simply copied from the northern exemplar, Boynton looks beyond the obvious similarities and finds a whole slew of differences, and she concludes that the while the iconography in the Madrid manuscript is clearly drawn from imperial sources, Farfa’s appropriation of it involved a complex italianization of the original source, transforming it into something that is significantly different from the original. The fifth and final chapter returns again to Farfa’s liturgy. The first part of the chapter examines some newly-composed proper hymns for saints. Boynton places these compositions in the context of several ongoing disputes over the possessions of the relics of the saints so honoured. More interesting perhaps is her analysis of the connection between singing these new hymns and monastic education. She argues that the Farfa hymns were an excellent means for teaching, and their authors clearly saw them as didactic tools. To follow the narratives embodied in these hymns, monks had to parse the various metres in which the hymns were written: in other words, in the course of learning, memorizing, and performing new hymns, Farfa monks would also come to learn basic metrical patterns of Latin verse. Thus, Boynton tells us, the hymns taught grammar, prosody, and language even as they taught virtuous behaviour, theology, and history. The book ends with the story of the sad fate of Farfa, having lost its imperial protectors and patrons after the Concordat of Worms in 1122. Gregory of Catino laments that the monks who came to the abbey brought with them proud and irreligious behaviour most clearly seen in their new liturgy, for instead of the old traditional chants that he equates with humility and sincerity, they sang novel ditties and foreign songs (nenias extraneasque cantilenas). For Gregory, this new liturgy is indicative of the general decadence that the

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abbey underwent without the aid and support of its traditional patron, the Holy Roman Emperor. Cornell University Press is to be commended for its excellent production of the book. The series of plates that illustrate among other things the comparisons between the Farfa evangelistary and the Bernulphus Gospels are beautifully reproduced, the figures that illustrate both neumed manuscripts and Boynton’s translation of them onto the modern staff are clear and precise, and the proof-reading is excellent: I noticed only two errors. I am afraid that this review cannot do justice to the complexity of Boynton’s analysis, but with her close attention to manuscripts, her formidable grasp of the political and social context, and her sensitive reading of the sources, whether drawn from theology, music, art, or the liturgy, Boynton clearly points the way towards a new style of monastic history. One hopes others will follow the path she has so well indicated. M.A. Claussen, University of San Francisco JEAN-FRANÇOIS COTTIER. Anima mea: Prières privées et textes de dévotion du Moyen Âge latin. Autour des Prières ou Méditations attribuées à saint Anselme de Cantorbéry (XIe–XIIe siècle). Recherches sur les rhétoriques religieuses 3. Turnhout: Brepols, 2001. Pp. clxx + 326. Almost inevitably, given its purpose, this is an edition haunted by ghosts. The most obvious ghost is, of course, Anselm of Canterbury (d. 1109), whose elegant yet shattering meditations and prayers helped to popularize the older Carolingian and Benedictine tradition of confessional, psalmodic prayer, thereby making way, in Sir Richard Southern’s famous formulation, for a veritable revolution in Latin Christian devotion. Far less obvious, and yet no less present are the scholarly ghosts, such as Southern, who would cast Anselm as the main character in the history of high and late medieval affective, introspective, imitative prayer. Not coincidentally, Southern’s privileging of Anselm has itself produced its own fair share of ghosts, including Anselm’s older contemporaries John of Fécamp (d. 1078) and Maurilius of Rouen (d. 1067) and his own twelfth-century imitators such as Ralph the Monk, all of whom contributed to the corpus of prayers that would later be subsumed under Anselm’s name and (in Ralph’s case, most notably) whose meditations and prayers, among others, Cottier has critically edited for the first time. Nevertheless, for an editor, it is the ghosts of other editors who are the most difficult to exorcise, and here, admittedly, Cottier © JMLat 16 (2006)

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abbey underwent without the aid and support of its traditional patron, the Holy Roman Emperor. Cornell University Press is to be commended for its excellent production of the book. The series of plates that illustrate among other things the comparisons between the Farfa evangelistary and the Bernulphus Gospels are beautifully reproduced, the figures that illustrate both neumed manuscripts and Boynton’s translation of them onto the modern staff are clear and precise, and the proof-reading is excellent: I noticed only two errors. I am afraid that this review cannot do justice to the complexity of Boynton’s analysis, but with her close attention to manuscripts, her formidable grasp of the political and social context, and her sensitive reading of the sources, whether drawn from theology, music, art, or the liturgy, Boynton clearly points the way towards a new style of monastic history. One hopes others will follow the path she has so well indicated. M.A. Claussen, University of San Francisco JEAN-FRANÇOIS COTTIER. Anima mea: Prières privées et textes de dévotion du Moyen Âge latin. Autour des Prières ou Méditations attribuées à saint Anselme de Cantorbéry (XIe–XIIe siècle). Recherches sur les rhétoriques religieuses 3. Turnhout: Brepols, 2001. Pp. clxx + 326. Almost inevitably, given its purpose, this is an edition haunted by ghosts. The most obvious ghost is, of course, Anselm of Canterbury (d. 1109), whose elegant yet shattering meditations and prayers helped to popularize the older Carolingian and Benedictine tradition of confessional, psalmodic prayer, thereby making way, in Sir Richard Southern’s famous formulation, for a veritable revolution in Latin Christian devotion. Far less obvious, and yet no less present are the scholarly ghosts, such as Southern, who would cast Anselm as the main character in the history of high and late medieval affective, introspective, imitative prayer. Not coincidentally, Southern’s privileging of Anselm has itself produced its own fair share of ghosts, including Anselm’s older contemporaries John of Fécamp (d. 1078) and Maurilius of Rouen (d. 1067) and his own twelfth-century imitators such as Ralph the Monk, all of whom contributed to the corpus of prayers that would later be subsumed under Anselm’s name and (in Ralph’s case, most notably) whose meditations and prayers, among others, Cottier has critically edited for the first time. Nevertheless, for an editor, it is the ghosts of other editors who are the most difficult to exorcise, and here, admittedly, Cottier © JMLat 16 (2006)

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confesses himself to be standing on the shoulders of giants: the Maurist Gabriel Gerberon, whose 1675 edition of twenty-one meditations and seventy-five prayers would, in its revised version of 1721, be published by J.-P. Migne in volume 158 of his Patrologia latina among the works of St. Anselm; Dom André Wilmart, whose work with the manuscripts over the course of the 1920s enabled him to determine that only three of Gerberon’s meditations and nineteen of the prayers were genuinely Anselm’s, by-the-by offering critical editions of certain pseudo-Anselmian texts neglected by Gerberon as well as supplying the basis for F.S. Schmitt’s critical edition of Anselm’s authentic texts; and, most recently, Thomas H. Bestul, whose work with the Anglo-Saxon and post-Conquest English manuscripts, particularly his edition of London, Society of Antiquaries 7 (A Durham Book of Devotions, Toronto Medieval Latin Texts 18 [Toronto, 1987]), has gone the farthest in situating Anselm’s compositions and their reception in their insular and continental milieux. For his part, following a lengthy introduction distilling Southern’s, Wilmart’s and Bestul’s findings (among those of others) about the composition and importance of Anselm’s meditations and prayers within the rhetorical history of so-called “private” devotion, Cottier has edited and translated five meditations and twenty-eight prayers that were copied along with Anselm’s in manuscripts datable to the late eleventh or twelfth centuries. All five of the meditations and seven of the prayers appear in a single manuscript (Oxford, Bodleian Library, MS Laud. Misc. 363; saec. XI/XII) along with various other devotional and theological texts as the work of Rodulfus monachus (Ralph the Monk, otherwise not yet clearly identified, although Southern suggested Ralph, abbot of Battle). Two manuscripts issuing from Saint-Albans (Verdun, Bibliothèque municipale MS 70, ca. 1123; and Oxford, Bodleian Library, Auct. D. 2. 6, ca. 1150, “the Littlemore Anselm”) incorporated these meditations and prayers with Anselm’s without distinguishing Ralph as author. A parallel tradition of texts apparently issuing from Canterbury and circulating among the monasteries of northern France likewise included Ralph’s works along with Anselm’s, typically among other pieces as well. By the end of the twelfth century, as Cottier has meticulously shown, it was usual to find Anselm’s name attached to Ralph’s meditations and prayers or, more accurately, Ralph’s meditations and prayers included among Anselm’s without attribution. Five additional prayers (Cottier’s PsOr 8–12) likewise began to cluster round these Anselmian-Rodulfan collections during the course of the century (see Table 1, p. xcvi), with the final sixteen prayers of Cottier’s

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edition appearing sometimes with Anselm’s and Ralph’s (as, for example, in Oxford, Bodleian Library, MS Laud. Misc. 508, end of the twelfth century), at other times simply with Anselm’s (as, for example, in London, Society of Antiquaries 7, ca. 1125) (see Table 2, pp. c–ci). Significantly, a number of these additional prayers pre-dates not only Ralph’s compositions, but, likewise, Anselm’s. One of the most rhetorically and theologically challenging, Domine Deus meus, da cordi meo te desiderare (Cottier PsOr 13), appears along with a number of other meditations and prayers in a late eleventh-century manuscript of John of Fécamp’s works (Metz, Bibliothèque municipale MS 245, after 1064). Another, Deus inaestimabilis misericordiae (Cottier PsOr 14), is a work of the Carolingian abbot Alcuin of York (d. 804). Both of these latter texts appear in London, Society of Antiquaries 7, alongside Summe sacerdos et uere Pontifex (Cottier PsOr 8), a prayer of John of Fécamp’s that was to be included in the Roman Missal, and Singularis meriti sola sine exemplo (Cottier PsOr 9), Maurilius of Rouen’s magnificent reworking of the Carolingian prayer from which it takes its incipit. On occasion, because of faulty breaks, a page translation does not correspond to the facing Latin page, making it hard to follow the translation word for word; the annotation – other than for scriptural citations – is relatively spare. Nevertheless, Cottier’s transcriptions of the Latin texts and their translations into French are clear and readable, with a page layout that gives ample space for note-taking and reflection. The question is what we can learn about the “Anselmian revolution” in private devotion from the texts selected for editing according to the explicit criteria given above, i.e. authored by Ralph and/or appearing in at least one late eleventh- or twelfthcentury manuscript along with Anselm’s genuine prayers. Unlike Bestul, who chose to offer a diplomatic edition of a single collection of texts as it appeared in a particular manuscript, Cottier decided to offer a critical edition of a collection of meditations and prayers no twelfth-century reader would have encountered in any single book (p. cxxxvii). Indeed, no one of Cottier’s pseudo-Anselmian texts appears in all of the manuscripts Cottier catalogued for his edition (seventeen altogether, out of some eighty or so twelfthcentury exemplars in the Anselmian tradition [p. cxxxvii, n. 3]), and no one of these seventeen manuscripts contains all of the Rodulfan and other pseudo-Anselmian texts edited here. Despite the inclusion of two texts edited originally by Wilmart (PsOr 10 and 18), the guiding influence here is unmistakably Gerberon’s (see Table: Prières apocryphes des XIe et XIIe siècles, pp. cxxii–cxxiii). © JMLat 16 (2006)

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So, for example, whereas London, Society of Antiquaries 7 contains six of Gerberon’s pseudo-Anselmian, non-Rodulfan prayers (respectively, Cottier PsO 13, 14, 16, 9, 17 and 15) along with two of Anselm’s own meditations and sixteen of his prayers, it also contains some fifteen other pieces (meditations, prayers, and hymns), at least four of which likewise appear in other twelfth-century Anselmian anthologies (for contents of this manuscript, see Bestul, Durham Book, pp. 6–10). Similar patterns of inclusion and exclusion appear in other manuscripts consulted by Cottier: Oxford, Bodleian Library, MS Laud. Misc. 508 contains not only ten of Anselm’s prayers, six of Ralph’s, and six of the prayers edited by Cottier (PsO 20, 13, 8, 15 and 11), but also seven of the pieces found in London, Society of Antiquaries 7 not included by Gerberon among the pseudoAnselmian apocrypha (Bestul, Durham Book, nos. 4, 5a, 7, 33a–c, and 34). One of these latter pieces (Bestul, Durham Book, no. 7, the hymn Iuste iudex Iesu Christe now attributed to Berengar of Tours) also appears in Paris, Bibliothèque Nationale de France, MS lat. 2882, a northern French collection of the late twelfth century, along with an Office for St. Thomas of Canterbury, Anselm’s Monologion, Proslogion and the complete collection of his meditations and prayers, four of Ralph’s prayers and four other prayers edited by Cottier (PsO 18, 9, 17 and 15). These eight pseudoAnselmian texts, according to Cottier’s description of the Paris manuscript, are simply a few of the pieces making up a “vaste collection de prières privées où s’entremêlent hymnes, litanies et prières” (p. cl). By what criterion do some of these pieces merit inclusion among the pseudoAnselmian apocrypha of the twelfth century and not others, for example, Iuste iudex Iesu Christe? (Cottier PsO 11 and 12 are also hymns, so we may rule out genre, at least, as one.) The answer is that Gerberon is not the only ghost guiding the selection of texts here. Rather, as Cottier’s own discussion of the post-twelfth-century history of the Anselmian apocrypha makes clear (pp. cxi–cxiii, cxvii–cxix), Gerberon himself was drawing on the work of previous editors, most immediately, the 1630 Lyon edition of Anselm’s works by the Jesuit Théophile Raynaud. Raynaud, in his turn, had recourse to two principal sources: one, a collection of texts (Lyon, Bibliothèque municipale, MS 456) transcribed for him by Leo Allatius, the scrittore of the Vatican library, drawing ultimately on a compilation made in the fifteenth century by the Augustinians of Rebdorf in Bavaria; the other, a collection supplied by the Jesuits in Vienne, itself the representative of a complex tradition going back to the early decades of the fourteenth century, more particularly, to the

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Benedictine community at Canterbury. Here, at long last, is the overarching ghost of the story: it is this collection, preserved in such manuscripts as Lyon B.M. 622, copied at Paris in the time of Charles V (1338–1380), on which the pre-Wilmartian attribution of certain texts and not others as the work of Anselm – and so likewise Cottier’s criterion of inclusion in his edition – ultimately depends. (For manuscripts in this tradition, see pp. cxii–cxiii, nn. 242 and 247). In his own review of Cottier’s edition (English Historical Review 119 [2004]: 499–500), Bestul has rightly praised Cottier for making available at least some of the works that circulated with Anselm’s over the course of the twelfth century. The paradox is that, by relying on the list of texts made in the fourteenth century for determining which twelfth-century texts to edit and which to exclude, what Cottier’s technically exemplary critical edition has given us is not so much an image of the devotional world in which Anselm’s works originally circulated, but rather a retrospective impression of what it should have been from the viewpoint of the fourteenth-century Canterbury monks. Ironically, had Cottier offered, for example, simply a diplomatic edition of one of the fourteenth-century manuscripts, such as Lyon Bibliothèque municipale 622, the consequent collection would have included many more of the eleventh- and twelfth-century texts that participated in the great devotional revolution of which Anselm’s prayers and meditations were so central a part and which, by way of manuscripts like Lyon B.M. 622, were to be attributed to Anselm for the better part of six hundred years: John of Fécamp’s scintillating prayers to Christ as the bridegroom (Gerberon-Migne O 16–19); Aelred of Rievaulx’s (d. 1167) meditations on the earthly life and future glory of God (Gerberon-Migne M 15–17); Ekbert of Schönau’s (d. 1184) meditations on the humanity and divinity of Christ (Gerberon-Migne M 9 and 13), to name only those pieces whose authors have since been restored to their texts. Arguably, every revolution is productive of ghosts, or, rather, it is the ghosts that, in retrospect, signal that there is something for us to see. As with Gerberon’s, so now also with Cottier’s edition of the (pseudo-)Anselmian prayers, we need to be aware that the ghosts have their own stories to tell and so may tell others only in part. Rachel Fulton, The University of Chicago

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LOUIS FAIVRE D’ARCIER. Histoire et géographie d’un mythe: la circulation des manuscrits du De excidio Troiae de Darès le Phrygien (VIIIe–XVe siècles). Paris: École des Chartes, 2006. Pp. 539. At the end of Troilus and Criseyde, Chaucer advises anyone curious about his hero’s “worthy dedes” and ultimate fate to “Reed Dares, he can telle hem alle y-fore.” Reasonable advice, because Dares’s De excidio Troiae graphically recounts the desperate Troilus’s bloody aristeia and undignified death – “Dum acriter praeliatur, equus Troili saucius corruit, Troilum implicitum excutit. Eum Achilles cito adveniens occidit.” However, Chaucer’s comment makes two assumptions: that Dares’s narrative gives a true record of real events, and that it will be readily accessible in a textus receptus. Neither assumption is valid. The sixth-century De excidio Troiae, a six-thousand-word prose history of Troy from the reign of Laomedon to the flight of Aeneas, was purportedly Cornelius Nepos’s Latin translation of a Greek original written by Dares, a Trojan ally and eye-witness to the fall of the city. By the early sixteenhundreds this unlikely provenance was under attack. In 1618 a Dutch commentator was dismissive – “In enarratione totius historia (sic) fere ubique diversus abit ab omni antiquitate, pauce (sic) similia vero de suo adstruit, absurda.” But it was the impeccably learned Anne Dacier, in her annotations to the “Dauphin” edition of 1680, who first demonstrated conclusively that De excidio Troiae was not a contemporary pro-Trojan corrective to the pro-Greek Homer, who anyway lived generations after the event. Rather, it was a grab-bag of those myths and romances which by late antiquity had congealed around the Homeric legends and attributed to an imaginary “Dares” – the name appears in both Homer and Vergil. (Much the same was true of Dictys of Crete’s De historia belli Troiani, regularly paired with Dares’s text. This was a fourth-century compendium masquerading as the product of a soldier in Agamemnon’s army.) Chaucer’s second assumption went unchallenged for a longer time. Medieval readers would have turned to a number of texts said to be by Dares but different from what might be called the “authoritative forgery” of De excidio Troiae. Guido della Colonne, author of Historia destructionis Troiae written at the end of the thirteenth-century, thought that Benoît de Sainte Maure’s massive Roman de Troie was the work of Dares (with snippets of Dictys editorially inserted). John Lydgate’s fifteenth-century epic Troy Book appeared in early catalogues as “Dares Phrygius History of the Warres between the Grecians and the Trojans.” Wrongly attributed to Dares were

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the versified De excidio Troiae Daretis Phrygii (edited by Marcello Godi, 1967) and Joseph of Exeter’s twelfth-century Daretis Phrygii Ilias (edited by Francine Mora et al., 2003 and recently translated in verse by A.G. Rigg [http://www.chass.utoronto.ca/medieval]). As D’Arcier observes in this magisterial survey of Dares’s text in medieval libraries, “une ‘Historia Daretis’ peut être tout autre chose que le De excidio Troiae.” And as he demonstrates in convincing detail, the existing manuscripts of that work itself vary significantly. Advice to “Reed Dares” might well prompt the question, “Which Dares?” The complexity of the manuscript record makes the definition of a single, generally accepted text an apparently faint hope. The printed editions from 1477 to 1680 are based exclusively on the fifteenth-century manuscript in the Abbey of Saint Victor (now Paris, Bibliothèque nationale de France, MS 14927). A.J. Valpy’s widely available text (London, 1825) lists a score of manuscripts “qui in Bibliothecis Britannicis asservantur,” but he apparently did not examine them. F. Meister’s influential edition of 1873 was able to distinguish two families of manuscripts. Subsequent scholarship, such as N.E. Griffin’s survey of 1907, the editorial work of A. Beschorner (1992) and Gerard Fry (1998), and the textual studies of Annamaria Pavano through the 1990s, has made material advances. But D’Arcier is the first scholar to work through the maze of data and produce a detailed, exhaustive listing and classification of some two hundred codices containing De excidio Troiae. He lists each holding library and shelfmark, the estimated date, the other contents of the codex and Dares’s place in it, the provenance, and modern scholarly references. Lost manuscripts, faulty catalogue entries, and “Confusions inexplicables” are give due notice. The genealogy of the manuscripts, divided into families by their external features and textual characteristics, is mapped by various stemmata. Several selected passages are reprinted from Meister’s edition with detailed listings of variants (in a typical chapter, as many as one hundred and forty-four for twenty-five lines of text). D’Arcier, aware that codicology is a handmaiden to literary and historical studies, builds on his pioneering survey a rich variety of theoretical approaches to Dares’s text. In subtle analyses of its diffusion through Europe, he suggests the changing intentions and responses of copiers, collectors and readers. A few examples must suffice. The wide distribution of De excidio Troiae in medieval libraries may be a response to its rationalist impulses – Dares minimises the jealous puppetry of the Homeric gods, making his revisionist reading of pagan legend attractive to a Christian © JMLat 16 (2006)

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audience. The frequency of the text’s presence in Cistercian monasteries may illuminate that order’s concern with historical and classical studies. On the other hand, its appearance in several English Benedictine foundations may be more the result of private donation than deliberate acquisition, and so document elements of monastic patronage. The matter of Troy has “une concurrente” with the story of the Crusades – “Le succès de Darès participe donc à la fascination exercée par l’Orient sur les esprits médiévaux.” Consequently, in a fourteenth-century Cambridge codex Dares appears together with a variety of orientalist chronicles. Sometimes Dares is included as a gloss on Vergil, whose works surround it in a Nuremberg manuscript of the fifteenth century. In Vatican City, Biblioteca Apostolica Vaticana, MS Borgia 413 (fifteenth- or sixteenth-century), Dares appears perhaps as a rhetorical exemplum, in company with treatises on oratory and grammar. “Il semble donc qu’un examen codicologique attentif des manuscrits puisse apporter des éléments pertinents à l’histoire de texte.” Critics have long denigrated Dares’s bald, paratactic style. Gilbert Highet calls the history a “short work in bad, flat Latin prose … verging on stupidity.” Margaret Schlauch, who translated it elegantly in 1928, defines it as a “dull and tasteless narrative.” But the piece should not be easily dismissed. Stumbling as his Latin may be, Dares nonetheless knows what he is about. Homer, “quod Deos cum hominibus belligerasse descripsit,” must be confuted, so the men and women in his account are not mythic but human in their motivations. They are uniquely characterized by their physical qualities, which he describes in precise and sometimes erotic detail; Polyxena, for example, is distinguished by “collo longo, oculis venustis, capillis flavis et longis, compositis membris, digitis prolixis, cruribus rectis, pedibus optimis, quae forma sua omnes superaret.” In this and other ways, Dares has mastered the rhetoric of verisimilitude; his painstakingly exact lists of nations, ships, genealogies, dates, and body-counts are bound to convince. Above all, he presents the supreme fiction of Troy complete, clear in its outline and unhindered by digression or ornament. De excidio Troiae is a necessary, strong link in Europe’s obsessive fascination with the Trojan story, from Homer and Vergil to the vast medieval chronicles, from Boccaccio and Chaucer to Purcell and Berlioz, James Joyce, Giraudoux and Wolfgang Petersen. D’Arcier finds evidence of an editorial hand at work on Dares’s history in twelfth-century Auxerre, but since then only Meister has attempted a critical edition. D’Arcier’s work, detailed in its evidence, shrewd in its theory and speculation, will be indispensable for future editors. His book

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powerfully adds to our knowledge of medieval manuscript culture and medieval codicology. Richard Morton, McMaster University CARLA DESANTIS, ed. Folchini de Borfonibus, Cremonina (Grammatica, orthographia et prosodia). Corpus Christianorum, Continuatio Medievalis 201, Pars 1. Turnhout: Brepols, 2003. Pp. 1*–180*, 1–338 This welcome edition makes accessible Folchino dei Borfoni’s Cremonina, or essential grammatical writings, implicitly dedicated to the students of his native Cremona. Active at the very end of the fourteenth century – thus, immediately after the passing of Petrarch and Boccaccio – Folchino provides us a glimpse into the teaching of reading and writing in the crucial transitional period when humanists began to see much more complex issues in the study of grammar than had their predecessors, while the study of more, and more complete, classical texts became the norm, and literary achievements in the vernacular challenged the hegemony of Latin. The unique importance of the evidence offered by Folchino, emphasized above all by W. Keith Percival in a series of seminal articles in the 1970s, is at last being properly recognized by the editors of the fundamental Corpus Christianorum medieval series: a note (p. 36*, n. 61) in the Cremonina edition states that Carla De Santis is “preparing an edition and study of Folchino’s divisiones of Virgil’s works, while Claudia Pagliari will edit the Lucan divisiones. These texts, along with Harald Anderson’s edition of the memorialia, will be published as volume 2 of Folchino’s works.” Specialists in the history of late medieval or early humanist grammar will be interested in Folchino’s writings, and specifically the Cremonina. Should others? I think so, for two reasons. First, Folchino’s writings provide a unique point of entry into a chapter in the history of reading which is of capital importance. The comprehensiveness of Folchino’s manual shows quite specifically just how the study of grammar and spelling were thoroughly integrated with the memorization of auctores at this time. This suggests the need for students not only of the classics but also of Italian Trecento and Quattrocento vernacular texts to understand better how divisiones and memorialia affected reading – and, consequently, writing – in these centuries. Second, they offer insights into the social history of the preparatory phase of the debate over the questione della lingua. For instance, the grammatical © JMLat 16 (2006)

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powerfully adds to our knowledge of medieval manuscript culture and medieval codicology. Richard Morton, McMaster University CARLA DESANTIS, ed. Folchini de Borfonibus, Cremonina (Grammatica, orthographia et prosodia). Corpus Christianorum, Continuatio Medievalis 201, Pars 1. Turnhout: Brepols, 2003. Pp. 1*–180*, 1–338 This welcome edition makes accessible Folchino dei Borfoni’s Cremonina, or essential grammatical writings, implicitly dedicated to the students of his native Cremona. Active at the very end of the fourteenth century – thus, immediately after the passing of Petrarch and Boccaccio – Folchino provides us a glimpse into the teaching of reading and writing in the crucial transitional period when humanists began to see much more complex issues in the study of grammar than had their predecessors, while the study of more, and more complete, classical texts became the norm, and literary achievements in the vernacular challenged the hegemony of Latin. The unique importance of the evidence offered by Folchino, emphasized above all by W. Keith Percival in a series of seminal articles in the 1970s, is at last being properly recognized by the editors of the fundamental Corpus Christianorum medieval series: a note (p. 36*, n. 61) in the Cremonina edition states that Carla De Santis is “preparing an edition and study of Folchino’s divisiones of Virgil’s works, while Claudia Pagliari will edit the Lucan divisiones. These texts, along with Harald Anderson’s edition of the memorialia, will be published as volume 2 of Folchino’s works.” Specialists in the history of late medieval or early humanist grammar will be interested in Folchino’s writings, and specifically the Cremonina. Should others? I think so, for two reasons. First, Folchino’s writings provide a unique point of entry into a chapter in the history of reading which is of capital importance. The comprehensiveness of Folchino’s manual shows quite specifically just how the study of grammar and spelling were thoroughly integrated with the memorization of auctores at this time. This suggests the need for students not only of the classics but also of Italian Trecento and Quattrocento vernacular texts to understand better how divisiones and memorialia affected reading – and, consequently, writing – in these centuries. Second, they offer insights into the social history of the preparatory phase of the debate over the questione della lingua. For instance, the grammatical © JMLat 16 (2006)

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example Folchino uses to introduce the problem of how to express, in Latin, vernacular phrases which lack deponent forms comes from the mercantile environment: the world of the textile trade, the centre of Italy’s economic prosperity at this time: “‘Questo panno se vende soldi XX el brazo.’” Indeed, the Cremonina includes two pages (pp. 189–90) about paraphrasing in Latin certain vernacular expressions. It also shows concern (p. 244) with Latin pronunciation which may be influenced by the vernacular. Latin culture is in the pages of the Cremonina very much in conversation with vernacular culture – Cremonese “dialect” culture, to be sure. DeSantis very helpfully provides an Appendix (pp. 145*–52*) to the Introduction on “Linguistic Description of the Italian Dialect …” found in one of the main Cremonina manuscripts. The edition is based on examination of twelve manuscripts which contain either the Cremonina or other works by Folchino. The superior witness is Milan, Biblioteca Ambrosiana, Cod. H 66 inf., which, though incomplete, “includes glosses . . . clearly intended to be copied with the text” and is earlier and has more accurate readings. Very important also is Vienna, Österreichische Nationalbibliothek, MS 3379, the existence of which was appartently unkown to previous scholars working on Folchino; notably, it provides DeSantis with text which presumably appeared on the missing folios in Ambrosiana H 66 inf. Most of the other manuscripts consulted provide orthographical and/or prosodic mnemonic verses or the very interesting divisiones of much-used school texts, such as the Georgics, Aeneid, Pharsalia, and Metamorphoses. Because of the range of kinds of manuscript sources, DeSantis prudently notes “I hesitate to use the word stemma here ….” (p. 41*). “Much grammatical material is consistently repeated, and reused throughout the medieval grammatical tradition, thus creating a web of material that renders it difficult to determine a direct source with certainty” (p. 53*). Yet, she does provide a stemma (47*), perhaps in response to the academic pressure associated with the preparation of the dissertation which preceded this edition. Whether it is genuinely useful under the circumstances which produced a text such as the Cremonina to attempt a stemma remains, for me, an open question. The concept of the stemma is rooted in the idea of a text with a different kind of authority from that of the text provided in this edition. As DeSantis notes (p. 42*), Folchino was clearly trying to compile a teaching manual for his own use and that of his students, drawing on collections of material used by other teachers. The questions of chronological priority which give a stemma its shape are not paramount when describing the

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evolution of such material. DeSantis notes that “what may be original is the way in which a grammarian chose his material and incorporated it into his work” (p. 48*). She highlights Folchino’s use of the metaphor of construction to bind together the components of his manual, where morphology forms the walls, syntax the roof, and orthography and prosody the ornaments of the edifice of learning. DeSantis provides a notably thorough introduction to the Cremonina, which makes a strong case for the cohesion and sophistication of a particularly Italian grammatical tradition before 1400. This tradition is openly eclectic: “ … Folchino appeals to … a mix of traditional, medieval and Italian sources …” (p. 53*). One feature of this tradition is its treatment of verbs according to the case governed, leading to the exposition of the category of actiuum separatiuum (pp. 108*–9*), which DeSantis takes to be an innovation of “the last part of the fourteenth century” in Italy. Another is its thorough integration of the work of the speculative grammarians, particularly Martin of Dacia, but including even the quite recent contributions of Thomas of Erfurt. Indeed, DeSantis alludes to “ … Folchino’s method of combining modistic, normative, and characteristically Italian elements …” (p. 101*) The edition provides careful codicological description of the manuscripts employed and ample notes which are both scrupulous and well informed. The Selected Bibliography following the Introduction (153*–173*) will prove useful to both those with a broad and those with a specialized interest in the subject. There are also indices of biblical passages and of auctores, classical and medieval. Students of Petrarch will want to know this edition. Folchino was closely connected to Moggio of Parma, the friend to whom Petrarch entrusted the revision and transcription of his works. Folchino quotes Petrarch’s ninth and tenth Eclogae (p. 50, p. 66), thus demonstrating, again, the authority of the Tuscan poet at this early date and the availability of his works in northern Italy. Also of interest to students of the Italian vernacular tradition is Folchino’s use of the orthographic commentary of Cecco d’Ascoli (pp. 67*– 68*, p. 118*). Had the editor been willing to share some reflections on the production of the manuscripts examined, readers might have come away with a more vivid picture of the teaching in which Folchino engaged. Her careful paleographic and codicological descriptions suggest that she might well be prepared to offer in another venue some interesting observations. One wonders, for example, about the range of copyists who worked on Ambrosian Cod. H 66 © JMLat 16 (2006)

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inf. The editor’s remarks on the near-futility of the quest for a stemma for such material lead the reader to ask if there is a better way to describe books produced in this period for grammatical teaching. Research libraries will acquire this volume, both Pars 1 and Pars 2, as a matter of course, but libraries which seek primarily to serve undergraduates will also want to own these volumes if they serve serious programs in the Romance vernaculars. An understanding of how Latin and the vernacular were taught in tandem as the ground was laid for the linguistic and more broadly cultural achievements of the Renaissance should form a part of a proper basic education in this period. Susan J. Noakes, University of Minnesota JEAN-PIERRE GERZAGUET, STÉPHANE LEBECQ, JEAN-LUC CHASSEL, SIMONE COLLIN-ROSET, and HUBERT COLLIN, eds. Retour aux sources: Textes, études et documents d’histoire médiévale offerts à Michel Parisse. Paris: Picard, 2004. Pp. 1024. This collection of articles is dedicated to Michel Parisse, the Francophone authority on medieval Lorraine. During the Middle Ages this region, between medieval Francia and the German empire, not only became a frontier but also developed its own identity. The topics discussed within the volume reflect the wide-ranging and variegated interests of the honoree. Parisse has made significant contributions to the area by publishing new documents relating to the region as well as exploring the ways in which “Lotharingia” managed to maintain its own identity while being subject to influences from France, Burgundy, The Lower Countries, and the German empire. The bibliography of Parisse’s works included in the volume lists 205 publications, although works, both written and edited, have been omitted. This book, despite bearing all the traits of a festschrift, does not mention the occasion to which it is dedicated. Characteristic of such volumes that unite not only students and close collaborators of the honoree, but also scholars from other countries working on the same geographical region, this is a motley collection. The contributions are united by three overarching themes: the interest in original charters and other documents studied here for the first time, the attempt to shed new light on documents that have been studied before, and the focus on frontier regions such as Lorraine. But as the introduction makes clear, the boundaries of Lorraine to which Parisse has turned over the years and that

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inf. The editor’s remarks on the near-futility of the quest for a stemma for such material lead the reader to ask if there is a better way to describe books produced in this period for grammatical teaching. Research libraries will acquire this volume, both Pars 1 and Pars 2, as a matter of course, but libraries which seek primarily to serve undergraduates will also want to own these volumes if they serve serious programs in the Romance vernaculars. An understanding of how Latin and the vernacular were taught in tandem as the ground was laid for the linguistic and more broadly cultural achievements of the Renaissance should form a part of a proper basic education in this period. Susan J. Noakes, University of Minnesota JEAN-PIERRE GERZAGUET, STÉPHANE LEBECQ, JEAN-LUC CHASSEL, SIMONE COLLIN-ROSET, and HUBERT COLLIN, eds. Retour aux sources: Textes, études et documents d’histoire médiévale offerts à Michel Parisse. Paris: Picard, 2004. Pp. 1024. This collection of articles is dedicated to Michel Parisse, the Francophone authority on medieval Lorraine. During the Middle Ages this region, between medieval Francia and the German empire, not only became a frontier but also developed its own identity. The topics discussed within the volume reflect the wide-ranging and variegated interests of the honoree. Parisse has made significant contributions to the area by publishing new documents relating to the region as well as exploring the ways in which “Lotharingia” managed to maintain its own identity while being subject to influences from France, Burgundy, The Lower Countries, and the German empire. The bibliography of Parisse’s works included in the volume lists 205 publications, although works, both written and edited, have been omitted. This book, despite bearing all the traits of a festschrift, does not mention the occasion to which it is dedicated. Characteristic of such volumes that unite not only students and close collaborators of the honoree, but also scholars from other countries working on the same geographical region, this is a motley collection. The contributions are united by three overarching themes: the interest in original charters and other documents studied here for the first time, the attempt to shed new light on documents that have been studied before, and the focus on frontier regions such as Lorraine. But as the introduction makes clear, the boundaries of Lorraine to which Parisse has turned over the years and that

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the contributors to this book touch on in their articles are not limited to the geographical region that was the Middle Kingdom in the Carolingian times, that became the duchy of Lorraine in the tenth and early eleventh century, and that split into the Lower and Upper Lorraine in subsequent periods. In fact, just as it appears in the works of Parisse, “Lotharingia” is a long buffer zone, the frontier between France and the German empire, of which Lorraine became a symbol of the French-German rivalry during the period between the Franco-Prussian War of 1870 and the Treaty of Versailles in 1919. The contributions in this volume, in keeping with Parisse’s approach over the years, avoid the narrow regionalist approach and seek to look at this region as a place of contact between, and synthesis of, different traditions of political, social, and cultural organization. The ninety-two contributions analyse a wide range of sources, from charters, cartularies, and wills to saints’ lives, literary sources, and seals. Contributions are divided into seven sections, and this division provides the only means of finding the articles in the otherwise long and difficult-tosearch table of contents. An index is unfortunately lacking. The sections are “Documents of Practical Nature,” “Powers and Territories: From the Empire to a Village,” “Aristocrats and Knights,” “Medieval Women,” “The Life of the Church: People, Institutions, Rituals,” “Speaking, Teaching, Writing,” and “Historiography and Representations of the Past.” The contributors include well-established French and German scholars as well as names that are fairly new to this reviewer. The title of the collection, “Return to the Sources,” raises the interesting question concerning the ways in which established historical concepts can hinder our understanding of primary sources. But this should not be read as a response to postmodern critique of historical methods, but rather as an attempt to look at the frontier region in the light of its own documents and not from the viewpoint of those ready historical models that scholars have developed for the neighbouring regions. For the question of historical interpretation is a particularly delicate subject when it comes to the history of Lorraine. Throughout much of the twentieth century scholarship on different sides of the French/German/Belgian/Swiss border sought to find in medieval “Lotharingia” the same patterns of medieval social, economical, and political development that one can observe in the kingdom of France, in the empire, and in the other two neighbouring regions. For example, German scholars would claim that the ecclesiastical organization of Lorraine and the role of bishops within were essentially based on what is found in what used to be called the “imperial church.” French scholars such as Parisse argued, © JMLat 16 (2006)

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on the other hand, that the importance of aristocratic families who actively joined the ranks of the episcopate was a trait that brought the social history of Lorraine closer to that of other francophone regions. Articles in this collection further illustrate that the history of Lorraine can be examined only on its own terms, and models of historical development from neighbouring kingdoms and regions cannot be imported without significantly blurring the history of this frontier region. As a result, many of these articles seek to pose questions rather than provide definitive answers. Those interested in the political history of Lorraine, and in the monastic and village life of this region and its neighbours, will find interesting articles in the collection. But of especial interest to the reader of the Journal of Medieval Latin is the discussion of the ways in which language could be used as a sign of cultural identification. This is true, in particular, of the article by W. Paravicini (“Streit an der Sprachgrenze: Aus dem Briefwechsel zwischen den Herren von Vinstingen und von Blậmont am Ende des 14. Jahrhnderts,” pp. 811–28), which discusses the ways in which the presence of the language boundary between the German- and French-speaking regions are reflected in the exchange of letters between the princes on both sides of this cultural border. Parisse has argued that this cultural boundary was well established by the end of the tenth century, while other scholars have suggested that into the fifteenth century people and princes in the frontier regions were largely bilingual. In fact the article by Paravicini shows how claiming inability to understand the language of the other (in this case French), a German prince at the turn of the fifteenth century sought to establish his precedence over his counterpart on the other side of the imagined cultural divide. Thus although it may have existed since the tenth century, the language boundary was not present in the documents written mostly in Latin. It became apparent in the fourteenth century, when the developing practices of administrative literacy made princes write their own documents and made them communicate with their counterparts on the other side of the linguistic divide without intermediaries. Thus the linguistic boundary might or might not exist depending on the desire of the princes on both sides of the cultural boundary to understand each other. This article shows that caution is needed when discussing language and identity in buffer zones. The linguistic border between the francophone and the Germanspeaking regions did exist in the Middle Ages, but the people living on both sides might or might not envision their differences and acknowledge the border’s existence, depending on whether they felt amity or suspicion towards those speaking the other language.

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An example of Latin–French bilingualism is the cartulary from Cantempré in Cambrai (discussed by B. Delmaire), which contained Latin charters along with translations in French. Cartularies of this kind are almost nonexistent in the North of France although they appear in other regions. The article (“Le cartulaire bilingue de béguinage de Cantempré à Cambrai,” pp. 85–98) does not seek to interpret this peculiarity, limiting itself to a description of the manuscript and of the text it contains. But this source is an interesting example of how medieval monks sought to reconcile their interest in the Latin text of an historical document and the growing importance of the French in administrative matters. The list of old charters is an interesting example of how Latin and the vernacular could coexist as languages of administrative writing in the late Middle Ages. That foundation charters had to be transcribed in Latin suggests that this language was still important in maintaining the legal tradition. Language became a sign of cultural identification in the late Middle Ages, and the article by S. Lusignan (“François est profitable et latin est prejudicable: L’enjeu linguistique d’un conflit entre le village de SaintAlbain et le chapitre de Mâcon,” pp. 795–802) gives an interesting example of this. This article shows how in the late fifteenth century peasants preferred a court verdict in French rather than Latin, claiming that writing in the former language is profitable, whereas communicating in Latin is objectionable. The irony of this claim lies in the fact that the peasants themselves seem to have spoken in Provençal rather than French in the true sense of the term. Lusignan suspends judgement on whether this preference given to French was a sign of the influence of the French royal authority and its courts and whether this could be interpreted as an example of the penetration of French identity into the regions far removed from Paris. After all, this article argues, one can only use this charter to make judgements about the language of legal proceedings and it provides only snippets of information about the language the peasants preferred to speak in their everyday lives. This reservation about the importance of language as a sign of identity in the late Middle Ages allows one to think again about the relationship between the standardized practices of administrative literacy and the everyday language. Lusignan’s article is important because it highlights how administrative practices and the language they employed might have exerted pressure even on those people who sought in their documents to capture the voices of the illiterate. It is an interesting contribution that may allow scholars who are involved in the debate about popular culture and

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administrative practices in the late Middle Ages and the Early Modern period to clarify the terms they employ. An interesting anthropological analysis of the language of medieval court documents is provided by the article by W. Prevenier (“Les multiples vérités dans les discours sur les offenses criminelles envers les femmes dans les Pays-Bas méridionaux (XIV et XV siècles),” pp. 955–64). The article agrees with Clifford Geertz and argues that medieval culture, similar to the nonwestern cultures studied by anthropologists, can only be understood on its own terms. It shows how the use of juridical terminology gives the impression that lawyers and jurists thought in terms of “multiple truths” when arguing their case in court. But these “multiple truths,” which might seem illogical to modern lawyers, made sense in their social and political context. For when it came to pronouncing the verdict, making opposite and irreconcilable claims in court gave way to a cynical outlook that valued only the current power balance and the strength of the patronage ties that bound local communities to the powerful. This article is an interesting example of how methods employed in modern anthropological research can be productively applied to medieval topics. Despite the shortcomings which this book has in common with other festschrifts, it is a valuable collection of articles that contains important contributions. Addressing sources that have not been used before, the contributions allow the reader to take a fresh look at the cultural, political, and social history of Lorraine and the adjacent regions. Specialists working in the many areas covered in the collection will find interesting and invaluable information in this book. Dmitri Starostin, University of St. Petersburg, Russia NORBERT KLAUS LARSEN, ed. Hildeberti Cenomanensis Episcopi Vita Beate Marie Egiptiace. Corpus Christianorum, Continuatio Medievalis 209. Turnhout: Brepols, 2004. Pp. 328. Hildebert of Lavardin is justly famous in a variety of contexts. A presumed student of Berengar of Tours, he became a churchmen of no little power and influence. He often came into conflict with lay authorities, including Louis VI and William Rufus (he also was on somewhat better terms with Henry I). He is noteworthy also as an effective, energetic, and resourceful ecclesiastical leader, attending with care to all aspects of his episcopal duties. He is remembered now less as a bishop and more as a literary artist

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administrative practices in the late Middle Ages and the Early Modern period to clarify the terms they employ. An interesting anthropological analysis of the language of medieval court documents is provided by the article by W. Prevenier (“Les multiples vérités dans les discours sur les offenses criminelles envers les femmes dans les Pays-Bas méridionaux (XIV et XV siècles),” pp. 955–64). The article agrees with Clifford Geertz and argues that medieval culture, similar to the nonwestern cultures studied by anthropologists, can only be understood on its own terms. It shows how the use of juridical terminology gives the impression that lawyers and jurists thought in terms of “multiple truths” when arguing their case in court. But these “multiple truths,” which might seem illogical to modern lawyers, made sense in their social and political context. For when it came to pronouncing the verdict, making opposite and irreconcilable claims in court gave way to a cynical outlook that valued only the current power balance and the strength of the patronage ties that bound local communities to the powerful. This article is an interesting example of how methods employed in modern anthropological research can be productively applied to medieval topics. Despite the shortcomings which this book has in common with other festschrifts, it is a valuable collection of articles that contains important contributions. Addressing sources that have not been used before, the contributions allow the reader to take a fresh look at the cultural, political, and social history of Lorraine and the adjacent regions. Specialists working in the many areas covered in the collection will find interesting and invaluable information in this book. Dmitri Starostin, University of St. Petersburg, Russia NORBERT KLAUS LARSEN, ed. Hildeberti Cenomanensis Episcopi Vita Beate Marie Egiptiace. Corpus Christianorum, Continuatio Medievalis 209. Turnhout: Brepols, 2004. Pp. 328. Hildebert of Lavardin is justly famous in a variety of contexts. A presumed student of Berengar of Tours, he became a churchmen of no little power and influence. He often came into conflict with lay authorities, including Louis VI and William Rufus (he also was on somewhat better terms with Henry I). He is noteworthy also as an effective, energetic, and resourceful ecclesiastical leader, attending with care to all aspects of his episcopal duties. He is remembered now less as a bishop and more as a literary artist

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who found time to write in a variety of genres. Predictably, he wrote hymns, but his mastery of the classical Latin genres is impressive also. Elegy informs one poetic perspective that Hildebert uses to frame the lootings of Rome in the late eleventh century by Henry IV and others; but elegiac, too, are the musings on his own life that end with the sureties of faith – sorely tested by the trials through which he was put. Another perspective, that of hagiographic poetry in the form of roughly 900 hexametric verses, comprises the work under review, Norbert Klaus Larsen’s beautiful edition of Hildebert’s Vita Beate Marie Egiptiace, based on his Cologne dissertation (2000). The edition commences with a brief overview of prior work on the text (pp. 7–8) before taking up a more committed introduction to the legend of Mary of Egypt (pp. 9–10), including a brief treatment of what we know of her and of her relationship with Zosimas, the monk who also figures in the poem. These pages establish the materials comprising the legend necessary to understand the poem’s narrative. There follows a discussion of the complex life and manifold work of Hildebert (pp. 11–16), cogently presented and copiously documented. A discussion of the Nachwirkung of the poem (pp. 17–22) precedes an analysis of the poet’s likely audience and a one-paragraph account of the poem’s dating (pp. 23–33). Here one gains a context in which to read Hildebert’s words, for Larsen suggests a largely (though not by any means exclusively) female audience sensitive to Mary’s relationship with Zosimas. A review of prior scholarship (pp. 34–41) fleshes out the ground cleared in the Vorwort. An accounting of the manuscript witnesses for the poem (pp. 42–94), noteworthy for its precision and comprehensiveness, is complemented by Larsen’s grouping of these multiple witnesses (pp. 95–190). He discerns a dual grouping of manuscripts (alpha and beta), based on a painstaking analysis of differences among the multiple extant witnesses. Larsen attends also to the presence of the poem in florilegia (pp. 191–94), seeing a consistency in the content of the lines excerpted, before articulating the principles by which he has constituted the text of the poem from the MSS (pp. 195–200). A full bibliography concludes this lengthy introductory gathering (pp. 201–22). There follows the text of the poem (pp. 231–98; followed by an appendix of vv. 638–994), which now takes its place as the definitive text. The critical apparatus in every instance is comprehensive but just as helpful (perhaps more so) is the full (though by no means comprehensive) account of the possible sources of Hildebert’s diction that runs the gamut from antiquity down to virtually his own day. In this the reader gains a full sense of © JMLat 16 (2006)

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Hildebert’s powerful erudition and also his control over the Latin poetic tradition. Not surprisingly, there are many moments in which scripture informs Hildebert’s diction, though more often than might be expected more properly medieval works seem definitive. And where classical diction is influential, one finds that Hildebert prefers the epic voice to the lyric. Hildebert seems to have known and to have well understood Horace’s Odes, for example, and there are instances of Vergil’s Georgics and Ovid’s elegiac poetry, but in the main Hildebert culls from Latin antiquity the epic voices of Lucan, Ovid, and Vergil, in about equal measure. Hildebert’s familiarity with these authors is not surprising, but his deployment of them points at the least to certain affiliations he would see in place between his hagiographical narrative and the epic concerns of Latin antiquity’s three greatest epicists. Specific moments of verbal exchange are therefore fruitful instances of encounter that help readers to understand how Hildebert read ancient Latin poetry while simultaneously expanding the range of the meanings of the words in question. This is surely a most important contribution that will ease along further, and necessary, work attending to what the poem says and how it says it. Indices attending to scripture and the other sources of Hildebert’s language (pp. 317–29) that gather the page by page accounting of Hildebert’s verbal sources round out this important editorial achievement. It is good to have this edition, both for its quality and for the ways in which it makes accessible to a wider audience a poem that deserves wider scrutiny. For that scrutiny reveals a manifold poetic talent and a fresh engagement of the western literary tradition, put to the service of hagiography but always modulated through the vision and voice of a unique figure, whose talents are given the attention they deserve in this painstaking, beautifully produced edition. Joseph Pucci, Brown University KATHERINE O’BRIEN O’KEEFFE and ANDY ORCHARD, eds. Latin Learning and English Lore: Studies in Anglo-Saxon Literature for Michael Lapidge. Toronto Old English Series 14. 2 vols. Toronto: University of Toronto Press, 2005. Pp. xvii, 460; xvii, 431, 6 plates. This large important festschrift honours the distinguished career of Professor Michael Lapidge, a longtime associate of Cambridge University who took

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Hildebert’s powerful erudition and also his control over the Latin poetic tradition. Not surprisingly, there are many moments in which scripture informs Hildebert’s diction, though more often than might be expected more properly medieval works seem definitive. And where classical diction is influential, one finds that Hildebert prefers the epic voice to the lyric. Hildebert seems to have known and to have well understood Horace’s Odes, for example, and there are instances of Vergil’s Georgics and Ovid’s elegiac poetry, but in the main Hildebert culls from Latin antiquity the epic voices of Lucan, Ovid, and Vergil, in about equal measure. Hildebert’s familiarity with these authors is not surprising, but his deployment of them points at the least to certain affiliations he would see in place between his hagiographical narrative and the epic concerns of Latin antiquity’s three greatest epicists. Specific moments of verbal exchange are therefore fruitful instances of encounter that help readers to understand how Hildebert read ancient Latin poetry while simultaneously expanding the range of the meanings of the words in question. This is surely a most important contribution that will ease along further, and necessary, work attending to what the poem says and how it says it. Indices attending to scripture and the other sources of Hildebert’s language (pp. 317–29) that gather the page by page accounting of Hildebert’s verbal sources round out this important editorial achievement. It is good to have this edition, both for its quality and for the ways in which it makes accessible to a wider audience a poem that deserves wider scrutiny. For that scrutiny reveals a manifold poetic talent and a fresh engagement of the western literary tradition, put to the service of hagiography but always modulated through the vision and voice of a unique figure, whose talents are given the attention they deserve in this painstaking, beautifully produced edition. Joseph Pucci, Brown University KATHERINE O’BRIEN O’KEEFFE and ANDY ORCHARD, eds. Latin Learning and English Lore: Studies in Anglo-Saxon Literature for Michael Lapidge. Toronto Old English Series 14. 2 vols. Toronto: University of Toronto Press, 2005. Pp. xvii, 460; xvii, 431, 6 plates. This large important festschrift honours the distinguished career of Professor Michael Lapidge, a longtime associate of Cambridge University who took

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up a position there as Research Fellow after completing his Ph.D. at the University of Toronto; he rose through the Cambridge ranks over thirty years in the Department of Anglo-Saxon, Norse and Celtic to the title of Elrington and Bosworth Professor of Anglo-Saxon, a position he held from 1991 to 1998, at which time he accepted an endowed chair at the University of Notre Dame. Latin Learning and English Lore (hereafter LLEL) effectively presents Lapidge’s career through details in the “Preface” to Volume 1 (1: ix–xi), the “Introduction to Volume I” (1: 3–8), “Introduction to Volume II” (2: 3–8), “Publications of Michael Lapidge (through 2004)” (2: 395–406: a list of about 180 items that does not include significant recent works such as The Anglo-Saxon Library [Oxford, 2006]); and a detailed list of twenty “Doctoral Dissertations Directed” (2: 407–8; seventeen at Cambridge, three at Notre Dame). The contributors to LLEL include many former students of Lapidge as well as long-time colleagues and collaborators. The articles are arranged in roughly chronological order with respect to their individual topics: Volume 1 treats Anglo-Saxon literature from the seventh to the ninth centuries; Volume 2 from about 900 to the end of the eleventh century, mirroring the structure of Lapidge’s own twovolume collection of essays, Anglo-Latin Literature (London, 1993–6). Each volume includes a “Manuscript Index” (1: 441–3; 2: 409–12), and an excellent detailed “General Index” (1: 444–58; 2: 413–31), which will make the diverse contents of these important volumes easy to consult. The readers of this journal will be interested in LLEL’s treatment of Latin texts, which indeed make up the vast majority of the contributions. Including indices, Volume 1 runs to 460 pages, Volume 2 to 431 pages, for a total of forty articles across the two volumes. One would expect that such a large collection would amplify the usual problems associated with this academic genre – lack of cohesive focus, fluctuating level of quality in the contributions, and so forth. This is not the case here. The contributions are all of very high quality: uniformly well-researched, stimulating, interesting and original work. Also, with very few exceptions the subjects of the articles parallel Professor Lapidge’s own main research interests over the years and this lends a cohesion and unity to the collection. Space precludes summarizing the contents of forty articles, but reading across the essays in the two volumes and breaking their chronological order, one can discern several areas of emphasis that mirror important concentrations in Lapidge’s own corpus of published work: early (pre-twelfth century) Insular Latin authors, particularly Aldhelm; textual/manuscript study and the editing of Latin texts; attribution studies; the Latin context of Old English literature. I © JMLat 16 (2006)

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discuss the contents of LLEL under these rubrics below. I will leave aside the excellent essays that focus solely on Old English literature, but it is worth noting the cluster of five articles on Beowulf in Volume 1 by R.D. Fulk, Leslie Lockett, Tom Shippey, Roberta Frank, and Nicholas Howe, paying tribute to Lapidge’s important contributions to Beowulf studies.1 Aldhelm, Bede, and Alcuin were some of the most learned men of Latin letters in Anglo-Saxon England; it is no surprise that these figures are well represented in LLEL. Professor Lapidge, along with co-translators Michael Herren and James Rosier produced a two-volume complete translation of Aldhelm’s works: Aldhelm: The Prose Works (Cambridge, 1979) and Aldhelm: The Poetic Works (Cambridge, 1985). Fittingly, then, several contributions treat Aldhelm, including Michael Herren’s assessment of “Aldhelm the Theologian” (1: 68–89), Michael Winterbottom’s “Faricius of Arezzo’s Life of St. Aldhelm,” (1: 109–31) and Paul Remley’s “Aldhelm as Old English Poet: Exodus, Asser, and the Dicta Ælfredi,” (1: 90–108), an important textual study that investigates the sources for the tradition of Aldhelm’s composition of Old English verse and argues that Aldhelm (or someone influenced by Aldhelm’s work) wrote the Old English poem Exodus. The interest in early Insular Latin exemplified by Lapidge’s work has propelled the expansion of Bedan studies beyond the Historia Ecclesiastica to other texts in his corpus: George Hardin Brown thus surveys “Patristic Pomegranates, from Ambrose and Apponius to Bede,” (1: 132–49), while Neil Wright investigates Bede’s De arte metrica (1: 150–70). Turning to another major Anglo-Saxon intellectual, Michael Fox examines “Alcuin as Exile and Educator: “uir undecumque doctissimus” (1: 215–36) in his contribution, and Mary Garrison provides a new context for Alcuin’s famous epistolary comment on secular verse “Quid Hinieldus cum Christo?” in her revisionist study (1: 237–59); by deploying a more local, specific Mercian context to the comment, she argues that Alcuin is not engaging in a blunt condemnation of pagan song in all monastic contexts, but rather that the comment is an admonition not to allow too great an influence of the Mercian royal court at the bishop’s table. Hagiography has been a central focus of Lapidge’s career, producing numerous analyses, editions, and translations of Latin texts; one might single out his monumental The Cult of St. Swithun, Winchester Studies 4.ii (Oxford, 2003) among many titles. Several contributions thus take Latin 1

E.g., “The Archetype of Beowulf,” Anglo-Saxon England 29 (2000), 5–41; “Beowulf and Perception,” Publications of the British Academy 111 (2001), 61–97.

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hagiography as their focus: Winterbottom’s essay cited above; Peter Jackson, “Osbert of Clare and the Vision of Leofric: The Transformation of an Old English Narrative” (2: 275–92), a study of the cult of Edward the Confessor in which Jackson examines the twelfth-century Latin translation of an Old English narrative. Two contributions centre on the under-studied prolific eleventh-century Latin hagiographer Goscelin of Saint-Bertin: Rosalind Love in “‘Et quis me tanto oneri parem faciet?’: Goscelin of SaintBertin and the Life of St. Amelberga” (2: 232–52), an attribution study, and Katherine O’Brien O’Keeffe, “Edith’s Choice” (2: 253–74) an examination of Goscelin’s Vita S. Edithae (ca. 1080), in which she interrogates the issues of textual subjectivity and female representation revealed in the election of Edith (wife of Edward the Confessor) to the religious life. Lapidge has also been a tireless editor of Latin texts throughout his career and many contributions here offer studies in the manuscript transmission of texts, new editions or materials preparatory to a new edition. These would include the essays of Winterbottom and Remley cited above as well as David N. Dumville, “English Script in the Second Half of the Ninth Century” (1: 305–25); and Joyce Hill, “Ælfric’s Colloquy: The Antwerp / London Version” (2: 331–48; includes edition). Several contributions of this sort would be of particular interest to historians: Simon Keynes, “Between Bede and the Chronicle: London BL, Cotton Vespasian B. vi, fols. 104–9” (1: 47– 67); Richard Sharpe, “King Ceadwalla’s Roman Epitaph” (1: 171–93; includes an edition); Patrick Sims-Williams, “A Recension of Boniface’s Letter to Eadburg about the Monk of Wenlock’s Vision” (1: 194–214; includes an edition); O.J. Padel, “The Charter of Lanlawren (Cornwall)” (2: 74–85). Two articles are sermon studies: Christopher A. Jones, “The Sermons Attributed to Candidus Wizo” (1: 260–83); and Thomas N. Hall, “A Palm Sunday Sermon from Eleventh-Century Salisbury” (2: 180–96; includes edition), while another pair treats scientific writings: Roy Michael Liuzza, “The Sphere of Life and Death: Time, Medicine, and the Visual Imagination” (2: 28–52; includes editions of medical diagrams); and Peter S. Baker, “More Diagrams by Byrhtferth of Ramsey” (2: 53–73; also with editions of the relevant diagrams). And finally four articles utilize manuscript glosses as primary evidence: Mechthild Gretsch and Helmut Gneuss, “Anglo-Saxon Glosses to a Theodorean Poem?” (1: 9–46) in which they analyse the poem Sancte sator attributed to Theodore of Canterbury, focusing on a ninth-century manuscript with Old High German glosses (includes edition); Richard Marsden, “Latin in the Ascendant: The Interlinear Gloss of Oxford, Bodleian Library, Laud Misc. 509” (2: 132–52); © JMLat 16 (2006)

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Patrizia Lendinara, “Contextualized Lexicography” (2: 108–31); and Malcolm Godden, “Alfred, Asser, and Boethius” (1: 326–48), in which he explores the ramifications of a heavily glossed manuscript of Boethius’s De consolatione Philosophiae annotated by a late ninth-century Welsh hand. (Articles that are textual in nature but treat Old English texts rather than Latin, include contributions by Paul E. Szarmach, Donald Scragg, and Fred C. Robinson.) Lapidge has also performed a fundamental service throughout his career by cataloguing and defining the corpus of Anglo-Latin authors, deploying an interdisciplinary array of skills (paleography, codicology, history, stylistic analysis) to attribute works and define authorial canons accurately. Similar studies in LLEL include Remley’s article on Aldhelm and Exodus, Christopher Jones’s work on Candidus Wizo, and Rosalind Love’s study of Goscelin (all cited above). To this can be added Jane Stevenson’s essay on Anglo-Latin women poets (2: 86–107) and Mary Clayton’s “Ælfric’s De auguriis and Cambridge, Corpus Christi College 178,” (2: 376–94). Among neophyte students in the field of Anglo-Saxon studies, one of Professor Lapidge’s more widely-read works is his introductory essay on “The Anglo-Latin Background” in Stanley B. Greenfield and Daniel Calder’s A New Critical History of Old English Literature (New York, 1986); this remains a fundamental statement of the importance of reading and interpreting Old English literature in tandem with Latin texts. This synthetic approach has become essential for most thematic or subject-driven studies in the field of Anglo-Saxon literature. A number of studies in LLEL thus take a particular subject or topic and ground a thorough analysis in both Old English and Latin sources – a fitting approach for a volume with that exact binary formulation in its title. In addition to Remley’s article discussed above, this category would include Andy Orchard on the Anglo-Saxon riddle tradition (1: 284–304); Martha Bayless’s fascinating study of board games with dice [“Alea, Tæfl, and Related Games: Vocabulary and Context,” (2: 9– 27)]; Katharine Scarfe Beckett on representations of Malchus the monk in Anglo-Saxon England (2: 212–31); Robert E. Bjork’s study of Job in Old English texts (2: 315–30); Charles Wright’s examination of the Latin tradition of the mysterium lunae behind the Old English poem Christ II (2: 293–314); and Paul E. Szarmach’s textual study “Alfred’s Soliloquies in London, BL, Cotton Tiberius A. iii. (art. 9g, fols. 50v–51v)” (2: 153–79). All of these essays demonstrate the extent to which a multilingual approach has become the norm in Anglo-Saxon studies, in no small part due to the prodigious labours and professional example of Professor Lapidge and

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similar scholars of his generation. I detected very few typos or misprints in these well-edited volumes: one that could cause some confusion is that the Table of Contents for Volume 1 titles Neil Wright’s essay “The Medical Art(s) of Bede,” but the proper title (correct in the text) is “The Metrical Art(s) of Bede.” LLEL is an excellent festschrift, an essential item for AngloSaxon scholars and libraries with any interest in Latin holdings. Andrew Scheil, University of Minnesota MARÍA ADELAIDA ANDRÉS SANZ, ed. Isidori Hispalensis Episcopi, Liber Differentiarum II. Corpus Christianorum Series Latina 111A. Turnhout: Brepols, 2006. Pp. cccxxiv, 126. JOSÉ CARLOS MARTÍN. Scripta de Vita Isidori Hispalensis Episcopi. Corpus Christianorum Series Latina CXIIIB. Turnhout: Brepols, 2006. Pp. 454. Isidore of Seville was the outstanding intellectual and writer of his age, but he has not been well served by modern editors (with honourable exceptions, such as Jacques Fontaine). His encyclopaedic work, the Etymologiae, has been edited as a whole in the twentieth century by scholars who over-classicized the text in defiance of early manuscript readings, and a few of its books have been edited separately according to variable criteria. His twenty-odd other compositions have received similarly variable degrees of attention. The two books of Differentiae, however, his first two compositions, have now been well edited; Carmen Codoñer edited what has come to be known as Differentiae I (Paris, ALMA, 1992); and now, as part of the serious attempt by the Corpus Christianorum series to make up for its original neglect of works from the Iberian Peninsula, María Adelaida Andrés Sanz presents her edition of Differentiae II, otherwise also known as Inter Deum (the first words of the text being “Inter Deum et Dominum ita quidem definierunt, ut in Dei appellatione patrem, in Domini Filium intellegerent”); although manuscripts call it simply Liber Differentiarum, and Arévalo in the fifteenth century called it Differentiae Rerum, since in this case the differences concern the meanings of semantically rather than formally related words. This is the eighth printed edition; the first came out in Paris in 1580, and the seventh was Migne’s of 1862 (PL 83, cols 69–98), so a new one was needed. A third such collection of Differentiae once ascribed to Isidore is now known not to be his, and has gone to swell the ranks of the productions of the prolific Pseudo-Isidore. The twenty-six first-millennium manuscripts of the whole text, and seven fragmentary ones, are detailed carefully (pp. 118–57), to show that there are six © JMLat 16 (2006)

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similar scholars of his generation. I detected very few typos or misprints in these well-edited volumes: one that could cause some confusion is that the Table of Contents for Volume 1 titles Neil Wright’s essay “The Medical Art(s) of Bede,” but the proper title (correct in the text) is “The Metrical Art(s) of Bede.” LLEL is an excellent festschrift, an essential item for AngloSaxon scholars and libraries with any interest in Latin holdings. Andrew Scheil, University of Minnesota MARÍA ADELAIDA ANDRÉS SANZ, ed. Isidori Hispalensis Episcopi, Liber Differentiarum II. Corpus Christianorum Series Latina 111A. Turnhout: Brepols, 2006. Pp. cccxxiv, 126. JOSÉ CARLOS MARTÍN. Scripta de Vita Isidori Hispalensis Episcopi. Corpus Christianorum Series Latina CXIIIB. Turnhout: Brepols, 2006. Pp. 454. Isidore of Seville was the outstanding intellectual and writer of his age, but he has not been well served by modern editors (with honourable exceptions, such as Jacques Fontaine). His encyclopaedic work, the Etymologiae, has been edited as a whole in the twentieth century by scholars who over-classicized the text in defiance of early manuscript readings, and a few of its books have been edited separately according to variable criteria. His twenty-odd other compositions have received similarly variable degrees of attention. The two books of Differentiae, however, his first two compositions, have now been well edited; Carmen Codoñer edited what has come to be known as Differentiae I (Paris, ALMA, 1992); and now, as part of the serious attempt by the Corpus Christianorum series to make up for its original neglect of works from the Iberian Peninsula, María Adelaida Andrés Sanz presents her edition of Differentiae II, otherwise also known as Inter Deum (the first words of the text being “Inter Deum et Dominum ita quidem definierunt, ut in Dei appellatione patrem, in Domini Filium intellegerent”); although manuscripts call it simply Liber Differentiarum, and Arévalo in the fifteenth century called it Differentiae Rerum, since in this case the differences concern the meanings of semantically rather than formally related words. This is the eighth printed edition; the first came out in Paris in 1580, and the seventh was Migne’s of 1862 (PL 83, cols 69–98), so a new one was needed. A third such collection of Differentiae once ascribed to Isidore is now known not to be his, and has gone to swell the ranks of the productions of the prolific Pseudo-Isidore. The twenty-six first-millennium manuscripts of the whole text, and seven fragmentary ones, are detailed carefully (pp. 118–57), to show that there are six © JMLat 16 (2006)

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main text types, with not every section of the text in every manuscript (pp. 158–204). Enormous energy is expended on creating their stemma (pp. 204– 58). Only one manuscript is now in Spain (Madrid BRAH 21), although at least one other is written in Visigothic script. Readers more interested in Isidore than in his fortuna will omit this section and look for a comparable analysis of his sources, but this is relatively jejune (pp. 53–64). Although the detailed list of references at the very end is of interest (partly because so few of them are explicitly acknowledged by Isidore), Andrés’s list of supposed sources (Fontium) worryingly includes a large number from Isidore’s own Etymologiae, which was written much later; these Differentiae date from shortly after 600, and Isidore was still working on his Etymologiae on the day of his death in 636. The linguistic study (pp. 65–117) is aimed at establishing an acceptable text, not at an analysis of Isidore’s own language. Andrés presents a more classicized version than she need, but at least the hefty apparatus enables us to see what the manuscripts actually say. Occasionally Isidore’s own explicit etymological suggestions help the editor, as when Augustinus is preferred to Agustinus because of a declared link with augeo. Isidore’s own orthography is presumed, possibly rightly, to have been consistent, but he is sensibly allowed to fluctuate in the use of cases after verbs such as utor and the assimilation of prefixes. There is a large bibliography (283–312). But there are no notes to enable us to understand the text, which is fascinating at several levels. The Inter Deum is long and complex; its sections range in length from two and a half to 146 lines, and in all it takes up 112 (separately paginated) pages in the edition, although admittedly over half of that goes to the apparatus. Its content is fascinating, as this editor prefers to refrain from pointing out. There is nothing at all here on Isidore himself, his life, his formation, his career, his personality, his method of working, his historical context, his theology, his motivation, his interests, his view of the past, his aims for the future, his ideas, his intellectual qualities. There is nothing on the content of the text itself, its organization, its choice of topics, its method of exposition, its aims, its successes and failures, or even on whether the distinctions that Isidore sets up are generally accurate. For such a study of Isidore we still have to see Manuel Díaz y Díaz’s illuminating introduction to Oroz Reta’s edition of the Etymologiae (Madrid, BAC, 1982, 1– 257), but there is still basic work to be done on the Inter Deum. Scholars have been interested in Isidore since his own lifetime, of course, and one of the first to write about him was Braulio, Bishop of Zaragoza. José Carlos Martín recently edited La “Renotatio Librorum Domini Isidori” de

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Braulio de Zaragoza (d.651) (Logroño, Fundación San Millán de la Cogolla, 2002, 325 pp.), with a Spanish translation, an extensive introduction and lengthy helpful notes, all in relatively cheap and attractive paperback. Braulio lists there, with a few comments, what Isidore wrote, telling us, among other things, that he himself (Braulio) had been responsible for the division of the Etymologiae into its twenty books. This text was only fifty-five lines long in the Logroño edition; it is sixty-nine lines here in this reprint (pp. 199–207). In addition to the inevitable discussion of the thirty manuscripts, there is a valuable introduction about Braulio, as well as Isidore’s works. The whole is reprinted, slightly revised, in Martín’s volume of three works about Isidore in Corpus Christianorum 200, pp. 1–274. Braulio’s comment on Isidore’s Differentiae is: “Edidit enim libros Differentiarum duos, in quibus subtili discretione ea quae confuse usu proferuntur sensu discreuit” (200: 12–13). Textual changes made since the Logroño edition are: quibus (which has manuscript support) for quos (his previous conjecture) in CC line 21; possimus for possemus (which is what Augustine wrote in the passage being quoted) in CC line 56; eam between daggers for the previously conjectured catholicam in CC line 65. This is the overall level of revision: thoughtful but minor. The translation is not included in this re-edition, but the excellent and helpful notes are. The first note in particular is extensively rewritten. The second of the three texts edited in the volume is here entitled Redempti Clerici Hispalensis: obitus beatissimi Isidori Hispalensis Episcopi (275–388), although it has also been referred to elsewhere under other names. Like Braulio, Redempto de Sevilla knew Isidore personally. This work is eightyeight lines long in this edition, epistolary in form, describing Isidore’s confession, penitence, and death. The tone is impressively matter of fact, without expansive hagiographical tinges or even the standard topoi; Isidore’s is seen as an impressive and exemplary death, but this account could be essentially the truth, and written very shortly after the event (4 April, 636). Twelve manuscripts are detailed, nine of them in Spain. The linguistic study (pp. 348–63) has been undertaken for its own interest, not as an aid to fixing a text, but it also supports the early dating. The third text edited in this volume is the longest of the three at 108 lines, a Vita Sancti Isidori which is found in two manuscripts (in the Escorial and Toledo) but has never been edited before, so it is a disappointment to find that the study here is so short (pp. 393–412). It is anonymous, dates from about 1100 (probably shortly after Isidore’s body was moved to León in 1063), and makes extensive use of Braulio, Redempto and also Ildefonso de Toledo’s comments in his De viris illustribus; Martín even calls it a centón. © JMLat 16 (2006)

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It is a real pleasure to see that the copious texts from the Iberian Peninsula are coming to be increasingly represented in the Corpus Christianorum. Andrés’s meticulous edition is frustrating in deliberately not getting to grips with any interesting features of the text; but Martín is an impressively energetic editor and scholar, and the early works about Isidore are better understood now as a result. Roger Wright, University of Liverpool GUNILLA SĀVBORG, ed. Epistole tardive di Francesco Petrarca. Acta Universitatis Stockholmiensis. Studia Latina Stockholmiensia 51. Stockholm: Almquist and Wiksell International, 2004. Pp. 260, 6 plates. Sāvborg’s newly published edition of thirty-three letters of Petrarch, labelled by her Epistole tardive (though generally known as Epistolae variae in earlier editions), has two primary aims: first, to furnish a truly critical edition of the letters based on a review of all available manuscript witnesses, early printed editions, and modern scholarly editions; secondly, to place the letters for the first time within a chronological framework. The majority of the letters edited herein have been previously published by Giuseppe Fracassetti in volume three of his Francisci Petrarcae Epistolae de rebus familiaribus et variae (Florence, 1863) and by Wilkins and Billanovich in volume 37 of Speculum. Wilkins and Billanovich merely reprinted the text of the letters as previously edited (with the exception of their letters 3 and 4 which were newly edited by Billanovich). Nor did Fracassetti’s edition claim to be a critical one: manuscript variants are not reported and the orthography of the manuscripts is standardized to classical norms. Sāvborg’s work thus marks a great advance on previous scholarship in that she takes account of new manuscript evidence and accurately reports manuscript variants in an apparatus criticus at the end of each letter. It merits stating at the outset of this review that the manuscripts are generally well transcribed and their variants clearly marshalled for the reader. In places, the printed text differs significantly from the earlier edition of Fracassetti, either by incorporating readings of hitherto uncollated manuscripts or by altering the punctuation. Only rarely does Sāvborg emend the text, and, unlike her predecessor Fracassetti, she has either maintained the manuscript orthography (particularly in the case of Florence, Biblioteca Medicea Laurenziana, MS Plut. LIII.35, a manuscript written in Petrarch’s own hand), or she has

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It is a real pleasure to see that the copious texts from the Iberian Peninsula are coming to be increasingly represented in the Corpus Christianorum. Andrés’s meticulous edition is frustrating in deliberately not getting to grips with any interesting features of the text; but Martín is an impressively energetic editor and scholar, and the early works about Isidore are better understood now as a result. Roger Wright, University of Liverpool GUNILLA SĀVBORG, ed. Epistole tardive di Francesco Petrarca. Acta Universitatis Stockholmiensis. Studia Latina Stockholmiensia 51. Stockholm: Almquist and Wiksell International, 2004. Pp. 260, 6 plates. Sāvborg’s newly published edition of thirty-three letters of Petrarch, labelled by her Epistole tardive (though generally known as Epistolae variae in earlier editions), has two primary aims: first, to furnish a truly critical edition of the letters based on a review of all available manuscript witnesses, early printed editions, and modern scholarly editions; secondly, to place the letters for the first time within a chronological framework. The majority of the letters edited herein have been previously published by Giuseppe Fracassetti in volume three of his Francisci Petrarcae Epistolae de rebus familiaribus et variae (Florence, 1863) and by Wilkins and Billanovich in volume 37 of Speculum. Wilkins and Billanovich merely reprinted the text of the letters as previously edited (with the exception of their letters 3 and 4 which were newly edited by Billanovich). Nor did Fracassetti’s edition claim to be a critical one: manuscript variants are not reported and the orthography of the manuscripts is standardized to classical norms. Sāvborg’s work thus marks a great advance on previous scholarship in that she takes account of new manuscript evidence and accurately reports manuscript variants in an apparatus criticus at the end of each letter. It merits stating at the outset of this review that the manuscripts are generally well transcribed and their variants clearly marshalled for the reader. In places, the printed text differs significantly from the earlier edition of Fracassetti, either by incorporating readings of hitherto uncollated manuscripts or by altering the punctuation. Only rarely does Sāvborg emend the text, and, unlike her predecessor Fracassetti, she has either maintained the manuscript orthography (particularly in the case of Florence, Biblioteca Medicea Laurenziana, MS Plut. LIII.35, a manuscript written in Petrarch’s own hand), or she has

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adhered to the norms of Petrarchan orthography established by such earlier scholars as Vittorio Rossi (outlined on pp. 91–92). Let us turn to the text itself. For the purpose of this review, I have checked thoroughly Sāvborg’s transcription of letters 7, 13, 15, 20, and 25 (using plates I–VI at the end of the volume), and I have compared the text as she prints it for each letter against that found in the edition of Fracassetti. From this admittedly somewhat cursory examination, I conclude that her transcription of the manuscripts is remarkably accurate. The mistakes noted (and which I have tabulated below) are for the most part venial. Only thrice in the portions checked did the editor make an error in transcription. In the list below, I reference the text by the letter number and subdivision provided in Sāvborg’s edition. 7.27 The manuscript has suspitionem, not suspicionem. 7.30 The manuscript reads animum hunc inuadat, as printed by Fracassetti. 7.37 The manuscript reads cuncta, not cunta (perhaps a typo). The editor seems often to print cuncta elsewhere; see 7.44. 13.5 The manuscript reads fracta (as printed by Fracassetti), not fincta, as Sāvborg claims. To be fair, the manuscript is quite hard to decipher and letter shapes meld. 15.1 The manuscript clearly reads nequicquam, not nequiquam. 15.2 The orthography of the manuscript is alloquutus (as printed by Fracassetti), and not allocutus. 15.4 The printed text attulisse is a mistranscription of the manuscript reading attullisset (attuliss;). For this form, compare 7.45 where the scribe writes fecisset. Fracassetti prints attulissem, and I suspect that our scribe has written a sideways m and left out an e. 15.10 The printed text spoliata es is incorrect. The scribe has written e with a stroke above it to represent “est.” Fracassetti duly prints this reading. Since Sāvborg makes no comment on this anomaly in her apparatus criticus, the reading es may be a typo. 20.9 minis multa signando: It is difficult to tell from the manuscript (primarily due to the series of minims at the beginning of the word) whether the scribe has written minis or nimis (there is no visible hairstroke tick over the first i). Fracassetti prints nimis, which I would favour. It is clear that most of the errors alluded to above are probably due to carelessness in proof reading as opposed to an actual mistranscription of the manuscript reading. Indeed, it seems to me that the editor deserves high praise for her accuracy. © JMLat 16 (2006)

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Whereas the text in Sāvborg’s edition reproduces, with rare exceptions, the text of those letters published in the earlier edition of Wilkins and Billanovich (Sāvborg’s Epistole tardive 5, 17, 22, 23, and 27), she deviates more frequently from Fracassetti’s in her choice of manuscript reading and punctuation. Often, the reading selected by Sāvborg improves the sense of the passage. For example, in Epistola tardiva 13 (Fracassetti, Epistola varia 54) Sāvborg emends the text in section 8 from de te to de re (on the assumption that Petrarch is referring to the subject matter discussed in the following paragraph?); in section 12, she prints temeritate (with MS Ven 70) where Fracessetti omits the word; in section 26, she is able convincingly to emend the text on the reading of MS Ven 70; and in section 27, she more properly writes parumne where Fracassetti has parum ne. In Epistola tardiva 15 (Fracassetti, Epistola varia 58), Sāvborg prints in section 5 occumbere for Fracassetti’s less evocative succumbere; in section 6, she prints profluxisse , to be preferred to Fracassetti’s perfluxisse; in section 15 she prints quoniam where Fracassetti has quam. In other places, Sāvborg modifies rather drastically the punctuation of the text from the earlier edition of Fracassetti. For example, in Epistola tardiva 15.7, she makes the emotional expression heu fata parenthetical to the main clause in the sentence (“et – heu fata hominum sive quo alio opportuniore vocabulo lubricus status vite mortalis exprimitur – idem ille ”), whereas Fracasseti prints the sentence as a series of exclamations with the heu treated as an interjection (“Et heu! Fata hominum, sive quo alio opportuniore vocabulo lubricus status vitae mortalis exprimitur! Idem ille ”). The volume has many other virtues. The introduction furnishes the reader with welcome background for reading the letters within their intellectual and social setting. As announced in the forward to the edition (p. 11), Sāvborg seeks to provide a chronological framework for the letters (see pp. 55–61). In addition, detailed information is given concerning the recipient of each letter (pp. 35–52), and a biographical sketch of Petrarch, drawn from the work of Wilkins and Ugo Dotti, but also supplemented with new information from the Epistole tardive themselves, rounds out this section. Finally, the edition can be recommended for its lucid description of manuscripts and editions used by the author (pp. 67–84). I note the following infelicities: Milano, Biblioteca Ambrosiana, Cod. P. 256 should read P. 256 sup. The manuscripts that once formed the Roudnice collection of the Národní Knihovna in Prague (see p. 75) have now been returned to Roudnice. Venice, Biblioteca Marciana, Cod. L.XIII.70 would be better cited as Marc. lat. XIII.70 (4309) so as to avoid confusion (manuscripts at

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the Biblioteca Nazionale Marciana have a double set of shelf marks that must always be cited in tandem). Similarly Modena, Biblioteca Estense, Cod. 845 is not a proper shelf mark: a designation such as lat. or ital. is needed, and manuscripts in this library, as with the manuscripts in the Biblioteca Nazionale Marciana, must be cited by a double set of shelfmarks. In the list of sigla on p. 92, Bruxelles, Bibliothèque Royale, Albet I should read Albert I; Borg. 329 should read Borg. lat. 329; Chig. 262 should read Chigi L.VII.262; Lat. 3355 should read Vat. lat. 3355; and Biblioteca Ambrosiana, Ambr. P. 256 should read Biblioteca Ambrosiana, P. 256. sup. To conclude, Sāvborg has given us a useful and scholarly edition of thirty-three letters of Petrarch that vary widely in length, tone, and subject matter. Letter 3 is but a snippet, while letter 7 presents a long and heartfelt reflection on the death of a much-beloved friend. The edition marks a major advance on Fracassetti in clearly presenting the manuscript evidence. The wealth of information contained in the introduction and accompanying commentary serves as an essential aid for the reader, allowing him to read the letters more fruitfully within context. Frank Coulson, Ohio State University AGNETA SYLWAN, ed. Petri Comestoris Scolastica Historia, Liber Genesis. Corpus Christianorum, Continuatio Medievalis 191. Turnhout: Brepols, 2005. Pp. xc + 230. With the Glossa Ordinaria and Peter Lombard’s Sentences, the Scolastica Historia (ca. 1170) by Peter Comestor was one of three monumental scholarly products of the twelfth century. Comestor was known as the “master of histories” and as a devourer of books, although his family name in French was indeed Mangir. Dante placed him in the circle of the sun in Paradiso XII. The Historia was translated wholly or partially into Dutch, French, German, and English by the end of the Middle Ages. The incunabulum of Utrecht 1473 was the first book printed in the Netherlands. Under the Victorine aegis, Comester brought the literal level to biblical study. Such is Comestor’s influence – through his Latin original, vernacular translations, and popular biblical verse – that for many medieval readers, Comester’s version of biblical history was the Bible. Although Comestor’s importance has long been known to modern scholars, only now do we have a reliable text. Before Agneta Sylwan’s edition, there was the Patrologia Latina version (PL 198: 1053–1644), a © JMLat 16 (2006)

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the Biblioteca Nazionale Marciana have a double set of shelf marks that must always be cited in tandem). Similarly Modena, Biblioteca Estense, Cod. 845 is not a proper shelf mark: a designation such as lat. or ital. is needed, and manuscripts in this library, as with the manuscripts in the Biblioteca Nazionale Marciana, must be cited by a double set of shelfmarks. In the list of sigla on p. 92, Bruxelles, Bibliothèque Royale, Albet I should read Albert I; Borg. 329 should read Borg. lat. 329; Chig. 262 should read Chigi L.VII.262; Lat. 3355 should read Vat. lat. 3355; and Biblioteca Ambrosiana, Ambr. P. 256 should read Biblioteca Ambrosiana, P. 256. sup. To conclude, Sāvborg has given us a useful and scholarly edition of thirty-three letters of Petrarch that vary widely in length, tone, and subject matter. Letter 3 is but a snippet, while letter 7 presents a long and heartfelt reflection on the death of a much-beloved friend. The edition marks a major advance on Fracassetti in clearly presenting the manuscript evidence. The wealth of information contained in the introduction and accompanying commentary serves as an essential aid for the reader, allowing him to read the letters more fruitfully within context. Frank Coulson, Ohio State University AGNETA SYLWAN, ed. Petri Comestoris Scolastica Historia, Liber Genesis. Corpus Christianorum, Continuatio Medievalis 191. Turnhout: Brepols, 2005. Pp. xc + 230. With the Glossa Ordinaria and Peter Lombard’s Sentences, the Scolastica Historia (ca. 1170) by Peter Comestor was one of three monumental scholarly products of the twelfth century. Comestor was known as the “master of histories” and as a devourer of books, although his family name in French was indeed Mangir. Dante placed him in the circle of the sun in Paradiso XII. The Historia was translated wholly or partially into Dutch, French, German, and English by the end of the Middle Ages. The incunabulum of Utrecht 1473 was the first book printed in the Netherlands. Under the Victorine aegis, Comester brought the literal level to biblical study. Such is Comestor’s influence – through his Latin original, vernacular translations, and popular biblical verse – that for many medieval readers, Comester’s version of biblical history was the Bible. Although Comestor’s importance has long been known to modern scholars, only now do we have a reliable text. Before Agneta Sylwan’s edition, there was the Patrologia Latina version (PL 198: 1053–1644), a © JMLat 16 (2006)

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reprint of Emanuel Navarrus’s edition (Madrid, 1699). Sylwan (Göteborg, Sweden) announced her claim to a new edition in Sacris Erudiri 39 (2000), 345–82, and promptly set about making good on it. A critical edition was never a possibility. Sylwan uncovered nearly 800 manuscripts of the Historia (as compared to the 224 listed in Stegmüller’s Repertorium). Before presenting her editorial method, Sylwan briefly discusses Comestor’s life and work and summarizes the contents and sources, including the Bible, of the Historia. She does not claim to identify manuscripts of source-texts that Comestor might have used, but she does demonstrate the availability of Comestor’s sources in contemporaneous manuscripts. One point that emerges clearly from Sylwan’s analysis of Comestor’s handling of his sources is that even when he quoted the Bible, Comestor allowed himself freedom. For example, his quotations from the Vulgate are sometimes augmented by the Vetus Latina or even a commentary version of the same passage; he alters direct discourse to indirect discourse and vice-versa; he uses synonyms and adds words and phrases of clarification. Comestor’s citations of sources, which can be even freer, are therefore sometimes rather difficult to pin down. As one would expect, Sylwan’s new edition gives us a more authorial text than the Patrologia Latina text, which erroneously includes glosses to the Historia as if they were Comestor’s text itself. The rubrication of Sylwan’s text also reflects the earliest manuscripts. The title Sylwan adopts is attested in several early manuscripts, but it was probably assigned as a kind of shorthand – Comestor apparently did not title the work. To derive the stemma, Sylwan excluded manuscripts which were late, which failed to distinguish glosses and additions from the text (these can be identified as such by comparison with manuscripts where they are marked), and whose biblical quotations had been hyper-corrected. This process of elimination left twenty-four manuscripts from the late twelfth and the turn of the thirteenth century. The manuscript grouping was established by a check of selected passages rather than by a collation of the contents of all twenty-four manuscripts. From it Sylwan derived two main groups whose provenances are Champagne (fourteen) and Paris (ten). Since five of eight manuscripts containing the first adaptation of the original text of the Historia are from the Champagne group, and three manuscripts in this sub-group are from Sens, Sylwan reasoned that Sens provided the exemplars lying behind both groups. Sylwan then excluded from her edition the eight manuscripts of the first adaptation, plus one incomplete manuscript, and the seven manuscripts

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from the turn of the thirteenth century. This left eight twelfth-century manuscripts from both the Champagne and Paris groups that Sylwan considered to be the oldest and most reliable witnesses. Only these are described (pp. xl–lxv); and Sylwan’s further classification of the manuscripts into sub-groups α (P, S), β (Tr, W), γ (Pa, To), and δ (L, T) on pp. lxv– lxxxiv concerns only these eight. None of the eight manuscripts is copied from one of the others. Of the eight, MS P, Paris, Bibliothèque nationale de France, MS lat. 16943 (Corbie, dated 1183), is the oldest. Sylwan identifies it with Comestor’s original (which Sylwan labels X), from before the time it became a school book, and proposes on the basis of Comestor’s preface that the title was meant to be Historia sacre scripture. But although it is the oldest manuscript, P does not always contain the best readings; Sylwan has had to rely on her experience with the eight manuscript witnesses to guide her in choosing preferable readings when a P reading appeared suspect to her. Glosses and rubrics in all eight manuscripts suggest that Comestor himself may have prepared the text for easy navigation and for study. Sylwan has helpfully included them in her edition, setting them off typographically. Sylwan proposes that the other seven manuscripts besides P represent a revision (which Sylwan labels Y), probably by Comestor himself, intended for school use. This version gives us the title Scolastica historia, and is the basis of later manuscripts. The reader should know that for a complete discussion of the manuscripts it is necessary to read Sylwan’s Sacris Erudiri article alongside the Introduction. Sylwan helpfully informs the reader of where this is necessary – for example, on p. xxxvi, note 54, she reveals that this edition reclassifies groups β and γ. Moreover, this edition is only of Comestor’s Genesis together with the dedicatory epistle to William of Sens and the preface of the Historia as a whole, but what is not made clear is which parts of the Historia were spot-checked in selecting the twenty-four manuscripts that were narrowed down to eight for the text. Finally, with four years separating it from Comestor’s death, caution may yet be in order before identifying MS P with Comestor’s authorial text. This is otherwise a judicious edition with a pellucid explication of editorial method. Each section of text is keyed to the Patrologia Latina edition and to Genesis. Sources, deviations from the Vulgate, and manuscript variants are at the bottom of every page, keyed by line number to the text in the usual Corpus Christianorum style. Sigla refer only to the eight base manuscripts, and abbreviations are kept to a reasonable minimum. © JMLat 16 (2006)

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Spellings follow the consensus of the manuscripts – hence u for v throughout, plus often y for i, p for ph, etc, which may put the lessexperienced Latinist off a bit, but which is truer to Comestor’s probable orthography. As a bonus, the text of the Historia is followed (pp. 185–87) by the Introitus super hystoriam scolasticam (possibly by Peter of Poitiers), an introduction written ca. 1180 for university students who would use the Historia as a textbook. The text is based on Troyes 290 (five others are listed). Indices of scriptural citations, of sources, and of manuscripts cited in the Introduction round out the volume. At a glance, the index of sources allows one to see who Comestor favoured on Genesis. Andrew of St. Victor and Hugh of St. Victor easily take the palm; Josephus, Augustine, and Isidore are cited only half as often, and all others are far behind. Sylwan gives no hint about an edition-in-progress of the Historia’s Exodus, but the Scolastica historia is too important to be left incomplete. Michael W. Twomey, Ithaca College