The Medieval Chronicle IV

The Medieval Chronicle IV

THE MEDIEVAL CHRONICLE 4 Series Editor: Erik Kooper

Frontispiece Biblioteca Apostolica Vaticana, Vat.lat. 8541, fol. 80r: The entry of Ladislas into Székesfehérvár and his coronation After the edition of Ferenc Levárdy, Magyar Anjou Legendárium (Budapest: Magyar Helikon, 1973) (See Béla Zsolt Szakács, ‘Between Chronicle and Legend: Image Cycles of St Ladislas in Fourteenth-Century Hungarian Manuscripts’)

The Medieval Chronicle IV Edited by Erik Kooper

Amsterdam - New York, NY 2006

The paper on which this book is printed meets the requirements of “ISO 9706:1994, Information and documentation - Paper for documents - Requirements for permanence”. ISSN: 1567-2336 ISBN-10: 90-420-2088-1 ISBN-13: 978-90-420-2088-7 ©Editions Rodopi B.V., Amsterdam - New York, NY 2006 Printed in the Netherlands

CONTENTS Contents............................................................................................................... v Contributors ...................................................................................................... vii Preface................................................................................................................ ix Peter Ainsworth .................................................................................................. 1 Representing Royalty: Kings, Queens and Captains in Some Early Fifteenth-Century Manuscripts of Froissart’s Chroniques Peter Damian-Grint ......................................................................................... 39 Propaganda and essample in Benoît de Sainte-Maure’s Chronique des ducs de Normandie Tamar S. Drukker ........................................................................................... 53 Historicising Sainthood: The Case of Edward the Confessor in Vernacular Narratives Lynne Echegaray ............................................................................................. 81 The Missing Family: Silencing in the Crónica de don Álvaro de Luna Miliana Kaimakamova ................................................................................... 91 Turnovo – New Constantinople: The Third Rome in the Fourteenth-Century Bulgarian Translation of Constantine Manasses’ Synopsis Chronike Jitka Komendová ........................................................................................... 105 Reisen der russischen Fürsten in die Horde: der Kulturdialog in den Chroniken Marco Mostert ................................................................................................ 113 Remembering the Barbarian Past: Oral Traditions about the Distant Past in the Middle Ages Christiane Raynaud ........................................................................................ 127 Fêtes d’armes et dévotions au XVe Siècle

Béla Zsolt Szakács ......................................................................................... 149 Between Chronicle and Legend: Image Cycles of St Ladislas in Fourteenth-Century Hungarian Manuscripts Letty ten Harkel ............................................................................................ 177 The Vikings and the Natives: Ethnic Identity in England and Normandy c. 1000 AD Johan Weststeijn ............................................................................................ 191 Abbasid Caliphs and Biblical Prophets: The Use of Dreams in Tabari’s History of Prophets and Kings Jürgen Wolf ................................................................................................... 203 Die Heiligenlegende als multivalente Gattung zwischen klösterlich-dynastischer Memorialkultur, Chronistik und laikal-privater Andacht: Beobachtungen am Elisabethleben des Johannes Rothe Véronique Zara .............................................................................................. 215 Le cadre temporel des Grandes Chroniques: naissance et intégration du système de datation par rapport à la naissance du Christ Jeffrey S. Widmayer ....................................................................................... 231 The Chronicle of Montpellier H119: Text, Translation and Commentary

CONTRIBUTORS Peter Ainsworth – Department of French – University of Sheffield (UK) Peter Damian-Grint – Faculty of Modern Languages – University of Oxford (UK) Tamar S. Drukker – School of Oriental and African Studies – University of London (UK) Lynne Echegaray – Department of Foreign Languages and Literatures – Oklahoma State University – Stillwater, OK (USA) Miliana Kaimakamova – Department of History – University of Sofia “St. Kliment Ohridsky” (BG) Jitka Komendová – Department of Slavic Studies – Palacky University – Olomouc (CZ) Erik Kooper – Department of English – Utrecht University (NL) Marco Mostert – Department of History – Utrecht University (NL) Christiane Raynaud – Département d’Histoire – Université de Provence AixMarseille I (F) Béla Zsolt Szakács – Department of Art History – Pázmány Péter Catholic University – Piliscsaba (H) / Department of Medieval Studies – Central European University – Budapest (H) Letty ten Harkel – Cambridge Archaeological Unit – Dept. of Archaeology – University of Cambridge (UK) Johan Weststeijn – Department of Arabic – Amsterdam University (NL) Jürgen Wolf – Deutsche Texte des Mittelalters (DTM) – Brandenburgische Akademie der Wissenschaften – Berlin (D) / Institut für Deutsche Philologie des Mittelalters – Universität Marburg (D) Véronique Zara – Department of Modern Languages – Wabash College – Crawfordsville, IN (USA) Jeffrey S. Widmayer – Department of Romance Languages and Literatures – The University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill, NC (USA)

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PREFACE Whereas the third issue of The Medieval Chronicle was, like its predecessors, still basically a proceedings volume, since all its papers originated from the 3rd International Conference on the Medieval Chronicle (Utrecht/Doorn 2002), the present one clearly shows the change to a regular ‘Yearbook of Chronicle Studies’ (with its own ISSN code), announced in the previous volume. The opening paper by Peter Ainsworth and six others were first read at the 2002 Conference, the remaining six are original contributions. In addition, the last of these articles constitutes a novelty in another way as well: for the first time an unedited text with parallel translation is published here. However, apart from the changes mentioned, the basic editorial principles still stand, which means that all papers will continue to be peer reviewed by two members of an editorial committee, and that the five major themes of interest remain: 1. The chronicle: history or literature? The chronicle as a historiographical and/or a literary genre; genre confusion and genre influence; different types of chronicle; classification; conventions (historiographical, literary or otherwise), etc. 2. The function of the chronicle The historical or literary context of the chronicle; its social function and/ or utility; patronage; reading and listening; reception of the text, etc. 3. The form of the chronicle Origin/genesis of the chronicle; the language of the chronicle; chronicles in multiple languages; prose or verse; provenance and dissemination of the manuscripts, etc. 4. The chronicle and the reconstruction of the past Relationship present – past in the chronicle; the author’s historical awareness; the explication of history (the causa causans of history); fictionality vs. historical veracity; the function of the past for the author's present, etc. 5. Text and image in the chronicle Function of the manuscript illuminations; provenance and date of the illuminations; links with the text (e.g. factual or fictitious representation of the images), etc. It is a pleasure to express here my indebtedness to the members of the editorial committee: Graeme Dunphy, Chris Given-Wilson, David Hook, Norbert Kersken, Edward Donald Kennedy, Sjoerd Levelt, Alison Williams Lewis, Peter Noble, David Pattison and Jürgen Wolf. As always their insightful comments have had a positive effect on the overall quality of the papers. A special word of thanks is due to my Bulgarian student Nina Todorova, whose help was crucial in the preparation of one of the papers for the press. Erik Kooper

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REPRESENTING ROYALTY: KINGS, QUEENS AND CAPTAINS IN SOME EARLY FIFTEENTH-CENTURY 1 MANUSCRIPTS OF FROISSART’S CHRONIQUES

Peter Ainsworth

Abstract A group of hitherto little studied early fifteenth-century manuscripts of Froissart’s Chronicles produced in Paris c. 1408-1413 were copied and decorated by scribes and illuminators working in alternating teams. Presenting almost identical texts, their respective programmes of illumination evince fascinating contrasts. More research is needed into how these might most usefully be classified (e.g. ‘military’ versus ‘royal succession’), but preliminary analysis reveals acute differences in their portrayal of royal and noble protagonists, at a time when England and France were re-engaged in a new phase of the conflict that was to shape their future national identities. The essay starts with Stonyhurst College MS 1, whose illustrative programme seems calculated to appeal to a pro-French audience. Besançon Public Library MS 864, in contrast, whilst related in many ways to the Stonyhurst codex, exhibits a more resolutely anglocentric depiction of royal and noble protagonists. These two manuscripts are subsequently compared with BL Additional MSS 3865838659, Toulouse, Bibliothèque du Patrimoine MS 511, and Morgan Library MS M.804 (where a sustained preoccupation with royal and aristocratic heraldry is evinced). The essay looks, finally, at the surviving iconography of BL Arundel MS 67.

This essay focuses on selected aspects of the iconography of a group of early fifteenth-century Parisian manuscripts, each of which provides a text for a 2 substantial portion of Jean Froissart’s Chroniques. Some survive as two separate volumes, the first typically containing an early text for most or all of Book I, the second offering a text for either the final part of Book I or a complete version of Books II and III. They were copied and decorated just after the beginning of the second decade of the fifteenth century (ca. 1408-1413). The production of at least some of them may have been overseen by an enterprising Parisian librarius whom we have reason to believe was definitely responsible for at least one pair of ‘twin manuscripts’, perhaps more. These ‘twins’ occupied the labours of alternating teams of scribes and illuminators, as described below. They present the scholar with some interesting challenges; for present purposes it is sufficient to state that the representation of French and English royal and noble protagonists in these otherwise similar manuscript books – produced at a time when both England and France were about to reengage in a new phase of the endemic conflict that would in many ways shape

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the future of their respective national identities – evinces a number of striking differences of emphasis deserving more than just a passing glance. A short introduction sets forth the principal distinguishing characteristics of the manuscripts under discussion. Next, a codex is explored that has until now received scant attention from Froissart scholars: Stonyhurst College MS 1. Not the least interesting feature of the programme adopted for the decoration of this manuscript is that it seems calculated to appeal predominantly to an 3 audience or patron sympathetic to the French, rather than to the English, cause. Stonyhurst College MS 1 is subsequently compared to a second witness for the same text (the ‘A’ redaction of Book I of the Chroniques): Besançon Public Library MS 864, which, whilst it is closely related in many ways to the Stonyhurst codex, also differs markedly from it due to its more overtly anglocentric depiction of royal and noble protagonists, and in its choice of episodes meriting illustration. Also discussed, albeit more briefly, is British Library Additional MS 38658-38659. The next manuscripts examined entail a broadening of perspective. Toulouse, Bibliothèque du Patrimoine MS 511, and Pierpont Morgan Library MS M.804, provide not only a representation of French and English royalty in their miniatures; their respective schemes of decoration are also characterised, though in different ways, by a sustained preoccupation with heraldry, both 4 royal and aristocratic. The artists responsible for these two manuscripts appear to have been charged by their presiding librarius or patron with a commission entailing careful attention to blazon, expressed here via the accurate and at times extensive depiction of armorial bearings on banners and surcoats. 5 The final manuscript discussed is British Library Arundel MS 67. It is compared, first, with the manuscripts considered earlier in the essay, then examined with reference to (what remains of) its own particular scheme of decoration. Finally, a particularly vexing problem is explored to do with who might have commissioned Arundel MS 67, or have been its earliest known owner. *** This essay would not have adopted its present shape had it not been for a landmark discovery by Godfried Croenen, Lecturer in French at the University of Liverpool and Associate Director of the Froissart Project based there and at Sheffield. Croenen’s discovery, written up in an article co-signed with Mary and Richard Rouse (2002: 261-93) was an almost totally erased quittance, still just about visible (but only just) beneath an ex libris on fol. 406v of a manuscript of Book I of Froissart’s Chroniques kept at the Bibliothèque Nationale: Paris BnF fr 2663. Use of a Wood lamp and enhanced photograph has revealed for the first time the identity of the librarius responsible for overseeing the manuscript’s production: Pierre de Liffol. Already known to



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Mary and Richard Rouse, this Parisian ‘entrepreneur’ had never before been associated with any manuscript of the Chroniques; nor had scholars been able to identify such a relationship before, with specific reference to the surviving 6 corpus of manuscripts of the Chroniques. Paris BnF fr 2663-2664 would seem to be the ‘twin’ of Besançon 864865. According to early publications by Millard Meiss, the miniatures in fr 2663 were almost certainly to be viewed as the work of (associates of) the Master of the Berry Apocalypse; in later publications he suggests that they should be attributed to the Boethius Master or his/her associates, who were in any case associated with the illuminators responsible for the Berry Apocalypse 7 now kept at the Morgan Library. As will become clear, the same style is found in at least two more of the manuscripts that we propose to call here, albeit speculatively and provisionally, the ‘Pierre de Liffol’ group. One feature of the style is that kings and peers or knights of each realm, when they appear in BnF fr 2663 (e.g. on fol. 258) are shown crowned and gowned, but with relatively 8 little emphasis on heraldic detail applied to costume. The style of draughtsmanship (allied to a colour palette dominated by vermilion and lime and apple 9 green) found in Paris BnF fr 2663, is also similar in many respects to those found in what appears to be another ‘Pierre de Liffol’ manuscript: Besançon 10 MS 865, as can be seen from a comparison of representative images from each codex (figs. 1 and 2). Much the same can be said of the miniatures found in the final third of another Froissart manuscript from the group, Pierpont 11 Morgan Library MS M.804 (fig. 3: fol. 315, discussed below). Turning now to BnF fr 2663’s co-manuscript, fr 2664 (which provides a text for Book II of the Chroniques), we discover that – according to Meiss and other art historians specialising in the manuscript art of the early fifteenth century – this codex was decorated by associates of the workshop of the Master 12 of the Rohan Hours. Like several other Froissart manuscripts thought to have been illuminated by this ‘team’ and which are also discussed below, the open13 ing folio presents a full-page quadripartite presentation miniature (fig. 4:). In this case the focus is manifestly on French royalty; the four scenes selected contrast markedly with the resolutely anglocentric focus found, for example, in those opening Besançon MS 864. Other miniatures from fr 2664 (fols. 140 and 142v) depict the victory of Charles VI of France over the Flemish rebels at Westrosebeke, and the surrender of the city of Ghent to the French king; yet another (fol. 10v) shows the French king being received by the pope. Like BnF MS fr 2664 and Besançon MS 864, Stonyhurst College MS 1 14 (providing a text for the ‘A’ version of Book I of the Chroniques) also begins with a full-page quadripartite presentation miniature (fig. 5). Once again, the artists responsible appear to be associates connected with the workshop of the Master of the Rohan Hours. This time, as in Besançon MS 864, the scenes selected arise from episodes featuring a king of England. The first lunette shows the chronicler-poet presenting a substantial bound volume to an English

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king whose heraldic leopards are shown facing the wrong way round, suggesting either relative ignorance on the part of those responsible for the image, or more plausibly perhaps a desire to match the direction of the leopard’s gaze 15 with that of their king; in the second, Isabelle of France, disaffected queen of Edward II of England, is greeted by her brother, Charles IV of France. Isabelle wears the dress conventionally worn by queens in miniatures from this period: over a flowing gown decorated with the leopards of England and lilies of France marshalled per pale (i.e. dimidiated) a sleeveless tunic lined with ermine and emblazoned with the arms of France and England, marshalled once more per pale and quarterly. The future Edward III is shown here as a boy, his robe barely distinguishable from his mother’s skirts, and his head placed immediately over her right hand. Again, the leopards of England face the wrong way, and are crudely painted. Isabelle’s two female companions are attired in the high-waisted gowns and headdress that will be familiar to those acquainted with British Library Harley MS 4431, the celebrated Queen’s 16 Manuscript of Christine de Pizan’s works completed c. 1413. The queen’s features are quite delicately managed. The castle or gatehouse architecture to the right of the fourth lunette deserves some comment: painted in a pale pink wash, its underdrawing is clearly visible. The knights atop the turrets appear to be using a primitive cannon or handgun thrust through a circular aperture in the 17 crenellated parapet above the gateway. Like the gatehouse in lunette 4, and the vegetation to the left of the ship in lunette 3, the cog (in this latter frame) bearing Isabelle and the young Edward to port at Bristol is also left unfinished, with the underdrawing showing through. A cross appears to have been placed next to the boy’s right, unless this is an attempt at representing a ship’s tiller. The opening folio of the Stonyhurst Froissart is badly abraded; it is also the only folio with miniature from the manuscript to have benefited, so far, from reproduction (in an article by Alberto Varvaro for Medioevo Romanzo, see above, n. 13). This is unfortunate in a respect not, of course, anticipated by Varvaro: it gives the impression that the remainder of the manuscript is likely to be just as badly damaged. This is far from the case, as is immediately apparent from even a cursory look at the harmonious mise en page found on fol. 56r (fig. 6). The maritime scene depicted features what looks like an oriflamme, a sign that combat on the French side is in defence of the realm, with the king of France duly present or represented (see Lombard-Jourdan 2005). Although at first glance the flag looks more like an orange streamer or pennant, closer inspection of the margin reveals the presence in pencilled outline of at least another langue or ‘tongue’, confirming the impression that whatever the painter produced, an oriflamme was indeed intended. This is the first of several miniatures in this codex evincing a particular preoccupation with events from a French point of view. In an essay published in 1998, Laurence Harf-Lancner commented on the use of a positively gigantic oriflamme in BnF MS fr 2662’s depiction of the



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battle of Crécy (fol. 150v) (1998: 219-50). Although a mound of corpses occupies the centre foreground between the French and English armies, the French knights, led by king and emperor, ride proudly beneath the banners of the Empire (or, a two-headed eagle displayed, sable), Bourbon (azure semy de lys or, a bendlet gules) and Alençon (azure semy de lys or, a bordure gules bezanty of argent), over which towers the oriflamme itself, dominating the border space immediately above. And they are shown still intact in all their 18 heraldic panoply. Whilst the French king is accompanied by the Emperor, the English deployed opposite can only muster their own king, wearing – anachronistically, but in consequence without the French quarterings which he had adopted so pointedly several years earlier – English ancient, his son the Black Prince (English ancient, a label of three points argent), and the count of Hainault (quarterly 1 and 4: or, a lion sable, armed and langued gules; 2 and 3: or, a lion gules, armed and langued azure). A similar scene graces the opening of the chapter recounting the battle of Poitiers (fol. 196v; also fig. 14 below), where the Black Prince is shown accompanied by the Captal de Buch (Jean de Grailly) and Thomas Ufford, earl of Suffolk, whilst Jean II of France – to the right – is supported by the duke of Bourbon and count of La Marche. In this illustration, the foreground of corpses occupies the space beneath the French, but as Harf-Lancner has emphasised, the oriflamme still has pride of place above them. A further miniature with a strong charge of propaganda value was identified by Harf-Lancner at fol. 133 of BnF fr 2663, where an incident is portrayed that does not generally feature in programmes of illustration for these early fifteenth-century Froissart manuscripts. Depicting Edward III’s awkward landing head-first on a Norman beach (receiving a bloody nose in the process) at the start of his invasion campaign of 1346, the miniature shows the young and martial Edward III in an extremely unflattering pose; two of his retainers look as though they are trying to catch him before the royal nose hits French soil, whilst a third raises an anxious hand (suggesting perhaps an implied moral message about Fortuna and her wheel). Returning now to the Stonyhurst codex, whilst other manuscripts from the period contain miniatures like the one encountered at fol. 153v, this miniature is unique in terms of the overtly French palette of gold and blue deployed, here, for a scene representing what would today be called the lying-in-state of 19 Philippe VI de Valois. His catafalque and chapelle ardente are surrounded by mourners draped in cloaks of heavy black cloth, hoods completely concealing their faces, as in the extraordinary pleurants famously sculpted by Claus Sluter for the tomb of Philip the Bold of Burgundy (now at Dijon’s Musée archéologique). This scene is set alongside the spectacle of the apotheosis or trans20 figuration of Philippe’s successor Jean II, seated on a coronation throne set on a carpet of fleurs-de-lys, behind which can be seen an altar whose frontal and reredos are adorned in blue strewn with golden lilies, as are the stone vaults high above, not to mention the robes of the Archbishops (Plate I).

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An almost identical scene occurs at fol. 227v, this time depicting the obsequies of Jean II on the return of his body from London, where he had been in prison courtoise pending payment of the gigantic ransom demanded after Poitiers. This time the chapelle ardente is juxtaposed with the coronation of Charles V (but without the cathedral architecture or altar), set immediately 21 above a panoramic representation of the battle of Cocherel, at which an Anglo-Navarrese army threatening Paris and led by the Captal de Buch was defeated by a pro-French Breton army led by Bertrand du Guesclin (fig. 7). In a larger composition, remarkable for the considerable discrepancy visible, once again, between the underdrawing of the castle architecture and the finished illustration, the funeral of the duke of Brittany is evoked for us, his funeral procession led by a horse in trapper of ermine plain and mounted by a figure draped completely in black, as the mourners enter a fortified city (fig. 8). The stooping posture adopted by the last mourner in the procession (nearest the pleurant on the duke’s emblazoned horse) strikes a predominant note of personal sadness and grief. Another intriguing miniature from the Stonyhurst Froissart portrays the French king at the battle of Poitiers in 1356. It homes in on the precise moment at which Denis de Morbecke (a renegade from the Artois fighting for the English) lays hands upon the king (Plate II). John II is shown wearing both crown and armorial jupon; to the onlooker’s right, a figure in full armour seizes the French king by the shoulder. No heraldic clue is offered as to the captor’s identity; Froissart’s narrative identifies him several folios later as Denis de Morbecke, who was later persuaded to hand Jean over to the safer, but much more expensive, custody of the Black Prince. Just one more miniature from Stonyhurst MS 1 should retain our attention at this juncture. Occuring at fol. 107, it opens a chapter narrating the siege in October 1345 by a Franco-Gascon army under the command of the ‘comte de Lille’ (in reality Louis de Poitiers) of a pro-English garrison at Auberoche commanded by the Anglo-Gascon Alexandre de Caumont, alongside Frank de Harle or Halle (Halen near Diest?), Jehan de Sinefroide (probably John de Swinford) and Jehan de Lindehalle (Jean de Leefdael?). Besançon MS 864 contains the same episode and rubric, at fol. 112, but chooses an entirely different phase of the siege for illustration. What is especially interesting is that two miniatures share details that are remarkably similar, and in particular some brightly coloured and vertically striped campaign tents. But these only serve to bring out even more sharply the differences. In sum, each artist – or their respective client? – has chosen to illustrate a different phase in the engagement: the Besançon 864 artist illustrates the opening of the siege, showing French artillery finding their range to launch the first of their stone cannon balls at the walls of the town. The artist responsible for the Stonyhurst codex, in contrast, takes us right to the conclusion of the affair, showing instead the aftermath of the arrival of an English relieving force, led by Henry of Derby and Sir Walter



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Manny, despite the failure of an attempt by the besieged English to get an emissary through the French lines. Spotted by a sentry, the messenger is captured then catapulted back into Auberoche with his missive still tied about his neck. Fortunately for the English, Henry of Derby recalls to mind the beleaguered garrison, and makes his way towards Auberoche. Just as the encamped French are about to sit down to supper, so Froissart’s narrative tells us, Derby’s men arrive and silently make their way round the edge of a nearby wood towards the Franco-Gascons encamped in a vale near the river flowing below Auberoche. At the last moment the English unfurl banners and pennons, and rush forth from the wood in amongst the Gascons and French. The chronicler tells us how their guy ropes are slashed and their pavillions thrown down, while English footsoldiers and archers engage in pitiless slaughter (Froissart’s description). The Franco-Gascon knights have no time to arm themselves, and Louis de Poitiers is severely wounded in his tent and captured. The comte de Duras is killed outright, other lords captured. A rally by a group of Gascon knights encamped some distance away is quickly put down by the English, who are at this point joined by members of the garrison, who have heard the commotion outside their walls and seen the English banners flying. Froissart describes how Frank de Halle and Jehan de Lindehalle arm their men and ride forth from the gatehouse into the press. What the Stonyhurst codex artist concentrates on here, it would seem, is the spectacle of the English massacring the French and their Gascon allies. The gallocentric emphasis hinted at in this episode as illustrated in the Stonyhurst codex, emerges even more clearly when set alongside some of the other miniatures (almost certainly produced, none the less, by artists working in 22 the same workshop or loose fraternity ) from Besançon MS 864. This is apparent from the latter manuscript’s representation of John II’s capture at Poitiers. In contrast to the scene in Stonyhurst MS 1, the artist here depicts the moment when the Black Prince himself receives his royal adversary into his own custody (Plate III). The French king is shown crowned with a diadem topped with the fleur-de-lys, his bacinet displayed open as a sign of surrender. He is accompanied by a member of his entourage wearing (improbably) azure semy of fleurs-de-lys or, a bend argent (Valentina Mazzei has conjectured that this figure is perhaps intended to represent Jean’s youngest son Philippe). This time, the Black Prince is blazoned too, though the face of the victor necessarily remains covered (interestingly, the leopards are reversed, which means that their heads are turned, here, towards the French king). The legs of the knights gathered on the French side, as well as the recumbent dead, are all splattered with blood, whilst the armour of the English remains immaculate. Earlier in Besançon MS 864 we are offered the spectacle of the Black Prince’s father, Edward III, quartering the arms of France with those of England (fig. 9). The English arms are shown proper, though the artist has

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mistakenly shown the quarterings as 1st and 4th England, 2nd and 3rd France, rather than the other way round. The space allotted to the obsequies of the duke of Brittany is again significant in Besançon MS 864, but the scene is not accorded the prominence it has in the Stonyhurst codex: in the former, a much smaller miniature on fol. 72v occupies little more than the top third of column d. Room is also found in Besançon MS 864 to depict another relatively unusual scene, that of Edward III’s 23 queen, Philippa of Hainault (Froissart’s earliest patron in England), at the battle of Nevill’s Cross (fig. 10). The artist provides a representation of the funeral of Philippe VI remarkably similar to that in the Stonyhurst codex, complete with almost identical pleurants (fig. 11). But John’s coronation (referred to in the rubric) does not feature at all. Instead, he is shown in a later miniature as a captive at the court 24 of his English rival (Plate IV ). Another English prize meriting not one, but two illustrations in Besançon MS 864, is the hitherto successful French general Bertrand du Guesclin, taken prisoner by Sir John Chandos at the battles of Auray and Navarrette. In the first of the two (fol. 250v), Du Guesclin is shown wearing an heraldic jupon over his 25 armour. In light of the political and social turbulence afflicting the French capital during the years when the Besançon and Stonyhurst manuscripts were copied and illustrated, and against the broader canvas of the early years of Henry IV of England, not to mention the troubled reign of Charles VI of France (with the conflict between Burgundy, Orleans and Armagnac gathering momentum), it is intriguing to note the degree of disparity evinced in the respective programmes adopted for illustrating these two codices, whose decoration may have been carried out in the same workshop or, at least, an association comprising some ‘shared’ artists. Sadly, no evidence survives of any commissioning patrons. Nor 26 do the two manuscripts display any signs of earliest ownership. Two associated volumes from the British Library, Additional MSS 38658 and 38659, show – in contrast – incontrovertible signs of early, and possibly initial or even commissioning patronage or ownership. The arms of the Roubaix family (ermine, a chief gules) occur in initial letters below several of the miniatures; the manuscript may have been prepared for John, lord of Roubaix 27 and Herzelles († 1449). The artistic style of both volumes recalls that encountered in Besançon MS 864 and Stonyhurst MS 1; in particular, Additional 38659 incorporates a miniature at fol. 91b of the obsequies of Jean II, with pleurants similar to those of the Stonyhurst codex. The military architecture in pale pink wash is also strongly reminiscent of this last-mentioned manuscript. Another manuscript from the early fifteenth-century group described above that bears traces of early ownership is Pierpont Morgan Library MS 28 M.804. It contains a slightly summarised text for Books I (‘A’ text) and II. From its initial folio onwards, and throughout the entire codex, the New York



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manuscript bears the marks of early ownership by Pierre de Fontenay, seigneur de Rance, whose arms appear either alone, or dimidiated with those of his wife 29 Marie de Broyes (a member of the Joinville family). We have seen how Besançon MS 864 and Stonyhurst College MS 1, whilst appearing to have been decorated by the same artistic ‘team’, differ substantially in their treatment of the capture of Jean le Bon at Poitiers. The portrayal of the battle of Poitiers in the Morgan Library manuscript is altogether different again; in particular it lends much greater prominence to the heraldry of international chivalry, rather than merely to that of the royal protagonists and a handful of their principal feudatories. No other surviving manuscript of Froissart’s Chroniques evinces such a predilection for ‘seigneurial’ heraldry, to the extent that this manuscript might be said to incorporate a commemorative roll of arms covering the great victories of Edward III’s early reign. Other manuscripts from this sub-group (as we have seen, though sometimes for different ideological reasons) certainly share the New York codex artist’s fondness for heraldic banners – often shown protruding beyond the upper border of a miniature, and matching the shield of arms or jupon borne by a protagonist depicted in the illustration itself – but no 30 other manuscript uses them so consistently as a border embellishment. What marks this manuscript out from its near neighbours is its distinctive and possibly unique manner of celebrating the martial achievements, not solely of Edward III as supreme war leader, but also of his principal captains. Here too are displayed the arms of Chandos, Neville and Stafford; but so, also, are those of the duke of Brittany, the count of Blois and Bertrand du Guesclin. If the arms of the victorious English captains at Crécy and Poitiers are displayed proper – whilst those of their French adversaries are shown reversed – they are nevertheless painted on the same folio and opposite one another. This is shown most eloquently on the folio commemorating the battle of Poitiers (fig. 12). In the miniature itself, the Black Prince, bacinet crowned and armorial jupon quartering France modern with England ancient (with the leopards here looking in the appropriate direction), accompanied by his banner bearer, confronts Jean le Bon who stands crowned beneath the oriflamme in a jupon bearing France modern. Along the upper border are the arms of Ufford of Suffolk, Montague (Salisbury), Oxford (de Vere), Chandos and ?Berkeley, whilst down the centre of the page are depicted those of Grailly (for the Captal de Buch), Ferrers, Audley, Despenser, Renaud de Cobham and Ghistelles. On the French side, and from left to right at the top are displayed the banners of ?Dauphiné, Champagne, Bourbon, ?Nevers, Etampes and Burgundy, above those of Robert de Wavrin, lord of Saint Venant, ?Gilbert of Ghent, the ?Hase of Flanders, 31 Artois and Albret. The Toulouse manuscript (MS 511, Bibliothèque du Patrimoine) shows a similar scene, though the English arms on the banner do not entirely echo those on the Black Prince’s jupon, for once again the leopards on the latter are facing the wrong way, and the quarterings are in the wrong order (fig. 13). Nor is the

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Black Prince shown crowned, as in the equivalent miniature from Paris BnF MS fr 2662, fol. 196v (fig. 14). Neither of these manuscripts incorporates heraldic banners as a form of consistent border decoration. They do, however, contain a wealth of generally accurate blazon, singling out not just the kings, but also (as here) leading figures such as the Captal de Buch, Thomas Ufford earl of Suffolk, and on the French side, the duc de Bourbon and comte de la Marche. *** The last manuscript to be considered here is British Library, Arundel MS 67. 32 The Catalogue of Manuscripts in the British Museum records rather baldly that Arundel MS 67 contains Jean Froissart’s Chroniques. What Arundel 67 offers, in fact, is (i) a good though sadly incomplete text for the ‘A’ recension of Book I (known to scholars as the first redaction proper), (ii) a fairly early text for Book II, and (iii) an almost complete and often distinctive text for Book III. Had Arundel MS 67 not been vandalised by the sort of antiquarian inclined to visit libraries equipped with a concealed razor blade, it might well have served as the base text for the author’s forthcoming edition of Book III for Droz’s ‘Textes Littéraires Français’ series. Book III is approached by most French scholars via the excellent edition based on Paris, BnF MS fr 2650, and produced for the Société de l’Histoire de France by Léon and Albert Mirot. This is the only surviving manuscript for what the Mirots termed the ‘second redaction’. The remaining extant Book III manuscripts (of which there are 25 or so, including several abridgments) are generally thought to offer a text known since the Mirots as the ‘first redaction’. Scholars certainly deserve access to both the ‘first’ and the ‘second’. Differences, when they occur, are significant (the ‘second redaction’ Prologue is more elaborate than the ‘first’), though in the early part of the narrative there seem to be fewer of them than scholars have hitherto been led to believe. As it is, Arundel MS 67.iii is (literally) full of holes. The codex originally boasted at least seven miniatures, at fols. 50, 88, 134, 185, 232, 272 and 290v. All have been excised with the greatest care. To the art historian this is distressing enough, but the ablations obviously impact on the editor too, since the reverse side of each aperture bore text that is now also lost. In consequence the new edition opts instead for Besançon Public Library MS 865 as base text, using Arundel MS 67.iii, wherever possible, as one of two controls. Returning for a moment to the 1840 Catalogue, we find Arundel MS 67 described thus: ‘Vellum, in three volumes folio, ff. 373, 178, and 314, XV. Cent.’ The following sentence states that each volume is mutilated, ‘many of the illuminated initial letters and paintings having been cut out.’ But the vandal seems to have had a shred of decency, for there on fol. 144ra can be found an



Representing Royalty in Some Manuscripts of Froissart’s Chroniques 11

illuminated initial letter and accompanying miniature representing the skirmish at La Blanchetache in 1346, a little before Crécy (fig. 15). The miniature precedes the rubric and is followed by a particularly fine golden initial ‘L’ on blue ground with champie edging, the blue ornamented with white filigree work. There is a small guide letter to the immediate left. The style of the miniature evinces many similarities with the artist discussed above in reference to Besançon MS 865: the so-called Boethius Master (thought by Millard Meiss, as we have seen, to have been an associate or follower of the Master of the Berry Apocalypse, the latter having been active from about 1412 – according to Roger Wieck and William Voelkle of the Pierpont Morgan Library). From the top right-hand corner of the miniature rises the haft of a banner, which in turn protrudes onto the margin. All we can now see of the banner is a silverpoint or lead drawing; the banner was manifestly left unfinished, save for a blank field marshalled ‘per saltire’ (diagonally). At the bottom of column d of fol. 341v there is just one more, infinitely precious miniature measuring 73mm wide by 78mm high (fig. 16). Against a diapered background, two armies with closed bacinets (save for a single knight, left foreground) confront each other on foot with shortened lances. To the extreme left, part of an oval, stylised shield can be seen, its circumference decorated with a motif reminiscent of marguerite petals, done in black ink over a pale gold wash. Vermilion, gold, apple green and pale brown surcoats are worn by the soldiers, with no armorial bearings displayed. To the left and behind the figure in the gold surcoat is held aloft a plain, burnished gold banner (a curious detail; one would normally 33 expect a charge of some kind). To the right is displayed a badly oxidised ermine banner, for Brittany; both are drawn just within the frame. Two of the soldiers (those to the right in green and brown) have buttoned tunics; two more (to the left) have sewn fronts to theirs. The rubric at the top of the next column, fol. 342a, reads: ‘Comment le captal de Beuch fut pris a la bataille de Subize et les Anglois desconfiz, et comment ceulx de La Rochelle se rendirent françois. .cc..xv.’ The survival of these two miniatures is sufficient to confirm at least the first tome of Arundel MS 67 as belonging to the group of manuscripts illuminated by associates of the Boethius Master, and possibly therefore to the ‘Pierre de Liffol’ sub-group. Turning now to the opening of tome 2, we encounter an intriguing but perplexing feature. In the borders of fol. 1r are represented four times (overlapping the text in two places) the three ostrich plumes of a prince of Wales, two shown couchant along the lower margin, the others displayed vertically in the right-hand margin (fig. 17). Two single feathers are also represented, one to the left of the heraldic initial, bottom left, the other at the top right of the folio. The now blue-grey feathers are badly oxidised argent. Each finishes in a golden spike enclosing the quill end, all outlined in black ink, enclosed in turn by a circular fillet of gold. Around the quill of each central feather is a short scroll bearing in black ink the device ‘pour elle’ (fig. 18).

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Below the rubric is a burnished gold initial ‘V’ on magenta ground with filigree penwork in black, bearing three times (also in black) the motto ‘pour elle’, within which, this time on a crimson ground, is represented the badly damaged representation of what looks like the full heraldic achievement of a prince of Wales: on a shield couchant, gules, two patches of oxidized greyish paint, the shield surmounted by a helm of dark grey covered over by a vermilion mantling surmounted in turn by a cap of maintenance, gules, lined ermine; upon this stands a crest, gilded: a leopard crowned and queued, or – with what looks like an oxidised label of difference about its neck. The whole effect is reminiscent of the design of some of the earliest stallplates of Garter Knights at St George’s Chapel, Windsor. But the helm, cap of maintenance and crest recall even more compellingly the still surviving funeral achievements of Edward of Woodstock († 1376), conserved at Canterbury Cathedral. In light of the fact that the manuscript was in all likelihood decorated no earlier than 1408-13, whose arms might these actually be? The Catalogue reads: ‘Arms, apparently those of France and England quarterly, have been emblazoned in the first leaf of the second volume; the crest, cap of maintenance and helmet still remain. The ostrich feathers of the Prince of Wales with the motto ‘Pour elle’ occur on several parts of the margin. The MS. has probably belonged to Prince Arthur.’ Certainly, Arthur Tudor was named in honour of the legendary king, and was Prince of Wales. Eldest son of Henry VII and Elizabeth of York, he was created Prince of Wales in November 1489 at the age of three, and invested at Westminster in February 1490. He died in 1502, and the title went to his brother, later to become Henry VIII. But at least three other princes of Wales stand as potential candidates: EDWARD OF WESTMINSTER, only son of King Henry VI, born 13 Oct 1453; created Prince of Wales and Earl of Chester on 15 March 1454. EDWARD OF WESTMINSTER, elder son of King Edward IV, born 4 Nov 1470; created Prince of Wales and Earl of Chester on 26 June 1471; invested at Westminster on 17 July 1471; became KG in 1475, and succeeded his father as King Edward V on 9 April 1483. EDWARD OF MIDDLEHAM, only son of Richard III; born at Middleham Castle, Yorkshire c. Dec 1473; created Earl of Salisbury (by his uncle King Edward IV) on 15 Feb 1478; became heir apparent and Duke of Cornwall on his father’s accession on 26 June 1483; created Prince of Wales and Earl of Chester on 24 Aug 1483. An obvious fourth, HENRY of MONMOUTH, might be seen as the most plausible early candidate. Debrett reminds us that he was the second but eldest surviving son of King Henry IV. Born at Monmouth Castle on 9 August 1387, he became heir apparent on his father’s accession on 29 September 1399.



Representing Royalty in Some Manuscripts of Froissart’s Chroniques 13

Created Prince of Wales, Duke of Cornwall and Earl of Chester on 15 October 1399, he succeeded his father as King Henry V on 20 March 1413, when all his honours merged in the Crown. It is therefore just about possible that, in his twenties and before his accession, Henry might have acquired one of these early Froissarts and had his arms overpainted on the opening folio. The Morgan Library manuscript (M.804) appears to have made its way to England shortly after Agincourt, so there is a precedent. But there are problems with this argument, starting with the motto: ‘Pour elle’. Michael Siddons, Wales Herald Extraordinary and authority on fifteenth-century mottoes, informs the author that Henry of Lancaster, later Henry IV of England, most commonly used the motto ‘Sovereyne’ or ‘Ma Sovereyne’, sometimes wrapped around ostrich feathers: Ma Sovereyne (perhaps referring to the Virgin Mary) (see also Sovereyne) Henry of Lancaster, Earl of Derby, later Duke of Lancaster, Henry IV (wrapped around ostrich feather on seals 1394, PRO Seals, P1537, TNA:PRO, DL27/310, ill. in Heraldic Badges, pl.41; 1395, PRO Seals, 1538, ill.; 1396, Douët d’Arcq 10120) Henry IV. Merton Coll., Oxon., MS 297B (K.1.7), Statutes of England (early to mid-15th c.), fol. 276, on grass a ‘dog’ (presumably a greyhound) gorged with a coronet bears the motto Ma soueraine on scroll in initial (Ker, MMBL, III, 664) Signet ring, London (Joan Evans, Posies, 10, Ma souveraigne) So too did Henry of Monmouth, later Henry V, on his charters; and even John, Duke of Bedford as ‘John of Lancaster’ (c. 1413 on his seals, wrapped around 34 an ostrich feather). Christopher Allmand, biographer of and leading expert on Henry V, reminds us that contemporary sources speak of Henry’s virginal character. He points out that ‘there are no known female objects of his particular affections’, and that ‘he was thought religious and pure’. Might the motto be that of the future Henry V as Prince of Wales, adopted in honour of the Blessed Virgin Mary? Plausibly so, though one might also conjecture that the ‘elle’ refers to Catherine de Valois, with whom the young Henry appears to have been deeply preoccupied from the time that he was first made aware of her. Whilst the feathers in Arundel MS 67 look at first sight like a later fifteenth-century addition, the heraldic initial ‘V’ (occupying nine lines) appears to be an integral part of the original decoration; however, both initial and feathers bear the motto ‘pour elle’. *** There is still much to detain scholars eager to venture onto the terrain opened up for exploration in this essay. It seems safe to argue that two, broadly defined

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sub-groups of manuscripts – those produced by associates of the workshop of the Master of the Rohan Hours (perhaps the Giac Hours illuminator as recently identified by Ines Villela-Petit [2004: 371-72]), and those by the Boethius Master or his associates (overseen or not by Pierre de Liffol) – do indeed display a number of common, recurring features, including (with reference to the former) the delineation of the sovereign’s features and pose in Besançon MS 864, Toulouse MS 511 and Stonyhurst MS 1; the heavy lidded eyes, fox 35 fur collars and sundry items of clothing including a recurring huque, the similar treatment of naval vessels and military architecture. In contrast, the red and green palette of colours found in BnF fr 2663, Besançon MS 865 or Arundel MS 67, with the ‘marguerite-petal’ shields, an equally distinctive but quite different handling of military architecture, the use (in the first two) of filigraned initial letters with fleur-de-lys borders, and a sometimes ingenious use of picture space, all conjoin to form a distinctive and appealing iconographic vernacular style. On the other hand, these very features often evince subtler shades of difference from one manuscript to the next, even within the ‘same’ sub-group; and some of the features deserve more painstaking description or identification. To cite just one example: there appears to be an especially close kinship be36 tween Toulouse 511 and Brussels II 88, where the depiction of naval vessels is concerned (fig. 19). Secondly, the majority of the miniatures found in Besançon MS 865 and Paris BnF fr 2663 betray a lesser preoccupation with sustained heraldic decoration than is the case with a group comprising Besançon MS 864, Toulouse MS 511, Paris BnF fr 2664, and above all the team responsible for the miniatures contained within the first 260 and perhaps the final few leaves of 37 New York PML MS M.804. *** The kings and queens of France and England featuring in the miniatures adorning these early fifteenth-century manuscripts, especially those betraying the indirect influence of the Master of the Rohan Hours, are highly stylised; they appear to reproduce the lineaments of repeatedly used models or patterns. Even so, there are differences of individual handling and departures in execution from initial designs, some obvious, others more subtle; and despite the ostensibly superior quality – in this regard – of Besançon MS 864, as compared, say, to Brussels II 88, we are still far from ascertaining who copied from whom, or in what order. The present essay may, it is hoped, offer ideas for further research in an area of Froissart manuscript studies that has, to date, been somewhat neglected, but which surely merits renewed attention by codicologists, palaeographers, textual scholars and art historians too.

COLOUR ILLUSTRATIONS

Plate.I. Stonyhurst College MS l, fol. 153v

Plate II. Stonyhurst College MS l, fol. 165v

Plate III. Besançon ms 864, fol. 172r

Plate IV. Besançon ms 864, fol. 235r (once again, the leopards are shown here looking towards the French king)



Representing Royalty in Some Manuscripts of Froissart’s Chroniques 15

Notes 

1. Some of the material discussed here was first aired in plenaries for the Society for French Studies Annual Conference (University of Bristol, July 2002) and the Third Triennial Medieval Chronicle Conference (Utrecht, July 2002): ‘Across the Plain of Shining Books’. Other ideas were explored in a plenary delivered at the ‘England and France in the Later Middle Ages’ conference (York, April 2005) and in papers for the Fourth Triennial Medieval Chronicle Conference at Reading (July, 2005), and for the 2004 Froissart Sexcentenary conferences at Lille-Valenciennes and the Académie des Inscriptions et Belles-Lettres and Collège de France (Paris, November 2004). By kind permission of the editors of Medieval Chronicle IV, a French version of this essay appears concurrently in the Lille-Valenciennes volume: « Rois, reines et capitaines: échos de parti pris dans quelques manuscrits des Chroniques de Froissart », Actes du colloque international “Jehan Froissart” (Lille III et Valenciennes, 30 sept. - 1er oct. 2004), publiés par Marie-Madeleine Castellani et Jean-Charles Herbin, Perspectives Médiévales, Supplément au n° 30 (Villeneuve d’Ascq, 2006), pp. 9-51. 2. Bibliography in Jean Froissart, Chroniques. 2 Vols. Ed. Ainsworth, Diller and Varvaro. See also Godfried Croenen’s online bibliography: http://www.liv.ac.uk/~gcroenen/biblio.htm. 3. It may be appropriate to speak of ‘propaganda’ in this connection, though ‘party sympathy’ might be just as apt. 4. According to Godfried Croenen (paper, July 2005 Medieval Chronicle Conference, Reading) similarities between the rubrics found in these manuscripts suggest a possible common origin. 5. This manuscript provided the focus for a paper delivered in February 2005 at the Institute of English Studies, University of London, in the context of the British Library’s project aiming to produce a complete electronic catalogue of all of the manuscripts in the Arundel Collection. 6. The work of particular scribes has been identified and discussed; see Tesnière (1986: 282-368); but this is the first instance of a librarius being identified. 7. See in particular: Paris, BnF fr 2663, fols. 14v, 74, 133, 258 and 381. The Berry Apocalypse is Pierpont Morgan Library MS M.133; its painter was described by Millard Meiss in a review published in 1956 as a follower of the Boucicaut Master: ‘His masterpiece, an apocalypse that belonged to Jean de Berry (Morgan 133), shows a boldness of color that matches the powerful designs … broad expanses of yellow, red, green, often brought up to chalk white and displayed before rich maroon backgrounds (Plate 11). These colors are laid on with a freedom that is reminiscent of the wash-techniques prized especially in the Netherlands. This excellent illuminator, whose work has not hitherto been recognized, worked on a Cité de Dieu in the exhibition, no. 163, Fr. 25 (Plate 12), the Commentary on the Psalms, Fr. 964, a Roman de la Rose in Stuttgart, Cod. poet. 6, and several other manuscripts’ (Meiss 1956: 187-196, esp. pp. 195-96, and Plates 11. and 12). The ‘several other manuscripts’ referred to include ‘a Chronique de Froissart (Morgan 804); [and] a Livre des Merveilles (Morgan 723)’. In his French Painting in the time of Jean de Berry. The Late Fourteenth Century and the Patronage of the Duke (1967: 354-55), Meiss reassesses the work of the Master of the Berry Apocalypse, here naming as ‘related manuscripts’: Besançon, Bibliothèque municipale MS 865 (Froissart, Chroniques), New York, Morgan Library MS [M.]723 (Livre des merveilles) and MS [M.]804 (Froissart, Chroniques), and Paris, Bibliothèque nationale fr. 2663-64 (Froissart, Chroniques). By 1974 Meiss describes the artist responsible for just four of the miniatures accompanying the text of Book II in the New York manuscript, PML MS M.804, fols. 265-315, as the ‘Boethius illuminator’ (1974: I, 370; see also pp. 368-372, 377382, 403-404, 475, and note 30; the Boethius manuscript referred to is BnF fr 12459), whilst those done for Book I in this same volume are attributed to ‘an associate’ of the latter: ‘Froissart, Chroniques, 363 fols; 365 x 270 mm. Commissioned by Pierre de Fontenay. Fols. 265-315 by



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 Boethius illuminator. Other miniatures by an associate. Ca. 1412’ (1974: I, 371). Godfried Croenen informs me that Mme Inès Villela-Petit, Cabinet des Médailles, Bibliothèque Nationale de France, is currently exploring the work and impact of this artist. 8. Banners are, however, sometimes included. 9. Images from Paris, BnF fr 2663 and 2664, are reproduced by kind permission of the Bibliothèque Nationale de France. 10. Images from the Bibliothèque d’Etude et de Conservation, Besançon, are reproduced by kind permission of the Director, M. Henry Ferreira-Lopes. The photography, undertaken in 2002 by David Cooper and Colin Dunn, and in 2004 by Scriptura Ltd., forms the basis of the SheffieldLiverpool ‘Online Froissart’ project. I am grateful to M. Ferreira-Lopes and his colleagues MarieClaire Waille, Karine Rebmeister and Marie Ménie for unstinting support during the making of the digital surrogate. 11. Images from New York, Pierpont Morgan Library MS M.804, are reproduced by kind permission of the Morgan Library authorities. I wish to thank Dr William Voelkle and Dr Roger Wieck for their assistance during research visits to the Library. See also my ‘A Parisian in New York: Pierpont Morgan Library MS M.804 Revisited’ (1999: 127-51); in light of subsequent research, the date assigned in this essay to PML MS M.804 needs to be corrected to c. 1413. 12. Or Master of the Giac Hours (Villela-Petit). See Meiss (1974: I, 256-77, and 401-4); he does not mention Besançon MS 864, however. Also: Catalogue des expositions organisées par la ville de Valenciennes en l’honneur de Jehan Froissart, 1937, pp. 38ff. nos. XXVI and XXVIII pls. XIX-XXI, XXIII. 13. For a discussion of the possible origin and significance of these presentation miniatures, see Varvaro (1994). On fol. 209 of BnF MS fr 2664 we learn that this codex (like its twin 2663) once belonged to Tainguy du Chastel († 1478), who gave it to Jehan, seigneur de Derval. 14. Thanks are due to the principal of Stonyhurst College for kindly allowing us to photograph and reproduce images from their manuscript, and in particular to Jan Graffius, curator, and David Knight, archivist, for their enthusiastic support during the photographic sessions in 2004. The photographs of Stonyhurst MS 1 are the work of Colin Dunn (Scriptura Ltd., Oxford). 15. In other contexts, arms displayed reversed can connote defeat in battle; see discussion below of heraldic ornament in the New York manuscript. 16. See http://www.pizan.lib.ed.ac.uk for details of the AHRC-funded project at Edinburgh led by Professor James Laidlaw. 17. During the Reading Medieval Chronicle Conference, Kelly DeVries suggested that this may be one of the earliest attested representations of the use of such firearms for defensive purposes in a French vernacular manuscript. Besançon MS 864 shows the ‘same’ defenders using bow and arrow. Even in this much more finished miniature (as compared to Stonyhurst MS 1), second thoughts can be discerned: a garderobe chute, visible in the underdrawing of the fortified gate to the right of lunette 3, and identified as such by DeVries, has been replaced in the final version by a vertical arrow slit. Bows and arrows occur in the equivalent miniatures of BnF fr 2663 (Hannibal Master) and Brussels Royal Library MS II 88. 18. The oriflamme was carried at Crécy by the seigneur de la Trémouille, who in fr 2662 appears below it and just in front of Philip VI (Trémouille’s arms were: or, a chevron gules, three eaglets azure; an eagle’s head is just visible on the surcoat of the figure placed in front of the French king).





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 19. Brussels Royal Library MS II 88, fol. 12, also contains the two juxtaposed scenes of Philip VI’s funeral and Jean II’s coronation, plus mourners, but the impact is not as dramatic as in Stonyhurst MS 1; the figures are less well executed, and the deployment of royal French heraldry is muted by comparison; nor are the Brussels manuscript fragments uniformly or consistently gallocentric, though the castle architecture is very similar to that in Stonyhurst MS 1 and Besançon MS 864. See in sharp contrast BnF fr 2663, fol. 171r, which is entirely neutral in heraldic terms. 20. During a discussion at the 2005 Medieval Chronicle Conference, Laurence Harf-Lancner remarked on how powerfully this miniature calls to mind the protocol of ‘The king is dead, long live the king’ (Cf. Ernst H. Kantorowicz, The King’s Two Bodies [Princeton: UP, 1957]). 21. Cf. the much later BnF MS fr 2643, fol. 284v, in which the coronation alone is depicted, with Cocherel represented in the background. In Brussels R.L. MS II 88, fol. 10r, only the battle is shown but with Du Guesclin in emblazoned surcoat with banner bearer. 22. In addition to broad similarities in the treatment of military architecture and plate armour, and court costume, one notices in both manuscripts a strong resemblance in the portrayal of the physical features of royal or court figures; eyes are frequently heavy-lidded, their pupils dark and almost unnaturally enlarged: cf. Besançon MS 864, miniature on fol. 46v, and the very similar style found in Stonyhurst MS 1, miniature for fol. 250. A particular artist seems to have been employed for many of the battle scenes in Stonyhurst MS 1, which have a pale, blue and light green palette. 23. Philippa wears a long heraldic gown dimidiated (marshalled per pale) France ancient, England ancient. Her hair is shown plaited, according to a convention used at this time by artists representing queens of England and France. The scene is also found in the ideologically more hybrid Brussels Royal Library MS II 88 fragments, at fol. 11v. A similar figure to the Philippa in Besançon MS 864 (this time Isabelle of France, Edward II’s queen) is depicted in the presentation miniature of the New York Froissart, Pierpont Morgan Library MS M.804, fol. 1). Philippa died in 1369, an event recorded in Besançon MS 864 at fol. 313v in a chapter whose rubric on fol. 312 highlights the impending announcement of her death, and her final three requests to Edward III. This episode is part of the ‘A’ text of Book I, and is also found, therefore, in Stonyhurst College MS 1, at fols. 298v (rubric) and 299v-300. The texts of the two manuscripts vary much less than their respective programmes of illumination, even though some of the artists used for the latter appear to have been the same. ‘Philippa at Nevill’s Cross’ is also found in Toulouse MS 511 at fol. 109r. 24. Once again, the leopards are shown here looking towards the French king. 25. See Besançon MS 864, fols. 250v and 277v. The arms are: ‘argent, a double-headed eagle sable and overall a bendlet gules’. 26. Stonyhurst College MS 1 would appear to have come into the possession of Sir John Arundel at some time after the battle of Agincourt. Along the lower edge of fol. 160v can be read – upside down – the inscription: ‘Je suys a messire Jehan Arundell’, accompanied by a line drawing of what might be a man’s face and beard beneath a soft round hat with two equally round earpieces. Croenen (‘Pierre de Liffol’ p. 272 and n. 52) has conjectured that the manuscript might have been obtained by the John Arundel who was one of the duke of Bedford’s leading captains in the Hundred Years War, and who died in battle in France in 1435. The illuminated initial letters ‘V’ and ‘I’ opening the texts of Books II and III at fols. 1 and 201 of Besançon MS 865, it should be observed at this point, incorporate escutcheon-shaped blank spaces with room for a coat of arms. The space within the ‘V’ on fol. 1 does not appear ever to have been filled in; there are traces only of bleedthrough of ink from the text on the verse; the equivalent space of the ‘I’ on fol. 201, in



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 contrast, looks as though it may have borne some form of decoration that has subsequently been scratched out. Most of the manuscript pages of this codex include as part of their decoration a border incorporating rubrics, miniatures and initial puzzle letters (burnished gold and blue on a black and red filigree or puzzle penwork ground), composed of half fleurs-de-lys alternating in blue and burnished gold; the pages depicting the battles of Westrozebeke and Aljubarrota incorporate illuminated rather than puzzle initials. A similar form of border decoration with puzzle miniatures to that used in Besançon MS 865 is to be found in Paris BnF fr 2663, and in the manuscript of Gaston Fébus’s Livre de Chasse kept at the Musée National de Pau. I am grateful to the museum’s Director, Monsieur Paul Mironneau, for bringing this manuscript to my attention during a visit made in February 2005. Godfried Croenen has conjectured that a librarius such as P. de Liffol, inspired perhaps by the success of manuscripts of the Grandes Chroniques de France, might have anticipated a comparable success by having copies of Froissart’s Chroniques copied and illustrated to a similar design, with no preconceived idea concerning particular patrons or clients. 27. Catalogue of Additions to the Manuscripts in the British Museum in the Years 1911-1915, 1969, first published 1925; photolithographic reprint 1969, pp. 188-89. Another fascinating survival is Brussels R.L. MS II 88, fol. 16r, containing a bipartite presentation miniature and part of the prologue for Book III. At the foot of the page, a shield of arms has been painted over the border, for Coucy: barry of six, vair and gules. Enguerrand VII, one of Froissart’s patrons, had died at Nicopolis in 1397. It is unlikely that the manuscript could have been owned or commissioned either by him or his widow Marie; the countess died in 1404. 28. See my study of this manuscript (Ainsworth 1999). As mentioned above, the excessively early date attributed in this study to the New York Froissart should be corrected to c. 1413. The Book I text from Morgan Library MS M 804 has been edited by Robert Sanderson (Ph.D thesis, University of Liverpool); its Book II text was published by the author in 2001: Ainsworth and Diller (2001; Introduction and Text, Livre II: pp. 691-1000). 29. During conversations with Roger Wieck at the Morgan Library, it was suggested to me that the border surrounding the text on folio 1 may have been added later, c. 1418. However, the left-hand corner of the miniature, from c. 1413, seems to overlay the border at that point; the same appears to be true also of the heraldically decorated initial letter ‘A’. Pierre de Fontenay’s couched arms with crest, helm and mantling are unequivocally painted over the right-hand border. The border itself includes Pierre de Fontenay’s motto, ‘nulle aultre’ within the lunettes formed by the intertwined stems of the foliage, ostensibly referring to Marie de Broyes. Their impaled arms on a couched shield, are woven into the upper border, and supported by an angel in flight in the centre of the lower border. 30. See fols. 25, 44v, 101v, 117, 128 (Poitiers), 176v and 182. 31. I hope to publish a study of the heraldry of this manuscript, and to identify successfully all of the banners displayed in the borders and miniatures, which refer to the protagonists present at Crécy and Poitiers, but also at skirmishes which we would today regard as of lesser significance. 32. New series. Volume I, Part I: The Arundel Manuscripts (1840). 33. The fact these arms are painted in gold alone may simply mean that they were left unfinished. A Portuguese colleague present at the York conference, António Castro Henriques, has conjectured that there might be a connection with the Meneses (a branch of the Albuquerque family) arms of or plain, but this seems inappropriate for the chronology of the present context. When the Duke of Lancaster left for the Iberian Peninsula in July 1386, he included in his retinue the Portuguese Prior





Representing Royalty in Some Manuscripts of Froissart’s Chroniques 19

 of the Order of St James, Dom Fernando Afonso de Albuquerque. Knighton’s Chronicle (ed. Martin, 1995, pp. 342 and 344) says that when the duke tried to break the siege of Brest by the Duke of Brittany it was the Prior of St James who led the first assault against a bastion erected by the besiegers. I am grateful to my Portuguese colleague for this information, which may prove to have some bearing on identifying the arms painted here. 34. Danbury (1993: pl. XIII (a)). 35. A tabard-like tunic worn by men at court; found in the second lunette of Besançon MS 864’s presentation miniature, and again in Toulouse MS 511, fol. 8 (bipartite presentation miniature). 36. Photograph of MS II 88 by kind permission of the Royal Library, Brussels. 37. Godfried Croenen’s paper for the 2005 Reading Medieval Chronicle Conference begins to explore classifications (which prove equally difficult to pin down absolutely) based on choice of rubrics. Croenen has also suggested to the author that Toulouse MS 511, BnF fr 2662, Morgan MS M.804 and Glasgow Hunter MS 42 might be identified as belonging to a ‘military cycle’, whereas BnF fr 2663, Brussels II 88, BL Additional MSS 38658-38659 and Brussels IV 251 appear to belong to a ‘royal’ or ‘succession’ cycle. Not considered in the present essay: Brussels MS IV 251, Glasgow Hunter 42, and a Froissart MS housed at Austin, Texas.

Bibliography Primary sources Froissart, Jean. Chroniques. Vol. 1. Livres I-II. Ed. Peter Ainsworth and George Diller. Vol. 2. Livres III-IV. Ed. Peter Ainsworth, George Diller and Albert Varvaro. Paris: Hachette, Le Livre de Poche, « Lettres Gothiques », 2001 and 2004. Knighton’s Chronicle, 1337-1396. Ed. and trans. G. H. Martin. Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1995. Secondary literature Ainsworth, Peter (1999). ‘A Parisian in New York: Pierpont Morgan Library MS M.804 Revisited.’ In Text and image: studies in the French illustrated book from the Middle Ages to the present day. Ed. D. J. Adams and A. Armstrong. Special number of The Bulletin of the John Rylands University Library of Manchester 81: 127-51. Catalogue des expositions organisées par la ville de Valenciennes en l’honneur de Jehan Froissart, 1937: Manuscrits à peintures des Chroniques de Froissart. Valenciennes, 1937. Croenen, G., with M. and R. Rouse (2002). ‘Pierre de Liffol and the Manuscripts of Froissart’s Chronicles.’ Viator 33: 261-93. Danbury, E. (1989). ‘The decoration and illumination of royal charters in England, 1250-1509: an introduction.’ In England and her Neighbours, 1066-1453: Essays in Honour of Pierre Chaplais. Ed. Michael Jones and Malcolm Vale. London: Hambledon. 157-79. Harf-Lancner, Laurence (1998). ‘Image and Propaganda: the illustration of Book I of Froissart’s Chroniques.’ In Froissart Across the Genres. Ed. D. Maddox and S. Sturm-Maddox. Gainesville: University Press of Florida. 219-50. Lombard-Jourdan, Anne (2002). Fleur de lis et oriflamme, signes célestes du royaume de France. Editions du CNRS. Paris. Meiss, Millard (1956). ‘The Exhibition of French Manuscripts of the XIII-XVI Centuries at the Bibliothèque Nationale.’ (Exhibition Review). The Art Bulletin 38: 187-96. ——— (1967). French Painting in the time of Jean de Berry. The Late Fourteenth Century and the Patronage of the Duke. London & New York: Phaidon; 2nd edn 1969.



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 ——— (1974). French Painting in the Time of Jean de Berry: The Limbourgs and their Contemporaries. 2 vols. London and New York: Thames & Hudson. Stratford, J. (1993). The Bedford Inventories: the worldly goods of John, Duke of Bedford, Regent of France (1389-1435). London: Society of Antiquaries of London. Tesnière, M.-H. (1986). ‘Les manuscrits copiés par Raoul Tainguy: un aspect de la culture des grands officiers royaux au début du XVe siècle.’ Romania 107: 282-368. Varvaro, A. (1994). ‘Il libro I delle Chroniques di Jean Froissart. Per una filologia integrata dei testi e delle immagini.’ Medioevo Romanzo 19: 3-36. Villela-Petit, Ines (2004). ‘Grandes Heures de Rohan.’ Paris 1400, Les arts sous Charles VI. Paris: Arthème Fayard. 371-73.

Acknowledgements The author, editors and publisher express their gratitude to the following institutions and their librarians for kind permission to reproduce photographs from manuscripts in their collections: Bibliothèque nationale de France Bibliothèque d’Étude et de Conservation, Besançon Pierpont Morgan Library, New York Stonyhurst College Library, Lancashire Bibliothèque d’Étude et du Patrimoine, Toulouse The British Library All photographs from the Bibliothèque nationale de France, the British Library, the Morgan Library and the Bibliothèque d’Étude et du Patrimoine, Toulouse are © of those institutions. Photographs from the Bibliothèque d’Étude et de Conservation, Besançon (ms 864) and Stonyhurst College Library are by Scriptura Ltd of Kidlington, Oxford, and © of Colin Dunn and those institutions. The photograph at Plate III is © of David Cooper, Colin Dunn and the Bibliothèque d’Étude et de Conservation, Besançon (ms 864). The author is grateful to the Leverhulme Trust for their support, and to Dr Godfried Croenen of the Deparment of French, University of Liverpool, for helpful comments on aspects of this paper.

ILLUSTRATIONS

Fig. 1. Paris, BnF fr 2663, fol. 164r (detail)

Fig 2. Besançon, MS 865, fol. 1 (B)

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Fig. 3. New York, Pierpont Morgan Library, MS M.804, fol. 315r (detail)

Representing Royalty in Some Manuscripts of Froissart’s Chroniques 23

Fig. 4. Paris, BnF fr 2664, fol. 1r

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Fig. 5. Stonyhurst College, MS 1, fol. 1r

Representing Royalty in Some Manuscripts of Froissart’s Chroniques 25

Fig. 6. Stonyhurst College, MS 1, fol. 56r

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Fig. 7. Stonyhurst College, MS 1, fol. 227v

Representing Royalty in Some Manuscripts of Froissart’s Chroniques 27

Fig. 8. Stonyhurst College, MS 1, fol. 69r

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Fig. 9. Besançon, MS 864, fol. 46v

Representing Royalty in Some Manuscripts of Froissart’s Chroniques 29

Fig. 10. Besançon, MS 864, fol. 145v

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Fig. 11. Besançon, MS 864, fol. 159v

Representing Royalty in Some Manuscripts of Froissart’s Chroniques 31

Fig. 12. New York, Pierpont Morgan Library, MS M.804, fol. 128r

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Fig. 13. Toulouse, Bibl. du Patrimoine, MS 511, fol. 128r

Fig. 14. Paris, BnF fr 2662, fol. 196v (detail)

Representing Royalty in Some Manuscripts of Froissart’s Chroniques 33

Fig. 15. London, British Library, Arundel MS 67.i, fol. 144r (detail)

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Fig. 16. London, British Library, Arundel MS 67.i, fol. 341v (detail)

Representing Royalty in Some Manuscripts of Froissart’s Chroniques 35

Fig. 17. London, British Library, Arundel MS 67.ii, fol. 1r

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Fig. 18. London, British Library, Arundel MS 67.ii, fol. 1r (detail)

Representing Royalty in Some Manuscripts of Froissart’s Chroniques 37

Fig. 19. Composite image of ships in five MSS

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PROPAGANDA AND ESSAMPLE IN BENOIT DE SAINTE-MAURE’S CHRONIQUE DES DUCS DE NORMANDIE

Peter Damian-Grint

Abstract The Chronique des ducs de Normandie of Benoît de Sainte-Maure is often seen as Angevin propaganda on behalf of the author’s patron, Henry II – particularly in Benoît’s presentation of the Norman dukes as exemplary figures. In fact, the vernacular literary traditions of the period imposed on Benoît this form of characterization, which would have been recognized by his audience as a literary topos. Through characterization in terms of the exemplum or essample, Benoît is stressing the didactic function of historiography, as a way of underlining the position of the estoire as serious, learned literature. In this way Benoît, like other vernacular historians of the period, presents himself to his audience as a scholar, a man of learning and good judgement, and his estoire as truthful, authoritative and reliable – even though it is not in Latin but the vernacular.

As a historian, Benoît de Sainte-Maure has had a bad press. Recent studies have generally presented him as a servile propagandist, ‘complètement acquis à la cause royale’, who is ‘la voix de son maître et truffe son œuvre d’allusions flatteuses sur Henri II et ses ancêtres’ (Aurell 2003: 154), or as a party hack who ‘fait preuve, apparemment, d’un dévouement total’ to his patron, Henry II 1 (Gouttebroze 1991: 309). His massive Chronique des ducs de Normandie, commissioned by Henry to provide a vernacular record of the king’s Norman forebears, is seen as a work inspired not so much by a desire to celebrate or bring to mind the past as by the propaganda needs of the Plantagenêt cause, and as a text that explicitly promotes the ideology proposed by the king. Benoît vs. Wace In this context, Benoît is often contrasted unfavourably with his predecessor, Wace, who had been Henry’s first choice to write an official history of the dukes of Normandy but was unceremoniously sacked, fourteen years and 21,385 lines later, in favour of Benoît. The fact that Wace is – to say the least – coy about the reasons for his dismissal has given critics abundant opportunities for speculation. The earliest scholars of Wace and Benoît, such as Francisque Michel and Gaston Paris, appear to see the primary reason for Henry’s change 2 of historian as stylistic rather than political; later critics, on the other hand, have generally seen Wace’s lack of sympathy for Henry’s politics as the reason, either direct or indirect, for his dismissal. Wace, Jean-Guy Gouttebroze suggests, was too critical of his sources, too independent, too ready in fact to

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rely on unorthodox sources or information and to cast doubt on the ‘party 3 line’. There is no doubt that in his history of the dukes of Normandy, the Geste 4 des Normanz, Wace flaunts his independence. The structure of his history bears only a passing similarity to that of his main Latin sources, William of Jumièges’ Gesta Normannorum ducum and Dudo of Saint-Quentin’s De 5 moribus et actis primorum Normanniae ducum. Wace also appears to be 6 experimenting with his style; for a significant section of his history he uses a poetic form with clear chanson de geste echoes. These points are not in themselves of any great importance; the composer of an estoire or vernacular history had considerable freedom in his treatment of at least the formal aspects of his work, and the monorhymed alexandrine laisses that Wace uses for the Chronique ascendante and the Deuxième partie of his Geste des Normanz are a poetic form which is to be found in other, 7 contemporary Old French historiographical texts. Far more serious than this formal experimentation is the attitude that Wace adopts to his Latin sources, which can range from uncertainty – he makes constant use of the phrase ‘ne sai’ – to suspicion with regard to the ‘official’ history; he explicitly draws attention to divergences between his sources on a number of occasions (see, e.g. Rou, II, 1354-72; III, 6425-27) and makes no secret of his reliance on, and preference for, oral testimony. More significant still is the way in which, according to the critics, Wace treats what might be called the ‘hagiographical’ elements of the Latin texts and the attribution of sacred powers to the Norman dukes by William of Jumièges and particularly Dudo. All such references are excised, with the result that the dukes appear as more ‘ordinary’ figures; great lords and great warriors perhaps – William the Bastard’s conquest of England takes up a good deal of space in Wace’s work – but entirely lacking in the mystical attributes of sacred kingship (see Gouttebroze 1991: 305-11). This desacralisation is said to be the major reason for Henry’s dissatisfaction, which led to him rejecting Wace’s text and turning instead to Benoît, who duly provided a panegyric-history which exalted the dukes in the appropriate terms. This view of the respective positions of Wace’s Geste des Normanz and Benoît’s Chronique des ducs de Normandie, though an attractive one, is not without its difficulties. One of the most obvious problems is the length of time that Wace spent working on his text. He indicates that he began composing, or 8 at least received his commission, in 1160; and it has been generally assumed that he stopped writing around 1174, although the evidence is not entirely 9 clear. Given that signs of his independent position are clear almost from the very beginning of the text, fourteen years seems a surprising length of time for Wace to have been writing before being dismissed. The more fundamental problem with the view stems from the assumption that Henry’s ideology, and a propaganda effort in its favour, are what provided



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the impetus for the very idea of producing a vernacular history of the dukes of Normandy. If this were the case, and following the general assumption that Wace’s text was not acceptable to Henry but Benoît’s was, one would expect to see some evidence of a concerted plan to disseminate the Chronique des ducs de Normandie in Henry’s domains. Concretely, one would expect at the very least to find a considerably larger number of manuscripts of the Chronique than of Wace’s Geste des Normanz. But the opposite is in fact the case: the Geste des Normanz survives in five manuscripts, while Benoît’s Chronique survives 10 in just two. 11 ‘Propaganda’ and ‘ideology’ are of course anachronistic terms, and it is important to clarify what is meant when using them in a twelfth-century context. If we take ‘propaganda’ to mean deliberate falsification for persuasive ends, it is a peculiarly inappropriate term to apply to Benoît, for Benoît is a writer who follows his source material with almost slavish precision, to the extent that it is possible to trace exactly when he switches from one Latin history to another. Whether he is always discriminating in his choice of source is another matter; but his habit of opting for the oldest source available suggests that he has a clear strategy and a clear vision of his task as a historian, and one that is entirely in keeping with that of his contemporaries. It is unfortunate, but hardly Benoît’s fault, that the oldest source for the life of William the Bastard available to him is the partisan Gesta Guillelmi. The fact remains that he is certainly more faithful to ‘ce qu’en truis escrit en la letre’ (Chronique 25830) than is Wace who, for all his emphasis on scholarly care and comparison of sources, treats his material with a certain carelessness. Was Benoît aware of the bias in his sources? Did he, in fact, choose the Gesta Guillelmi for ‘ideological’ reasons – that is to say, in the knowledge that William of Poitiers’s picture of kingship in Henry II’s ancestors that would be more acceptable to the king than that of William of Jumièges? There is little evidence for this contention. Benoît is discriminating in his use of the Gesta Guillelmi, taking from it detailed factual information (of which the work contains a great deal, much of it probably more reliable than that to be found in 12 other works of the period) rather than alternative and potentially more acceptable views of William’s kingship. And he makes nearly as much use of the Historia Ecclesiastica of Orderic Vitalis, a writer whose interests and bias 13 are very different from those of William of Poitiers. Vernacular history as enarratio The modern editors of the Gesta Guillelmi note that their author was ‘strongly influenced by classical models’ and that the use of rhetoric is pervasive in his work, but point out that readers, used to the rhetorical conventions, ‘would not 14 have been deceived by the embellishments [he] added from classical authors’. Mutatis mutandis, the same is of course true of the Chronique des ducs de Normandie. What modern critics have been tempted to see as propaganda is in

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fact primarily the result of a combination of elements within Benoît’s style, elements which were almost certainly immediately recognisable by potential audiences. In the first place Benoît’s Chronique is an estoire, a literary form designed for performance rather than private reading; within certain limits, rhetorical embellishment and exaggeration, even hyperbole, form an intrinsic 15 part of the discourse. These limits are clearly defined, and indeed the margin given to a writer like Benoît was not as wide as we might think. It might be argued that literary texts, in the twelfth century, were perceived by their audiences as fitting within a spectrum running from pure truth to pure fiction, with courtly romance and roman antique ranged towards the latter extreme and 16 such works as sermons, textbooks and historiography towards the former; but even if this is the case, the constant characterisation of historiography as ‘truthful’ – veir, verai – makes the writing of history in the vernacular a very distinct task from that of writing self-proclaimed fiction. Those vernacular historians who, like Benoît, base their texts on Latin originals present their task as analogous to that of a commentator: they are providing the text with a gloss or enarratio in order to explain it and make it accessible to the unlearned, ‘por ce que mielz l’entendent qui ne sunt letree’ (so that the unlettered might better understand it; Estoire d’Antoiche 40). Translation from Latin to the vernacular may well be a part of this glossing of the text, but it is not necessarily the most important part; in the twelfth century the Old French term translater, like its Latin cognate translatio, means not ‘translate’ but ‘interpret’ or ‘adapt’. Benoît’s audience may in fact be expecting a translation of the Latin histories, but that translation is only one facet of his work, which would be seen primarily 17 as an adaptation of the text for a non-learned audience. Clearly such a translatio of a learned text for a courtly audience will include rhetorical embellishment in the shape of ornate and elegant speeches, or passages in which the poet describes such scenes as court festivities and battles. Benoît expands most of the speeches to be found in his Latin sources, closely following the Classical models of deliberative and justificatory speeches; even some of his conversations read more like formal debates, although the conversations in the Chronique, when he turns his pen to it, are also lively and realistic (see, e.g., Chronique 30742-70). In the same way, he sprinkles descriptive vignettes across his page. An excellent example occurs in his version of the story of duke Richard Sans Peur’s encounter with a diabolically animated corpse. Wace, who includes the anecdote in his Geste des Normanz, gives no more than a basic background; Benoît, on the other hand, transforms the scene into a perfect example (possibly the earliest in Old French) of the ghost-story genre with a vivid little sketch full of atmospheric details: the graveyard at dusk, the wind blowing through the yew tree, the single light just 18 visible through the half-open chapel door. Such vivid description, although it does not square with modern ideas of history-writing any more than Benoît’s



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carefully constructed speeches do, are for his intended audience entirely acceptable; similar rhetorical flourishes occur, after all, in the Latin sources as 19 well. Although Benoît’s embellishments are more extended than most, they are entirely unremarkable in their content. For a period in which translation, as a subset of the more general concept of interpretation or enarratio, could (and sometimes did) take the form of a loose paraphrase, Benoît follows the approach usual to vernacular historians of providing what is to all intents and purposes a close vernacular version of his Latin originals. Prodesse and essample Within the framework of the estoire, Benoît’s rhetoric is by no means directionless: expansion for the sake of expansion, on the assumption that a longer text is necessarily a better one. Like any other author composing for a courtly audience, he is attempting to make the narrative attractive; hence, for example, his preference for direct as opposed to reported speech, his deliberately anecdotic framework in which events are proposed as self-contained episodes, even his fondness for concrete images rather than abstract concepts. But although this function of delectare (giving pleasure) is an important one, Benoît subordinates it quite explicitly to the function of prodesse (giving profit, i.e. instruction) in his text (see Hunt 1979). The aim which he enunciates most clearly is that of the didactic function of history-writing, which he explains in terms of the figure of the exemplum – in Old French, essample. Benoît leaves his audience under no illusions as to the key importance, in his eyes, of the function of essample in historiography. The first section of his Chronique consists of a background history of the Danish invasions of Europe (and appears to be included more because it is in the Latin sources than because Benoît feels it belongs in his estoire); the history of the dukes proper begins with a new proemium, and it is here that Benoît introduces many of the standard elements which his audience would have expected in the prologue to a work of historiography (and which do not in fact appear in the proemium to the first section). He begins in fairly conventional form by presenting and praising his material: de riches ovres, de granz faiz, qui en ordre seront retraiz. (Chronique 2121-22) (Mighty works and great deeds, which will be recounted in their proper order.)

And he follows this with the topos of industria in reference to the work facing him: Granz est l’estuide e li labors; granz esmais sereit as plusors

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Peter Damian-Grint de si faite ovre translater. (Chronique 2123-25) (Great is the attention and the work needed; many people would be dismayed in the face of such a work of enarratio.)

But, he goes on, he is sure the Holy Spirit will be working with him, because of the good that such a text will do: Quer ne connois ne je ne vei qu’en l’estoire ait rien si bien non e doctrine e cognicion a ceus qui i voudront entendre; maint essample i porront prendre. Les diz, les faiz des anceisors unt mestier eü as plusors; nus ne set rien perfietement, s’il n’ot ou ne veit e n’aprent. (Chronique 2130-34) (For I do not know, nor can I see, that there is anything in this history other than good and teaching and understanding for those who wish to understand; they can take many exempla from it. The sayings and the deeds of our forebears have been of great value for many; no-one knows a thing perfectly if he neither sees nor learns about it.)

Such a reference to the value of history is in itself merely another topos, just as much a standard element of the vernacular historiographical preface as are 20 Benoît’s praise of his material and references to the work of the historian. But Benoît expands his remarks on the exemplary nature of history-writing over another twenty lines, driving home the idea that the lessons of the past are necessary in order to learn how to behave, for ‘sen ne naist pas es cuers humains … com fait un arbre en un verjer’ (wisdom does not grow in human hearts like a tree does in a garden [i.e. without cultivation]; Chronique 2139, 2141); instead it is necessary to make the effort of listening and learning, understanding and remembering. The prominence that Benoît gives to the value of essample in this elaborate explanation is reinforced at other points in the Chronique. The proemium to the life of Richard Sans Peur, the single duke to whom Benoît devotes the most space, presents his life almost entirely in terms of its exemplary value. After a presentation of the material, Benoît praises it in terms of both delectare and prodesse – but although he mentions the former first, the emphasis is firmly on the latter. Ci se devra l’om deliter, Ci devra l’om essample prendre,



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conoistre, aparceivre e entendre … (Chronique 14814-16) (Here we should take delight in this, here we should take example, understand, perceive and realise …)

The exemplum presented here is, somewhat unexpectedly, given a political slant by the lines that follow, cum toz jorz unt grant felonie Franceis vers ceus de Normendie (Chronique 14817-18) (that the French always treat those of Normandy with great wickedness)

But Benoît goes on to explain that this knowledge is not important in itself – for the French cannot help hating the Normans, he adds, plus que la chievre ne s’apese des chous bruster s’el en a ese. (Chronique 14829-30) (any more than the goat can stop herself from grazing on cabbages if she has the opportunity.)

What is important is the moral lessons that can be learned from them: Bon sunt li fait a reconter e mult les fait bon esculter, kar ceus en forment a bien faire qui lles oent sovent retraire. (Chronique 14833-36) (The deeds are good to recount, and it does much good to listen to them, for they mould those who often hear them retold in the habit of good deeds.)

As previously, Benoît then explains what he means by developing his theme in greater detail, giving in the process what is one of the most detailed, reasoned, and explicit expositions of what is meant by learning from the essample of history in any Old French text: Autresi sunt cum mireors les estoires des anceisors: maintes choses i ot l’om dire u l’om mult cler se veit e mire. Ausi cum cil, ceo m’est avis, qui vait coillant les bons espis e ce laisse qui n’a valor, deivent faire li oeor:

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Peter Damian-Grint le bien retiengent des escriz, quant il lor ert contez e diz, e sin vivront plus sagement e mieuz a plus honestement. Par bons essamples, par bons faiz, ceus qui orribles sunt e laiz en eschive l’om mainte feiz. (Chronique 14837-51) (The histories of our forebears just like mirrors: many things are said there in which we can see ourselves clearly and look at our reflection. Just as, or so it seems to me, the one who goes collecting up the good grains and leaving what is valueless, so should listeners do: they should retain the good things from the writings when they are told and recounted to them, and so they will live more wisely, better and more honestly. Through [hearing] good exempla and good deeds, we often refrain from doing those [deeds] that are horrible and ugly)

Typically, Benoît explains his idea by means of similes: firstly that histories are like mirrors in which we can truly know ourselves, and secondly that, like the gleaner, the listener should take what is useful and leave the rest. This second image refers to a recognised metaphor of the prodesse function of literary works, that of the wheat and the chaff or, more precisely, the grain and the straw, which is to be found in a number of twelfth-century vernacular works; ‘it is … typical that where the metaphor is used in a semi-literary context it is in a 21 didactic work based on a Latin original’. The moral aspect of essample – to learn to do good and avoid those things that ‘orribles sunt e laiz’ – is clearly brought out here by Benoît, who develops the theme over another twenty lines or so, relying heavily on the argument of the immediate benefits of an honest life, for … avisunques se puet joïr Nus qui seit de faire deslei; Toz jorz torne e revert sor sei. (Chronique 14857-58) (Hardly can anyone rejoice who is disloyal in deed, for it [the disloyal act] is always turning and redounding against him.)22 23

Such a long and detailed discussion of essample is unusual, but it reflects accurately the importance that Benoît accords to the concept throughout his text. Essample in characterisation The central position of essample in Benoît’s historiographical framework may be seen as a key to one of the major arguments in favour of the view that the



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Chronique des ducs de Normandie is a work of propaganda: Benoît’s treatment of his major characters. Jean Blacker, in exploring the modes of characterisation used by both Latin and vernacular historiographers of the period, points towards a strong tendency to present all major figures in essentially similar terms, different authors having their own particular character framework in keeping with the intention of their specific work (Blacker 1994: 53-57, 13234). Benoît is no exception to the rule; he creates characters, according to Blacker, in the first place through ‘the use of superlatives in conjunction with a stock group of adjectives which are themselves arranged in various combinations to suit the occasion’ (Blacker 1994: 120). Characterisation by means of combining standard character traits was unremarkable for a vernacular historian; although Blacker considers that Benoît’s characters are more schematic and less individualised than most, it is a difference of degree, not kind, given that the same technique was common to all historians of the 24 period. Much the same, however, can also be said about the other aspect of Benoît’s characterisations that Blacker mentions here, his penchant for hyperbole. Although Benoît is the only vernacular historian to whom Blacker explicitly ascribes the use of superlatives as a basic element of characterisation, she does in fact refer to hyperbolic character description when talking about both of the other vernacular historians she describes, Geffrei Gaimar (1994: 8791) and (perhaps less consistently) Wace (97-98, 105-7), and an analogous use of hyperbole may be noted in other estoires of the period such as Jordan Fantosme’s Chronicle and Ambroise’s Estoire de la guerre sainte (DamianGrint 1999a: 129-31). True, Benoît uses hyperbole in a more sustained fashion than do other vernacular historians in their characterisations; but this is merely a corollary of his view of essample as a central function of historiography. For Benoît, it is important that dukes of Normandy can act as exemplary figures, thus providing documentary evidence for his contention that nus n’a al siecle manantie fors cil qui meine honeste vie; nus ne pot vivre honestement que il vers Deu e vers la gent n’en seit plus vaillanz e plus chers e mult n’i seit granz sis loiers. (Chronique 14857-62) (No-one has riches/possessions in this world except the one who leads an honest life; and no-one can live honestly without being held more worthy and precious by God and by the people and without his reward being exceedingly great.)

This rather depressingly materialistic position is not, of course, the sum total of Benoît’s moral teaching, but it does provide some clue as to the framework in

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which he is writing. It is a position that does not prevent him from including unflattering material from his narrative simply because it does not square with previous exemplary descriptions, a habit which must surely indicate either that Benoît’s attitude to his source is so uncritical that he simply does not care about inconsistencies, or – more probably – that he assumes that his audience are sophisticated enough to recognise hyperbole for what it is, representation rather 25 than realistic description. It can of course be argued that in ascribing what has been seen as the propagandist function of the Chronique des ducs de Normandie to Benoît’s concern for essample, all I am doing is displacing the problem. I have not, after all, answered the question of why Benoît uses the prodesse function of historiography at all, let alone as a key feature of his text. Might it not be precisely because this will enable him to present idealised Norman dukes, thus lending to the work a propaganda function, while still presenting it as a serious history? Indeed, could not the prodesse of the text refer to its ideological usefulness to Henry II, rather than its moral benefit to the audience? The answer must, I think, be no. As we have seen, Benoît’s hyperbolic characterisations of the Norman dukes are not linked to a propaganda function; the same feature can be seen in the majority of other estoires, even in cases where there is clearly no propagandistic aim, and can be seen as what Blacker describes as ‘what one might call “reflex praise”, automatic praise for a famous figure … an automatic response on the author’s part to clothe a famous figure in terms that were becoming characteristic of descriptions of heroes in twelfthcentury Old French narrative poetry’ (Blacker 1994: 97, 98). This characterisation of individual characters is shaped not only by the traditions of Latin historiography, but also by the vernacular literary traditions within which the vernacular historians worked: the text which brought Benoît to the attention of the court of Henry II was the Roman de Troie, a roman antique. However, not only the roman antique tradition but all the other major vernacular literary traditions – chanson de geste, hagiography, courtly romance – include hyperbolic character description as a standard element of their style. In a similar way, from a literary point of view Benoît’s emphasis on the prodesse function, the essample, of historiography is a way of stressing the position of the estoire as serious, learned literature. It is, in fact, simply one weapon of a veritable armoury of methods used by most vernacular historians of the period in order to persuade their audiences that they were scholars, men of learning and good judgement, and that what they were saying was truthful, authoritative and reliable even though it was not in Latin but the vernacular. The overtly moralising tone of Benoît’s explanation of essample may possibly be a matter of personal taste; on the other hand, it may indicate a desire to link his text with other works of learned enarratio, many of which have a similarly moralising stance.

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Whatever the case, there is little doubt that Benoît’s decision to use prodesse as a basic function for his text is one that makes perfect sense from a literary point of view, and that once he had done so, his decision to present his major characters as exemplary figures followed as a matter of course. Furthermore, vernacular literary traditions of the period imposed on both Benoît and his fellow-historiographers a hyperbolic form of characterisation which, as a common literary topos, must have been immediately recognisable to any contemporary audiences. If we add to these purely literary considerations the remarkable care with which Benoît follows his sources, it is indeed hard to recognise in him the servile propagandist of the critics. If Benoît must be seen as a serious historian, what then of his predecessor, the independent and critical maistre Wace? There is in fact no evidence that Wace is any more independent and critical than any other twelfthcentury historian. His highly self-conscious self-presentation as a scholar who carefully weighs up the credibility of different sources is in fact a literary topos: its value lies not in the information it gives us about his methods (which is nonexistent), but in the clear picture it draws of what an intelligent – and successful – writer thought a vernacular historian ought to look like. We have no direct information about audience attitudes towards estoires; but the self-image that Wace projects provides us with abundant circumstantial evidence as to what 26 they might have been expecting. Apart from the question of oral testimony (which Benoît treats with extreme caution), it is curious to see how closely the Chronique des ducs de Normandie approximates to the picture that Wace presents.

Notes 

1. Benoît’s text is 44,544 lines long, at a very rough estimate over 265,000 words.

2. Michel (1836: I, xxvii-viii); Paris (1880: 592-614). For a more recent proponent of the same position see Keller (1978: 284-85). 3. See also the discussion of Wace’s relationship with Henry in Le Saux (2005: 275-78). 4. This is the name Wace uses when referring to his own text; the title Roman de Rou by which it is usually known appears to be later. See Damian-Grint (1999a: 223, 259). 5. Wace used redaction E of the Gesta Normannorum ducum, which was composed by Orderic Vitalis; the first section of the text is essentially a condensed version of Dudo’s De moribus (see Van Houts 1992: I, xciii). Although Wace’s text is unfinished, and scholars are not in agreement as to his final plans, it is clear that he uses the Gesta Normannorum ducum as a quarry for material rather than a source to be followed closely (but cf. Le Saux 2005: 158-59). 6. The first two parts, the Chronique ascendante (315 lines) and the Deuxième partie (4425 lines). 7. Other estoires using this form include the Harley Brut and the Estoire d’Antioche (see DamianGrint 1999a: 82-83, 187).



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 8. ‘Mil chent et soisante anz out de temps et d’espace / puiz que Dex en la Virge dscendi par sa grace, / quant un clerc de Caen, qui out non Mestre Vace, / s’entremist de l’estoire de Rou et de s’estrace’ (Rou I, 1-4). 9. See, e.g., Gouttebroze (1991: 291), Blacker (1994: 37). However, Wace gives no direct information on the date he stopped writing. The date 1174 is based on the date of the last event he mentions, the siege of Rouen in 1173, which appears in the Chronique ascendante; as this is thought to be the earliest part of the text, the passage referring to the siege (Rou I, 62-66) is explained as a later interpolation. 10. By comparison Dudo’s work, which was written at the request of duke Richard Sans Peur, survives in 14 manuscripts, and the various redactions of the Gesta Normannorum ducum in no fewer than 47 manuscripts (see Van Houts 1992: I, xxi). Two of the manuscripts of the Geste des Normanz (BL Royal 4.C.xi, BNF fr. 375) date from the thirteenth century, two (BL Royal 13.A.xviii, BNF n.a.fr. 718, the former a fragment only) from the fourteenth century, and one (BNF Duchesne 79) is a seventeenth-century copy of a lost thirteenth-century original. Of the manuscripts of the Chronique des ducs de Normandie, one (Tours, Bib. mun. 903) dates from the late twelfth century and the other (BL Harley 1717) from the early thirteenth century. 11. According to the Oxford English Dictionary (2nd edition), ‘ideology’ in its modern sense is first attested in 1909 and ‘propaganda’ in 1790. 12. Chibnall, ‘The sources used by William of Poitiers’ (Davis and Chibnall 1998: xxvii-xxxii). William himself states categorically that his text is accurate and truthful, ‘nusquam a ueritatis limite passu uno delirantes’ (i.20). 13. 1447 lines (18%) of a total of 8025 lines on William are based on the Gesta Guillelmi and 1309 lines (16%) are based on Orderic’s Historia Ecclesiastica (Books VII and VIII only). A further 700 lines (9%), possibly more, come from other sources which may include Wace; the rest is based directly on the Gesta Normannorum ducum. 14. Chibnall, ‘The sources used by William of Poitiers’ (Davis and Chibnall 1998: xxi, xxxi). 15. See Partner (1977: esp. 1-8); Damian-Grint (1999a: 85, 147). 16. For twelfth-century perceptions of truthfulness in historiography see, e.g., Lodge (1990); Partner (1977: esp. 183-93). 17. See Damian-Grint (1999b: 349-67, esp. 353-58). See also the discussion of the word gloser in Möhren (1997: 139). 18. Chronique 27219-35 (the whole episode takes lines 27197-466). 19. At a very rough estimate, Benoît’s Chronique is over six times as long as its Latin originals. 20. For these topoi see Damian-Grint (1999a): purpose of history (94-98), praise of material (1035), and industria (123-31). 21. See Hunt (1979: 31); though Hunt also points out that ‘the metaphor is much commoner … in general contexts without reference to literary exegesis’ (see also 1979: 27, 29-31). 22. Benoît is playing on the two words deslei, one meaning ‘rejoice’ and the other ‘disloyal’. 23. The essample of history is mentioned in the prologues of a number of other estoires such as Jordan Fantosme’s Chronicle and the Estoire d’Antoiche; Wace, however, never alludes to it in his





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 Geste des Normanz, presenting instead the purpose of history as primarily the recovery or preservation of the past (Rou III, 1-10). 24. Benoît’s characters are, besides, given added depth and complexity by means of anecdotes and dreams, which the author uses to reveal more of the personality (see Blacker 1994: 120). 25. It may be noted that the characterisation of major figures in estoires generally follows the sources: ‘the Old French historians as a whole tended to present the same types of personality for their characters as did the Latin historians; their reconstructions of history are þ heavily dependent on their sources’ (Blacker 1994: 133-34). While characters are often described in greater detail in estoires, it is rare that they are presented in significantly different guise to that in which they appear in the Latin histories from which they are taken. 26. As do indeed the authorial self-presentations of the other vernacular historians, which coincide with Wace’s to a remarkable extent, though the particular emphasis varies from one to another (see Damian-Grint 1999a: 200-7).

Bibliography Primary sources Ambroise. Estoire de la guerre sainte. 2 vols. Ed. and trans. Marianne Ailes, notes by Marianne Ailes and Malcolm Barber. Woodbridge: The Boydell Press, 2003. Benoît de Sainte-Maure. Chronique des ducs de Normandie. Ed. Carin Fahlin. Bibliotheca Ekmaniana 56 and 60. Uppsala: Almqvist and Wiksells, 1951-1954; Glossaire. Östen Södergård. Bibliotheca Ekmaniana 64. Uppsala: Almqvist and Wiksells, 1967; Notes. Sven Sandqvist. Acta Universitatis Lundensis, ser. 1, 29. Stockholm: Almqvist and Wiksells, 1979. [Benoît de Sainte-Maure] Chronique des ducs de Normandie par Benoît. 3 vols. Ed. Francisque Michel. Collection de documents inédits sur l’histoire de France, 1re série, 1-3. Paris: Imprimerie royale, 1836-1844. Dudo of Saint-Quentin. De moribus et actis primorum Normanniae ducum. Ed. Jules Lair. Caen: Société des Antiquaires de Normandie, 1865. Geffrei Gaimar. Estoire des Engleis. Ed. Alexander Bell. Anglo-Norman Text Society 14-16. Oxford: Basil Blackwell, 1960. Jordan Fantosme. Chronicle. Ed. and trans. R. C. Johnston. Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1981. Wace. Roman de Brut. Ed. and trans. Judith Weiss. Exeter Medieval English Texts and Studies. Exeter: University of Exeter Press, 1999. Wace. Roman de Rou. Ed. A. J. Holden, trans. Glyn S. Burgess, notes by Glyn Burgess and Elisabeth van Houts. St Helier: Société Jersiaise, 2002. William of Jumièges, Orderic Vitalis and Robert of Torigni. The Gesta Normannorum ducum. 2 Vols. Ed. and trans. Elisabeth van Houts. Oxford Medieval Texts. Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1992-2000. William of Poitiers. The Gesta Guillelmi. Ed. and trans. R. H. C. Davis and Marjorie Chibnall. Oxford Medieval Texts. Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1998. Secondary literature Aurell, Martin (2003). L’Empire des Plantagenêt, 1154-1224. Paris: Perrin. Blacker, Jean (1994). The faces of time: portrayal of the past in Old French and Latin historical narrative of the Anglo-Norman regnum. Austin: University of Texas Press.



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 Damian-Grint, Peter (1998). ‘Learning and authority in Benoît de Sainte-Maure’s cosmography.’ Reading Medieval Studies 24: 25-52. ——— (1999a). The new historians of the twelfth-century renaissance: inventing vernacular authority. Woodbridge: The Boydell Press. ——— (1999b). ‘Translation as enarratio and hermeneutic theory in twelfth-century vernacular learned literature.’ Neophilologus 83: 349-67. Davis and Chibnall (1998). See William of Poitiers. The Gesta Guillelmi. Gouttebroze, Jean-Guy (1991). ‘Pourquoi congédier un historiographe? Henri II Plantagenêt et Wace (1155-1174).’ Romania 112: 289-311. Hunt, Tony (1979). ‘Prodesse et delectare: metaphors of pleasure and instruction in Old French.’ Neuphilologische Mitteilungen 80: 17-35. Keller, H. E. (1978). ‘La chanson de geste et son public.’ In Marche romane: mélanges de philologie et de littératures romanes offerts à Jeanne Wathelet-Willem. Ed. Jacques de Caluwé. Liège: Association des Romanistes, Université de Liège. 257-85. Le Saux, Françoise H. M. (2005). A Companion to Wace. Cambridge: D. S. Brewer. Lodge, Anthony (1990). ‘Literature and history in the Chronicle of Jordan Fantosme’. French Studies 44: 257-70. Michel, Francisque, ed. (1836-1844). See Chronique des ducs de Normandie par Benoît. Möhren, Frankwalt (1997). ‘Unité et diversité du champ sémasiologique: l’exemple de l’AngloNorman Dictionary.’ In De mot en mot: aspects of medieval linguistics. Essays in honour of William Rothwell. Ed. Stewart Gregory and D. A. Trotter. Cardiff: University of Wales Press/MHRA. 127-46. Paris, Gaston (1880). Review of Le Roman de Rou. Ed. H. Andresen. Romania 9: 592-614. Partner, Nancy (1977). Serious entertainments: the writing of history in twelfth-century England. Chicago and London: University of Chicago Press. Van Houts, Elisabeth (1984). ‘The adaptation of the Gesta Normannorum ducum by Wace and Benoît.’ In Non nova, sed nove: mélanges de civilisation médiévale dédiés à Willem Noomen. Ed. M. Gosman and J. van Os. Mediaevalia Groningana. Groningen: Bouma’s Boekhuis. 115-24. ——— (1992-2000). See William of Jumièges, Orderic Vitalis and Robert of Torigni. The Gesta Normannorum ducum.

HISTORICISING SAINTHOOD: THE CASE OF EDWARD THE CONFESSOR IN VERNACULAR NARRATIVES

Tamar S. Drukker

Abstract The wish to canonise King Edward the Confessor resulted in numerous vitae both in Latin and in the vernacular, composed soon after his death and in the following centuries. His biography also forms part of many chronicles and historical narratives where he appears primarily for his role as the king of England. However, many of the vernacular chronicles use hagiographical material in their presentation of the king, creating a complex image of a problematic historical figure. In his conduct, Edward is the ideal Christian believer, but at times his righteousness stands in the way of good kingship. His weaknesses are justified in light of his sanctity, thus forcing the chroniclers to shift from their usual treatment of kings to a mode of writing that is based on and resembles a saint’s life, but does not follow it completely.

On the fifth of January 1066, King Edward of England died a natural death. Less than a year later, on Christmas day 1066, William Duke of Normandy was crowned king of England in Westminster Abbey, founded by Edward, marking the beginning of a new era in English history. The eventful months following Edward’s death, with Harold’s succession to an unstable kingdom culminating in the battle of Hastings (October 1066) and the establishment of Norman rule in England, shaped the memory of Edward’s reign and his person. Edward the Confessor, king and saint as formed and presented in the chronicles, biographies, and vitae of the later Middle Ages, is a product of the Norman Conquest; a description of his life and reign can no longer be free of the retrospective knowledge of the conditions following his death. As the last in a direct lineage of Anglo-Saxon kings, he had a significance reaching far beyond the actual years of his reign. It was in hagiographical writings that Edward the Confessor was best remembered during and after the Middle Ages, but in the chronicles too the king receives mention, more often as a devout Christian than as a sovereign ruler. Many Lives of saints follow a common pattern, sometimes assigning no special significance to the saints’ early life before the conversion or change of heart that marks the ascent to a life of perfection. In theory, the life of a saint follows and imitates the life of Christ, and since all saints do so, the description of their lives maintains interest in the particular only as a way of ‘staging’ 1 events which draw the saint towards sainthood. The vita follows a saint’s education, religious sermons or teachings, periods of reclusiveness, miracles,

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death, and miracles performed after death often beside the tomb. As the saint leaves this world, his or her life remains a model of the Christian life and their relics continue to perform the same miracles again and again. Since the death of the saint marks the movement from one form of life, in this world, to another, in the heavenly world, it is traditionally marked as the saint’s festival or dies 2 natalis, ‘birthday’. It then finds its way into the liturgical calendar, and is commemorated year after year. Historical events, on the other hand, belong to a particular year; they mark the differences existing between one year and 3 another, not the cyclical repetition characterising the Catholic calendar. As a work of secular history, late medieval vernacular chronicles do not typically follow hagiographic sources in their account of the lives of the saints. This is so, not because the narrative refuses the supernatural actions attributed to the saints – the compilers of such chronicles do not refrain from including the inexplicable and the incredible – but because of its interest in the mundane, the contingent, and the temporal, not in the unchanging condition of sanctity with 4 its cyclical commemorations. The first vita of Edward the Confessor was composed partly during his lifetime, and continued soon after his death, by an anonymous monk of St 5 Bertin. The work is made up of two books. The first has a clear historical focus, following the Godwins and their relationship with the king, whereas the second book is devoted to Edward himself, emphasising his piety. After this text was composed, a campaign to secure the canonisation of Edward inspired a new biography to celebrate the monarch’s holiness and assist in the attempt to gain papal recognition of his sanctity. This was compiled by Osbert of Clare, 6 and completed in 1138. The efforts were to no avail at the time, and Edward 7 was not canonised until February 1161. King Henry II was the principal force behind the canonisation of Edward and actively promoted his cult. By turning to Rome to support his devotion to Edward, Henry also revealed his reverence for the Apostolic See, as if to relax the tension between himself and Thomas 8 Becket on the issue of the State’s legal supremacy over the Church. For the occasion of Edward’s canonisation, yet another biography was written. Soon to become the most popular and influential of the vitae, this was composed by the 9 Cistercian Aelred of Rievaulx. In this account, very little is left of the actual life and politics of King Edward’s reign. Instead, it tells of the special conditions which marked Edward as an exceptional man from his early days, of his devotion, his visionary powers, his sanctity, and the miracles of healing performed before and after his death. In other words, it is a characteristically monastic production. This text contributed to the rise of Edward’s cult at West10 minster Abbey in the twelfth century, but as is often the case with the cults of saints, Edward’s flourished intermittently, never enjoying great popularity and 11 sometimes neglected. The Latin twelfth-century literary works about Edward the Confessor gave way to vernacular compositions in the following centuries. Among them is



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the elaborate Anglo-Norman verse life of Edward, La estoire de seint Aedward le rei attributed to Matthew Paris, and some Middle English versions of it both 12 in verse and in prose. These writings served as a source and inspiration for the 13 way Edward was presented in historical works as well as in art. Both English and Norman historians writing about the eleventh century in the late Middle Ages, from William of Malmesbury onwards, included in their work at least part of the legendary material that came to surround the memory of Edward the 14 Confessor. Edward the Confessor in the Brut The prose chronicle known as the Brut is the earliest surviving account of the history of Britain to have been written in English prose. It is an adaptation of Geoffrey of Monmouth’s Historia regum Britanniae and its success is partly due to the wide circulation of Geoffrey’s work and its literary appeal to readers on both sides of the Channel. The Brut survives in almost 200 manuscripts, and 15 was printed in 1480 by William Caxton under the title Chronicles of England. It was a very popular work, issued in thirteen editions by 1528. The basic text, beginning with the legends concerning the first inhabitants of Britain and continuing up to the battle of Halidon Hill in 1333, is a translation of an AngloNorman prose narrative also commonly referred to as the Brut. The anonymous Anglo-Norman chronicle was composed soon after the events narrated in its last chapters, sometime in the first half of the fourteenth century. The chronicle continued to be copied and extended throughout the fifteenth century. The manuscripts suggest a diverse readership, varying from deluxe folios with gilded initials and illustrations on carefully-prepared vellum to paper folios filled with dense and unprofessional writing. Most of the manuscripts, the lavish copies as well as the very simple ones, are heavily annotated by scribes and readers, attesting to their deep interest in the work. Latin translations of the English chronicle survive in fifteen manuscripts attesting to the status of the English vernacular composition as an authoritative version of history. It has been regarded by many, both in England and on the continent, as the quasi-official chronicle of the history of England. The exceptional importance which some readers and scribes attached to the relatively short passage in the Brut devoted to Edward the Confessor (chapters 125-130) is revealed by Trinity College, Cambridge manuscript 16 O.9.1. This volume contains some Middle English Lives of the Virgin and of St James the Apostle based on the Golden Legend, and an independent English version of the Life of St Katherine. These hagiographic works are followed by a copy of the Middle English prose Brut, which does not differ from other versions of the work in its secular tone and interest in chronology and the affairs of the kings of the land. Nonetheless, the section in the chronicle devoted to Edward the Confessor is adorned with a series of exceptionally vivid, detailed, and carefully executed scenes from the life of the king, work of

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a quality not normally found in English vernacular manuscripts. The artist depicts the hagiographic material which the compilers of the Brut include in the narrative, illustrating the different stages of the encounter between Edward and John the Evangelist, and the visions which Edward the Confessor has seen – all scenes described in the prose chronicle (see fig. 1). The Brut turns to hagiographic sources for its section on Edward the Confessor. Following Geoffrey of Monmouth’s Historia regum Britanniae, the Brut is foremost a history of the kings of the land. Initially, therefore, Edward is included in the Brut because he was king of England, but the narrative underemphasises this fact by introducing Edward in the heading of chapter 125 anachronistically as ‘Seynt Edward þe Confessoure’ (p. 128), not as King Edward. A summary of his early life, dominated by a description of his natural piety, points to the way the chroniclers wish to present Edward when king, for these qualities are not diminished when he is crowned: þis Edward in his childehode louede al-myghty God, & him drade, & in honeste and clennesse leued his lif, and hatede synne as deþ. And when he was cronede and annoyntede wiþ real power, he forȡate nouȡt his gode maners & condicions & custumes þat he ferst vsede, for no maner honour, ne for no richesse, ne for no maner hyenesse, but euer more & more ȡaf him to godenesse, and wel louede God & al mekenesse, & louede God & holy cherche passyng al maner þing, & pore men also, & ham helde as þai hade bene his owen breþerne, & to ham ofte ȡaf grete almesse wiþ gode wille. (p. 128) (From childhood, this Edward loved almighty God and feared Him and lived an honest and clean life and hated sin as it were death. And when he was crowned and anointed with power, he did not forget the good manners, disposition and customs which he held earlier, neither for honour, nor for riches, nor for pride, but he continued to give himself even more to goodness and he loved meekness and God and the Holy Church more than anything else, and also the poor whom he considered to be his brothers, and he often gave them alms willingly.)17

This is not the ideal chivalric king often praised in the chronicle with such epithets as ‘a noble Knyght & a worþi’ that ‘miche louede chiualrye and al maner godenesse’ (p. 125, chapter 122) as in the description of King Hartha18 cnut, to cite just one example. Rather, he is primarily a pious individual whose kingship is almost imposed on him: he becomes king after his elder brother is murdered and only when the barons of England come to Normandy offering him the crown (chapters 124-25). There are echoes here of the pious medieval bishop or abbot, so often presented – in the tradition of Gregory the Great – as unwilling to accept the high office for which everyone knows him to be suited. According to the Brut, Edward does not change when he becomes king – there is no tyranny or vaingloriousness – and his reign is characterised by his piety and Christian generosity rather than by particular historical 19 events.



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Unlike the vitae, the Brut does not open with Edward’s birth, for example, nor with a vision experienced by his mother when still pregnant, nor with the election of the yet unborn child by the English nobility as the future 20 king of England. Nevertheless it begins with a religious event rather than a political one, to force a modern distinction. The very first story about his reign in the Brut concerns the miraculous meeting between the king and John the Evangelist. Other medieval accounts of this reign mention another event as 21 Edward’s first deed upon being crowned king, his seizing his mother’s lands. There is no hint of this episode in the Brut, nor of the abolition of the Danegeld 22 considered by some as Edward’s first royal decree. Typically, the Brut regards this type of information – the importance of land and taxation in the economics of the ruling monarch – as one of its central concerns. Yet, here, the compilers follow the initial description of Edward as guide to the rest of the narrative concerning him; they use the narrative to demonstrate his exceptional piety and unworldliness. Whereas the Brut does not follow earlier chroniclers in recounting the events – political, diplomatic and economic – of Edward’s reign, it does not fully reproduce any of the vitae either. There is nothing in the Brut concerning the king’s miraculous healing of the scrofulous woman, of the many blind men who regained their eyesight after applying water touched by the king to their eyes, nor the story of how the king carried upon his back a sickly paralysed 23 man to be cured near the altar. Moreover, nothing is said of the miracles attributed to Edward after his death, the unnatural preservation of his body, and the healings which took place at his tomb. It is not that the chronicle avoids reporting wonders. The Brut includes many legendary tales and manifests an interest in extraordinary phenomena, both in the natural world and in the realm of human interaction, and among these are reports of just such miracles of healing near the burial place of a saint. In chapter 201, a relatively long section inserted within the chronological account of the events in the 1320s, the narrator describes ‘þe miracles þat God wrou3t [worked] for Seint Thomas loue of Lancastre’ (p. 228), many of which resemble those reported in other chronicles to have happened more than a hundred years earlier in Westminster 24 where Edward the Confessor’s body had been set in a new shrine in 1163. Other saints and miracles A remarkable number of the saints venerated in England in the later Middle Ages attracted anti-royal sentiments (Wilson 183: 35). Since the Brut is based on monarchic succession, it does not usually give voice to the popular cults of saints whose political tone might work against that of the Brut narrative. But while those who opposed the king – such as Thomas of Lancaster – are mentioned when the Brut compilers have a strong interest in them, kings 25 themselves, notably Edward the Confessor, attract the same devotion. Indeed, the cult of the virgin monarch could paradoxically be regarded as somewhat

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anti-royal. Though it elevates the king to the status of a saint and a religious ideal, at the same time the emphasis on saintly chastity annuls the notion of genealogy and the possibility for succession, central to the continuation of the ideal of hereditary monarchy (Elliott 1993: 125). The only detailed description of an active cult and of miracles performed by a saint after his death in the Brut is closely concerned with conflict against the king. Thomas of Lancaster, the object of this cult, is just one of many political leaders who, though never officially canonised, enjoyed long-lasting popularity as saints. But the section in the Brut devoted to Thomas is not a vita. It is not as a religious figure that he attracts the chroniclers’ attention, but as a magnate involved in the tempestuous affairs of the realm. He is of interest to the compilers only when he acts in the public sphere. The Brut reports the miracles that were performed near the tomb of the murdered Thomas, but there is a strong sense here that Thomas is simply pursuing his political ends from beyond the grave. The sense is so strong, indeed, that the narrator refrains from calling him a saint, and introduces him as ‘þe Erl of Lancastre’ (p. 214, chapter 194), ‘þe gode Erl Thomas’ (p. 216, chapter 196) or ‘þe noble Erl Thomas of Lancaster’ and ‘the Gentil Knyght’ (pp. 218-19, chapter 197). Though a pious man (we see him pray and hear his address to God), Thomas is first and foremost ‘þe flour of chiualry’ (p. 224, chapter 199), who is killed not for defending Christian belief but the status of the Ordinances limiting the power of 26 the Crown. He is a political man involved in a civil dispute with the king. It is Thomas himself who draws attention to possible connections between himself and Thomas Becket, the most popular English saint in the Middle Ages and beyond. Lancaster defends himself against the accusation of treason crying out during his trial, ‘Nay, Lordes! Forsoþ, and by Seint Thomas, y was never traitoure’ (p. 222, chapter 198), swearing by the name of the martyred archbishop of Canterbury. Like Thomas Becket, Lancaster acts according to his conscience in constraining the monarch, and like him he is seized, though not killed, while praying (see chapter 197). The threat posed by Thomas of Lancaster does not fade away with his execution. He becomes a popular hero and a saint, performing miracles and attracting pilgrims to his shrine. The king must defend himself now against the cult of Thomas, not against the man, and he does: þrouȡ þe commandement of þe forsaide Sir Hugh þe Sepenser, xiiij Gascoignes wel armed kepte þe hull þer þat þe gode Seint Thomas was don vnto his deþ and biheuedede, so þat no pilgrime might come. By þat way ful wel wende he forto haue binome Cristus might and his power, and þe grete loos of miracles þat he shewede for his martre Thomas þouȡ-out al Cristendome. (pp. 230-31, chapter 201) (according to the command of the aforementioned Sir Hugh de Spencer, fourteen armed men from Gascony guarded the hall where the good Saint Thomas was beheaded and killed, so that no pilgrim could enter. He acted that way so as to destroy Christ’s might and power



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and the great reputation of the miracles that he revealed for his martyr Thomas throughout Christendom)

By sealing the hall and preventing access to the site of Thomas’s execution, the king attempts to seize control over the saint’s miraculous power, draining his cult from the source of its vitality. Thus he brings to an end not only the life of 27 the rebel, but that of the saint as well, symbolically killing Thomas twice. The detailed description of this episode clearly points to the chroniclers’ sympathy with Thomas and his cause. His execution is described in detail (in chapter 198), evoking pathos and a strong emotion, rare in a chronicle full of terse descriptions of bloodshed and murder, executions, and violent deaths. This emphasis has led critics to propose a Lancastrian provenance for the chronicle. The author of the Brut might be interested in Thomas of Lancaster not simply because of his northern origin, but because of the significant political implication of his dispute with the king and the rise of a cult supporting his cause. The cult fits into the scheme of the Brut because it represents an outstanding set of 28 circumstances within a specific reign; in no sense is it a critique of monarchy. The saint who most clearly embodies the dispute between the State, with the king at its head, and the Church is Thomas Becket, who is associated in the Brut with his namesake, the Earl of Lancaster, as we have seen. While the chronicle gives a detailed description of his life, his debate with Henry II, and his murder, there is nothing about the cult that developed immediately after his 29 death and its popularity. Although the chroniclers refer to Thomas Becket as saint, they do not adopt the manner of a vita in the section devoted to him (chapters 141-42). The chronicle does not report the miracles which were witnessed in Canterbury after the murder; the narrative follows Becket only in his lifetime and only in his interaction with the court. Though he came to symbolise the conflict between the Church and the King, Becket in his role as archbishop of Canterbury was the one to conduct the translation of Edward the Confessor, a king and a saint, in 1163. Curiously, it is in their treatment of Edward that the compilers of the Brut seem to move away from their practice of ‘historicising’ the saints and use hagiographic material rather than chronicles as the source for their unique version of Edward’s life. This is a selection of anecdotes relating to an enigmatic figure. The compilers of the Brut undoubtedly wish to attract attention to Edward the Confessor in their narrative, as is evident in the shift of focus in the chapters concerning his reign. They can ignore neither the retrospective importance of this period, though it was relatively uneventful, nor the proliferation of hagiographic writings about Edward. The compilers give this section prominence by adopting the material and language of the vitae, though limiting their description to miracles which happen to Edward, rather than those he performs. Hence one of the most important elements in their account of Edward arises from the most dramatic form that saintly inaction can take, namely the

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receiving of visions, and from the most notable abstention from action that a king can take in a hereditary monarchy, namely his renunciation of sex. (i) Visions There are different kinds, degrees, and qualities of visions in the Brut. At times a vision reveals some unknown truth which exists in the present but is hidden from the seer; more often, however, it makes known some details about the 30 future. Most visions can be seen only by the person endowed with visionary power, yet not infrequently other people can share the sight, as in the case of public visions. With very few exceptions, the ability to see a vision, and more so, to decipher its meaning, is an ability given to a holy person, signifying that individual as one chosen by God to have access to arcane knowledge. A striking example of how the Brut narrative sometimes breaks this conventional pattern is found in the tale about the visionary dreams of William Rufus, in chapter 134. The heir of William the Conqueror was, according to the narrator of the Brut, a reprobate, ‘& þe lenger þat he leuede [lived], þe more Wikkede he bicome, boþe to God & to holy cherche, & to alle his men’ (pp. 138-39). William Rufus destroyed churches and abused the clergy, gradually turning into the epitome of an unchristian king: ‘And at þe laste he bicome so contrarious [antagonistic], þat al þing þat plesede God, displesede him; and al þing þat gode men louede [loved], he hatede dedly’ (p. 139). He was, nonetheless, the recipient of a prophetic dream: And so hit befel þat he dremede & mette oppon a nyȡt, bifore a litil or þat he deide, þat he was bloode, & bledde a grete quantite of bloode, and a streme of blode lepte an hye toward Heuen more þan an hundred Venithe; and þe clerenesse of þe day was turnede al to derkenesse, and þe firmament also. (p. 139, chapter 134) (and so it happened that one night a little while before he died, he dreamt that he was bleeding a great quantity of blood, and a stream of blood gushed upwards towards heaven to the height of more than six hundred feet, and the light of day and the sky turned into darkness)

The king sees a dreadful scene, unquestionably the mark of some ominous and violent event, but he does not understand its meaning and none of his counsellors can interpret the dream. The king accordingly takes no action, though frightened by the experience. The following night an unnamed monk has a dream about the king: þat þe kyng went into a cherche wiþ miche peple; and he was so prout þat he despisede al þe peple þat was wiþ him; & so he toke þe ymage of þe crucifixe, & shamefully bote hit with his teiþ; and þe crucifix mekely soffrede al þat he dede; but þe kyng, as a wode man, rent of þe Armys of þe crucifixe and caste it vnder his feete, & defoulede it and þrewe it al brode; and a grete flame of fire come out of þe crucifixeȡ mouthe. (p. 139, chapter 134)



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(that the king went into a church with many people; and he was so proud that he looked down on all the people that were with him; and then he took the image of the crucifix, and bit it ignominiously with his teeth, and the crucifix suffered silently what has been done to it; but the king, like a madman, broke off the arms of the crucifix and threw it under his feet and soiled it and threw it far and wide, and a great flame came out of the mouth of the crucifix)

The narrator relates that many people wondered about the meaning of the second dream and were puzzled by it, but William Rufus, hearing of the monk’s dream, ‘lauȡhede [laughed] þerat ij or iij, & litil sette [dwelled] þerof’ (p. 139, chapter 134). But these dreams are a divine warning to the king, who ignores them just as he ignores the advice of his men, not allowing them to interfere with his wish to conduct his life as he believes fit. The dreams do not reveal the manner of the king’s violent death – he was accidentally shot while hunting – nor do they prevent it. Instead, they foretell it by finding shocking images that fracture it into a sudden fountain of blood, a shattered crucifix, all portents, but impossible to interpret precisely. The dreams elevate the king’s violent death from a chance incident to a designed punishment, part of a divine and just plan. It is a mark of Edward’s sanctity that the visions he receives are never imagistic or fragmented in this way. The section of the Brut devoted to Edward is framed by the vision of John the Evangelist and the story of Edward’s ring. This legend, with its familiar romance motif of the ring used for revelation of identity, first appears in Osbert’s Vita and is one of the most popular stories associated with Edward, used extensively in pictorial representations of the 31 saint. It tells of the occasion when King Edward heard mass in Westminster Abbey on the day of St John the Evangelist. Upon leaving the church he was approached by a beggar, ‘And þe Kyng priuely [privately] toke þe ryng of his fenger, priuely þat no man perceyuede [noticed] hit, & ȡaf [gave] it þe pilgrime’ (p. 129, chapter 126). Edward not only gives the beggar a valuable jewel of his own, he does so secretly with no intention of making his kindness publicly known. This obedience to Christ’s teaching about the inner experience of giving to the poor translates easily for the compilers into kingly justice, firm but mild: þis goode Kyng Edward made alle þe gode lawes of Engeland þat ȡitte beþ most holden, & was so mercyable & ful of pite þat no man myȡt bene more. (ibid.) (this good King Edward made all the good laws of England that are still held, and he was very merciful and full of pity, more than any other man)

This is a rare instance in the section about Edward where the narrator shifts back to the tone familiar to us from the rest of the chronicle, providing some insight into the work of Edward as king and insisting upon his lasting contribution to the English polity. But not for long; we hear no more about

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Edward as a legislator, and the narrative turns back to hagiography. In this tale Edward is characteristically passive, moved into showing his kindness only when he is approached. Much more is said about Edward the Confessor’s generosity in the vitae. This is indeed his principal form of action, the fundamental works of Christian charity. There are various stories of him giving 32 money to the poor who gather around the court, begging. Edward is also praised for his forgiveness towards thieves in an episode that touches sharply upon the most sensitive thing in the household of a medieval monarch, the treasury. Edward closes his eyes when a servant has helped himself to the royal coffers. When the king’s treasurer discovers the theft, Edward begs him not to take any action, explaining, ‘for perauentur [as it happens] he þat haþ itt: haþ more nede þen we: & þerfor lett hym haue itt in pees. for as þou knowest wele 33 yett he hath left vs enogh.’ The king freely gives out his gold to those who need it, whether a thief, a beggar, or a saint disguised as a pilgrim. In the context of the Brut, this is exceptional behaviour. Edward only discovers the identity of the pilgrim to whom he has given his ring shortly before his death. The narrator does not dwell on Edward’s thirteen years as king, but returns to the story of the ring, which opens the reign, towards its end. The chronicle tells of two Englishmen on pilgrimage in the Holy Land. On their journey they meet a pilgrim who asks where they come from; upon hearing that they are English, and the subjects of King Edward, the pilgrim says: ‘Faire frendes … when þat ȡe come into ȡour contre aȡeyne, y praye ȡow þat ȡe wolde gone vnto Kyng Edward, and ofte-tymes him grete in my name, & ofte-tymes þank him of his grete curtesye þat he to me haþ done, And nameliche for þe ryng þat he ȡaf me when he hade herde masse at Westmynstre, for seynt Iohnes loue Euaungelist,’ and toke þo þe Ryng to þe pilgrimes, and saide, ‘y pray ȡow forto gon & bere þis ryng, & take hit to Kyng Edward, & telle him þat y sende hit him; and a ful ryche ȡift y wil him ȡeue; for oppon þe tuelfeþ day he shal come to me, and euermore duelle in blisse wiþouten ende.’ (p. 132, chapter 129) (‘Dear friends … when you return to your country, I pray you go to King Edward and greet him repeatedly in my name, and thank him for the great charity that he has done for me, namely, for the ring that he gave me for the love of Saint John the Evangelist, when he heard mass at Westminster.’ And he gave the ring to the pilgrims and said: ‘I ask you to go and carry this ring and bring it to King Edward and tell him that I send it to him; and he shall receive a rich gift, for on the twelfth day he shall come to me and live forever in endless bliss.’)

In return for the ring, John the Evangelist grants Edward the gift of foreknowledge regarding the time of his approaching death – the contrast with William Rufus is sharp indeed. Not only does this allow the king to prepare his soul and body for his death, it includes a promise that the king will join the



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Evangelist ‘duellyng wiþ Almyghty God’ (p. 132, chapter 129). In medieval chronicles and hagiography, a divine signal calling the devout believer to prepare for the last journey from life into death is given only to those who deserve God’s grace. Edward receives the pilgrims when they reach London, recognises the ring, learns of its significance, and acts accordingly. He ‘þankede Almyghty God & seynt Iohan Euaungelist, & þo made him aredy euery day, fram day to day, forto wende [go] out of þis lif when God wolde for him sende’ (p. 133, chapter 129). Edward is blessed with the ability to see, talk to, and bestow kindness on John the Evangelist, and thus he participates in the divine world while still a mortal human being. His sanctity also allows for others around him to share this divine experience. The two English pilgrims not only chance upon St John in the Holy Land, they are also miraculously transported, in their sleep, back from Judea to Kent, in order to hasten to the king and bring John the Evangelist’s 34 message to him. St John could, of course, have revealed himself to the king in person, but chooses instead to use the English pilgrims as messengers. By appearing before the two travellers, St John makes Edward’s generous behaviour towards him public, notifying both king and subjects of the king’s imminent death. A saint could manifest subjection to the Lord by refusing fame, but the ideal of humility posed a problem to the composers of saints’ 35 lives and those promoting their cult and canonisation. The use of the two English pilgrims as messengers is more than a literary device to reveal Edward’s generosity to contemporary subjects in the realm and to the audience of the tale. It is a means by which the chroniclers solve a moral and a narrative problem of making public and glorifying that which the humble saint must keep discreet. It also serves to explain the existence of such a ring as a relic in Westminster in the centuries to follow. Throughout, the Brut is interested in the roots of existing institutions, monuments, and names. On his deathbed, Edward summons various people to see him, among them the Abbot of Westminster Abbey. Then Edward toke him þat ryng in honour of Gode & of Seynt Iohan the Euaungelist. And þe Abbot toke hit & put hit amonge oþere reliqes, so þat it is at Westmynstre, & euer shal be. (p. 134, chapter 130) (gave him the ring in honour of God and of Saint John the Evangelist. And the abbot took it and put it among other relics, so it is kept at Westminster and shall be there forever.)

The ring symbolises the strong connection between Edward and Westminster, a topic that otherwise does not receive much attention in the Brut’s account, in accordance with the chroniclers’ lack of interest in the local nature of saints’ 36 cults, even when the locality is Westminster. A relic, like the name of a place, is part of the cultural map that interests the authors of the Brut.

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A more elaborate tale of the manner by which hidden signs of sanctity become public is found in some versions of the story concerning Edward’s vision of the Eucharist. This vision marks Edward once again as blessed, and here once more he shares this vision with another. On Whitsunday, as the king attends mass with his men, he sees a vision, while all those gathered in the church, except for one, do not: And þe Erl Leueriche bisides him stode at þe leuacioun, & openlich he saw þe fourme of brede turne into þe lickenesse of a knaf childe ȡong, and toke op his right hande, & ferst blessede þe Kyng, and afterward þe Erle. (p. 131, chapter 128). (And the Earl Leveriche stood beside him at the elevation of the Host and he saw clearly the shape of the bread turn into the image of a young boy, and he lifted his right hand and first blessed the king and then the earl)

The king and Earl Leofric both see the image of Christ in the elevation of the Host, receiving double blessing, first in being granted this sight itself, and 37 secondly in the actual gesture of Christ. The chronicle conflates this vision with the prophetic sight of the drowning of the Danish king Swein – two separate episodes in the vitae – merging the contemporary political vision with the timeless Christian revelation. Again, the king is the passive recipient of miracles, both in the divine vision and in the natural disaster which befalls his enemy. In Aelred’s Vita this episode does not end simply with Edward acknowledging what he and the earl have seen and thanking God for this vision as in the Brut; it is rather the beginning of yet another elaborate story concerned with Edward’s generosity and humility. The episode was translated into Middle English prose and appears as an independent piece, entitled ‘Narracio de sancto Edwardo’, in a miscellany of the fifteenth century, Cambridge University 38 Library manuscript Ii.4.9, item 12. According to this legend, the earl approaches the king after the service in order to inquire about the nature of this extraordinary vision which brought tears to their eyes. The king turns to the earl with a request: ‘My dere Leueryche, I pray the and charge the be þat hey mageste of hym þat we haue so gracyswoly seen that neuer whyl we leuyn þis thyng be brouȡth into the comon knowyng, leste þerby [we] falle into veyn glory and pryde thorow apynoyon of the comon pepyll to our gostly deth, or leste þe invys of mysbeleveyng men lett and destroy trewe beleve to the wurdys here of.’ (fol. 94v) (‘My dear Leveriche, I command and beg you by the majesty of him that we have so gracefully seen, that this vision will not be made public knowledge for as long as we live, for fear that we become vain and proud by it in the eyes of the common people, or lest the envy of doubtful men destroy true belief in these words.’)



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Not wishing to use this occasion to glorify his own righteousness, the king is concerned with guarding the Christian faith of his people and protecting the truth from any possible misuse by false unbelievers. The king begs the earl to keep this miracle a secret between the two of them, but the earl cannot hold it in his heart for long. He recounts the story to his confessor, asking him to record it in writing but to guard it in such a place that no one can find it. The confessor does so, hiding the written testimony in a locked chest. The report does not stay locked in forever, for it has reached Aelred who recounts it, and subsequent narrators of this tale. The narrator of the ‘Narracio de sancto Edwardo’ explains how this came about: … wheche coffyr long tyme aftyr the kyngys deth without mannys honde thorowe the myȡth of godde as it is to beleve was fownde opyn. And þuus brethern of that place besely serchdyn the relykkys and fownde the same bylle and redde it. And after for as much as they wulde not that so meche grette tresour and myrakyll xulde be hydde, they pupplyschyd opynly in the erys of the pepyl. And so as the kyng wolde it was before the tyme hydde, but afterward be the ordynance of God pupplyschyd and knowyng to the eende. (fol. 94v) (a long time after the king’s death, this chest was found open, not by man’s hand but, it was believed, by the power to God. And thus the brothers in that place searched the relics eagerly and found that bill and read it. And then, since they did not want to keep such a great treasure and miracle hidden, they told it publicly, openly to the ears of the people. And so it was first hidden, as the king had wanted it to be, and afterwards, by God’s order, it was revearled and made known forever)

Edward the Confessor is right in wishing to conceal this vision to avoid pride and the possibility of turning men away from religion, but after his death the episode, now no longer a historical event but a piece of written narrative, can 39 be used to praise both the king and the Lord. Similar logic might be behind the chroniclers’ decision to include some of the miracles attributed to Edward the Confessor, but not all of them, in the Brut. Making these miracles publicly known has social consequences and the unveiling of these secrets is considered beneficial, at least as much as the king’s actual acts of generosity, or the manifestations of his holiness. (ii) Chastity By the twelfth century it was no longer enough to be a visionary, a good man, generous, and meek in order to become a saint. The institutionalised canon40 isation of saints required extensive proofs before granting anyone the title. Performing miracles was considered the most effective way of manifesting sainthood, but by no means the only one. A common, though posthumous, mark of sanctity was the preservation of the saint’s body, often emitting a sweet scent that proved the transcendence of the deceased over the corrupting 41 processes of death. The translation of a saint’s body allowed the opportunity

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not only to re-establish a shrine and locate it in a favourable place, often at a time of rebuilding, but also to discover the condition of the body by gaining unmediated access to it. According to the composers of Edward’s vitae, his body was unchanged when his grave was opened almost a hundred years after 42 his death. The Brut ends the section concerning Edward’s life and death with a note on the translation of the Confessor’s body in 1163: ‘& after he was translatede, & put into þe shryne, þrouȡ þe noble Martir Seint Thomas of Kaunterbery’ (p. 134, chapter 130) but with no mention of the physical state of the corpse. As noted above, the Brut does not follow Edward after his death, and does not mention the miracles that took place near his tomb. Nor is he presented as a miraculous healer during his lifetime. His sanctity depends on his devotion and his visions, rather than on his actions. But it also rests upon his chastity, ‘clennes of body’ (p. 130, chapter 127), that other form of resistance to physical corruption. Chastity, or celibacy in marriage, was one of the ways by which Christian men and (especially) women could achieve sanctity and enhance their holiness. The vow of a chaste marriage is usually found among the records of the highborn; members of the lower classes of society could not afford to give up the contribution of sons to the household. The majority of medieval saints were men and women from the upper class of society, and among them many are said to have led a chaste life 43 or a celibate life within marriage. Of the highest social class were the members of the royal family. As an exalted holy man, Edward as represented in the Brut shares much with the priest, and although his royal vows do not require celibacy, according to the common motif in historiographic and hagiographic 44 tradition, he never consummated his marriage. This seems to be the only way in which the king’s failure to produce an heir might be regarded as a virtue, yet the theme is treated in different ways in the various accounts of the reign. In the Brut, Edward seems reluctant to marry from the very beginning; he shows an instinctive desire to remain pure. He has reached adulthood without seeking a wife and only agrees to marry Edith, the daughter of Godwin, at his barons’ request. The Brut insists that Edward has forgiven Godwin for the killing of his elder brother Alfred, and that the king loved his queen: neuerþeles, for al þat, þouȡ þe Kyng hade a wif, he leuede euermore in chastite & in clennes of body, wiþ-outen eny flesshely dede doyng with his wif; & þe Quene also, in her Halfe, lade holy lif ij ȡere, and deide. (p. 130, chapter 127) (Nevertheless, though the king had a wife, his love for her was chaste and clean, without any corporal deed with his wife; and the queen too, on her part, led a chaste life for two years, and then she died)

The chronicle does not add more to this short description of Edward’s married life, while in the vitae it receives much attention, emphasising the love between the spouses and their mutual agreement to conduct a celibate marriage. The



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possibility that the king and queen never lived together as a married couple for non-religious reasons, which might be the explanation for Edward’s childless marriage, is found in the Anglo-Saxon Chronicle. The entry for the year 1048 dwells on the strife between the Godwins and Edward’s kin and the king’s subsequent action: … þa forlet se cyng þa hlæfdian. seo wæs gehalgod him to cwene. let niman of hire eall þæt heo ahte on lande. on golde. on seolfre. on eallon þingon. betæhte hy his swyster to Hwerwillon.45 (then … the king abandoned the Lady who was consecrated his queen and had taken from her all that she owned, in land and in gold and in silver and in everything, and committed her to his sister at Wherwell.) (ASC-Swanton 176)

In some accounts, Edward’s abstinence is not a sign of piety but the result of his hatred towards his wife’s father. William of Malmesbury posits this reason without denying the widespread belief in the king’s chastity. He says: Nuptam sibi rex hac arte tractabat, ut nec thoro amoueret nec uirili more cognosceret; quod an familiae illius odio, quod prudenter dissimulabat pro tempore, an amore castitatis fecerit, pro certo compertum non habeo. Illud celeberrime fertur, nunquam illum cuiusquam mulieris contubernio pudicitiam lesisse. (After her marriage to him, the king’s policy with her was neither to keep her at a distance from his bed nor to know her as a man would; whether he did this out of hatred for her family which he prudently concealed to suit the time, or whether from a love of chastity, I have not discovered for certain. One thing is very widely reported, that he never broke the rule of chastity by sleeping with any woman.) (Gesta regum anglorum ii.197.3, I:352-55)

Edward cannot love his wife, nor will he consent to produce an heir to the 46 Godwin family; these are the mundane reasons for his sexless marriage. Such an understanding of the events precludes the possibility that Edward on his deathbed has appointed Harold, Godwin’s son, as his successor, and might support the Norman tradition according to which Edward promised his realm to 47 William, the Duke of Normandy. So the political instability following the death of the son-less king cannot be, according to this reconstruction of the events, a result of Edward’s irresponsible behaviour. Though he did not father a successor to the throne, he appointed him whom he believed was the ablest man to rule after him. He is concerned with guarding the honour and memory of the members of the royal family and securing his people from being ruled by one of the Godwin house. Historical narratives composed in England after the Norman Conquest, the Brut among them, attempt to present 1066 as part of a continuing history of England, not as a major change or the beginning of a completely new era. William I partakes in the events of Edward’s life and there are clear links leading from

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one reign to the other, whereas the kings of England in the following centuries look back on both rulers as their forefathers. Edward’s relationship with the Godwins is the only secular event in his life which is included in the Brut. It is a curious section, where the narrator attempts to present Edward in a positive light, and yet there is hidden criticism of the king and his conduct. When crowned, Edward takes over Godwin’s lands, accuses him of killing his brother Alfred, and calls him a traitor. Here we see, for a brief moment, a resolute king, who uses his power to achieve justice and compensate for wrongs done in the past. He is again seen in a positive light when he turns to his barons for counsel, in regard to Godwin’s profession of his innocence. The king, without hesitation, accepts his barons’ decision in favour of peace, and he allows Godwin to come back to England and to be reinstated in his former position. Edward does more, and makes Godwin’s son, Harold, the Earl of Oxford. Edward’s marriage to Edith is seen as yet another sign of forgiveness and peace between the two camps. By heeding his barons’ counsel, Edward makes Godwin the most powerful man in the realm, and by failing to sire an heir he allows for the rise of Harold and consequently for a foreign rule. The narrator attempts to avoid criticism of Edward by stressing his good intentions, but his generosity seems to be in the way of good politics. Edward is too forgiving in his treatment of Godwin and Harold: and so wel þai were bilouede, boþe þe fader and þe sone, & so pryue wiþ þe Kyng, þat þai myght do what þing þai wolde by righte, for aȡeynes ryght [Edward] wolde nouȡt done for no maner man, so gode and trew he was of consciens; and þerfore our Lorde Ihesu Crist, grete special loue to him shewed. (p. 131, chapter 127) (and both father and son were well-loved by the king and intimate with him that they could do as they wanted legally, because Edward would not act wrongly for on one, for he was of a true and good conscious. And therefore our Lord Jesus Christ showed him special great love)

Edward’s kindness is politically dangerous and it makes him a weak king. The narrator, rather than listing more of the king’s failings, makes a characteristic move from this section and turns to show how God manifested his love of Edward by granting him visions. It is nonetheless surprising that the Brut, a chronicle translated and supplemented in the fourteenth century, does not make more of Edward’s childless marriage. The emphasis on continuity is only one mark of the anxiety sur48 rounding the question of legitimate succession. Only the belief in the king’s vow of celibacy allows readers who are aware of the events of the decades following Edward the Confessor’s death to consider him still as a good king 49 and a righteous man. The political problems during and after Edward’s reign are made into virtues, as part of the life of a holy man. Such criticism of, or concern for, Edward’s lack of an heir can be found in Roger of Wendover’s



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thirteenth-century Flores historiarum. While offering a positive portrait of King Edward and praising his holiness and chastity, Roger emphatically stresses the end of an era brought about with Edward’s death. He writes: Pacificus igitur rex Eadwardus, Anglorum decus, regis Ethelredi filius, postquam viginti quatuor annis regnasset, quarta indictione et in vigilia Epiphaniæ Domini, feria quinta, pro regno temporali commutavit æternum. Defunctus autem rex beatissimus, in crastino sepultus est Londoniis, in ecclesia quam ipse novo compositionis genere construxerat, a qua multi post, ecclesias construentes, exemplum adepti opus illud expensis emulantur sumptuosis. In hoc denique rege linea Angliæ defecit, quæ a Cerdicio, primo WestSaxonum rege ex Anglis, quingentis et septuaginta uno annis non legitur interrupta, præter paucos Danos, qui, peccatis exigentibus gentis Anglorum, aliquandiu regnaverunt. (Flores Historiarum I, 586-87) (The pacific king Eadward, the glory of England, the son of King Ethelred, exchanged a temporal for an eternal kingdom, in the fourth indication, on the vigil of our Lord’s epiphany, being the fifth day of the week, [Thursday, January 5, 1066]. The day after his death, the most blessed king was buried at London, in the church which he himself had built in a new and costly style of architecture, which was afterwards adopted by numbers. With him ended the line of the English kings, which commencing with Cerdic, the first English king of Wessex, had continued unbroken for five hundred and seventy-one years, except by a few Danish sovereigns, who, for the sins of the English nation, reigned a short time.) (my emphasis) (Giles I, 323-24)

The historian then goes on to describe Harold’s short reign relating his failures to the fact that he was not the rightful heir to the English royal lineage. The Brut is not conclusive in its presentation of Edward the Confessor. The compilers waver between the historical and the hagiographic material available, adopting the hagiographic model for its different generic mode of narrative rather than its religious content, and tell us little of Edward’s function as a ruler. Though not interested in saints’ lives per se, the inclusion of certain, selected miraculous events in the life of Edward allows the compilers to commend Edward for his seeming passivity and lack of political wisdom. He is chaste, generous, merciful, and pious, and therefore he cannot be a bad king, an assumption which allows for a sharp contrast with the reign of Harold that follows. Edward, as he emerges from the description in the Brut, is a good man, but a passive ruler, a model of Christian virtue that survives the many temptations of power, but which is also, it must be said, never tested by circumstance. He becomes a mediator between the divine court and that of the kings of England; he brings John the Evangelist into British history. This might be the reason why, in the century that saw the compilation of the main body of the Brut, Edward becomes an iconic symbol in the Wilton Diptych, one of the saintly figures looking over, guiding, and supporting the young king Richard 50 II.

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Hagiography is often part of medieval historiography, and saints and kings stand side by side in such images of political and national significance. In the tradition of medieval historiography, the lives of popes and saints are often integrated into chronicles and the lives of kings are modelled on those of Christian saints. The ideal medieval king is, after all, a pious Christian leader whose sovereignty derives from God and whose royal power allows him, at times, to perform miracles. However, the Brut is not a devotional book. It does not closely engage with its writers’ or attend to its readers’ spiritual lives by incorporating material from sermons, by explaining basic articles of faith, or by pondering the meaning of the Mass. Just a few saints find their way into the work, often mentioned only in passing, and these are never local saints with minor cults. Nor does the Brut reflect the rising popularity, from the twelfth century onwards, of universal Christocentric cults in place of local saints (Abou-El-Haj 1994: 31; Finucane 1977: 195-99), for the objects of such devotion do not play a role in the history of Britain as it unfolds in the chronicle. The Brut, as its other name suggests, contains the history of England, and is therefore void of sacred history per se. The saints that do appear in the chronicle are included as much for their role in the mundane world of politics as for their holiness. The chroniclers do not ‘secularise’ the saints þ they do follow the traditional presentation found in hagiographic writings þ but they change the emphasis of the narrative, largely concentrating upon the historical elements and thus minimising the sense of suspension from political time that is characteristic of the description of miracles, for example. Nonetheless, in the case of Edward the Confessor, a king and a saint, the chroniclers’ wish to present the man in a favourable light leads them to rely on hagiographic sources rather on than other historical narratives, focusing on the king’s sanctity rather than on his kingship.



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Notes 

1. On the ideal saint’s life as a form of imitatio Christi, see Earl (1992: 90). On the pictorial significance of this notion and the iconographic representations of saints as Christ-figures, see Abou-El-Haj (1994: 33-34). 2. See Vauchez (1997: 20). On the formalising process of the cult of saints and their inclusion in the liturgy and religious calendar, see Wilson (1983: 10-11). 3. On the temporality of the chronicle and the recurrent patterns in hagiography, see Jones’s schematic presentation of the development of the genres and their mutual dependence (1947: 18, 73). 4. Despite this basic difference, there are generic similarities between history and hagiography as narratives; see Heffernan (1988: 25-30). 5. The first modern edition of the Vita Æduuardi regis qui apud Westmonasterium requiescit was edited by Henry Richard Luard, together with the Anglo-Norman La Estoire de seint Aedward le Rei with the editor’s translation of the poem into English, and Aelred of Rievaulx’s Vita Beati Eduardi Regis et Confessoris. It was published under the title Lives of Edward the Confessor, Rolls Series 3 (1858, Kraus reprint, 1966). For a detailed discussion of the probable date of composition, see Frank Barlow’s introduction to his edition and translation of the anonymous biography, The Life of King Edward who rests at Westminster: attributed to a monk of St Bertin (1962: xxv-ix). Barlow is also the author of a modern biography of Edward tracing the historical king as well as the literary tradition and the development of the persona in the later Middle Ages (Barlow: 1970). 6. See Bloch (1923: 5-131; the text itself begins on p. 64). 7. Edward the Confessor was the first English saint to receive official recognition from Rome. On the significance and the process of canonisation, see Finucane (1977: 36). 8. Marsha Dutton argues that the canonisation of Edward the Confessor was the work of Henry II (1993: 209-30, especially 212-13). Eric John (1979a) convincingly argues that the canonisation was a result of a popular cult supported not only by the king but also by the people. John notes the obvious point that the monks of Westminster had an economic interest in promoting the patron saint buried in the abbey in order to advance pilgrimage and donations from the faithful to their establishment. On this issue see also Kleinberg (1990: 29); for more on Henry II and the cult of Edward the Confessor, see Barlow’s introduction to The Life of King Edward (1962: xiii), Bertram’s introduction to his translation of The Life of Saint Edward King and Confessor by Blessed Aelred Abbot of Rievaulx (1990: 9), Gerould (1927: esp. 43-44), and Wilson’s introduction to the collection Saints and their Cults (1983: 28-34). It was not uncommon for kings to act as postulators promoting the canonisation of national saints; see Vauchez (1997: 41, 66-67). 9. See Luard (1966) and Bertram (1990). This work became the official vita and circulated widely, see Bertram’s introduction (1990: 9), and Barlow’s introduction to his edition of The Life of King Edward (1962: xxxvii), and also Dutton (1993: 215). 10. Kathryn Young Wallace argues that the political desire to give prominence to Westminster Abbey was behind the later vitae and the popularity of the cult of Edward the Confessor in the centuries following his death. The legend of how St Peter appeared to consecrate the church built by Edward has political and religious implications concerning the status of the abbey vis-à-vis Rome. See her introduction to the edition of Le Estoire de Seint Aedward le Rei attributed to Matthew Paris (1983: ix-x), item 522 in Dean and Boulton (1999: 289-90).





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 11. Finucane’s study (1977) outlines different stories of cults of saints, each catering for various social, political, religious and psychological needs. See his introduction (especially p. 13) for a general discussion of the phenomenon, and the following chapters for a detailed analysis of some such cults. On the changing status of saints and their cults see also Wilson (1983: 7). 12. For the thirteenth-century Anglo-Norman poem, see James’s Edward the Confessor, King of England, reproduced in facsimile from the unique manuscript (CUL, Ee.3.59) (1920), and La Estoire de Seint Aedward le Rei attributed to Matthew Paris, edited by Wallace (1983). The manuscript, with explanatory notes by Paul Binski, can be found on Cambridge University Library’s website: http://www.lib.cam.ac.uk/MSS/Ee.3.59 (see also Binski 1990). For some English compositions, see The Middle English Verse Life of Edward the Confessor (Moore 1942). 13. Scenes from the Life of Edward the Confessor as told by Aelred of Rievaulx were a popular theme for illustrations (see p. xxvii, n. 1, of Luard’s introduction to Lives of Edward the Confessor). On the illustrated Anglo-Norman Estoire de Seint Aedward, see Morgan (1988: IV, item 123, pp. 94-97). Kathleen L. Scott includes a description of Trinity College, Cambridge manuscript B.10.2 which contains five leaves of an illustrated Life (1996: item 41, pp. 139-40). For a fuller description of the manuscript, see James (1900: I, item 213, pp. 283-86). Another Trinity College, Cambridge manuscript with illustrated scenes from the life of Edward is a copy of the Brut, O.9.1, (James 1900: III, item 354, 440-41). 14. For a partial list of chronicles using the hagiographic material in their treatment of Edward the Confessor, see Moore’s introduction (1942: xxxiii, n. 36). 15. A complete list of the manuscripts is found in Matheson (1998). For a general description of the chronicle, see Gransden (1982: II, 73-76, 220-26), Kennedy (1989: 2629-37, 2818-33), Matheson (1984: 209-14), and Taylor (1987: 110-32). A modern edition of the chronicle was edited by F. W. D. Brie (2 volumes: 1906, 1908). All quotations from the Brut are from this edition. 16. See note 13 above. For a description of the manuscript, see Matheson (1998: item 117, pp. 197-98, and also item 83, pp. 151-52). 17. Translations are my own, unless otherwise stated. 18. Some of the hagiographies get closer to presenting the king in chivalric terms as well as emphasising his religious character; see Cynthia Hahn on the Anglo-Norman vita (1990: especially p. 238). 19. This seems to be characteristic of the eleventh-century sanctifying of royals at a time when the institution of the monarchy was supposedly weakened by the rise of feudalism. Vauchez describes this development, noting that typically ‘in exalting the king, it was his piety, sense of justice and generosity to the poor that were emphasized’ (1997: 165). 20. Such a story is found in the hagiographic versions of Edward’s life, as in the Middle English Verse Life of Edward the Confessor: ‘& to þe child in þe quene wombe hor [the noblemen’s] herte caste anon / & chese him to kinge as god wolde hit were ido’ (the noblemen’s hearts were set upon the child in the queen’s womb immediately and they chose him to be king, as God has wanted it to happen; ll. 49-50 in Moore 1942: 2). 21. As in the account of the Worcester Manuscript, BL Cotton Tiberius V.iv, of the Anglo-Saxon Chronicle for the year 1043:



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 M .xliii. Her wæs Eadward gehalgod to cynge æt Wincestre on forman Easterdæg. þæs geres, .xiiii. \nihton/ ær Andreas mæssan, man gerædde þan cynge þæt he rad of Gleawcestre Leofric eorl Godwine eorl Sigwarð eorl mid heora genge to Wincestre on unwær on þa hlæfdian, bereafedan hi æt eallon þan gærsaman þe heo ahte, þa wæron unatelle\n/dlice, for þan þe heo wæs æror þam cynge hire suna swiðe heard, þæt heo him læsse dyde þonne he wolde, ær þam þe he cyng wære eac syððan; leton hi þær siððan binnan sittan. (ASC-Cubbin, 66-67) (Here Edward was consecrated as king at Winchester on the first day of Easter. And that year, 14 days before St Andrew’s Day, the king was so counselled that he – and Earl Leofric and Earl Godwine and Earl Siward and their band – rode from Gloucester to Winchester, on the Lady [Emma, Edward’s mother] by surprise, and robbed her of all the treasures which she owned, which were untold, because earlier she was very hard on the king her son, in that she did less for him than he wanted before he became king, and also afterwards; and they let her stay there inside afterwards.) (ASC-Swanton 163) William of Malmesbury tells the same story and justifies the king’s action against his mother by stressing her misbehaviour towards her son, transforming the king’s act of cruelty into one of generosity: Itaque quod iniuste coaceruarat, non inhoneste ablatum, ut egenorum proficeret compendio et fisco sufficeret regio. (So it was not dishonourable to take away what she had unjustly accumulated, that it might be a blessing to the needy and replenish the royal treasure.) (Gesta Regum Anglorum, ii.196.4; I, 350-51) 22. As in the Anglo-Norman life, for example: ‘Li rois Aedward ço relessa / E par chartre le cunferma’ (King Edward abolished it [the Danegeld] / And confirmed it by a charter; ll. 932-33; La estoire de Seint Aedward le Rei, p. 27). 23. All these stories are included in Aelred’s Life and in the vernacular versions of the saint’s life. For the scrofulous young wife, for example, see William of Malmesbury (ii.222), Bloch (1923: 128), Bertram (1990: 74-75), Wallace (1983: 74-76, 140-41), and Moore (1942: 27, 88). For a discussion of this tale as an example of a healing by touch of the ‘king’s evil’, see Crawfurd (1911: 20 et passim). On this custom in England and France, see Stone (1982). For the healing of the blind, see William of Malmesbury (ii.223-24), Bertram (1990: 76-86), Wallace (1983: 76-80, 14142), and Moore (1942: 28, 88-89). For Edward carrying the paralysed man, see Bertram (1990: 5659), Wallace (1983: 55-56, 138), and Moore (1942: 19-20, 84-85). 24. On the translation of saints’ bodies, see Brown (1981: 88), and Wilson (1983: 5). 25. See Ridyard (1988) for a study of the widespread phenomenon of royal saints in Anglo-Saxon England. 26. On the man and his struggle with King Edward II, see Maddicott (1970, esp. his conclusion on pp. 318-35). 27. It is interesting to note that throughout the episode the chroniclers refrain from blaming Edward II directly for his maltreatment of Thomas of Lancaster. The Despensers are the villains and the king is guilty only of following their advice; see chapter 198.





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 28. Edward III attempted to achieve official recognition of Thomas of Lancaster’s sanctity, but failed. Thomas still enjoyed popular devotion without receiving canonisation; see Goodich (1983: 169-87; for Thomas of Lancaster, see p. 172). 29. Becket is one of the few English saints with a truly international cult, and among the few ‘new’ saints whose Life is included in the Golden Legend. 30. On prophetic visions in the Brut, see Drukker (2002: 25-49). However, not all visions are prophetic. Saints describe having seen visions of spiritual beings, of paradise, or of some ideal condition of complete identification with the divine; see Kieckhefer’s discussion of rapture and revelation in chapter 6 of his Unquiet Souls (1984). 31. Marc Bloch discusses the legend in his introduction to Osbert’s Life (1923: 58-61), and produces the text of the miracle from Corpus Christi College, Cambridge, manuscript 161 (1923: 124-28). Cambridge University Library, Additional manuscript 3392 contains a short poem of 96 lines in Anglo-Norman which recounts this legend. It was edited by H. J. Chaytor as ‘King Edward’s Ring’ (1932: 124-27, item 524 in Dean and Boulton (1999). On the scene in iconography, see Dutton (1993: 220). 32. In the later Middle Ages, royal charity was associated with a king’s healing powers, but both are absent from the Brut. English kings who cured by touch also gave out coins, known as ‘angels’, specially minted as gifts from the monarch to the ailing subjects; see Bloch (1924: 92, 97), and Crawfurd (1911: 34, 89). 33. From the English prose Life of Edward the Confessor in British Library Additional MS 35298 (printed in Moore 1942: 112). For the same tale in Middle English verse, see Moore (1942: 9-10). For Aelred’s version, see Bertram (1990: 36-37). In the Anglo-Norman life there is an illustration of this scene, folio 15b (see Wallace 1983: 28-30, 135). 34. In this episode we have one of the few references in the Brut to the significance of language and to the vernacular as a national and geographical marker. The pilgrims assume they are still in the Holy Land when they wake up from their sleep, but the landscape around them has changed: & as þai went in here way þai saw sheperdes goyng wiþ her shepe, þat spoken none oþere langage but Englisshe. ‘Leue frendes,’ quod on of þe pilgrimes, ‘what contre is þis, & who is lorde þerof?’ and one of þe sheperdes ansurede: ‘þis is þe cuntre of Kent, in Engeland, of þe whiche þe gode Kyng Edward is lorde.’ (p. 133, chapter 129) (and as they went on their way they saw shepherds going with their sheep, speaking no other language but English. ‘Dear friends,’ said one of the pilgrims, ‘what is this country, and who rules it?’ And one of the shepherds answered: ‘This is Kent, in England, and the ruler here is King Edward’) 35. Kieckhefer (1984: 64-65, 144). On the tension between the meekness required from a saint and the desire to publicise the saint and his or her deeds, see Kleinberg (1990: 42-44). 36. On Edward the Confessor as the founder of Westminster, and the rise of his cult there, see Barlow, ‘The Vita Ædwardi (Book II); The Seven Sleepers: Some Further Evidence and Reflections’ (1983: 85-98, especially p. 85). 37. Visions of the Host appear frequently in late medieval saints’ lives (Kieckhefer 1984: 170-73).



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 38. See Appendix 4 in Moore’s edition of the Middle English verse Life (1942: 131-33). For a description of the manuscript, see A Catalogue of the Manuscripts preserved in the Library of the University of Cambridge (III: 448-50). 39. Kleinberg comments on the relationship between a living saint and his or her biographer, where the saints often prohibit the hagiographers to publish any of the miracles or signs of sanctity they exhibit while they are still alive (1990: 43). 40. Finucane describes the difficulties in achieving pontifical canonisation (1977: 35-38). See also Kleinberg’s chapter 2, ‘Negotiating Sainthood’, where he argues that canonisation had only a partial influence on the cult of saints (1990). For a historical perspective on the rise of papal authority and the development of official canonisation, see Vauchez (1997: esp. chapters 2-4). 41. The belief in the sanctity of the saint’s body explains the Church’s fascination with relics (Vauchez 1997: 427-32). 42. In the words of the Middle English prose Life, ‘þ in his flessh þere was founde no corrupcion but it was fayre and fressh of coloure purer and brighter than glasse whitter þan snowe and it semyd as a body glorified’ (Moore 1942: 101). The body endures any attempts to dismember it during the translation. The tale about the priest who tried to gain a hair from the dead saint’s beard appears in many saints’ lives, not only that of Edward the Confessor. See for example chapter 29 of the Life of Simeon the Stylite, in the French translation by Festugière (1959: 374-75). 43. On the social background of medieval Christian saints, see chapter 7 in Weinstein and Bell (1982); on saints from the upper class, see Wilson (1983: 37). Murray (1985: appendix 1) traces the social background of 71 medieval saints. The great majority of them are classified as nobles. This does not necessarily contradict Murray’s central argument about the classless existence of the ideal saint as presented in chapter 16. Vauchez suggests a socio-psychological reason as an explanation for this phenomenon based on the belief in the magical nature of high birth (1997: 173-77). 44. The anonymous biographer of Edward the Confessor draws the connection between the king’s crowning ceremony in which he becomes almost a sacred person and his vow of chastity (Barlow 1983: ‘The Holy Crown: Medieval Kingship’, 1-10, esp. p. 7). On the significance of celibacy in saints’ lives, see Weinstein and Bell (1982: chapter 3). 45. ASC-Thorpe (I:317), from the Peterborough manuscript, Oxford, Bodleian Library MS Laud 636. 46. Listed as one of the reasons for the king’s chastity in Matthew Paris’s Chronica Majora (I, 537); see also Binski (1990: 344), and Weinstein and Bell (1982: 77-78). 47. On the agreement between Edward and William in Norman historiography, see Barlow, ‘Edward the Confessor’s Early Life, Character and Attitudes’ (1983: 57-83), and ‘Edward the Confessor and the Norman Conquest’ (1983: 99-111); see also John (1979b: 241-67, esp. p. 250). 48. On the political problem of heir-less kings as it is echoed in literature, see Falk (2000). 49. In Joel T. Rosenthal’s words: ‘Edward’s holiness was proof against all errors’ (1971: 18). 50. Gordon (1993). On Richard II’s encouragement of other manifestations of royalty, see Saul (1995).





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 Bibliography Primary sources The Anglo-Saxon Chronicle according to the Several Original Authorities. Ed. with a translation by Benjamin Thorpe. Rolls Series 23, 2 vols. London: 1861; rpt. New York: Kraus Reprint, 1964. [Quoted as ASC-Thorpe] The Anglo-Saxon Chronicle: A Collaborative Edition. Volume 6. MS D. Ed. G. P. Cubbin. Cambridge: Brewer, 1996. [Quoted as ASC-Cubbe] The Anglo-Saxon Chronicle. Ed. and trans. M. J. Swanton. London: J. M. Dent, 1997. [Quoted as ASC-Swanton] The Brut or The Chronicles of England. 2 vols. Ed. F. W. D. Brie. EETS os 131, 136. London: Kegan Paul, 1906, 1908. [Edward the Confessor] [Aelred of Rievaulx] The Life of Saint Edward King and Confessor by Blessed Aelred Abbot of Rievaulx. Ed. and trans. Jerome Bertram. Guildford: St Edward’s Press, 1990. ‘King Edward’s Ring.’ Ed. H. J. Chaytor. In A Miscellany of Studies in Romance Languages and Literature Presented to Leon E. Kastner. Ed. Mary Williams and James A. de Rothschild. Cambridge: Heffer, 1932. 124-27. The Life of King Edward who rests at Westminster: attributed to a monk of St Bertin. Ed. and trans. Frank Barlow. London: Thomas Nelson, 1962. [Quoted as Barlow 1962] Lives of Edward the Confessor. Ed. Henry Richard Luard. Rolls Series 3. London, 1858; rpt. New York: Kraus Reprint, 1966. ‘The Middle English Verse Life of Edward the Confessor.’ Ed. Grace Edna Moore. Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania, 1942. [Quoted as Moore 1942] [Osbert of Clare] ‘La vie de S. Édouard le Confesseur par Osbert de Clare.’ Ed. Marc Bloch. Analecta Bollandiana 41 (1923): 5-131. [Quoted as Bloch 1923] Paris, Matthew. Edward the Confessor, King of England, reproduced in facsimile from the unique manuscript (CUL, Ee.3.59). Ed. M. R. James. Oxford: Roxburghe Club, 1920. ———. Le Estoire de Seint Aedward le Rei attributed to Matthew Paris. Ed. Kathryn Young Wallace. London: Ango-Norman Text Society, 1983. [Quoted as Wallace 1983] ———. Edward the Confessor, King of England. http://www.lib.cam.ac.uk/MSS/Ee.3.59, with explanatory notes by Paul Binski. Jacobus de Voragine. The Golden Legend: Readings on the Saints. 2 vols. Trans. William Granger Ryan. Princeton NJ: Princeton University Press, 1993. ‘The Life of Simeon the Stylite.’ Trans. A. J. Festugière. In Antioche païenne et chrétienne: Libanius, Chrisostome, et les moines de Syrie. Paris: Boccard, 1959. 374-75. Paris, Matthew. Chronica Majora. Ed. Henry Richard Luard. Rolls Series 57, 5 vols. London, 1872; rpt. New York: Kraus Reprint, 1964. Roger of Wendover. Flores Historiarum. Ed. Henry Richards Luard. Rolls Series 95, 3 vols. London, 1890; rpt. New York: Kraus Reprint, 1965. ———. Roger of Wendover’s Flowers of History. 4 vols. Transl. J. A. Giles. London: Bohn, 1849; facsimile reprint Felinfach: Llanrch Publishers, 1993. [William of Malmesbury] William of Malmesbury’s Gesta Regum Anglorum: The History of the English Kings. 2 vols. Ed. and trans. R. A. B. Mynors, completed by R. N. Thomson and M. Winterbotton. Oxford: Clarendon, 1998.



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 Secondary literature A Catalogue of the Manuscripts preserved in the Library of the University of Cambridge. 5 vols. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1856-1867. Abou-El-Haj, Barbara (1994). The Medieval Cult of Saints: Formations and Transformations. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Barlow, Frank (1962). See The Life of King Edward who rests at Westminster. ——— (1970). Edward the Confessor. Berkeley: University of California Press. ——— (1983). The Norman Conquest and Beyond. London: Hambledon. Bertram (1990). See [Aelred of Rievaulx]. Binski, Paul (1990). ‘Reflections on La estoire de Seint Aedward le rei: hagiography and kingship in thirteenth-century England.’ Journal of Medieval History 16: 333-50. Bloch, Marc (1924). Les rois thaumaturges: étude sur le caractère surnaturel attribué à la puissance royal particulièrement en France et en Angleterre. Publications de la faculté des lettres de l’université de Strasbourg, fascicule 19. Strasbourg and Paris: Istra. Brown, Peter (1981). The Cult of Saints: Its Rise and Function in Latin Christianity. London: SCM. (First published by the University of Chicago, 1981). Crawfurd, Raymond (1911). The King’s Evil. Oxford, Clarendon. Dean, Ruth J., and Maureen B. M. Boulton (1999). Anglo-Norman Literature: A Guide to Texts and Manuscripts. London: Anglo-Norman Text Society. Drukker, Tamar (2002). ‘Vision and History: Prophecy in the Middle English Prose Brut Chronicle.’ Arthuriana 12,4: 25-49. Dutton, Marsha (1993). ‘Aelred historien: deux nouveaux portraits dans un manuscrit de Dublin.’ Collectanea Cisterciensia 55: 209-30. Earl, James W. (1992). ‘Typology and Iconographic Style in Early Medieval Hagiography.’ In Typology and English Medieval Literature. Ed. Hugh T. Keenan. Georgia State Literary Studies 7. New York: AMS. 89-120. Elliott, Dyan (1993). Spiritual Marriage: Sexual Abstinence in Medieval Wedlock. Princeton NJ: Princeton University Press. Falk, Oren (2000). ‘The Son of Orfeo: Kingship and Compromise in a Middle English Romance.’ Journal of Medieval and Early Modern Studies 30: 247-74. Finucane, Ronald C. (1977). Miracles and Pilgrims: Popular Beliefs in Medieval England. London, Melbourne and Toronto: J. M. Dent. Gerould, Gordon Hill (1927). ‘King Arthur and Politics.’ Speculum 2: 33-52. Goodich, Michael (1983). ‘The Politics of Canonization in the Thirteenth-Century: Lay and Mendicant Saints.’ In Wilson (1983). 169-87. Gordon, Dillian (1993). Making and Meaning: The Wilton Diptych. London: National Gallery Publications. Gransden, Antonia. (1974, 1982). Historical Writing in England. 2 vols. London: Routledge. Hahn, Cynthia (1990). ‘Proper Behavior of Knights and Kings: The Hagiography of Matthew Paris, Monk of St Albans.’ The Haskins Society Journal 2: 237-48. Heffernan, Thomas J. (1988). Sacred Biography: Saints and their Biographers in the Middle Ages. New York and Oxford: Oxford University Press. 25-30. James, M. R. (1900). The Western Manuscripts in the Library of Trinity College, Cambridge. 4 vols. Cambridge: Cambridge University Library. John, Eric (1979a). ‘Edward the Confessor and the Celibate Life’ Analecta Bollandiana 97: 17178. ———. (1979b). ‘Edward the Confessor and the Norman Succession.’ The English Historical Review 94: 241-67.





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 Jones, Charles W. (1947). Saints’ Lives and Chronicles in Early England. Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press. Kennedy, Edward Donald (1989). Chronicles and Other Historical Writings. Vol. 8 of A Manual of the Writings in Middle English 1050-1500. Gen. ed. E. Hartung. New Haven, CT: The Connecticut Academy of Arts and Science. Kieckhefer, Richard (1984). Unquiet Souls: Fourteenth-Century Saints and Their Religious Milieu. Chicago and London: University of Chicago Press. Kleinberg, Aviad M. (1990). Prophets in their own Country: Living Saints and the Making of Sainthood in the Later Middle Ages. Chicago and London: Chicago University Press. Maddicott, J. R. (1970). Thomas of Lancaster 1307-1322: A Study in the Reign of Edward II. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Matheson, Lister M. (1984). ‘Historical Prose.’ In Middle English Prose: A Critical Guide to Major Authors and Genres. Ed. A. S. G. Edwards. New Brunswick NJ: Rutgers University Press. 209-14. ——— (1998). The Prose Brut: The Development of a Middle English Chronicle. Tempe, Arizona: Medieval and Renaissance Texts and Studies. Moore, Grace Edna (1942). See ‘The Middle English Verse Life of Edward the Confessor.’ Morgan, Nigel (1988). Early Gothic Manuscripts. II. 1250-1285. A Survey of Manuscripts Illuminated in the British Isles. Gen. ed. J. J. G. Alexander. 6 vols. London: Harvey Miller. Murray, Alexander (1985). Reason and Society in the Middle Ages. Oxford: Clarendon. (First printed 1978). Ridyard, Susan J. (1988). The Royal Saints of Anglo-Saxon England: A Study of West Saxon and East Anglian Cults. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Rosenthal, Joel T. (1971). ‘Edward the Confessor and Robert the Pious: Eleventh-Century Kingship and Biography.’ Medieval Studies 33: 7-20. Saul, Nigel (1995). ‘Richard II and the Vocabulary of Kingship.’ The English Historical Review 110,438: 854-77. Scott, Kathleen L. (1996). Later Gothic Manuscripts, volume II 1390-1400. 2 vols. In A Survey of Manuscripts Illuminated in the British Isles. Gen. ed. J. J. G. Alexander. 6 vols. (London: Harvey Miller. Stone, P. T. (1982). ‘A Brief History of the King’s Evil.’ The Ricardian 6,76: 14-16. Taylor, John (1987). English Historical Literature in the Fourteenth Century. Oxford: Clarendon. Vauchez, André (1997). Sainthood in the Later Middle Ages. Trans. Jean Birrell. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Wallace, Kathryn Young (1983). See Le Estoire de Seint Aedward le Rei attributed to Matthew Paris. Weinstein, Donald, and Rudolph M. Bell (1982). Saints and Society: The Two Worlds of Western Christendom, 1000-1700. Chicago and London: Chicago University Press. Wilson, Stephen, ed. (1983). Saints and their Cults: Studies in Religious Sociology, Folklore and History. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.

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THE MISSING FAMILY: SILENCING IN THE CRÓNICA DE DON ÁLVARO DE LUNA

Lynne Echegaray

Abstract Gonzalo Chacón’s Crónica de don Álvaro de Luna was one of several fifteenthcentury Castilian chronicles written to exalt a biographical subject. Luna was the court favorite of King Juan II and governed Castile from 1420-1453. The authors of these chronicles often had to devise special ways of avoiding or minimizing information detrimental to their respective heroes. In order to present Luna in the most favorable light, Chacón found it necessary to conceal facts about his maternal family. The biographer chose literary strategies which succeed in both omitting this family and extolling it. An examination of Chacón’s methods reveals much about his rhetorical skills.

The Crónica de don Álvaro de Luna is a historical biography of Castile’s most powerful non-royal ruler. It is similar to a royal chronicle in that it narrates the history of the reign of King Juan II (r. 1419-1454); however, his favorite, or privado, Álvaro de Luna (c.1380-1453), is the central figure. Luna governed Castile for more than thirty years. He made many enemies, including the king’s second wife. Finally, the king himself turned against his privado and ordered his execution. Luna was beheaded in 1453. Gonzalo Chacón (c. 1430-1507), presumed author of the Crónica de don 1 Álvaro de Luna, faced a major obstacle when he wrote the traditional genealogical background of his subject. The difficulty was the unfavorable reputation of Luna’s mother. To solve this problem, Chacón skillfully crafted his biography so that it never mentioned her at all. Moreover, neither the genealogical section nor the remainder of the chronicle contains identifiable maternal relatives. The techniques Chacón used to overcome or minimize the non-appearance of one-half of Luna’s family are the subject of my article. As José Luis Romero points out, a detailed genealogy of the subject was a sine qua non of fifteenth-century biography. A personage did not automatically acquire by reason of accomplishment the requirements needed to be a biographical subject; first he had to be shown to belong to either the clergy or the aristocracy (1944: 119). A candidate’s impeccable genealogy established his right to be the subject of a biography. For this reason Chacón’s skill is all the more admirable, for by omitting all information about Luna’s mother he was writing against the literary forms of his times. Castilian biographers frequently described both sides of a subject’s family. When a person was illegitimate and the mother’s background was obscure, authors often employed

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a formula such as ‘una dama de alta guisa’ (a high-born lady), or ‘una doncella de familia noble’ (a maiden of a noble family), to describe her. It is likely that these descriptions were often fictional. Conversely, this type of description could also be used to conceal names. Chacón uses this approach when he speaks of the mother of Luna’s natural son Pedro, later legitimized. Pedro’s mother is described as ‘del linaje real’ (of royal lineage) and actually was Doña Margarita Manuel, a descendant of a brother of King Alfonso X of Castile (Crónica 298). In the case of Luna, however, too much was known to present his mother in a camouflaged fashion. Chacón was almost certainly influenced by contemporary descriptions of Luna’s mother by other Spanish authors. For political reasons and, possibly, personal ones as well, fifteenth-century authors had not only excoriated Luna’s mother to an extreme rare in Castilian lifewriting, but had added embarrassing details about Luna’s birth and early childhood. These centered upon his mother’s reputation, the illegitimacy of Luna and his half-brothers, and the refusal of Luna’s father to acknowledge him. Two authors in particular criticized Luna severely. Alonso de Palencia (1423-1492) was a royal chronicler known for acerbic judgments. Chacón himself did not escape his criticism (Carriazo 1940: xxxvi-xxxvii). Palencia wrote a scathing capsule biography of Luna in his chronicle Gesta Hispaniensia ex annalibus suorum dierum collecta. He states that Luna’s father, also named Álvaro, was the lord of Cañete, a town on the border between Castile and Aragon. He lived in Cañete during the latter part of his life and so did an attractive young woman named María: Ibi residens, quum liberos non haberet et uitium hoc imputaret coniugi, complexum unius adolescentulae pulchrae satis forma, quamuis genere moribusque censebatur obscura, libens Aluarus pertemptauit cum desiderio prolis. Grauida haec, cui nomen Mariae Caneti, uilior suspectiorque reputata est, praecipue domino, quoniam ipsius solis complexu haud contenta facilis reddebatur coiti aliorum. Tandem enixa filium nominauit Petrum de Luna; sed abnuente Aluaro hoc cognomine gaudebat, nam prae suspicionis nota nulla ei prolis huius mentio erat. (Gesta 61) (Residing there, as he had no heirs and blamed the lack of them on his wife, he had sexual relations with a shapely girl in her teens who was pretty, but of humble birth and questionable character. Álvaro did this in hopes of begetting a child. When María de Cañete became pregnant, she was reputed rather low and worthless, especially by her lord, since, not content with just his embrace, she gave herself over readily to sexual congress with other men. At last she gave birth to a son, whom she named Pedro de Luna against Álvaro’s wishes, for, on account of his previous suspicions, he never recognized this child.)

According to Palencia, years later, when the elder Luna was mortally ill, his squire finally convinced him that he was Pedro’s father. Shortly before he died, Luna bequeathed his son a little money and also left him a letter of recommendation to his uncle Pope Benedict XIII. The Pope baptized the boy,



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renaming him Álvaro, and placed him with another Luna relative, Juan Martínez de Luna. Palencia adds that Luna’s mother bore three sons by three different fathers. The introductory sentence of this startling narrative is harsh: ‘Interea non destiterat genitrix Aluari, Maria Caneti, prostitui multis ...’ (Meanwhile, the mother of Álvaro, María de Cañete, continued to prostitute herself to many men ...; Gesta 63). In addition to her son by Luna, she also had a son by the alcaide (warden) of the fortress of Cañete, and another by an official of the town who was also its head shepherd. Palencia notes that Luna’s vast fortune made it possible that this latter brother be called Martín de Luna (Gesta 63). Another author who attacked Luna’s mother was Fernán Pérez de Guzmán (c. 1377-1460). Guzmán had been a follower of Enrique of Aragon, one of Luna’s bitterest enemies. The author also had had his own political conflicts with Luna. In his collection of biographies Generaciones y semblanzas Guzmán sneers at Luna’s pretensions to genealogical grandeur: ‘Preçiávase mucho de linaje, non se acordando de la homill e baxa parte de su madre.’ (He esteemed his lineage highly, forgetting his mother’s humble and ignoble origins; Generaciones 45). Elsewhere Guzmán reminds readers that Luna is a bastard (Generaciones 44). Also, Guzmán is the most likely author of a highly charged interpolated passage about Luna in the Crónica del rey don Juan el Segundo edited by Galíndez de Carvajal. Here Guzmán’s description of Luna’s maternal family is even more defamatory than Palencia’s. Where Palencia states that Luna had two maternal half-brothers by different fathers, Guzmán gives three. The additional brother was the son of a peasant of Cañete (BAE 68: 303). This gave María de Cañete a total of four sons, each one with a different father. Later historians less prejudiced against Luna have been kinder to his mother. Juan Rizzo examines statements that claim María Juana Fernández de Jarava y Urasandi was actually the wife of the alcaide of Cañete, one Cerezuela, who had inherited this post from his father-in-law Don Pedro Fernández, ‘knight of a noble house’ (1865: 39). Rizzo concludes that Juan de Cerezuela was the legitimate offspring of this marriage and that María de Cañete was widowed or separated from her husband at the time of her liason with the elder Luna (1865: 40). Luis Suárez Fernández agrees that Alvaro’s mother was ‘probably’ the wife of the warden of Cañete (1964: 38). It is also possible that Luna, the lord of Cañete, may have seduced or forced the wife/widow of the alcaide. Nevertheless, either because of María de Cañete’s actions, or her reputation, or both, Chacón had serious literary problems to solve. The Crónica de don Álvaro de Luna begins with a brief prologue. Chacón gives Luna’s exemplary life as his principal reason for writing. He states that he is responding to requests by many parties for an account of Luna’s life, adding that current historians are more concerned with writing for posterity

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than for contemporaries (Crónica 6). At one point in the Prologue, Chacón mentions mysteriously that he has other reasons which he is not divulging. Then, in Chapter One, before he presents the required genealogical background of Luna, Chacón poses a question to the reader. Since ancient times, he declares, wise men have debated a particular issue: who are the better men, those who are born of great lineage and stain it by unworthy deeds and a misspent life, or those who rise to greatness from humble beginnings to live nobly and virtuously? Chacón answers this rhetorical question by stating that all wise men have agreed that the latter are more worthy of possessing noble rank (Crónica 7). J. N. H. Lawrance points out that the classical debate on ‘True Nobility’ was revived in the fifteenth century by Spanish, Burgundian, French and Italian writers (although it did not disappear from literature in the interim). These writers favored character over birth (1989: 73). What constituted ‘True Nobility’ for Spanish authors, however, appears to have been one thing in the abstract and another in biographical genealogies, otherwise there would not 2 have been so much emphasis by biographers upon aristocratic lineage. The principal reason for this is discussed by José Luis Romero, who insists that specific medieval archetypal characteristics prevailed in Spanish biographies well past mid-century. One of these characteristics, as mentioned above, was that the subject have a noble background. Romero remarks upon the novelty of Chacon’s presentation: Acaso por que se decía frecuentemente … que no era totalmente limpio el linaje de D. Alvaro de Luna, su cronista Gonzalo Chacón se esforzará por desvanecer toda sospecha, acentuando, además, la significación del ascenso social logrado por él mediante su valor individual, con lo que tiene entrada en la biografía un nuevo crítico, que en las formas tradicionales no aparece. (1944: 119) (Perhaps because it was frequently said … that don Álvaro de Luna’s lineage was not completely free from stain, his chronicler Gonzalo Chacón probably makes an effort to cause all suspicions to disappear; accentuating, moreover, the significance of his social ascent due to his personal qualities, with which a new criterion enters into biographical writing that does not appear in traditional forms.)

Although Romero has qualified his statement by using the adverb acaso (perhaps) and the verb esforzarse (to make an effort; strive) in the special future tense of probability, there is little doubt that Chacón planned his opening statements with great care. With his ‘the best defense is a good offense’ strategy, Chacón addresses the problem of Luna’s maternal background immediately and forestalls any possible negative criticism by means of a clever device. Before beginning any description of Luna’s family, he sets up an opposition between inherited rank and merit. Merit wins this contest. By establishing his own specific boundaries for the topic under discussion, Chacón



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can control its direction. Right away he has already outmaneuvered the potentially hostile reader, for who could argue with the conclusion of those wise men cited above? Luna by reason of merit outranks those with stronger genealogical credentials. And, there is an added invisible bonus: by this argument his mother’s family is no longer a liability. Chacón continues by describing other types of men. Some, he says, descend from noble families and do neither great nor ignoble deeds. Other nobly-born men seek to perfect themselves and work hard to rise to new levels of achievement: E no sólo merescen rescebir gloria para sí mesmos, mas acrescientan la de los sus pasados, e déxanla más estendida e acrecentada a los que después dellos vienen. De tal manera de hombres como aquestos que dezimos fué el noble e virtuoso don Álvaro de Luna … (Crónica 8; my emphasis) (And not only do they deserve to receive glory for themselves, but they increase that of their ancestors and they leave greater glory for those who succeed them. The noble and virtuous don Álvaro de Luna was a man of this type …)

In Chacón’s second set of opposites – men of rank who coast through life versus those who seek out new honors – Luna wins again. He does not rest on the Luna laurels, but rather looks for and attains honor, glory and fame because of his excellence. And, just as importantly (though unstated), his mother now receives a significant promotion in her status because Chacón declares that Luna’s fame extends to and exalts both the previous and the succeeding generations. The outcome of the clash between the first pair of opposites nullifies María de Cañete’s prior social class as described by Palencia and Guzmán and those who used their works as sources, while that of the second pair raises her to a higher level. Her questionable past has now been absorbed into Luna’s far-reaching fame/honor. In his opening paragraphs Chacón has indeed reinvented the criteria for exemplariness. Not only does he establish new norms for individual worth, as Romero has noted, he also recasts the class status of Luna’s maternal family. And it is all done without ever mentioning their names. After his opening display of sophistry, Chacón proceeds to discuss in detail the Luna family in terms of los clérigos and los caballeros as presented by Romero. He begins by listing the prelates of the Luna family. The first to be mentioned is Pope Benedict XIII. This anti-Pope (not called by that title, of course), was Luna’s great-uncle. Chacón next mentions Pedro de Luna, the brother of Luna’s father, who was archbishop of Toledo. He was the relative who first brought Luna to the court of Juan II in 1408. Omitted by Chacón is the fact that Pedro de Luna had been appointed archbishop of Toledo by his uncle Pope Benedict in 1403, but King Enrique III, the father of King Juan II, refused to recognize him. Pedro de Luna could not assume his new post until

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after the death of Enrique in 1407. Another Pedro de Luna, a cousin who was archbishop of Zaragoza, follows on the list. Next, Chacón introduces Juan de Luna, ‘de gloriosa recordación, hermano del nuestro Maestre e Condestable’ (of glorious memory, brother of our Master [of the military Order of Santiago] and Constable [Castile’s highest military office]). After Juan de Luna, two other archbishops, those of Santiago and Toledo, are mentioned. They were Luna’s nephews, reared under his supervision. From Chacón’s description they held these offices when he wrote the genealogical section of his chronicle. In one paragraph Chacón covers past, present and presumably future Luna high ecclesiastics. Inserted into the middle of this chronological list is Luna’s brother Juan who, in spite of his name, bore no blood relationship whatsoever to the Luna family. He was actually Juan de Cerezuela, Luna’s maternal half-brother. In addition to concealing his identity, Chacón has endeavored to exalt Juan de Cerezuela/Luna by using descriptive terms similar to those employed to describe the most important prelates. The Pope is described as ‘de gloriosa memoria’, Juan as ‘de gloriosa recordación’. Juan also shares the adjective ‘virtuoso’ with Pedro de Luna. In addition, he is given a description unique in the paragraph: ‘Muy leal al Rey e muy obediente a sus mandamientos’ (Very loyal to the King and most obedient to his orders; Crónica 9). Juan not only shares almost the same epithet as the Pope and an identical positive character trait with the early fifteenth-century Archbishop of Toledo, he also has an implied close relationship with King Juan II. A probable reason for this specific character description can be inferred after reading all of the Crónica. One of Chacón’s main themes is that of loyalty. The reign of King Juan II was notorious for the rebelliousness and disobedience of its nobles. Luna’s loyalty to King Juan II is emphasized repeatedly throughout the Crónica, as is Chacón’s loyalty to Luna. Therefore, by foregrounding Juan de Cerezuela/Luna’s fidelity to the king, Chacón places him into a very special and exalted category. Chacón’s laudatory description of Luna’s brother also may have been motivated by critical remarks about his holding Castile’s most important ecclesiastical rank. In 1434, when Archbishop of Toledo Juan de Arriaza (called Juan de Contreras in Chacón’s chronicle) died, King Juan II maneuvered the cathedral electors into naming Luna’s brother to fill the vacancy although there were other more qualified candidates (Carrillo de Huete 1946: 175). It was well known that Luna influenced the King’s decision. Fernán Pérez de Guzmán, unsurprisingly, found Juan de Cerezuela to be unfit for his new post: ‘Las dignidades de la iglesia muchas dellas [Luna] fizo aver a sus parientes, non faziendo conçiençia de la indignidad e insufiçiençia dellos. En esta manera ovo para un su hermano la iglesia de Sevilla e después la de Toledo …’ ([Luna] obtained many ecclesiastical posts for his relatives, not even considering their unworthiness and insufficiency. In this way he obtained for one of his brothers the archbishopric of Seville and later that of Toledo …; Generaciones 46).



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After naming and discussing the prelates of the Luna family, Chacón next describes the secular members and a minor clergyman. He begins with Luna’s grandfather Juan Martínez de Luna, who sold much of his patrimony to support the future King Enrique II (r. 1369-1379) when he was challenging his brother King Pedro I (r. 1350-1369) for the throne of Castile. Juan’s brother Pedro Martínez de Luna (the future Pope Benedict XIII) gave Enrique all of the funds allocated for his education. In return for his support, Luna’s grandfather later received several towns, Cañete among them. He also became a royal mayordomo mayor (chief steward) and his son Álvaro (Luna’s father) became a royal copero mayor (chief cup bearer). Chacón also mentions Luna’s uncle, the prior of the Order of San Juan, and finishes by naming don Jayme de Luna, a cousin, still living and head of the Luna family in the kingdom of Aragon when Chacón wrote this section of his biography (Crónica 10). After completing his list, the author then segues smoothly into the first appearance of Luna in his biography: Quando morió don Áluaro de Luna, padre de nuestro Maestre e Condestable, el nuestro Maestre quedó niño muy pequeño, e fué criado en la casa de don Juan Martínez de Luna, su tío, muy delicadamente, así por su tío como por su tía, su muger, que era noble dueña. (Crónica 12) (When Álvaro de Luna, father of our Master and Constable died, our Master was a very small child, and he was reared in the house of don Juan Martínez de Luna, his uncle, in a very fine manner, both by his uncle and by his aunt, his uncle’s wife, who was a noblewoman.)

Here Chacón displays, in my opinion, his greatest skill. First, he has inundated the reader with such a detailed and thorough genealogy of the Luna family that it leaves an indelible impression of Luna loyalty, strength, power and spiritual authority. Manuel Quintana notes his use of amplificatio, remarking that by prolonging the description of the fine qualities of Luna’s father and paternal family, Chacón appeared to be confirming the opinion in which his mother was held (1946: 371, n.1). Second, by stating that the wife of Juan Martínez de Luna is a ‘noble dueña’, Chacón creates a subtle substitution of this lady for María de Cañete. (Of course, this description, as mentioned above, could be misleading, but it is more likely accurate, given the status of Luna’s uncle and Chacón’s literary requirements at this point in the narrative.) Mentioning the aunt and describing her in this way can be interpreted as another indication of Chacón’s anxiety about Luna’s mother. Third, by beginning Luna’s biography at the moment of the death of his father, Chacón avoids embarrassing details about Luna’s birth and earliest years. The genealogical section of the chronicle is contained in the first two chapters. Luna spent the time from his father’s death to his arrival at court in 1408 in the care of the Luna family. His first appearance at court in the

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entourage of his uncle Pedro de Luna, the new Archbishop of Toledo, is narrated in the closing paragraphs of Chapter Two. The next chapters tell of his rise in both rank and favor. In 1410 Luna became the page of King Juan II. His uncle and sponsor died in 1414, and Chacón declares that it was God’s miracle that Luna not only remained at court, but did not lose status. The author adds that everyone there realized that Luna’s standing did not come from the importance of his relatives or from wealth, but rather from his own character (Crónica 18-19). Luna’s mother, according to Palencia, also did very well for herself. At first scorned by dowager Queen Catalina, the mother of Juan II, María de Cañete eventually received from the crown the villages of Clavijo and Socra and lived very well indeed (‘oppulentissime’; Gesta 63). Except for several additional references to Luna’s half-brother Juan de Cerezuela, always referred to as Juan de Luna, Chacón maintains his silence about Luna’s maternal family throughout the remainder of the Crónica de don Álvaro de Luna. There is no mention of Luna’s brother Martín remarked upon by Palencia. Juan de Cerezuela/Luna is portrayed as a militant bishop (of Osma, his first ecclesiastical post), a favorite aristocratic Castilian archetype, who successfully fights against the Moors at the battle of Higueruela in 1431. His election to the see of Toledo in 1434 is described as the king’s Solomonlike solution to ecclesiastical infighting and rivalry. Luna’s brother is elected because of his ‘santimonía e costumbres de su buena vida’ (holiness and good habits) and because the king commanded it. Chacón adds, probably without irony, that the church officials also thought that by doing this they would gain the favor of Álvaro de Luna (Crónica 145-46). At the close of his chronicle Chacón states that Juan de Cerezuela/Luna was buried next to his brother in the cathedral of Toledo (Crónica 437). Silencing is the principal technique employed by Chacón in his genealogical section. It is achieved in other ways besides that of frank omissions. These include distortions of time, falsification of identity, and the substitution of one person for another. Along with silencing Chacón uses amplificatio: specifically, a listing of illustrious and titled ancestors and current family members, their heroic or noteworthy deeds, and their association with King Enrique II, the first Trastámara monarch. In his lengthy study of the Luna family, Chacón apparently sees no contradiction of his claim that true honor is derived more from character and accomplishment than from family background. In conclusion, it appears that one of the mysterious reasons not divulged by Chacón for writing his chronicle was to defend Luna from attacks on his maternal family by his fifteenth-century critics. Chacón was able to deflect or nullify their negative criticism by responding with creative arguments. Unable to fashion a noble maternal genealogy for his biographical subject, Chacón instead used skill and imagination to meet his literary challenges.



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Notes 

1. Carriazo presents convincing arguments for the authorship of Gonzalo Chacón. He notes that the author’s name does not appear on any of the manuscript copies of this chronicle and that the previous two editions were published as anonymous works (Carriazo 1940: xxi-xxvi). 2. This is confirmed in a negative way by Fernán Pérez de Guzmán’s belittling remarks about the humble backgrounds of his other enemies (Generaciones: 105-7; 111). In his favorable biography of the converso bishop of Burgos, Pablo de Santa María, Guzmán hastens to assure his readers that, although don Pablo was born a Jew, he was ‘de grant linaje de aquella naçion’ (Generaciones: 89).

Bibliography Primary sources Carrillo de Huete, Pedro. Crónica del Halconero de Juan II. Ed. Juan de Mata Carriazo. Madrid: Espasa-Calpe, 1946. Chacón, Gonzalo de. Crónica de don Álvaro de Luna: Condestable de Castilla, Maestre de Santiago. Ed. Juan de Mata Carriazo. Madrid: Espasa-Calpe, 1940. García de Santa María, et.al. Crónica del rey don Juan el Segundo. Ed. Lorenzo Galíndez de Carvajal. Biblioteca de autores españoles 68. Ed. Cayetano Rosell. Madrid: Atlas, 1953. Palencia, Alonso de. Gesta Hispaniensia ex annalibus suorum dierum collecta. Ed. Brian Tate and Jeremy Lawrence. Vol. I. Madrid: Real Academia de la Historia, 1998. Pérez de Guzmán, Fernán. Generaciones y semblanzas. Ed. R. B. Tate. London: Tamesis, 1965. Secondary literature Carriazo, Juan de Mata. ‘Estudio preliminar.’ In Crónica de don Álvaro de Luna: Condestable de Castilla, Maestre de Santiago. Madrid: Espasa-Calpe, 1940. Lawrance, J. N. H. ‘On Fifteenth-Century Spanish Vernacular Humanism.’ In Medieval and Renaissance Studies in Honour of Robert Brian Tate. Ed. Ian Michael and Richard A. Cardwell. Oxford: Dolphin, 1986. Quintana, Manuel José. ‘Don Alvaro de Luna.’ Obras completas. Biblioteca de autores españoles 19. Madrid: Atlas, 1946. Rizzo y Ramírez, Juan. Juicio crítico y significación política de D. Alvaro de Luna. Madrid, 1865. Romero, José Luis. Sobre la biografía española del siglo XV y los ideales de vida. Cuadernos de historia de España 1-2 (1944): 115-38. Suárez Fernández, Luis. ‘La menor edad de Juan II.’ Historia de España 15. Ed. Ramón Menéndez Pidal. Madrid: Espasa-Calpe, 1964.

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TURNOVO – NEW CONSTANTINOPLE: THE THIRD ROME IN THE FOURTEENTH-CENTURY BULGARIAN TRANSLATION OF CONSTANTINE MANASSES’ SYNOPSIS CHRONIKE

Miliana Kaimakamova

Abstract The aim of the present paper is to discuss the use of a Byzantine chronicle as a propagandistic tool of Bulgarian tsarist ideology in the fourteenth century. My example is the Synopsis Chronike by Constantine Manasses (c.1130-1187), translated into Bulgarian at the request of tsar Ivan Alexander (1331-1371). The original translation was lost, but two of its early copies (the Synodal copy and Cod. Vat. Slav. 2) allow me to trace the transmission of the Byzantine text into the Bulgarian chronicling tradition. Manasses’ translation acted as an authoritative source for Bulgarian historiography from the fifteenth to the seventeenth centuries and exerted a powerful impact upon the recording of history in Eastern Orthodox Slavic manuscripts of the same period. There is evidence that the lost prototype of the translation was the common source for all successive Bulgarian, Serbian and Russian versions, seven of which have come down to me, while the existence of another seven, translated via an intermediate text, has been ascertained. In addition, the Bulgarian translation was quite important for Russian and Vlacho-Moldovan chronography. Finally, the existing literature on this product of the Turnovo School of learning concentrates mainly on its linguistic, literary and artistic merits, while its importance as a historical artefact has not been studied in its own right.

Before I present our case, it is necessary to make the following introductory remarks. 1. Turnovo – New Constantinople – Third Rome The Bulgarian translation of Manasses’ Synopsis Chronike exemplifies the propagandistic practices of the state’s ideology in the fourteenth century, especially because it reinforces the idea of Turnovo as the New Constantinople. This myth represented the tsar, the patriarch and the capital city of Turnovo as the embodiment of the Bulgarian Tsardom. The idea that Turnovo outlived ancient Rome and Constantinople and became the Third Rome emerged during the first half of the thirteenth century. In 1204, the Crusaders 1 occupied Constantinople and their rule over the city lasted until until 1261. The idea of ‘Turnovo – New Constantinople – Third Rome’ reinforced the policies of the Bulgarian rulers of Assen’s dynasty; it aimed at enhancing the position of the Bulgarian capital city as the major centre of Eastern 2 Orthodoxy. This ideology was reanimated in the fourteenth century and was habitually made known in laudatory addresses to tsar Ivan Alexander. The

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substantiation of the idea was completed, however, with the translation of Manasses’ Synopsis Chronike (Kaimakamova 2001: 197-211). A welleducated courtier with a noteworthy literary talent translated the chronicle c.1340-1345. His style is of a kind that some scholars would define as excessively rhetorical, even baroque (Mazal 1967: 70-73; Hunger 1978: I, 418-22). It is interesting to see that although the translation does not keep the original verse, it has managed to render the epic style of the Greek text into Bulgarian (Buyukliev 1992: 20-23). 2. The use of chronography as a term Many Byzantine authors of universal chronicles defined their writings as ȤȡȠȞȠȖȡĮijȓĮ (chronography). Consequentially, some scholars introduced ‘chronography’ as a term to define a new genre of chronicling, established in 3 Byzantium between the fourth and seventh centuries. In the texts produced in Slavic countries in relation to Byzantium, the term ‘chronography’ kept its meaning while expanding its range. It incorporated local (Bulgarian, Russian, Serbian etc.) compilations of world history (in brief or expanded versions) into translations of Byzantine chronicles. Expanded compilations of a com4 pound character are defined as ‘chronographs’, i.e. a separate genre. I shall try to answer the following questions in my analysis of the Middle Bulgarian translation of the Synopsis Chronike: why did Tsar Ivan Alexander request particularly Constantine Manasses’ chronicle, how was the Byzantine model transformed into a Bulgarian chronograph, and in what historical context was the translation incorporated into the ideological program of the Bulgarian court. I. Tsar Ivan Alexander’s choice of Constantine Manasses’ Synopsis Chronike and his request for a Bulgarian translation Educated medieval readers held Manasses’ text in high regard and it therefore comes as no surprise that the text survives in over ninety copies in 5 Greek, or that various excerpts were interpolated into other writings. Constantine Manasses (c.1130-1187) served at the court of Emperor Manuel Comnenus (1143-1180) as a poet, historian, teacher of rhetoric and Metropolitan of Naupaktos. The chronicle was written c.1150 and consisted of 6734 lines. The author described his own text as a synopsis of world history, from the creation of the world to 1081 (Dujþev 1964: 17-18; Lampsidis 1988: 97-111). The material is chronologically arranged in empires (Biblical, Persian, Macedonian, Roman) and kings’ reigns. The text omits the elaborate metaphysics about the destiny of the world and human nature, which characterize the chronicles of Joannes Malalas and Georges Amartolus, and which were translated into Old Bulgarian at the end of the ninth century under Tsar Simeon the Great (893-927). Manasses’ text was a product of the Byzantine twelfth century, regarded by scholars as the

Turnovo – New Constantinople – The Third Rome 93 Comnenus’ Renaissance. The narrative traces only major events of Bulgarian-Byzantine relations until the eleventh century. In the twelfth century the author acts as one of the leading advocates of the idea that Constantinople, thanks to divine providence, had outlived the Old Rome of the West, and was itself the New Rome (Obolensky 2001: 326). Tsar Ivan Alexander (1331-1371) assessed the chronicle at its true worth with the request for its translation. My findings show that translations of universal chronicles written by Eastern Orthodox historians were a common practice in Bulgaria both at the turn of the ninth century and in the fourteenth century (Kaimakamova 1990: 28, 164-95). Under Ivan Alexander the works of Symeon Logothete and Ioan Zonaras are translated along with the Manasses chronicle. In comparison with other authors, Symeon Logothete and Ioan Zonaras were rather neutral in their evaluation of events from 6 Bulgarian history and very critical of the Byzantine Emperors’ policy. Bulgarian entries begin in the fifth century and continue until the chronicler’s own time, i.e. the eleventh century. It was a conventional practice among Byzantine chroniclers to represent the history of Byzantium as the continuation of the eternal Roman Empire. Moreover, they perceived Bulgarian history as a component of Byzantine history. The Bulgarian tsars, seeking to 7 legitimate their own power and the autocephaly of the Bulgarian Church, as well as to refute some of Constantinople’s claims, adopted both the historical conceptualisation of the Synopsis Chronike and their idea about the union between Church and State. For those reasons the Bulgarian tsars requested translations of Byzantine chronicles and in this way stimulated the development of the Bulgarian chronography (Kaimakamova 2002: 554-56). II. The Transformation of the Synopsis Chronike into a Bulgarian chronograph and the development of the idea of ‘Turnovo – New Constantinople – Third Rome’ Both the Synodal copy (No 38 in the Moscow State Historical Museum) and the Codex Vaticanus slavicus 2 (hereafter Cod. Vat. Slav. 2) are dated to the fourteenth century and stand closest to the lost prototype of the Bulgarian translation (Dujþev 1963: vi-xii; Salmina 1988: 59). I shall trace the alterations of the original chronicle in the work of the medieval Bulgarian clerics, starting with the Synodal copy, which was compiled in 1345, a bit earlier than the Cod. Vat. Slav. 2. 1. The Synodal Copy begins with the following introduction ‘Compiled by Manasses, most wise chronicler, year by year, starting with the creation of the world and continuing until the reign of Emperor Nicephorus Botaniate.’ One of the Greek copies describes Constantine Manasses as a philosopher, which was the highest rank in both the Byzantine and the Slavonic spiritual 8 and intellectual hierarchy. However, the Bulgarian translator calls him letopisets, ‘chronicler’. This alteration shows that Manasses’ text is perceived as a historical text, which functions as a record of events in terms of years and

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rulership. 2. Above the intricate title an addition reads: ‘This book was translated from the Greek for Tsar Ivan Alexander’ (Dujþev 1963: vi). This explanation immediately draws the attention to the Bulgarian ruler and signals the modification of Manasses’ text to serve the propagandistic purposes of the Bulgarian tsarist ideology. The translator insists on Ivan Alexander’s great love of books as his essential characteristic. A handful of other compilations which have come down to us, also written at the tsar’s request, give him similar praise as the protector and patron of Bulgarian learning (Gjuzelev 1985: 170-81). 3. Further, at the outset of the original, Manasses makes a dedication to Sebastocratorina Irene. The Synodal copy reproduces it verbatim, but instead of following the original address to Sebastocratorina Irene it addresses the Bulgarian tsar (Dujþev 1964: 18). The author describes Ivan Alexander as ‘a royal soul’, ‘a student of the Logos’, and a connoisseur of history who requested ‘a piece of writing that narrates ancient legends: who were the first to rule, how far did they expand their realm, who was in power and when’ (Middle Bulgarian translation, line 1, p. 106; Buyukliev 1992: 47). 4. The idea of ‘Turnovo – New Constantinople – Third Rome’ is propagated in the following alteration. The Bulgarian translator replaces Constantine Manasses’ laudatory address to Emperor Manuel Comnenus and encomium of the capital city Constantinople by a laudatory address to Tsar Ivan Alexander and an encomium of the capital city Turnovo. Manasses used this additional structure to reanimate the idea of Constantinople as the New Rome. This modification provides an excellent example of the theory of 9 renovatio and translatio imperii (Medvedev 1976: 125). Undoubtedly, this idea in Manasses’ chronicle has been the strongest motivation for Ivan Alexander’s choice of a text for translation. The Byzantine and the Bulgarian versions of the address quoted below support this claim. It should be noted that Manasses incorporated the address in the narrative about Emperor Theodosius II (408-450), which follows the plunder of Rome by Vandal king Gaiseric in 455 and Rome’s occupation by the Germanic tribes in 476. The text reads: This happened in Old Rome. But ours [Constantinople] is flourishing and growing, ruling and getting ever younger and will grow forever. Yes, my Sire, all-powerful, because [it] has a most serene Emperor, a great ruler of the Auzons [Byzantines – M. K.], the glorious and victorious Manuel of the Comneni, a golden rose upon the royal mantle, let thousands of suns grant strength to him. (Lampsidis 1996: 139; TăpkovaZaimova 1996: 57)

Turnovo – New Constantinople – The Third Rome 95 According to Manasses, it was eternal youth and renewal which had acted as the two invariables inherent to Constantinople as the ‘New Rome’, from its foundation by Constantine the Great until the chronicler’s own time. To support his idea, he added the address to Emperor Manuel Comnenus and the encomium of the Byzantine capital city. The Bulgarian version of the address reads: Such things happened to Old Rome whereas our new Tsarigrad [the Bulgarian capital city, Turnovo – M.K.] is keeping up and growing, gaining in strength and getting ever younger, may it grow forever. Greetings, my Sire, reigning over everyone; [it] has such an illustrious and most serene tsar, a great ruler, perfect in victory, from the dynasty of Ioan Asen, the finest Bulgarian tsar. I am talking about Alexander, the most peaceloving, the most merciful, the most respectful of the clergy, the protector of the poor and the great tsar of the Bulgarians, let his power be measured by countless suns. (Middle Bulgarian translation, line 2546, p.152)

Here Mannasses’ rhetoric provides a perfect illustration of the idea of the transposition of the Roman Empire. The Bulgarian translator uses the original text as an invocative formula in which names of kings and capital cities become the main components of the equation. This is how the alteration of names achieves the desired effect of propaganda for the idea of ‘Turnovo – New Constantinople – the Third Rome’. The alteration can be understood and given meaning only if discussed in the context of the idea of renovatio and translatio imperii in the original 10 text. It should be mentioned here that the Bulgarian translator changed only the laudatory address to Emperor Manuel Comnenus, while keeping the praise which Manasses offered to New Rome in the narrative dedicated to Emperor Constantine the Great. This alteration elaborated on the imperialistic message of the chronicle in that the seat of Roma aeterna was transposed from Constantinople to Turnovo (Obolensky 2001: 327). In the translation, the description of the Bulgarian capital city as ‘our new City of Kings’, i.e. our New Constantinople, merits special attention. Above all, it was the Old Bulgarian literary tradition from the turn of the ninth century, which renamed Constantinople as Tsarigrad, ‘City of Kings’ (Gjuzelev 1998: 3-4). It is worth pointing out that the Middle Bulgarian translation of Symeon Logethete’s chronicle, and those of his followers, done under Ivan Alexander as well, referred to the Byzantine capital as Tsarigrad (Sreznevskij 1971: 220). Thus, the Bulgarian capital is designated to be New Constantinople and tsar Ivan Alexander the new universal emperor. This is the essence of the ideological concept in the alteration. It activates the function of the Byzantine chronicle as a propaganda tool of the Bulgarian tsarist ideology. Historians now see the readdressed praise as the first record of a breach in Byzantine ecumenism (Obolensky 2001: 327).

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The translator of Manasses’ text modifies the laudatory address in the firm belief that it would be no historical forgery. Notice that during the thirteenth century Bulgarian literati favoured the established opinion that Constantinople’s mission as New Rome had come to a close with the death of Emperor Manuel Comnenus. Concerning the role of Constantinople, one of them (Pandeh) said: ‘The Romoioi ruled there until tsar Kyr Manuel and thereafter they shall not rule until the day of wrath comes’ (TăpkovaZaimova 1996: 56-57, 247). Apparently, the translator shared this view. In fact, the translator’s concept must have prompted him to alter the address and designate Turnovo as New Tsarigrad, i.e. Constantinople. Thus, he ascribes universal validity to the idea and starts disseminating it. Studies of the Bulgarian culture of the 1200s and 1300s describe Turnovo as the spiritual capital of Orthodox Slavdom. The Bulgarian address offers a generalization of the pride tsar Ivan Alexander took in his relationship to the Byzantine Emperor among rulers of Eastern Slavdom. Ivan Alexander’s pre-eminence is also corroborated by other textual historical evidence of his age (Gjuzelev 1989: 34-43; Polyvyanny 2000: 177-78). The analysis of alterations in the Bulgarian version of the chronicle so far shows that the translation shows the use of two additional features: the laudatory addresses to Sebastocratorina Irene and Emperor Manuel Comnenus. However, this change of addressees did not impair the credibility of the narrative. The translation was incorporated in a collection of diverse texts known as Parson Fillip’s Collection, in which Manasses’ Middle Bulgarian translation takes the leading place while other historical writings and semiapocrypha by Eastern Orthodox clerics, each contributing an anti-Latin or anti-Roman slant, are added as supplements (Gjuzelev 1985: 174). The designation of Turnovo as the New Constantinople corresponds with the tradition of highlighting Bulgaria as the new location of Roma aeterna, because it was equal to Byzantium in rank (its tsar had the highest title in the hierarchy since 927 without interruption), because after 1204 Turnovo made its name as the champion of Eastern Orthodoxy while Constantinople’s reputation as its guardian had been stained forever, and, finally, because by the time of Ivan Alexander the Bulgarian Patriarchate had been established as an autocephaly for a considerable period of time. It is worth mentioning that the Russian ‘Great Princes’ in the latter sixteenth and the seventeenth century employed the same principles to designate Moscow as the Third Rome (Bakalov 1980: 87). 5. The next alteration in the Synodal copy is of a very different nature. A brief Bulgarian chronicle is offered in the form of marginal entries (Kaimakamova 1983; Havlikova 1992). It consists of twenty-seven entries of different length, in bright red (Bulg. kinovar), on events from Bulgarian and world history. This incorporation is important as evidence of the additional work done by an anonymous commentator. It is quite possible that after

Turnovo – New Constantinople – The Third Rome 97 reading the translation of the Byzantine text, this commentator thought that the information on Bulgarian history did not convey and enhance the place and role of Bulgaria in Byzantine and world history. Consequentially, from the Bulgarian point of view, the idea of ‘Turnovo – New Constantinople – Third Rome’ did not receive the necessary historical substantiation. Hence, the author compiled a brief chronicle in the margins. The additional text runs parallel to Manasses’ chronicle, because the author wants to provide a concurrent account of Bulgaria’s emergence as an Eastern Orthodox tsardom in the context of Byzantine and world history. The first nine entries are brief accounts of major events in the history of the Assyro-Babylonian, Persian, Greek (Macedonian) and Roman empires. The following note is added to the section on the reign of Constantine the Great: ‘Under the Great Tsar Constantine the first synod of the 318 Christian fathers took place’ (Buyukliev 1992: 106). The next eighteen notes are dedicated to major events in Bulgarian history. The foundation of the Bulgarian State in 680-681 is connected with the work of the Sixth Universal Synod at Constantinople (680-681). Then the author traces Bulgaria’s political consolidation during various wars with Byzantium from the eighth to the midninth century. Considerable space is given to the country’s conversion to Christianity under Prince Boris I (852-889), the enhancement of Bulgaria as tsardom under Simeon the Great (893-927), continuous warfare with Byzantium and the Bulgarian-Byzantine conflict in the second half of the tenth and the eleventh century. The final entry states: ‘Since Basil [Emperor Basil II (976-1025) – M.K.] the Bulgarian tsardom was under Byzantine occupation until tsar Asen I ascended to the Bulgarian throne’ (Kaimakamova, 1983: 138, 141). This is a brief outline of the conquest of the Bulgarian State by Emperor Basil II in 1018 and the period of Byzantine occupation until the rising of the brothers Asen and Peter (1185-1187), who restored Bulgarian independence. The name tsar Asen I alludes to Ivan I Asen (1187-1196), the founder of the Asen dynasty, who was mentioned in the praise of Ivan Alexander in the Bulgarian translation of Mannasses’ text. The entry was modeled so as to mirror Manasses’ text, since it corroborates the restoration of the Bulgarian tsardom by Asen’s dynasty, to which Ivan Alexander also belonged. The marginal chronicle leaves the impression that the author followed Mannasses’ narrative very carefully in order to connect the dating of events from Bulgarian history to the reigns of simultaneous Byzantine emperors. The addition of the Brief Bulgarian Chronicle to Mannasses’ text contextualizes Bulgarian history in the framework of world history (Kaimakamova 2001: 201-2). It substantiates the assumption that tsar Ivan Alexander and his predecessors ruled by the grace of God. What is more, the author emphasizes the importance of tradition in the Bulgarian succession to royal power. The dynastic idea is reinforced in the transference of power from the khanate at Pliska through the tsars at Preslav and Ohrida to the tsars at Turnovo.

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The separate entries are written in compact format, reminiscent of West European chronicles with their concise, pithy style (Krûger 1976: 19-22). Here are some examples: It is known that the first kingdom on earth was in Egypt. And Egyptians were the first people on earth who had a king. Our Lord Jesus Christ embodied himself and was born under the êáîóáñ Augustus. Under tsar Anastasius (491-518) Bulgarians started to take possession of the country crossing from Bdin [modern Vidin on the Danube – M.K.], first capturing the lower Ohrida region and afterwards the entire country. From the Bulgarian exodus to this day are 870 years. (Kaimakamova 1983: 139, 141)

The compilation of the chronicle rests upon Bulgarian sources and the texts of Georges Amartolus, Symeon Logothete and Joannes Zonaras (Kaimakamova 1984: 121-25). The anonymous chronicler must have preferred a terse narrative in order to preserve the fine proportions of the original text. Analysis of the chronology shows that it was written most probably by a clergyman, closely connected with the court, around 13611362 (Kaimakamova 1984: 125-39). One can draw the conclusion that with the emergence of the Brief Bulgarian Chronicle within the Synodal copy, the Bulgarianisation of Manasses’ chronicle gains a more sophisticated textual form due to the enrichment of its contents with additional facts about Bulgarian and world history. This process is further developed in the Cod. Vat. Slav. 2, which was compiled also c.1361-1362. Cod. Vat. Slav. 2 is a parchment book, written by a single scribe, consisting of 206 folios, each measuring 295 by 210 mm. Again, it was requested by tsar Ivan Alexander (Dujþev 1964: 27). It keeps the alterations of the Synodal copy, but with the important difference that the Brief Bulgarian Chronicle is inscribed within the framework of the text, and thus Manasses’ work gains the approximate form of the original Bulgarian chronographs. 6. This approximation becomes very clear in the following transformation of the contents of the text. Immediately after recording the Trojan War, the author adds another, more detailed narrative of the same event (Dujþev 1963: folios 42-62). It is entitled ‘A novelette about real events and a story about kings, their births and lives’. This text, better known to scholars as The Trojan Proverb, was translated in Bulgarian from Croatian from a 11 more remote Western original, probably of Italian origin. Perhaps this incorporation was yet another attempt to provide historical evidence to the idea of ‘Turnovo – New Constantinople – New Rome’. The compiler interprets the tragic end of Troy along theodicean lines: ‘God humbles all those who put on airs and the seed of the wicked will be completely destroyed, as the prophet says’ (Ivanov 1935: 127).

Turnovo – New Constantinople – The Third Rome 99 7. Another major characteristic of Cod. Vat. Slav. 2 are its sixty-nine multi-coloured miniatures, which show 109 different scenes from world and Bulgarian history. The one on folio 1 has the most powerful impact. Its assumption about the union between Church and State and the strong harmonious relation between them first finds expression in the Bulgarian tsar’s title in the upper part, ‘Ioannes Alexander in God’s name true tsar and autocrat of all Bulgarians and Greeks’. Next comes the painting of Ivan Alexander between Christ and Constantine Manasses (Dujþev 1964). The painting expresses the idea of the divine origin and divine blessing of the Bulgarian Tsar (Bakalov 1999: 12-13). The tsar’s title mentioned here is fully compatible with the official title of the Bulgarian ruler (Ilinsky 1970: 26; Gjuzelev 1981: 201). The sanctity of the royal family as another fundamental aspect of centralized state ideology finds itself in the paintings on folios 2 and 205 (Dujþev 1964: Nos 2 and 69). Each articulates the idea of Ivan Alexander’s supreme power and enhances the dynastic principle of government. 8. It is also worth mentioning that at various places in the margins the text provides a signe de renvoi: smotri, ‘see’. The same indicator can also be found in the Synodal copy (Velinova 2004: 497-504). Its function is strongly didactic: to draw the reader’s attention to major points in world and Bulgarian history. The above-mentioned alterations in Cod. Vat. Slav. 2 give evidence that it was compiled as an elaborate history of the world and that it incorporated several sources. The Brief Bulgarian Chronicle and the Trojan Proverb supplement the source text, Manasses’ Chronicle. The three are integrated through their survey of the history of the world represented in the miniature and the idea of the alliance between Church and State. Ivan Božilov and other scholars claim that the Vatican Manasses is a separate book, but such a claim, should in my opinion rather be based on what determines the book’s character and specificity. Therefore, one should consider such prominent features as the structure and layout of the contents, the introductory entries, and the type of inscriptions. For O. V. Tvorogov, this is a distinctive feature of Russian chronographs produced in the sixteenth and the seventeenth century (Tvorogov 1975: 8-45). The complex character and layout of Cod. Vat. Slav. 2 allow the classification of the text as a Bulgarian chronograph. It is hardly a coincidence that this book had such a strong influence on Russian chronography in the sixteenth and the seventeenth centuries, especially the compiling of the Russian chronograph, which has come down to us in a copy of 1512 as well as in various other copies of later dates (Salmina 1988: 57; Kaimakamova 2004: 426-34). Direct borrowings from Cod. Vat. Slav. 2 are recognizable in Povesti o zatshale Moskvy (‘Narrative of the beginnings of Moscow’, a well-known work of the seventeenth century), in which the author proclaims Moscow to be the Third Rome (Salmina 1988: 66-67).

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III. The Birth of the Idea of Turnovo – New Constantinople – Third Rome The designation of Turnovo as the New Constantinople (and thus the Third Rome) was the reply and act of resistance of tsar Ivan Alexander’s ideologists to the attempts of some clerics at Constantinople to discredit the autocephalous statute of the Bulgarian Church in the 1350s to 1360s. Patriarch Kaliste headed the campaign (1350-1353; 1355-1364). We have Kaliste’s letter of 1361 to the monks of the Turnovo community, his Life, written a little later in dedication by his pupil, Theodosius of Turnovo, as well as other Byzantine sources of the 1360s (Ivanova 1986: 446; Gjuzelev 1994: 177-84). The doctrine of ‘Turnovo – New Constantinople – The Third Rome’ drew up a programme for tsar Ivan Alexander’s struggle to defend the independence of the Bulgarian Church and the international prestige of Turnovo as a seat of Eastern Orthodoxy. Historical records show that Emperor Ioannes V Paleologus (1341-1391) in the face of Ottoman threat asked the West for assistance. This means that Constantinople was planning to enter into an alliance with Rome, which created an opportunity for Turnovo to assume the functions of the Third Rome in view of its loyalty to Eastern Orthdoxy. This prospect would have impaired Byzantine prestige gravely, so it set Byzantium working against the Bulgarian Patriarchate (Bakalov 2000: 32-33). Bulgaria’s reply came in the reanimation of the idea about Bulgaria’s capital city as the Third Rome. Over the past few years, scholars have been working towards the creation of a more realistic idea of the medieval chronicle (Kooper 2002: v). The study of its complex character and varied forms suggests that ‘the role of the medieval chronicler was substantially defined by his audience, the community of which he was a part’ (Dumville 2002: 22-23). The Bulgarian translation of Manasses’ Chronicle gives yet another example that trends in historiography regarding form and contents were frequently dictated by the 12 predilections of the person who commanded its production.

Notes 1. Gjuzelev 1985 (17-18). The Thracian city of Byzantion, situated on the Bosphorus, was a colony of the Greek city of Megara. After the wars of Alexander the Great, Byzantion remained Hellenic territory. During the Roman Empire Septimius Severus (193-211) and his troops plundered it. In the period 324-330 the city was brought to great prosperity and splendor by emperor Constantine the Great (324-337) in conscious competition with ancient Rome. On 11 May 330, Byzantium was festively inaugurated as the new capital of the Roman Empire. For this reason contemporaries called the city Roma nova, the New Rome, or the Second Rome. Gradually, however, it became known as Constantinople, after its founder. Some medieval authors and, much later, the humanists shifted the name Byzantium from the city to the state, which became the historical continuation of the Roman Empire (cf. Hunger 2000: 61-88; Bakalov 2006: 14-18).

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2. Pope (1974: 146-64), Andreev (1983: 310-16), Tăpkova-Zaimova (1983: 27-38). 3. Krumbacher (1887: 219-22, 319-27), Beck (1965: 188-97), Hunger (1978: I, 243-78), Udaltsova (1984: 245). 4. Popov (1866: 1), Istrin (1922: 84-85), Tvorogov (1975: 8-9), Kaimakamova (1999: 196-98). 5. Dujþev (1964: 19-23), Mazal (1967: 14-15), Bibikov (1998: 157). 6. Dujþev (1964: 19-26), Bibikov (1998: 63-65, 89-92, 155-58), Lyubarsky (1999: 7-20). 7. Autocephaly – in hierarchical Orthodox Churches the independent status of a church in which the head patriarch does not report to any higher-ranking primate. The Church of Bulgaria became an autocephaly in 879. At that time, the primate of the Bulgarian church was an archbishop. In 927 the Bulgarian archbishopric was proclaimed a patriarchy in accordance with the Bulgarian-Byzantine contract of the same year (Gjuzelev 1999: 102-6). 8. Gjuzelev 1985 (33-34). Quite significant are: Codex Vaticanus graecus 1409, Codex Parisinus 2087, Codex Vaticanus Ottobonianus graecus 324, Codex Vindobonensis historicus graecus 93, Codex Vindobonensis Philosophicus graecus 149 (Lampsidis 1996: xciii, civ-cv, cxxi, cxxv, cxxvii). 9. In the laudatory address Constantine Mannasses exploits the idea that Constantinople is the New Rome, which as the universal centre of divine imperial power has surpassed the ‘old’ and defeated Rome of the West (Obolenski 2001: 326-27). 10. According to tradition, the idea of Roma aeterna originates in that of renovatio and translatio imperii, which the Byzantines used in trying to find juridical and historical evidence for the transfer of the imperial power from Rome to Constantinople, in order to sustain the illusion of the continuity of the Roman Empire (Obolenski 2001: 327). 11. Ivanov 1935 (108-28); Dujþev 1963 (xi-xii); Yonova 2002 (285-89). 12. I am grateful to Tatyana Stoicheva and Nina Todorova for their help in preparing the English text of this paper.

Bibliography Primary sources Buyukliev, Ivan, ed. (1992). Khronikata na Konstantin Manasi. Predgovor, prevod I komentar Ivan Buyukliev, Istoricheski belezhki Ivan Božilov. Sofia: Universitetsko Isdatelstvo “Sv. Kliment Ohridski”. Gjuzelev, Vassil, ed. (1994). Izvori za srednovekovnata istoriya na Bulgariaya (VII-XV vek) v avstriyskite rukopsni sbirki i arkhivi. Purvi Tom. Bulgarski, drugi slavianski i vizantiiski izvori. Sofia: Universitetsko Isdatelstvo “Sv. Kliment Ohridski”. Dujþev, Ivan, ed. (1963). Letopista na Konstantin Manasi. Fototipno izdanie na Vatikanskiya prepis na srednobulgarskiya prevod. Sofia: Izdatelstvo na Bulgarskata Akademiya. ——— (1964). Miniatyurite na Manasievata letopis. Sofia: Izdatelstvo Bulgarski khudozhnik. Ilynsky, G. A., ed. (1970). Gramoty bolgarskikh carey. With an introduction by Ivan Dujþev. London: Variorum Reprint. Ivanov, Yordan, ed. (1935). Starobulgarski razkazi. Tekstove, novobulgarski prevodi i belezhki. Sofia: Ptidvorna pechatniza [Imprimerie de la Cour Royale]. Ivanova, Klimentina (1986). Stara bulgarska literatura. Vol. IV. Zhitiyni tvorbi. Compiled by Klimentina Ivanova. Sofia: Bulgarsky pisatel. Kaimakamova, Miliana (1983). ‘Bulgarskata kratka khronika v srednobulgarskiya prevod na

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Manasievata khronika. 1. Tekst, prevod, komentar.’ Godishnik na Sofiyski universitet [Annuaire de l’Université de Sophia] 76: 123-78. ——— (1984) ‘Bulgarskata kratka khronika v srednobulgarskiya prevod na Manasievata khronika. 2. Izvori i datirane.’ Godishnik na Sofiyski universitet [Annuaire de l’Université de Sophia] 77: 119-40. Lampsidis, Odysseus, ed. (1996). Constantini Manassis Breviarium Chronicum. Recensuit Odysseus Lampsidis. Pars Prior, Praefationem et Textum Continens. Corpus Fontium Historiae Byzantinae XXXVI/1. Athenis: Apud Institutum Graecoromanae Antiquitattis Edendis Destinatum Academiae Atheniensis. Middle Bulgarian translation = Srednebolgarsky perevod khroniki Konstantina Manasii v slavyanskih literaturah. Issledovaniya I. S. Dujþeva i M. A. Salminoi. Podgotovka tekstov M. A. Salminoi. Slovoukazateli O. V. Tvorogova. Sofia: Izdatelstvo Bolgarskoj Akademija 1988. Sreznevskij, V. I., ed. (1971). Slavjanskij perevod chroniki Simeona Logotheta. With an introduction in Russian by George Ostrogorsky and a preface in English by Ivan Dujþev. London: Variorum Reprint. Tăpkova-Zaimova, V., and A. Miltenova, ed. (1996). Istoriko-apokaliptichnata knizhnina vuv Vizantiya I srednovekovna Bulgariya. Sofia: Universitetsko Isdatelstvo “Sv. Kliment Ohridski”. Secondary literature Andreev, Yordan (1983). ‘Turnovskata knizhovna traditsiya i ideyata za tretiya Rim.’ In Turnovksa knizhovna shkola. Vol.III. Grigorij Zamblak. Zhivot i tvorchestvo. Treti mezhdunaroden simpozium Veliko Turnovo, 12-15 noemvri 1980. Sofia: Izdatelstvo na Bulgarskata Akademiya. 310-16. Bakalov, Georgi (1980). ‘Rolyata na vizantiuyskata oikumenicheska doktrina v politicheskiya zhivot na Moskovska Rusiya (vtorata polovina na XV-kraya na XVI vek).’ Istoricheski pregled 5: 82-94. ——— (1999) ‘Religiozni aspekti na durshavnata ideologiya v srednovekovna Bulgariya.’ In Religiya i tsurkva v srednovekovna Bulgariya. Sozialni i kulturni izmereniya v pravoslavieto i negovata spezifika v bulgarskite zemi. Nauchna konferentsia Sofia, 2729 noemvri 1997. Ed. Georgi Bakalov, Rumyana Radkova, Christo Temelsky, Petya Dimitrova, Violina Atanasova. Sofia: Izdatelska kushta “Gutenberg”. 5-17. ——— (2000) ‘Mezhdutsurkovni otnosheniya na Balkanite prez trinadeseti vek.’ Dukhovna kultura 2-3: 27-33. Beck, Hans-Georg (1965). ‘Zur Byzantinischen “Mönchschronik”.’ In Speculum historiale. Geschichte im Spigel von Geschichtsschreibung und Geschichtsdeutung. Hrsg. von C. Bauer, L. Boehm, M. MĦller. Freiburg / MĦnchen. 188-97. Bibikov, M. V. (1998). Istoricheskaya literatura Vizantitt. Sankt Peterburg: Izdatelstvo “Aleteiya”. Božilov, Ivan (1996). ‘Vatikanskiyat Manasiy (Cod. Vat. Slavo 2): Tekst i miniatjuri.’ Problemi na izkustvoto 2: 3-12. Dumville, David (2002). ‘What is a Chronicle?’ In Kooper (2002). 1-27. Gjuzelev, Vassil (1981). ‘Bulgarskata srednovekovna durzhava.’ Istoricheski pregled 3-4: 178202. ——— (1985). Uchilishta, skriptori i znaniya v Bulgariya (XIII-XIV). Sofia: Durzhavno izdatelstvo “Narodna Prosveta”. ——— (1989). ‘Einige Charakteristik der mittelalterlichen bulgarischen Kultur Tărnovo als geistige Hauptstadt der slavischen orthodoxen Ökumene im 13-14 Jh.’ Österreichische

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Osthefte 3: 34-43. ——— (1998). ‘Tsarigrad i bulgarite prez srednovekovieto.’ Istorichesko budeshte 1: 3-11. ——— (1999). ‘Belezhki vurchu yerarchiþeskiya status na Bulgarskata tsurkva i neyniya vurchoven predstoyatel prez purviya vek ot pokrustvaneto.’ In Religiya i tsurkva v srednovekovna Bulgariya. Sozialni i kulturni izmereniya v pravoslavieto i negovata spezifika v bulgarskite zemi. Nauchna konferentsia Sofia, 27-29 noemvri 1997. Ed. Georgi Bakalov, Rumyana Radkova, Christo Temelsky, Petya Dimitrova i Violina Atanasova. Sofia: Izdatelska kushta “Gutenberg”. 98-107 Havliková, Lubomira (1992). Byzantská historiografie a malá bulharská kronika. Brno. Hunger, H. (1978). Die hochschprachliche profane Literarur der Byzantiner. München: C. H. Beck’sche Verlagsbuchhandlung. Istrin, V. M. (1922). Ocherk istorii drevneruskoi literatury domoskovskogo perioda (XI-XIII). Petrograd. Kaimakamova, Miliana (1990). Bulgarska srednovekovna istoriopis. Sofia: Nauka i izkustvo. ——— (1999). ‘Bulgarskata khronografia ot kraya na IX-XIV vek. (Vuznikvane, razvitie i znachenie).’ In Obshtoto i specifichnoto v balkanskite narodi do kraya na XIX vek. Sbornik v chest na 70-godishninata na prof. Vassilka Tupkova-Zaimova. Ed. Georgi Bakalov. Sofia: Izdatelska kushta “Gutenberg”. 196-211. ——— (2001). ‘Vizantiyskoto ideino-politichesko nasledstvo i bulgarskiyat prevod na Manasievata khronika.’ In Vizantiyskoto kulturno nasledstvo i Balkanite. Ed. Georgi Bakalov i Ivan Dzhambov. Plovdiv. 197-211. ——— (2002). ‘Poyava i razvitie na istoriografiyata v Bulgariy i drugite evropeiski srednovekovni durzhavi.’ In Srednovekovna khristiyanska Evropa: Iztok i Zapad.. Ed. Vassil Gjuzelev i Anisava Miltenova. Sofia: Izdatelska kushta “Gutenberg”. 544-56. ——— (2004). ‘Bulgarskiyat prevod na Manasievata khronika i Ruskiyat khronograf (1512).’ In Doaienut. Yubileen sbornik, posveten na 100-godishninata na prof. Nikolaj Michajlovich Dilevski. Ed.. Penka Filkova i Ganka Rupcheva. Sofia: Universitetsko izdatelstvo “Sv. Kliment Ochridski”. 426-48. Kooper, Erik (2002). ‘Introduction.’ In The Medieval Chronicle. II. Proceedings of the 2nd International Conference on the Medieval Chronicle. Driebergen/Utrecht 16-21 July 1999. Ed. Erik Kooper. Amsterdam-New York: Rodopi. v-vi. Krüger, Karl Heinrich (1976). Die Universalchroniken. Typology des Sources du Moyen Âge Occidenta Fasc. 16. Turnhout: Brepols. 13-64. Krumbacher, K. (1897). Geschichte der byzantinischen Literatur von Justinian bis zum Ende des Oströmischen Reiches (527-1453). Zweite Auflage bearbeitet unter Mitwirkung von A. Ehrhard und H. Gelzer. Volume I. 1897. Rpt. München / New York: Burt Franklin, 1970. Lyubarsky, Y. N. (1999). Vizantiyskie istoriki i pisateli. Sankt Peterburg: Izdatelstvo “Aleteiya”. Lampsidis, O.(1988). ‘Zur Biographie von K. Manasses und zu seiner Chronike Synopsis.’ Byzantion 1: 97-111. Mazal, Otto (1967). Der Roman des Konstantinos Mannasses. Überlieferung, Rekonstrukzion, Textausgabe der Fragmente. Wiener Byzantinische Studien, Bd. IV. Wien: in Kommission bei Hermann Böhlaus Nachf. Medvedev, I. P. (1976). Vizantiysky gumanism ɏȱV-ɏV vek. Leningrad: Izdatelstvo “Nauka”. Obolensky, D. (2000). Vizantiyskata obshtnost. Iztochna Evropa 500-1453. Sofia: Universitetsko izdatelstvo “Sv. Kliment Ochridski”. Polyvyanny, D. I. (2000). Kulturnoe svoeobrazie srednevekovoi Bolgarii v kontekste vizantiysko-slavyanskoi obshchnosti ȱɏ-ɏV vekov. Ivanovo: Ivanovskij gosudarstvenij universitet. Pope, Richard W. F. (1974). ‘Bulgaria: The Third Christian Kingdom in the Razumnik-Ukaz.’

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Slavia 2: 141-53. Popov, Ⱥ. (1866). Obzor khronografov ruskoi redaktsi. ȱ. Moscow. Salmina, Ɇ. Ⱥ. (1988). ‘Sinodal’ny spisok.’ In Srednebolgarsky perevod khroniki Konstantina Manasii v slavyanskih literaturah. Issledovaniya I. S. Dujþeva; M. A. Salminoi. Podgotovka tekstov M. A. Salminoi. Slovoukazateli O. V. Tvorogova. Sofia: Izdatelstvo Bolgarskoj Akademija. Tăpkova-Zaimova, Vassilka (1983). ‘Bulgaro-vizantiyskite otnosheniya i kontseptsiite za “vtoriya” i “tretiya” Rim.’ Izsledvaniya v chest na akademik N. Todorov. Studia Balcanica 17: 27-38. Tvorogov, Ɉ. V. (1975). Drevneruskie khronografy. Leningrad: Izdatelstvo “Nauka”. Udaltsova, Z. V. (1984). ‘Razvitie istorichesko mysli.’ In Kul’tura Vizantii ȱV- pervaya polovina Vȱȱ veka. Ed. Z. V. Udalzova. Ɇɨscow: Izdatelstvo “Nauka”. 119-271. Velinova, Vasya (2004). ‘Ukazalkata “Smotri” vuv Vatikanskiya prepis na Konstantin Manasiy.’ In Obraz I slovo. Yubileen sbornik po sluchai 60 godishninata na Prof. Aksiniya Dzurova. Ed. Vasya Velinova, Rumen Boyadzhiev i Albena Milanova. Sofia: Universitetsko izdatelstvo “Sv. Kliment Ochridski”. 497-508. Yonova, Ɇaya (2002). ‘Za nyakoi antichni syuzheti i tekhnite srednovekovni proektsii.’ In Srednovekovna khristiyanska Evropa: Iztok i Zapad. Ed. Vassil Gjuzelev i Anisava Miltenova. Sofia: Izdatelska kushta “Gutenberg”. 285-90.

REISEN DER RUSSISCHEN FÜRSTEN IN DIE HORDE: DER KULTURDIALOG IN DEN CHRONIKEN

Jitka Komendová

Abstract The study focuses on a dialogue between the home culture and the foreign culture as presented in chronicle accounts of the journeys of Russian dukes to the Mongol Golden Horde. An intercultural dialogue can be understanding or polemical; naturally, in view of the serious menace to Russia by Mongolian raids the principle of confrontation unequivocally prevailed in the sources. The most expressive descriptions of the conflicts between the two cultures are found in Lavrenti’s Chronicle, which originated in North-eastern Russia, an area that was particularly heavily affected by the Mongol raids. Whether the duke refused or accepted Mongol overlordship was not of crucial importance for the evaluation of the relation of the two cultures. Every single case is interpreted in such a way that the home culture is shown as triumphant and more valuable than the foreign culture. All the texts aim at the justification of the authors’ own culture at a time when it seemed that this culture would be subjugated to the culture of the mighty conquerors.mighty conquerors.1

Die Definierung der eigenen Kultur in der Beziehung zu fremden Kulturen stellt eine der Denkdominanten eines mittelalterlichen Gebildeten dar. Die Rus’ war von mehreren alternativen kulturellen Modellen umgeben. Neben der griechisch-slavischen orthodoxen Kultur und der Kultur des katholischen Teils Europas formierte sich ein sehr markantes Zivilisationsmodell der Steppennomaden. Im Ostseeraum entwickelten sich eigentümliche Kulturen der baltischen sowie finnougrischen Völker. Den anderen Kulturen begegneten die Bewohner der Rus’ nicht nur außerhalb der Landesgrenzen, sondern auch direkt auf dem eigenen Gebiet – ihre Träger waren Juden und Armenier in der Diaspora. Die Rus’ des 11. bis 14. Jh’s. bildete einen komplizierten Organismus, in dem ein außerordentlich lebhafter Kulturdialog möglich war. Die Autoren des russischen mittelalterlichen Schrifttums konfrontierten ihre Kultur mit den fremden Kulturmodellen und bemühten sich, die qualitative Überlegenheit der eigenen Kultur zu beweisen. Das elfte Jahrhundert war eine Epoche der Gestaltung der kulturellen Eigenart und gleichzeitig bildete sich das Bewußtsein der Identität. Das Bemühen, die eigene Stelle im allgemeinen historischen Prozess zu finden, wurde von einem Bedürfnis begleitet, sich 2 selbst gegenüber den anderen Kulturen zu definieren. Für die Periode des 12. bis 14. Jh’s. ist der politische und kulturelle Polyzentrismus charakteristisch, wobei die einzelnen Zentren mit verschiedenen Kulturen kommunizierten, zu denen sie ungleichartige Stellungen nahmen. Die Offenheit dieser lokalen

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Zentren gegenüber den fremden Kulturen ermöglichte eine beachtenswerte kulturelle Symbiose im mittelalterlichen Osteuropa. Vom Gesichtspunkt des Kulturdialogs aus sind drei große Zentren besonders wichtig – die südwestliche Rus’ (das Galizisch-Wolhynische Fürstentum), das nordöstliche Gebiet (das Fürstentum von Vladimir und Suzdal) und Novgorod. Die Bedeutung dieser Kommunikationszentren lässt sich nicht nur anhand des Schrifttums, sondern auch der anderen Kunstarten bekräftigen. Ungleichartige historische Bedingungen, in denen sich diese Kulturzonen formierten, lösten auch Reaktionen auf die äußere Welt und die fremden Kulturen aus. Die schriftlichen Quellen können zahlreiche Berichte über die Kontakte der Rus’ mit den anderen Ländern anbieten, sowie Informationen darüber, wie die fremden Kulturen wahrgenommen wurden und wie der Dialog mit ihnen 3 interpretiert wurde. Die schriftlichen Quellen reflektieren nicht den ganzen realen Dialog der Kulturen, sondern lediglich einen Teil: nur sehr selten wurde auch das Wort des Fremden zum Ausdruck gebracht, größtenteils registrierten die Quellen bloß die Stellung der eigenen Kultur zur fremden Welt. Allgemeine Gültigkeit besitzt die Tatsache, dass der Dialog entweder polemischen Charakter haben kann, oder Toleranz und Verständnis für die Worte des Gegenübers finden kann. Im ältesten Schrifttum der Rus’ konnte der Dialog der Kulturen beide Formen beinhalten, und zwar in der Abhängigkeit von Entstehungsort und Entstehungszeit des Denkmals, und sogar in Verbindung mit dem Textgenre. Während religions-didaktische Genres den eigenen Kontakt mit den Fremden als einen unversöhnlichen Kampf zwischen Gut und Böse abbildeten, beschreiben die Chroniken das Bild der fremden Kultur wesentlich mannigfaltiger und das Verhältnis zu fremden Kulturen macht verschiedene Modifikationen durch. Der Dialog der Kulturen darf nicht bei der Interpretation der Schriftdenkmäler der realen Beziehung der Rus’ zur Außenwelt gleichgesetzt werden. Es gab oft eine offene Nichtübereinstimmung zwischen den realen politischen Beziehungen sowie den kulturellen Kontakten auf der einen Seite, und den Interpretationen dieses Dialogs in den schriftlichen Quellen auf der anderen Seite. Einzelne Gebietszentren der Rus’ reagierten auf die fremden Kulturen auf verschiedene Art und Weise, ebensogut unterscheidet sich das Bild dieser Kulturen in den örtlichen Chroniken voneinander. Trotz seiner Lage an der Grenze der Rus’ geriet Novgorod im Laufe des 11. bis 14. Jh’s. nie in eine Situation der akuten Bedrohung seiner Existenz. In der Ersten Novgoroder Chronik der älteren Redaktion kam eine relativ indifferente Beziehung zu den fremden Kulturen zum Ausdruck – diese sind gut bekannt, sie stellen einen gewöhnlichen Teil des Alltagslebens dar, und deshalb fühlen die Chronisten keine Notwendigkeit, über sie ausführlich zu berichten (Novgorodskaja pervaja letopis 15-100).



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Das Gebiet von Galizien und Wolhynien war außerordentlich tolerant gegenüber der Kultur Mitteleuropas, was auch in der Galizisch-Wolhynischen Chronik zum Ausdruck gebracht wurde. Diese Quelle spricht mit Hochachtung über die Repräsentanten der katholischen Welt, z.B. über die heilige Elisabeth, und über die Erscheinungen der mitteleuropäischen Kultur (GVL 242, 374, 352). Die Konfessionsbarrieren werden durch die Idee überwunden, dass nicht nur die Orthodoxen, sondern auch die Katholiken Christen sind (GVL 316, 320). Diese Idee ist im Schrifttum der Rus’ des 11. bis 14. Jh’s. vereinzelt vertreten. Demgegenüber war für die nordöstliche Rus’ des 13. Jh’s. ein besonders intensives Gefühl einer Bedrohung kennzeichnend, was zu einer zugespitzten Konfrontation mit der umliegenden Welt führte. Gerade hier, in den Texten verschiedener Gattungen, entstand ein sehr negatives Bild der fremden Kulturen (v.a. des Katholizismus und der Mongolen) und die damit zusammen4 hängende Apotheose der eigenen Werte. Auf das Schrifttum der Rus’ übten die Feldzüge der Mongolen (Tataren) eine tiefe Wirkung aus. Das Bild der Mongolen ist nur ein kleiner Teil des Gesamtbildes der fremden Kulturen im Schrifttum der Rus’ des 11. bis 14. Jh’s. Doch die Mongoleninvasion stellte einen Bruch in der Geschichte der mittelalterlichen Rus’ dar, und deshalb empfanden die gebildeten Zeitgenossen eine sehr starke Notwendigkeit, das Verhältnis zwischen dem Eigenen und dem Fremden zu definieren. Der unerwartete Einfall der asiatischen Völker in Osteuropa ermöglicht uns, den Prozess des Kennenlernens der fremden Kultur von Anfang an gut zu beobachten. Ein markantes Beispiel der Konfrontation von zwei sehr unterschiedlichen und gegenseitig unverständlichen Kulturen stellten die Reisen in die Horde dar, wo sich die Fürsten der mongolischen Macht unterwerfen mussten. Das Bild der Mongolen im Schrifttum der Rus’ des 13. Jh’s trägt seine ausgeprägten Spezifika. Wenn die im unterschiedlichen Milieu entstandenen Texte eine ungleichartige Stellung zu den anderen Völkern und Kulturen einnehmen, dann drücken alle Schriftdenkmäler in der Beziehung zu den 5 Mongolen das Gefühl des Erschreckens und des Schauders aus. Während die Informationen über die Kontakte der Bewohner der Rus’ mit den anderen Kulturen sehr lakonisch sind, widmen die Chronisten der Gegenüberstellung der russischen Fürsten und der Mongolenkultur große Aufmerksamkeit. Für das Bild der fremden Kultur im Schrifttum der Rus’ ist charakteristisch, dass im Mittelpunkt des Interesses einerseits der fremde Glaube und der Kult standen, andererseits der Alltag, vor allem Gerichte und Getränke. Alle diese Informationen findet man in der Schilderung der Fürstenreisen in die Horde. Die Vorstellungen von der fremden Religion und der Kultur des Alltags waren miteinander verknüpft. Sehr oft wurden solche Speisen den anderen 6 Völkern zugeschrieben, die nach Ansicht der Russen ‘unrein’ waren – solche

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abscheuliche Nahrung sollte diese fremden Kulturen ganz diskreditieren. Die Galizisch-Wolhynische Chronik gibt an, dass der Fürst Daniil bei dem Khan Batu Kumys trinken musste, und dann, als er Kumys getrunken hat (‘Ty uže naš’ že totarin’’ [Du bist schon unsereiner, ein Tatar]), wurde ihm Wein angeboten (GVL 314). Diese Details sind kein Selbstzweck, denn es wurde ihnen ein transzendenter Sinn zugeschrieben. In der Rus’ war die Vorstellung verbreitet, dass man durch die fremde Nahrung seinen Glauben verlieren könne, was vor allem die Reisebeschreibung Wilhelms von Rubruk zeigt (Itinerarium 191). Nach der Vorstellung des Chronisten musste also der Fürst in der Horde zusammen mit dem Getränk auch die fremde Kultur annehmen, die Getränke funktionieren hier als ein Zeichen, das das Verhältnis der eigenen und der fremden Kultur zum Ausdruck bringt. Ein sehr breites Meinungsspektrum von der Macht und Kultur der Mongolen erfasst die Laurentiuschronik. Die Erzählung über den Mongolensturm in der Laurentiuschronik (Polnoe sobranie russkich letopisej 196-201) ist eben noch exaltierter als die analogischen Texte in der Galizisch-Wolhynischen Chronik (GVL 290-314) und in der Ersten Novgoroder Chronik der älteren Redaktion (Novgorodskaja pervaja letopis 74-77), denn die nordöstliche Rus’ wurde von den Mongolen besonders schwer verwüstet. Die Mongolen seien eine Gottesbestrafung für die Sünden der Christen, und gleichzeitig wird der Krieg mit den Mongolen als Kampf für den Glauben interpretiert. Die Russen sterben ‘za svjatuju Bogorodicju i za pravovernuju veru chrest’jan’skuju’ (für die heilige Gottesmutter und den orthodoxen Glauben; Polnoe sobranie russkich letopisej 197). So verbindet die Laurentiuschronik den Mongolensturm ganz eindeutig mit dem Kampf gegen die Orthodoxie, was der realen indifferenten Beziehung der Mongolen zu den anderen Religionen widerspricht. Die Mongolenexpansion hatte keine religiöse Dimension. Doch der Glaube stellt einen der wichtigsten Teile der Identität jeder traditionellen Kultur dar, und deshalb bildete sich im Denken des mittelalterlichen Gelehrten ein direkter Zusammenhang zwischen dem Angriff gegen die Rus’ und dem Kampf gegen alle Werte, die der Sphäre des Eigenen angehörten. Diese Wahrnehmung der Mongolenfeldzüge wurde u.a. durch die Tatsache hervorgehoben, dass die Mongolen die heiligen Orte der Rus’ und deren Heligtümer nicht respektierten. Die Laurentiuschronik enthält Berichte über verschiedene Vertreter der Fürstendynastie, die sich mit der mongolischen Macht und mit deren Kultur abfinden mussten. Die Schöpfer der Laurentiuschronik bringen sehr nachdrücklich die Fremdheit der mongolischen Kultur zum Ausdruck. Die Fürsten allerdings, von denen in der Chronik berichtet wird, bezogen gegen die Macht der Mongolen sehr unterschiedliche Standpunkte. In der Chronik gibt es eine Erzählung über die Gefangenschaft des Fürsten Vasilko Konstantinoviþ von Rostov (Polnoe sobranie russkich letopisej 198). Später wird der



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Großfürst Jaroslav von Vladimir und Suzdal mit der Macht des Khans Batu konfrontiert (Polnoe sobranie russkich letopisej 201). Unmittelbar darauf wird über den Fürsten Michail von ýernigov in der Horde erzählt. Weiterhin schreibt der Chronist über die Begegnung von Alexander Nevski mit dem mongolischen Herrscher sowie über den Fürsten Andrej Jaroslaviþ (Polnoe sobranie russkich letopisej 202). Die Stellung der einzelnen Fürsten zu den Mongolen ist ziemlich differenziert. Der Großfürst Jaroslav Vsevolodoviþ sowie sein Sohn Alexander entschieden sich für eine pragmatische Mitarbeit mit den Mongolen. Andrej flüchtet aus dem Land, Vasilko und Michail wählen den Tod. Auch die Motivierung ist unterschiedlich: Andrej flüchtet aus rein politischen Gründen, denn er lehnt ab ‘carem’’ služiti’ (den Zaren zu dienen; Polnoe sobranie 7 russkich letopisej 202). Michail stirbt, weil er von den Mongolen zu solchen Taten gezwungen wird, die dem Christentum widersprechen: ‘… velja emu poklonitisja ognevi i bolvanom’’ ich’’ (Sie befahlen ihm, sich vor dem Feuer und ihren Götzen zu verbeugen). Michails Tod wird polemisch interpretiert, die Mongolen zwingen ihn, seine eigenen Werte abzulehnen, worauf der Fürst durch einen Gegenangriff antwortet und das Fremde verunglimpft: ‘ukori i i gluchyja ego kumiry’ (Er schmähte sie und die tauben Götzen; Polnoe sobranie russkich letopisej 201). Dagegen schweigt der Chronist im Fall Alexanders und Jaroslavs von dem Zwiespalt zwischen den eigenen und fremden Werten, seiner Interpretation nach initieren die Mongolen die Begegnung, weil sie den russischen Fürsten ihre Achtung erweisen wollten: Batyj že poþti Jaroslava velikoju þest’ju, i muži ego, i otpusti i, rek’’ emu: ‘Jaroslave! budi ty starej vsem’’ knjazem’’ v’’ Russkom’’ jazyce.’ Jaroslav že v’’zvratisja v’’ svoju zemlju, s’’ velikoju þest’ju. (Polnoe sobranie russkich letopisej 201) (Batu verehrte Jaroslav und seine Männer sehr, und entließ sie mit den Worten: ‘Jaroslav! Sei der älteste unter allen Fürsten im russischen Volk.’ Jaroslav kehrte mit großer Hochachtung in sein Land zurück.)

Das Eigene wird so mittels des Fremden noch mehr erhoben. Das Schicksal des Fürsten Vasilko Konstantinoviþ wird ausführlich beschrieben (Polnoe sobranie russkich letopisej 198). Die Mongolen zwangen ihn, sich ihren heidnischen Sitten anzupassen und auf ihrer Seite zu kämpfen. Vasilko versteht das als eine Aufforderung, seinen christlichen Glauben abzulehnen, und der Chronist schreibt ihm eine leidenschaftliche Verteidigung des eigenen Glaubens und die Verurteilung des Fremden zu. Der absolute Gegensatz zwischen der Welt der eigenen, positiven Werte und dem Fremden wird in der Chronik auch mittels eines ästhetischen Kontrastes erzielt – während Vasilko schön ist, ‘licem’’ krasen’’, oþima svetel’’ ’ (sein Gesicht war schön und die Augen hell), sind die Mongolen nicht als Leute, sondern als Tiere dargestellt. Ihre Abbildung in der Chronik entspricht den wilden

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Raubtieren: sie knirschen mit den Zähnen, dürsten nach Blut und fressen Menschen. Die tiefe Kluft zwischen dem Eigenen und dem Fremden ist unüberbrückbar. Vasilko blieb seiner Überzeugung treu und wurde von den Mongolen getötet. Das Fremde wurde seiner Schändlichkeit überführt und der Märtyrertod bedeutet für den Fürsten Vasilko das Heil. Die Chronik legt verschiedene Varianten der Beziehung der ganz unterschiedlichen Kulturen vor: auf der einen Seite stehen Michail und Vasilko, die das Fremde anklagen und den Dialog ablehnen, auf der anderen Seite stehen Jaroslav und Alexander, die den Weg der Mitarbeit mit dem Fremden wählen. Kein literarisches Denkmal zweifelt Alexanders Treue gegenüber dem Christentum an, obwohl er genau die Forderungen akzeptierte, die für Michail und Vasilko unannehmbar waren. Der Chronist scheint sich zu widersprechen, denn er bewertet sowohl die mit den Mongolen mitarbeitenden Fürsten positiv, als auch diejenigen, die diesen Weg ablehnten, was sie das Leben kostete. Doch handelt es sich um keinen Widerspruch. Vergleichen wir die Stellung der einzelnen Fürsten zum Fremden in der Interpretation des Chronisten, dann erfahren wir, dass alle Lösungen des Zwiespaltes zwischen der eigenen und der fremden Kultur einen gemeinsamen Zug haben: der eigene Fürst kann nie falsch handeln und in der Konfrontation des Eigenen mit dem Fremden kann das Eigene nie besiegt werden. Der Märtyrertod, belobende Anerkennung oder die Rettung vor den Verfolgern seien verschiedene Varianten vom Sieg der eigenen Kultur, des Guten und d.h. auch Gottes. Das Bild der Mongolen in der Laurentiuschronik und auch in weiteren Schriftdenkmälern der Rus’ zeigt, dass der Dialog unterschiedlicher Kulturen sehr mannigfaltig und wechselhaft verlief, es war also unmöglich, ihn auf einfache und statische Oppositionen des Guten und Bösen einzuschränken. Die Chronisten mussten sich mit dieser Tatsache auseinandersetzen, was natürlich keineswegs bedeutete, dass die Grundwerte der eigenen Kultur in Zweifel gestellt wurden. Jede Kultur nimmt sich selbst als einzige echte Kultur wahr, und die fremde Welt wird als eine Antistruktur zur eigenen Kultur interpretiert. Dieser Denkprozess ist ein unbedingter Schritt zur Selbstdefinierung. In den schriftlichen Quellen der Rus’ des 11. bis 14. Jh’s. wurden vor allem die Polemik und der Zwiespalt zwischen den Kulturen reflektiert. Obwohl der Kulturdialog im mittelalterlichen Osteuropa sehr lebhaft war und eine außerordentliche historische Bedeutung hatte, wurden das Prinzip der Toleranz zu den ungleichartigen Kulturen sowie eine Möglichkeit des Nebeneinanderlebens in den Quellen des 11. bis 14. Jh’s. noch nicht explizit, sondern nur nebenbei, implizit zum Ausdruck gebracht.



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Anmerkungen 

1. Translated by Antonin Kalous. 2. Vgl. Mitropolit Ilarion, Slovo o zakone i blagodati und Povest’ vremennych let. 3. Es wurden folgende Quellen analysiert: Galicko-Volynskaja letopis’ (GVL), Kievo-Peþerskij paterik, Lavrentjevskaja letopis, Novgorodskaja pervaja letopis’ staršego izvoda, ‘Slova’ Serapiona Vladimirskogo, Slovo o pogibeli Russkoj zemli (Slovo), Žitie Aleksandra Nevskogo (Žitie Aleksandra). 4. Slovo 130-31; Žitie Aleksandra 426-39. 5. Nebst den Chroniken vgl. auch ‘Slova’ Serapiona Vladimirskogo 440, Žitie Aleksandra 426-39, Slovo 130-31. 6. Vgl. z.B. Povest’ vremennych let 30, 98-100, Kievo-Peþerskij paterik 614, 616. 7. Den Titel Zar benutzt der Chronist für den mongolischen Khan.

Bibliographie Quellen Galicko-Volynskaja letopis. Ed. O. P. Lichaþeva. In Pamjatniki. 236-425. [GVL] Lavrentjevskaja i Troickaja letopisi. In Polnoe sobranie russkich letopisej. Bd. I. Sankt Peterburg, 1846. Kievo-Peþerskij paterik. Ed. L. A. Dmitriev. In Pamjatniki literatury Drevnej Rusi: XII vek. Moskva, 1980. 412-623. Mitropolit Ilarion: Slovo o zakone i blagodati. Ed. A. M. Moldovan. In Pamjatniki literatury drevnej Rusi: XVII vek. Buch 3. Moskva 1994. 583-619. Novgorodskaja pervaja letopis staršego i mladšego izvodov. Ed. A. N. Nasonov. Moskva / Leningrad, 1950. Pamjatniki literatury Drevnej Rusi. XIII vek. Moskva, 1981. [Pamjatniki] Povest’ vremennych let. Ed. O. V. Tvorogov. In Pamjatniki literatury Drevnej Rusi. Naþalo russkoj literatury. XI – naþalo XII veka. Moskva, 1978. 22-277. [Rubruc] Itinerarium Willelmi de Rubruc. In Sinica Franciscana. Bd. I. Itinera et relationes Fratrum Minorum saeculi XIII et XIV. Ed. P. Anastasius van den Wyngaert O.F.M. Florentiae, 1928. 164-332. ‘Slova’ Serapiona Vladimirskogo. Ed. V. V. Kolesov. In Pamjatniki. 440-55. Slovo o pogibeli Russkoj zemli. Ed. L. A. Dmitriev. In Pamjatniki. 130-31. [Slovo] Žitie Aleksandra Nevskogo. Ed. V. I. Ochotnikova. In Pamjatniki. 426-39. [Žitie Aleksandra] Sekundärliteratur Jurganov, Andrej L’voviþ (1998). Kategorii russkoj srednevekovoj kul’tury. Moskva. Lotman, Jurij Michajloviþ (1993). ‘Kul’tura kak subjekt i sama sebe objekt.’ In Izbrannye stat’i v trech tomach. Bd. III. Tallin. 368-75. Schmieder, Felicitas (1994). Europa und die Fremden. Die Mongolen im Urteil des Abendlandes vom 13. bis in das 15. Jahrhundert. Sigmaringen.

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REMEMBERING THE BARBARIAN PAST 1 ORAL TRADITIONS ABOUT THE DISTANT PAST IN THE MIDDLE AGES

Marco Mostert

Abstract 7KH 2OG(QJOLVK SRHP 'HRU VXUYLYLQJ LQ D WHQWKFHQWXU\ 06 ([HWHU %RRN  PHQWLRQV (UPDQDULFK D KLVWRULFDO NLQJ RI WKH 2VWURJRWKV RI WKH IRXUWK FHQWXU\ 5HIHUHQFHVWRWKHVDPHNLQJKDGDOVREHHQPDGHE\$PPLDQXV0DUFHOOLQXVIRXUWK FHQWXU\ DQG-RUGDQHVODWHVL[WKFHQWXU\ ZKRXVHGDQRZORVW WH[WE\&DVVLRGRUH HDUO\VL[WKFHQWXU\ 7KHVHHDUOLHUUHIHUHQFHVFDQEHXQGHUVWRRGLQWKHOLJKWRIWKH 2VWURJRWKV· HWKQRJHQHVLV 7KHUH LV KRZHYHU QR FRQWLQXLW\ RI DQ\ VRUW EHWZHHQ DXWKRUDQGDXGLHQFHRI 'HRUDQGWKRVHRI$PPLDQXV0DUFHOOLQXVDQG&DVVLRGRUH -RUGDQHV8VLQJLQVLJKWVREWDLQHGWKURXJKWKHKLVWRULFDODQGDQWKURSRORJLFDOVWXG\RI RUDO WUDGLWLRQ LW LVVXJJHVWHG WKDWE\WKH WHQWKFHQWXU\DQ\VWRU\DERXW (UPDQDULFK IHOO LQWKH FDWHJRU\RIVWRULHVWKDWPLJKWEHHLWKHU¶WUXH·RU¶QRWWUXH·DQGZHUHQRW OLQNHG WR LGHQWLILDEOH VRFLDO JURXSV)RUDQ DXGLHQFHRI LOOLWHUDWHVVXFK VWRULHV DQG VWRULHVGHDOLQJZLWKWKHSDVWRIRQH·VRZQJURXSIXOILOOHGGLIIHUHQWIXQFWLRQV

At the end of the tenth century the so-called Exeter Book was copied by one scribe (Crossley-Holland 1979: 9-10). This manuscript, one of four AngloSaxon collections which together transmit virtually all that is known of Old English poetry, was given by bishop Leofric († 1072) to the cathedral of Exeter (whence its name). The manuscript contains a largish number of Old English poems, almost all of which are anonymous and without title. In an apparent muddle we find long poems, short poems and riddles, and next to one another we find poems on religious and secular themes, No order is apparent, so that it is difficult to establish why the scribe was interested in the poems he chose to include. One of these poems is known as Deor (Malone 1933; Gordon 1954: 712). It occurs only in this manuscript, and for that reason it is difficult to say anything about the time and place of its composition, other than that it is an Old English poem, and that was copied at the end of the tenth century in Exeter Book. A fictitious bard, Deor, gives five examples in the poem of human fate, such as they were known in Germanic epic poetry. These examples he compares with his own deplorable situation: he has lost his job because his lord has found another bard. Every ‘destiny’ ends with a refrain. In Gordon’s translation: ‘That passed away, so may this’. The fifth example reads: We have heard of the wolfish mind of Eormanric; he held wide sway in the kingdom of the Goths; he was a savage king. Many a warrior sat, bound by sorrow, expecting woe, often wishing his kingdom should be overcome. (Gordon 1954: 72)

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Here mention is made of Ermanarich, a historical king of the Ostrogoths from the line of the Amalungs. He founded an impressive empire in the present-day Ukraine, and is thought to have killed himself when the Huns and Alans invaded his realm in 376. That, at least, is what Ammianus Marcellinus relates, a contemporary Greek historian who wrote in Latin. Ammianus wrote a continuation of the Annals of Tacitus in the form of a historiographical work in 31 books in which he recounted history from the year 96, when the emperor Nerva made his entry, until the battle of Adrianople in 378. Of his work the last 18 books survive, describing history from 353 onwards. In the third chapter of the last book he writes indifferently that Ermanarich was a bellicosissimus rex, who out of fear chose a voluntaria mors (Seyfarth, Jacob-Karau and Ulmann 1978). That is all, but it is at least enough to consider Ermanarich to have been a historical king of the Goths of the fourth century. The question I would like to address in this paper is the following: Why did the poet of Deor (or: the scribe who included Deor in Exeter Book) show an interest in an ancient king of the Goths? If Ermanarich existed, so did many other kings. Why did his memory survive the centuries? What functions could his memory have had outside the tribes which together made up the people of the Ostrogoths? Why was the Ostrogothic past remembered in tenth-century England at all? Why did this tradition end up in Exeter Book? In order to answer these questions, we will first have to deal with a number of preliminary matters. We may take it that stories about Ostrogoths originated either among the Ostrogoths themselves, or among the populations of the Roman Empire with whom they became acquainted. Ammianus Marcellinus wrote ‘from the outside’, and his view of Ermanarich may be coloured differently from that of the king among his own people. The Goths of the fourth century were to all intents and purposes an illiterate people, whose social organization, as far as we can tell, was only slightly touched by the written word, if that. We must therefore ask ourselves first, how traditions arise among illiterate groups, how they are transmitted, and for what purposes they may be adapted in their transmission. To this end we will look at some of the results of the attention given to oral tradition in recent years by historians and anthropologists. On the basis of this knowledge, we may be in a position to evaluate the mentions of Ermanarich in Ammianus Marcellinus, in Deor, and in a third text, the Getica of Jordanes, written in the sixth century. Let us commence with a discussion of oral tradition in general. How does a tradition originate? Which choices are made, consciously or unconsciously, to remember or forget certain matters, or to transmit them? How does one arrive from lived memory at fixed tradition? In the Middle Ages the fixation of exact facts in the memory of living men was by no means a spontaneous operation (see De la Roncière 1983). Memory was embedded in the return of the seasons and the feasts that went with them. Dating was done according the time of certain agricultural actions.



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Changes from one year to the next, by contrast, seem to have been far less important. That something happened at harvest time was far more noteworthy than the question whether the event happened in the year 1206 or 1207. First of all, events are remembered which have a bearing on one’s own, personal life: births, marriages, accidents, acts of violence. These memories acquire a form when they are embedded in the memory of a group, a collectivity. In a sense, a group can be seen as a living and acting being that is dependent on memories for its survival. This holds true for families, manors, and geographical entities. Every individual has his or her own memories of infancy, apprenticeship, and local events. These individual memories are enriched by stories about other, distant events. News enters the group; information is transmitted from one generation to the next within the family, and by the master to his pupil. Within families, stories are told about one’s own clan, about members of the family who live elsewhere, so that the memory of the group does not perish. Within a community of peasants or farmers memories of the visits of armed horsemen or of important clerics may occur. For such memories to persist, they have to take root in a suitable social environment. Very often memories are forged at the same time the group itself is formed. This group is conscious of its separate identity, which is independent, and which aims to continue itself. This has been observed in the case of families and lineages, political constellations such as counties or hundreds, or in those of royal families. Problems of identity and survival are decided in struggles with other groups. Groups that call upon the antiquity of their memories in order to forge their own identity and power, need to control their memories. How can they make sure that the fragility of physical memory does not deliver them unto oblivion? How is it possible to construe a solid tradition (see Connerton 1989; Fentress and Wickham 1992)? To this end one may make use of three media. First of all, after several generations there may be remains of the events to be remembered. There may be objects, be they unique or from the sphere of daily life, around which stories or legends may be formed, due to the objects’ prestigious, magical, or affective value. These objects may be petrified giants, a valuable crucifix, booty from an ancient battle, houses, castles, towers, emblems, graves, or other traces of, e.g., the taking root of a dynasty. Next, memory may stick to rites and rituals, liturgical invocations, certain words and names, old customs (see Nora 1989; Roymans 1995). And finally, memories may be committed to writing, or may be deemed to adhere to certain written texts such as inscriptions, the notices in a liber vitae, or annals. The oldest annals and chronicles surviving from the Middle Ages are very laconic; much more seems to have been taken as read than was actually written down. The mention of a single name, for instance the name of a battlefield or that of the victor, may have been sufficient for contemporaries to evoke the story of the battle from their memories. According to Plummer, the editor of amongst other things the Anglo-Saxon Chronicle, ‘that which to us seems a lean and barren

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sentence, was to them the text for a winter evening’s entertainment’ (Plummer 1892-9, 2: XXI). The exact meaning of a memory prop, whether we are dealing with objects, rituals or annals, was known only to a select group of persons. To know the message of an object, one needed to learn from the happy few who controlled the memory of the longue durée. These did not necessarily have to be professional remembrancers: it could be old servants, monks or laymen. Usually, or so it seems, memory was controlled by men of venerable age, or men who (in case a memory was thought to stick to a place) had a privileged link with a lieu de mémoire (see Clanchy 1970). And finally there were also those who, in the Middle Ages too, did research in order to find out about the past, and who were not so different from historians in the modern sense of the word. Just as nowadays, these ‘historians’ controlled the choice of the facts which were deemed interesting (see Guenée 1980: 77-128; Mostert 1999a: 241-2). Through these means and through these people a fixation of memory may occur, determined and durable, a tradition which may spread within the social group for whose survival it has been developed. Tradition thus adds new materials to the living memory of the group. Tradition means that there is at least some certainty of conquering oblivion. Tradition, sometimes distinguished in the fama publica of that which is commonly said, and the mos maiorum, an intangible memory which helps a community to take root the more easily, impresses itself upon personal memory as well, upon that which one knows de visu et auditu (De la Roncière 1983: 275; Marchal 1988; Adamska 2001). Thus tradition feeds the pride, the patriotism, and the prestige of the community which through remembering thinks to relive its past. Often born from the struggle for the community’s identity, the tradition is truly manufactured or ‘invented’ (see Hobsbawm and Ranger 1983). Because of their origin, traditions about the past do not always easily become common knowledge beyond the community in which they were developed and where, at set times, they obtained a new lease of life through remembering. Traditions are of vital importance to communities; they feed their struggles and their hopes for the future. Strangers may only learn about them by asking about the traditions; the answer they receive might be rather different from the version intended for the community (De la Roncière 1983: 277-8). On the other hand, if a certain tradition seems to occur in different communities, far apart in time and space, then we have to assume that those communities identified in some way with the contents of that tradition. Not only in the western Middle Ages, oral traditions are linked to the groups whose actions they purport to describe – possibly even more so than written traditions. Traditions are social constructs, a circumstance with implications both for their contents and the ways in which they are transmitted. Apparently, people living in a state of what Walter Ong would call ‘primary



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orality’ tend to be interested especially in the history of their own ancestors (see Schott 1964). The more organized the groups, the more matter there seems to be for inclusion in the stories about their (real or imagined) ancestors. Hunters and gatherers who live in relatively simple family structures have a very simple view of the past. Whenever the ancestors are revered in a cultic manner, the consciousness of the past develops accordingly. Ancestor worship seems to occur when social organization has acquired a certain degree of complexity. The finer the nuances of social organization, the further back in time social memory goes. Often knowledge about the past is cultivated in certain welldefined families, who are also in control politically. They ensure a chronology based on genealogies or lists of ancestors. The organization of these genealogies and lists allows the remembrancers to go back many (real or imagined) generations, thus adding the aura of antiquity to the arrogance of their political power (Dumville 1977; Althoff 1988). Traditions which come about in illiterate groups, and which survive because they fulfil a social function, are controlled both as to their content and to their form by the limitations of human memory. All information about the past has to be stored in physical memory, and for this reason alone knowledge of the past amongst illiterates has other characteristics than knowledge of the past among literates. The distinction between fact and fiction is less clear among illiterates, who are dependent for all their knowledge of the past on what they hear in their surroundings. They do not have the possibility to check the truthfulness of what is of necessity hearsay. If two versions of a story about the same event are heard, stories which differ on points of detail, the illiterate will have severe difficulties in choosing between those two versions. Physical memory comes to the rescue through its ability and tendency to distort whatever is stored in it. If information becomes incomprehensible because of this process, it will be forgotten. This will happen to one of the two versions of an event. If the surviving version in turn becomes unintelligible, it, too, will be forgotten. And because there is no written account of the event, the event will be forgotten forever. Historical events, the memory of which no longer aid the survival of a group, will no longer be remembered – or at least: their memory will be adapted to the changing social circumstances (Ong 1982: 57-68). When illiterates look back further than the short span of time their frail memories allow them to grasp, everything before the span of two or three generations is not history in our sense of verifiable statements about the past, but myth. Viewed in this light genealogies, common law, religious represent2 ations and stories may all be part and parcel of myth. This myth is neither true nor untrue, neither correct nor incorrect. If a genealogy can be transmitted only through an unaided physical memory, there is simply no way of checking whether the genealogy is correct. Irrespective of whether myths are correct or not according to us, apparently they are functional within the society in which they have their being. Myth is valuable, exactly because it is a-historical: the

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pattern it describes, according to Claude Lévi-Strauss, is timeless. Myth explains the past, the present and the future. Hence all versions of a tradition are equally valuable. According to Lévi-Strauss a myth may be defined as the sum total of all its versions, or, to put it differently, a myth remains the same as long as it is felt to be the same (Lévi-Strauss 1963: 209). In this vision of myth, which was quoted approvingly by Michael Clanchy (Clanchy 1970: 168), the perception of the distant past by the illiterate is just as much part of myth as all the other ingredients that make up the memory of a social group. The perception of the Barbarian past in the Middle Ages remains an elusive object of research. Oral tradition, its main vehicle, could exist only thanks to its continuous retelling. If, with Lévi-Strauss and Clanchy, we consider this perception of the past as part of myth, we need to consider that myth to be the sum of all its performances. However, we only have one or at most a few performances at our disposal: those that someone found interesting enough to write down. That performance (or version) must have been close to the tradition as it was perceived at the time the text was written down. We can try nevertheless to say something, aided in our interpretation by the results of historical and anthropological thought about oral tradition, about the information regarding Ermanarich as it reached the poet of Deor. Let us therefore return to Ermanarich, the fourth-century king of the Ostrogoths whose memory lasted until the tenth century and even, as we will see, beyond. We have seen how Ammianus Marcellinus, a contemporary of Ermanarich, mentioned his suicide. We next hear about Ermanarich in a sixth3 century text, the Getica of Jordanes (Mommsen 1882). Jordanes was a Goth or an Alan, and probably the bishop of Kroton, and afterwards of Constantinople. He wrote a valuable history of the Goths, the De origine actibusque Getarum, which nowadays is considered to be an extract of the (lost) homonymous work by Cassiodore. Flavius Magnus Aurelius Cassiodorus in his turn lived in the first half of the sixth century and was, after having been a Roman consul in 514, a statesman at the court of the Ostrogothic king Theodoric. Theodoric was born in 451, and stemmed from the same house as Ermanarich, that of the Amalungs. After an adventurous youth, in 488 he made a pact with the Emperor which allowed him to enter Italy. He defeated Odoacer and, after he had been made king in 493, in 497 he obtained imperial recognition of his kingdom. A durable kingdom developed, in which Goths and Romans could live reasonably peacefully together. In his works Cassiodore, a Roman in the service of a Germanic king, tried in a way to reconcile things Roman with things Germanic. In Cassiodore’s history of the Goths as summarized by Jordanes we read about Ermanarich that, when the people of the Rosomones defected to the Huns, the king had Sunilda, a Rosomone woman, quartered by horses to avenge this treason. Her brothers, Sarus and Ammius, took revenge and wounded Ermanarich gravely. Hence Ermanarich was incapable of leading the resistance



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against the Huns and died at the venerable age of 110 years (see Wolfram 1990). It is clear that the contemporary story of Ammianus Marcellinus is rather different from that of Cassiodore-Jordanes. Ammianus had written from the outside, as he had no emotional tie with the Ostrogoths. Cassiodore-Jordanes, on the contrary, wrote in a sense from the inside. Cassiodore may not have been an Ostrogoth, he nevertheless tried to give an Ostrogothic view of the Ostrogoths’ own history. And not only did he have access to traditions within the ethnic unity of the Goths, he even had access to the traditions transmitted 4 within the family of Ermanarich and Theodoric. Those traditions were to have an extremely long life, for stories about Ermanarich were eventually to crop up not only in the society in which the poet of Deor lived, but also in various clusters of sagas – just as stories about Theodoric did, who became known to German literature as Dietrich von Bern, undeniably the most famous hero of German history and literature. But how did this knowledge arrive within earshot of the poet of Deor? We may assume that the story about Ermanarich as it was told by CassiodoreJordanes was a tradition alive among the Amalung family, first of all, and then among the Ostrogoths in general. It may have been meant to rationalize the infamy of a family member and king. The suicide of Ermanarich, a deed unworthy of a king, was explained away by making him the victim of revenge. That tradition had a function within the Amalung family and within the Ostrogothic people. With its aid they could distinguish themselves from other groups of Germans and Romans; it helped their ethnic consciousness. However, the poet of Deor was no Ostrogoth. Indeed, in the tenth century, when the copy of Deor was made, there was not a single Ostrogoth left. They had disappeared from the stage in 522, when their last king, Teja, lost the last battle of his people, somewhere between Naples and Salerno, against the imperial warlord Narses. This means that the tradition of Ermanarich no longer benefited the continuity of either persons or peoples (cf. Bausinger 1969). Nor is there continuity of time, because there is a chasm between 376, the year in which the events took place which gave rise to the tradition, and the days of Deor.’s scribe. Similarly, there is no continuity between the beginning of the sixth century (Cassiodore) or the end of the sixth century (Jordanes) on the one hand and Deor on the other. Although the poet of Deor hardly indicates what the tradition about Ermanarich he mentions was actually about, it is clear that there must have been significant differences between the story the poet knew and that told to Cassiodore-Jordanes. There is hardly any continuity of contents. In Deor we hear of a king with a ‘wolfish mind’, who is not exactly put in a favourable light. He had been a ‘savage king’, and many warriors hoped for the ruin of his kingdom. If ever an Ostrogothic tradition is behind these statements, it must have been changed completely. The tradition as related by Cassiodore-Jordanes

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had been helpful in counteracting the suicide story of Ammianus Marcellinus. Through it, Ermanarich got a positive role, which was due to him as a member of Theodoric’s family and as king of the Ostrogoths. If any negative elements still remained for treatment by Cassiodore-Jordanes at all, they might have had something to do with the problem of the ‘old king’, for Ermanarich dies at the age of 110 and by then is not capable of doing anything much. The problem what to do with old kings occupied the mind of the poet of Beowulf as well. This epic is, just like Deor, known only from a single manuscript from about the year 1000 (Alexander 1973; Zupitza and Davis 1959). In this epic, the old king is exemplified in the person of Hrothgar. His age has to be respected, because age in itself represents value. But at the same time the old king is despised, because in a world of violent physical action he is severely handicapped. Hrothgar is therefore depicted as a king invested with all formal dignity, but at the same time as an impotent king. His martial deeds, done when he was still young, are praised, and his power is made clear, but at the same time he suffers from the kind of impotent rage which the Anglo-Saxons called torn: he sings about his lost youth and power (Irving 1987). Ermanarich, too, is an old king, and it would have been possible to depict him in the same ambiguous way. However, this did not happen in Cassiodore-Jordanes. Ermanarich seems to be a positive figure through and through. Yet in Deor Ermanarich is depicted negatively. Why did the image of Ermanarich change? Were there, apart from the tradition written down by Cassiodore-Jordanes, maybe other traditions about Ermanarich in circulation? In the thirteenth century, in German and Scandinavian literature, there were several epic poems dealing with Theodoric (Heinzle, Ott & Metzner 1985; Haubrichs 1995: 84-92, 371-2; Heinzle 1999; Fried 2004: 284-9; Curschmann 2005). The king of the Ostrogoths had changed into Dietrich von Bern (in which name Verona, the ‘capital’ of the Ostrogoths, had been Germanized into Bern). In several of these stories Ermanarich (Germanized as Ermrich) tries, as king of Rome (sic!) to lay his hands on the lands of Theodoric, the North of Italy. Ermanarich is defeated, but several of his men are captured and Theodoric prefers to give up his lands rather than eat the fruits of victory while his faithful languish in prison. He voluntarily goes into exile at the court of Attila (Germanized as Etzel), the king of the Huns, and thereupon defeats Ermanarich several times. The idea of the voluntary exile also occurred in the German Hildebrandslied, written down at the beginning of the ninth century (Haubrichs 1995: 116-27, 381). In that poem, a Germanic prince living in exile at the court of the Hunnish monarch is mentioned. It is therefore possible that the poet of Deor knew of a tradition about Theodoric in which Ermanarich played the role of wicked king. We may wonder in how far in Deor, not to mention the German and Scandinavian texts of the thirteenth century, we may still look for attempts to say something about the Barbarian past. Does the tradition, apart from the



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names of Ermanarich, Theodoric and Attila, still deal with the period of the migrations? Are we not dealing, rather, with a good story, the motives of which have agglutinated around Theodoric cum suis? It is clear that, in order to obtain information about the Ostrogothic king Ermanarich, we would consult Ammianus Marcellinus, and possibly Cassiodore-Jordanes, rather than the Hildebrandslied, Deor, or even later texts. But that may be because of our ingrained habit of building our vision of the past with the building blocks of 5 dated and localized ‘facts’. We consider a history to be ‘true’ because it consists of verifiable fact. However, for the majority of illiterate or semi-literate men of the Middle Ages the past did not have to be reduced to history in our sense, provided the past were ‘true’ in the sense that it was meaningful and therefore reliable (see Mostert 2006). If we remind ourselves that everything that lay further back than two or three generations belonged to the era of myth (in the sense of Levi-Strauss and Clanchy), and that one of the characteristics of that era was exactly its inamenability to verification, it seems as if we have to 6 ask different questions. The matter of Ermanarich and Theodoric could apparently fulfil a function different from the social function that traditions about these two Ostrogothic kings had played for their own family and people. For their people no longer existed, and traditions about the Ostrogoths thereby fell under the heading of stories which might or might not be true (in our terms: stories which 7 might contain either ‘fact’ or ‘fiction’), and were not linked to identifiable social groups. Because the traditions about Ermanarich and Theodoric were good stories, which in their telling could be adapted to convey all sorts of different messages, these traditions could become part of the common stock of stories about the distant past that were thought interesting by the Germanic peoples. The story, rather than the fact that the story had its origin with the Ostrogoths, became more important than its original function as a tradition about a distinct group’s past. It took place in the mythical era that preceded the past that could be remembered by physical memory unaided by writing (but see Hauck 1963: 137-40). The story was ‘true’ in the same way that other stories about the past were ‘true’, because it fulfilled the role of entertaining its public and teaching it something to boot. Not all stories dealing with events in the past needed to deal with one’s own group in order to be memorable. We have followed the traditions about Ermanarich and Theodoric from the fourth and the sixth centuries until the thirteenth century. In the thirteenth century, when a number of written literatures in the vernacular flourished, we cannot possibly consider the public of these traditions as illiterates any longer. Oral traditions about the Barbarian past by then have been enriched by written traditions in the vernacular. And those written traditions were indebted to written traditions in Latin, the language of the clergy and of power, in which the earliest mentions of Ermanarich and Theodoric had been written down by historiographers of the fourth and sixth centuries. We may wonder whether the

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vernacular texts of the thirteenth century (or the version of Deor written down in the tenth century) reflect in any way oral traditions about Ermanarich and Theodoric. And we may wonder whether there are traces of the knowledge of Ammianus Marcellinus or Cassiodore-Jordanes in either the oral traditions we may surmise, or in the vernacular written ‘transcripts’ of those oral traditions. In most cases we cannot possibly answer these questions. That is not to say that they should not be put. But I hope to have shown, albeit only tentatively, how an understanding of the making of oral tradition as it can be reconstructed by historians and anthropologists, and a consideration of the functions of oral tradition may help to understand why traditions about the distant, Barbarian past could continue to be adapted, attuned to new situations, and in the process become virtually unrecognizable. It is only through simultaneously addressing the questions posed by philologists and those posed by historians and anthropologists that our knowledge on the perceptions of the Barbarian past in de Middle Ages may increase.

Notes

1. The bibliography is extremely rich. In this paper only the most important literature can be referred to. More can be found in Mostert 1999a (esp. 234-42). A second, augmented edition of this bibliography will be published in 2006. 2. See, e.g., the Introduction to the Laws of Alfred the Great (871-899), in Keynes and Lapidge (1983: 163-64). 3. Through Amory (1997: 291-307) the most important literature on Jordanes and Cassiodore may be found. The reconstruction which is offered here is by no means the only possible one. 4. On the problem of ethnogenesis and the roles which oral tradition and historiography play in this process see, e.g. Geary (1983), Pohl (1994), Wolfram (1994), Pohl (1999), and the criticism in Amory (1997: 33-39). 5. In his Apologie pour l’histoire (Bloch 1993), even the French historian Marc Bloch (18861944), one of the founders of the influential Annales (1929-), pleads for the kind of historical criticism which had also been taught by Langlois and Seignobos (1897). The reaction of the Annales against the ‘positivism’ of these earlier French historians did by no means amount to a disavowal of historical criticism, as ‘l’histoire a le droit de compter parmi ses gloires les plus sûres d’avoir ainsi, en élaborant sa technique, ouvert aux hommes une route nouvelle vers le vrai et, par suite, le juste’ (Bloch 1993: 123; see also Mostert 1999b). 6. Vansina (1961) had tried to study oral traditions according to the rules of historical criticism as described by Strubbe (1954), as if there were no fundamental difference between written texts about the past and oral traditions. He later changed his views considerably (Vansina 1985). 7. The question of ‘fact’ and ‘fiction’ has been raised, e.g. by Nykrog (1982), Knapp (1997), Green (2002), and Wolf (2002). It may be that the distinction, in as far as stories about the past are concerned, can be made only by literates; if so, it may be anachronistic to expect the audience of a medieval telling of a tale to be aware of the distinction. On the relationship between facts, truth and literacy, see Mostert (2006).





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 Bibliography Primary sources Ammianus Marcellinus, see: Seyfarth, Jacob-Karau and Ulmann (1978). Anglo-Saxon Chronicle, see: Plummer (1892-9). Beowulf, see: Alexander (1973) and Zupitza and Davis (1959). Deor, see: Malone (1933) and Gordon (1954). Exeter Book Riddles, see: Crossley-Holland (1979). Jordanes, see: Mommsen (1882). Secondary literature Adamska, Anna (2001). ‘The Kingdom of Poland versus the Teutonic Knights: Oral Traditions and Literate Behaviour in the Later Middle Ages.’ In Oral History of the Middle Ages: The Spoken Word in Context. Medium Aevum Quotidianum: Sonderband XII = CEU Medievalia 3. Ed. Gerhard Jaritz and Michael Richter. Krems and Budapest. 67-78. Alexander, Michael (trans.) (1973). Beowulf: A Verse Translation. Harmondsworth. Althoff, Gerd (1988). ‘Genealogische und andere Fiktionen in mittelalterlicher Historiographie.’ In Fälschungen im Mittelalter: Internationaler Kongreß der Monumenta Germaniae Historica, München, 16.-19. September 1986: I. Kongreßdaten und Festvorträge: Literatur und Fälschung. Monumenta Germaniae Historica: Schriften 33.1. Hannover. 417-41. Amory, Patrick (1997). People and Identity in Ostrogothic Italy, 489-554. Cambridge. Bausinger, Hermann (1969). ‘Zur Algebra der Kontinuität.’ In Kontinuität? Geschichtlichkeit und Dauer als volkskundliches Problem. Ed. Hermann Bausinger and Wolfgang Brückner. Berlin. 9-30. Bloch, Marc (1993). Apologie pour l’histoire ou métier d’historien. Ed. Étienne Bloch. Paris. Clanchy, Michael T. (1970). ‘Remembering the Past and the Good Old Law.’ History 55: 166-72. Connerton, Paul (1989). How Societies Remember. Cambridge. Crossley-Holland, Kevin (trans.) (1979). The Exeter Book Riddles. Harmondsworth. Curschmann, Michael (2005). ‘Oral Tradition in Visual Art. The Romanesque Theodoric.’ In Reading Images and Texts: Medieval Images and Texts as Forms of Communication (Utrecht Studies in Medieval Literacy 8). Ed. Mariëlle Hageman and Marco Mostert. Turnhout. 177-206. De la Roncière, Charles (1983). ‘De la mémoire vécue à la tradition. Perception et enregistrement du passé.’ In Temps, mémoire, tradition au moyen âge. Actes du XIIIe congrès de la Société des Historiens Médiévistes de l’Enseignement Supérieur Publique. Aix-en-Provence. 26979. Dumville, David. N. (1977). ‘Kingship, Genealogies and Regnal Lists.’ In Early Medieval Kingship. Ed. Peter H. Sawyer and Ian N. Wood. Leeds. 72-104. Fentress, James, and Chris Wickham (1992). Social Memory. Oxford. Fried, Johannes (2004). Der Schleier der Erinnerung. Grundzüge einer historischen Memorik. München. Geary, Patrick (1983). ‘Ethnic Identity as a Situational Construct in the Early Middle Ages.’ In Mitteilungen der Anthropologischen Gesellschaft in Wien 113: 15-26. Gordon, Robert Kay (trans.) (1954). Anglo-Saxon Poetry. Revised edition. London. Green, Dennis H. (2002). ‘Was verstehen wir unter Fiktionalität um 1200?’ Literaturwissenschaftliches Jahrbuch 43: 25-37. Guenée, Bernard (1980). Histoire et culture historique dans l’Occident médiéval. Paris. Haubrichs, Wolfgang (1995). Geschichte der deutschen Literatur von den Anfängen bis zum Beginn der Neuzeit: I.1. Die Anfänge: Versuche volkssprachiger Schriftlichkeit im frühen Mittelalter. 2nd edn. Tübingen.



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 Hauck, Karl (1963). ‘Heldendichtung und Heldensage als Geschichtsbewußtsein.’ In Alteuropa und die moderne Gesellschaft: Festschrift für Otto Brunner. [Ed. Alexander Bergengruen and Ludwig Deike.] Göttingen. 118-69. Heinzle, Joachim (1999). Einführung in die mittelhochdeutsche Dietrichepik. Berlin and New York. Heinzle, Joachim, Norbert H. Ott and Ernst E. Metzner (1985). ‘Dietrich v. Bern (Dietrichsepik).’ In Lexikon des Mittelalters 8.5. München. 1016-21. Hobsbawm, Eric, and Terence Ranger (eds.) (1983). The Invention of Tradition. Cambridge. Irving jr., Edward B. (1987). ‘What to Do with Old Kings.’ In Comparative Research on Oral Traditions: Memorial for Milman Parry. Ed. John Miles Foley. Columbus, Ohio. 259-68. Keynes, Simon, and Michael Lapidge (trans.) (1983). Alfred the Great: Asser’s Life of King Alfred and Other Contemporary Sources. Harmondsworth. Knapp, Fritz-Peter (1997). Historie und Fiktion in der mittelalterlichen Gattungspoetik. Sieben Studien und ein Nachwort. Heidelberg. Langlois, Charles, and Charles Victor Seignobos (1897). Introduction aux études historiques. Paris. Lévi-Strauss, Claude (1963). Structural Anthropology. Trans. Claire Jacobson and Brooke Grundfest Schoepf. New York. Malone, Kemp (ed.) (1933). Deor. London. Marchal, Guy P. (1988). ‘Memoria, Fama, Mos Maiorum: Vergangenheit in mündlicher Überlieferung im Mittelalter, unter besonderer Berücksichtigung der Zeugenaussagen in Arezzo von 1170/80.’ In Vergangenheit in mündlicher Überlieferung. Colloquium Rauricum 1. Ed. Jürgen von Ungern-Sternberg and Hansjörg Reinau. Stuttgart. 289-320. Mommsen, Theodor (ed.) (1882). ‘Jordanes, De origine actibusque Getarum, alias Getica.’ In Iordanis Romana et Getica. Monumenta Germaniae Historica: Auctores Antiquissimi 5.1. Ed. Theodor Mommsen. Hannover. Mostert, Marco (1999a). ‘A Bibliography of Works on Medieval Communication.’ In New Approaches to Medieval Communication. Utrecht Studies in Medieval Literacy 1. Turnhout. 193-318. ——— (1999b). ‘Marc Bloch et le positivisme.’ In Positivismes: Philosophie, Sociologie, Histoire, Sciences. De Diversis Artibus: Collection de Travaux de l’Académie Internationale d’Histoire des Sciences 39 [n.s. 2]. Ed. Andrée Despy-Meyer and Didier Devriese. Turnhout. 195-209. ——— (2006). ‘Forgery and trust.’ In Strategies of writing: Studies on Texts and Trust in Medieval Europe. Utrecht Studies in Medieval Literacy 13. Ed. Petra Schulte, Marco Mostert and Irene van Renswoude. In preparation. Nora, Pierre (1989). ‘Between Memory and History: Les lieux de mémoire.’ In Representations 26: 7-25. Nykrog, Per (1982). ‘The Rise of Literary Fiction.’ In Renaissance and Renewal in the Twelfth Century. Ed. Robert L. Benson and Giles Constable. Oxford. 593-612. Ong, Walter J. (1982). Orality and Literacy: The Technologizing of the Word. London. Plummer, Charles (ed.) (1892-9). Two of the Saxon Chronicles Parallel: With Supplementary Extracts from the Others. 2 vols. Oxford. Pohl, Walter (1994). ‘Tradition, Ethnogenese und literarische Gestaltung. Eine Zwischenbilanz.’ In Ethnogenese und Überlieferung: Angewandte Methoden der Frühmittelalterforschung. Veröffentlichungen des Instituts für Österreichische Geschichtsforschung 31. Ed. Karl Brunner and Brigitte Merta. Vienna and München. 9-26.





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 ——— (1999). ‘Der Gebrauch der Vergangenheit in der Ideologie der Regna.’ In Ideologie e pratiche del reimpiego nell’alto medioevo. 2 vols. Settimane di Studio del Centro Italiano di Studi sull’Alto Medioevo 46. Spoleto. 2: 149-75. Roymans, Nico (1995). ‘The Cultural Biography of Urnfields and the Long-Term History of a Mythical Landscape.’ Archaeological Dialogues 2: 2-24 and 25-38 (‘Discussion’). Schott, Rüdiger (1968). ‘Das Geschichtsbewusstsein schriftloser Völker.’ Archiv für Begriffsgeschichte 12: 166-205. Seyfarth, Wolfgang, Liselotte Jacob-Karau and Ilse Ulmann (eds.) (1978). Ammiani Marcellini Rerum gestarum libri qui supersunt. 2 vols. Leipzig. Strubbe, Egied I. (1954). Inleiding tot de historische critiek. Antwerpen etc. Vansina, Jan (1961). De la tradition orale. Essai de méthode historique. Annales du Musée Royale de l’Afrique Centrale 36. ——— (1985). Oral Tradition as History. London. Wolf, Alois (2002). ‘Zum Problem der literarischen Fiktion in Sagas.’ In Historisches und fiktionales Erzählen im Mittelalter. Schriften zur Literaturwissenschaft 19. Ed. Fritz Peter Knapp and Manuela Niesner. Berlin. 73-89. Wolfram, Herwig (1990). Die Goten. Von den Anfängen bis zur Mitte des sechsten Jahrhunderts. Entwurf einer historischen Ethnographie. Third edn. München. ——— (1994). ‘Origo et religio: Ethnic Traditions and Literature in Early Medieval Texts.’ Early Medieval Europe 3: 19-38. Zupitza, Julius, and Norman Davis (eds.) (1959). Beowulf: Reproduced in Facsimile from the Unique Manuscript, British Museum MS. Cotton Vitellius A. XV: With a Transliteration and Notes by Julius Zupitza: Second Edition, Containing a New Reproduction of the Manuscript, with an Introductory Note by Norman Davis. Early English Text Society, Original Series 245. Oxford.

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FETES D’ARMES ET DEVOTIONS AU XVE SIECLE

Christiane Raynaud

Abstract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·V RUJDQL]HU GRQDWHV VRPH RIWKHSURSVWRWKHQHLJKERXULQJ FKXUFKWRNHHSDOLYHWKHPHPRU\RIWKHHQFRXQWHU

Chroniqueurs et mémorialistes de la cour de Bourgogne donnent des tournois, des joutes et des pas d’armes du XVe s. de riches descriptions, au moment où ces fêtes sont les plus brillantes. Leurs protagonistes, leurs cérémonials, leurs décors, les costumes et les armes sont bien connus. Ces manifestations sont pourtant jugées dangereuses pour l’âme et le corps et les tournois ont fait l’objet d’interdictions anciennes. Elles viennent de l’Église ou des rois et ont pour point commun le souci de préserver la santé et la vie des meilleurs des hommes d’armes pour réserver leurs efforts à la libération du Saint-Sépulcre ou à la défense du royaume. Les peines prévues sont dures: au spirituel, elles peuvent aller jusqu’à l’excommunication et au temporel, jusqu’à la séquestration des biens. Les papes ordonnent de refuser la sépulture religieuse aux hommes tués en tournois et les rois défendent de vendre aux tournoyeurs des armes et des chevaux et de leur accorder l’hospitalité (Jusserand 1986: 42; Barber et Barker 1989: 149-59). Mais, à la fin du Moyen Âge, interdictions et condamnations ont été assouplies par les différentes autorités, les rencontres plus réglées devenant moins meurtrières pour des hommes mieux protégés. Ces 1 exercices ont alors semblé servir, à titre d’entraînement, des causes jugées bonnes. Olivier de la Marche, Georges Chastellain, Mathieu d’Escouchy et Jean Lefèvre de Saint-Rémy pour l’espace bourguignon et, à titre de comparaison, les romans d’Antoine de La Sale et de Joanot Martorell permettent de comprendre cette évolution. Sans être aussi spectaculaire et achevé que la 2 christianisation de l’adoubement, un mouvement comparable, mais limité et

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non concerté, affecte ces fêtes d’armes. Elles font de plus en plus de place au XVe s. à des pratiques de dévotion qui correspondent à une piété plus exigeante des élites et à une intériorisation des valeurs chrétiennes. 1. Les realia Joutes et pas d’armes ou leur préparation se tiennent à proximité ou à l’intérieur 3 4 d’édifices religieux. À la fin du Pas de l’arbre de Charlemagne, en 1443, la délibération entre Charny et ses compagnons, au sujet de l’emprise du chevalier espagnol Diégo de Valera, se tient dans la chapelle de l’ordre de la Toison 5 d’Or, la Sainte Chapelle du palais des ducs à Dijon (OM I, 324). Le Pas de la Pèlerine, en 1449, et les armes qui le suivent, entre le seigneur de Lalaing et un Anglais, ont lieu près d’une croix en grès haute de douze pieds dans la commune de Saint-Martin-au-Laërt, sur la route de Calais à Saint-Omer (OM 6 II, 118). Pour son emprise, Lalaing envoie en France un héraut avec le projet de faire des armes près de Notre-Dame de Paris, ce que le roi refuse (LF, 89). Il fait aussi le tour des grandes cours européennes et sur le chemin, séjourne dans 7 une abbaye. À Valladolid, en 1448, il se loge assez près des Prédicateurs et après avoir reçu à souper chevaliers et écuyers castillans, le lendemain matin va y entendre la messe (LF, 115). Les lices sont installées en la place des Frères Prédicateurs (LF, 133). Lors du Pas de la Fontaine des Pleurs, à Chalon-surSaône en 1449, le chevalier tenant le Pas part de son hôtel (LF, 212) et passe 8 chaque fois par l’église des Carmes (LF, 204). Après chaque combat à pied ou à cheval, il y retourne (LF, 207 et 228). Le discours de clôture du Pas achevé, ‘le gentil chevalier s’en alla en son pavillon soy désarmer comme toujours avoit fait, puis s’en alla en l’église des Carmes remercier nostre Benoist créateur et sa douce mère...’ (LF, 238). Le banquet d’adieu se fait en l’hôtel de l’évêque de 9 Chalon (LF, 239). Enfin, dans la ‘moult belle plaine a maniere d’ung prel’ où il s’est tenu, est édifiée l’église des Cordeliers de l’observance (OM II, 145), semble-t-il, sans visée commémorative, pour profiter de l’espace disponible sans être troublé par l’utilisation antérieure. Dans les romans, la quête de 10 protection divine l’emporte sur les raisons pratiques. Dans Tirant le Blanc du catalan Joanot Martorell (1413-1468), le roi d’armes, Jérusalem, trouve le chevalier français qui doit affronter le héros, non pas en ville, mais dans un monastère où il se confesse. Il le prend ensuite à part et lui demande de le suivre hors de l’église, car dans cette enceinte sacrée, comme dans tout lieu saint, il n’est pas permis de parler d’affaires de sang (TLB, 107). Pour le duel à outrance et sans autorisation, qui oppose Tirant et un chevalier français, le rendez-vous est donné par ce dernier dans l’ermitage de Sainte-Marie Madeleine, car si quelqu’un de sa compagnie le voit, il peut ainsi faire croire 11 qu’il est là pour prier (TLB, 110). Le roman évoque aussi la triste nécessité de rendre les honneurs aux victimes. Lors des fêtes d’Angleterre, les chevaliers sont portés en grande procession à l’église Saint-Georges, dans une chapelle magnifique où ne sont enterrés que les chevaliers morts les armes à la main



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sans s’être dédits. Les simples gentilshommes sont ensevelis dans d’autres chapelles (TLB, 101). Le roi rend aussi un hommage solennel aux quatre rois tués par Tirant (TLB, 146). L’auteur décrit leur tombe, leurs écus sont surmontés de ceux du héros, qui, comme c’est son droit, les a pris aux vaincus et les a fait porter à l’église, où il les a confiés au prieur, pour qu’il soit placé dans la chapelle (TLB, 150). Enfin, quand un parent des princes défunts le défie, Tirant pour s’attirer la faveur de Dieu tente, en présence du roi, une dernière conciliation devant les portes de l’église (TLB, 152). Si le voisinage d’établissements religieux peut paraître parfois fortuit, le 12 choix du décor, de la mise en scène ne laisse place à aucune ambiguïté. Dans le Pas de l’arbre de Charlemagne, au-dessus d’une fontaine de pierre, se trouvent des statues (ymaiges) de Dieu, de Notre Dame et de sainte Anne (OM I, 292). Un petit plus loin sur le grand chemin, en allant vers Dijon est faite une haute croix de pierre ‘où fut l’ymaige du crucifix et devant l’ymaige ainsi que a ses piez, estoit à genoulx et eslevée la presentation dudit seigneur [Charny] la cotte d’armes au doz, le bacinet en la teste et armé pour combatre en lices’ (OM I, 292-93). Dans le Pas de la Fontaine des Pleurs, d’après Le Livre des faits de Jacques de Lalaing, le chevalier entrepreneur des armes, fait tendre un pavillon à Saint-Laurent-lez-Chalon: ‘auquel avoit au plus haut une très belle image de Nostre-Dame’ (LF, 201), au-dessous, à gauche la Dame des Pleurs, dont les larmes coulent dans une fontaine avant de tomber sur trois targes 13 14 pendues au cou d’une licorne (LF, 202). Jean de Boniface, un chevalier aragonais, arrive au pavillon, quand il voit le ‘mystère’, il en demande la signification au héraut (OM II, 154). Puis il se présente devant le juge et explique qu’il a vu ces images et qu’il vient pour se battre (OM II, 156). À la fin du Pas, Chastellain précise qu’un entremets représente la ville, le pavillon, la licorne, les trois targes avec l’image de la Vierge Marie dedans le pavillon (GC VIII, 239). En 1430/1, Maillotin de Bours et Hector de Flavy se combattent en champ clos à Arras, le 20 juin, sur le front du pavillon d’Hector, il y a un Saint-Sépulcre, pour rappeler la dévotion qu’il a à ce dernier, parce qu’il y a été fait chevalier (GC II, 196). Des tableaux vivants, des scènettes, des mystères accompagnent les pas et leurs acteurs appartiennent à la meilleure 15 société. Lors du banquet de Lille, le 17 février 1453, le rôle de Sainte Église est joué par Olivier de la Marche lui-même, vêtu comme une religieuse avec une robe de satin blanc et par-dessus un manteau de drap noir, la tête couverte d’un couvre-chef blanc, à la façon d’une béguine ou d’une recluse. Il est conduit par un géant sur le dos d’un éléphant (OM II, 361). Le plus caractéristique de l’état d’esprit des tournoyeurs est nul doute un objet personnel ou familial (OM II, 250-51), la petite bannière, bannerole, dite de dévotion. Son usage semble large puisqu’elle est mentionnée dans la main d’un chevalier espagnol (OM I, 303) comme des Bourguignons. Elle est décorée. En 1435, lors des armes à Arras entre le castillan Jean de Merlo et le seigneur de Charny, Merlo entre dans les lices, tout armé sur son cheval. ‘Et

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avoit ung healmet à tout ung blanc plumas, en sa main une bannerette vermeille à tout une croix blanche, son cheval tout couvert de drap vermeil’. Charny entre à son tour, accompagné d’un grand nombre de chevaliers, d’écuyers, de rois d’armes, de hérauts, de trompettes, les seigneurs portent ses armes, quatre pages mènent derrière lui quatre chevaux et son coursier et il a ‘en sa main une banierette, dont à l’un des lez estoit l’image de Nostre Dame, et à l’autre lez l’image de saint George’ (SR II, 314). Jean de Saintré a une ‘bannerole où estoient Notre Dame et son enfant’ (JS, 214). Plus souvent les auteurs ne précisent pas les sujets figurés ni même les thèmes. Ainsi, lors du Pas de l’arbre de Charlemagne, Charny a une bannerolle: ‘plainne d’ymaiges et de devocions’ (OM I, 298), celle de Lalaing, lors du Pas de la Fontaine de Pleurs, à Chalonsur-Saône, est dite figurée de ses dévotions (OM II, 149). Encore vêtu d’une longue robe de drap d’or gris, fourré de martres, il la porte au début de la rencontre, quand il sort de son bateau pour aller dans l’île, où se trouvent les lices. Lors du Pas de la Fontaine de Pleurs, Aimé Rabustin, seigneur d’Espiry, chevauche jusque dans les lices, la bannerolle de dévotion à la main et se présente avec beaucoup d’assurance avant de retourner à son pavillon (OM II, 182). Les chevaliers ne se conforment pas tous à cette pratique, mais une absence systématique et volontaire suscite la désapprobation. Lors des armes entre le seigneur de Ternant, et Galiot de Baltasin, chambellan du duc de Milan, en avril 1446, à Arras, Olivier de la Marche s’indigne, que le premier, pourtant chevalier de la Toison d’Or, n’en porte pas: ‘laquelle chose je ne prise point, car plus est l’homme de hault affaire, plus doit à Dieu de recongnoissance et tant plus à d’honneur, tant plus doit doubter et craindre celluy Dieu, qui le luy peut oster et faire perdre’ (OM II, 69). Dans Tirant le Blanc, le héros entre dans les lices en harnois blanc, tête nue et avec à la main un éventail, qui d’un côté montre une peinture de la Croix et de l’autre une image de la Vierge (TLB, 100). Comme les pièces de l’armure ont à la fin du Moyen Âge une symbolique 16 religieuse, il en va de même pour les pierres plus ou moins précieuses que portent les chevaliers, les couleurs, le bestiaire chrétien, qui orne leur cimier et le blason. Parmi les meubles quelques-uns sont plus explicites. La croix apparaît cinq fois. Au Pas de la Fontaine des Pleurs, Pitois a sur lui ‘sa cotte d’armes, lesquelles estoient escartelées, le premier quartier d’azur à une croix d’or ancrée, le second quartier losangé d’or et d’azur’ (LF, 236). Lors du Pas de l’arbre de Charlemagne, Charny est accompagné de cinq pages à cheval, le troisième a un cheval couvert d’une housse de satin noire avec une grande croix de saint André blanche (OM I, 303). Diégo de Valera se présente avec un cheval ‘couvert d’un cendal vermeil, à une grande croix blanche floretée et sur chacun bout une coquille d’or’ (OM I, 306). Le cheval de Philippe de Lalaing a sur la croupe ‘une crois de Saint-Andrieu de velours cramoisy’ (ME II, 129), de même, pour les joutes du mariage de Charles et de Marguerite d’York, en 1468, celui de Philippe de Poitiers a une croix de saint André sur le dos (OM



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IV, 136). Lors du combat contre Jean de Boniface, les chevaux de Jacques de Lalaing portent une corne comme des licornes, elles sont ‘tortivées d’or et d’argent’ (OM II, 101). Le thème du Pas de la Pèlerine est retenu de longue date par des chevaliers pour leur devise. Le seigneur de Hautbourdin est accompagné de six écuyers en manteau blanc avec brodé un bourdon devant et derrière ‘et servoit à deux fins, l’une pour le mystère de la Pelerine, et se nommoient pelerins, et communément tous pelerins chargent le bourdon; secondement, car c’estoit la devise de tous temps dudit seigneur de Haulbourdin’ (OM II, 121, 130). Le bâtard de Saint-Pol a avec lui trois chevaliers de la Toison d’Or ‘et fut le cheval du seigneur de Ravestain, couvert d’une couverte faicte de bourdons et de coquilles qui fut l’ancienne devise du seigneur de Haulbourdin, en signiffiant qu’il estoit serviteur de la Pelerine’ (OM II, 133). La devise illustre pour certains ce qui est le choix de toute une vie, au moment de sa mort, quand Lalaing entend parler de Dieu et de la Vierge qu’il a tant aimée que, pour l’amour d’elle, il a pris ‘le mot et devise de la nonpareille’ (GC, II, 362), il se tourne vers le Carme qui l’assiste. Par contre dans Tirant le Blanc, pour un duel à outrance non autorisé, les duellistes ne gardent sur eux que ‘des chemises mortifiantes qui auraient pu être appelées cilices d’amertume’ (TLB, 111). 2. Les gestes de dévotion Le chevalier ou l’écuyer ne se contente pas de porter une petite bannière de dévotion, il se signe avec elle de sa main droite. Le geste intervient avant le combat, alors que le personnage n’est pas encore revêtu de ses armes. Lors du Pas de la Fontaine des Pleurs, Jacques de Lalaing sort de son bateau, vêtu d’une robe longue, il a en sa main sa bannerolle, ‘dont il se seignoit à la fois et moult bien luy seoit’ (OM II, p. 149). Le geste n’est pas sans élégance. Plus souvent, le champion équipé pour le combat à cheval, se signe à l’arrivée dans 17 les lices. Ainsi au Pas de l’arbre de Charlemagne, l’Espagnol, Vasque de Saavedra le fait le premier, à cheval et armé de toutes ses armes (OM I, 303). Puis Charny fait à son tour le ‘signe de catholicque chevalier’. Le geste peut se faire au moment de la présentation devant le juge, le cavalier étant descendu de cheval, par déférence. Ainsi, pour les armes de Lalaing et Jean de Boniface, Lalaing marche jusque devant le duc de Bourgogne tout en ‘se seignant de sa bannerolle’ (OM II, 97). Pour des armes à pied, lors du Pas de l’arbre de Charlemagne, contre Antoine de Vaudrey, le savoyard, Jean de Compeys, seigneur de Torain se signe en entrant dans les lices (OMI, 330). Le geste peut être fait au dernier moment par chacun des adversaires, l’un après l’autre ou ensemble comme semble-t-il Charny et Vasque de Saavedra juste avant de se saisir de leurs haches (OM I, 301). Dans cette phase préparatoire, il peut être répété à chaque étape. Lors du Pas de l’arbre de Charlemagne Charny ‘avoit une bannerolle en sa main dextre, plainne d’ymaiges et de devocions et dont il seignoit moult souvent’ (OM I, 298). L’ampleur du geste pour être mieux vu,

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lors des combats à pied surtout, donne plus de force au témoignage. Ainsi Antoine de Vaudrey, qui va combattre Charny lors du pas de l’arbre de Charle18 magne: ‘fit une grande croix de sa bannerolle’ (OM I, 329). La signification ne fait pas de doute. Elle est une confession publique de sa foi et un moyen de se recommander à ses saints protecteurs. Lors des armes contre Jean de Boniface, Lalaing entre dans la lice, ‘soy seignant et recommandant de sa 19 bannerolle moult catholicquement’ (OM II, 101). Jean de Saintré, avant chaque combat, fait de même ‘comme un bon chrétien’ (JS, 281) et sollicite la bénédiction de Dieu (JS, 188): ‘Benedicat mihi Dominus et custodiat me. Ostendat mihi faciem suam Dominus et misereatur mei. Convertat Dominus vultum suum a(d) me et det mihi pacem’. Dans la rencontre avec Enguerrand de Cervillon, il se signe à chaque pas de sa petite bannière, lorsqu’il se dirige vers son pavillon, puis quand il va à cheval du pavillon à l’entrée des lices, et enfin une fois en bout de lices juste avant de s’élancer contre son adversaire (JS, 218). Antoine de la Sale signale à plusieurs reprises que Saintré embrasse l’objet avant de faire avec lui le signe de la croix (JS, 297). L’éventail de dévotion évoqué dans Tirant le Blanc n’a pas tout à fait le même usage. Après avoir fait au milieu du champ une profonde révérence au roi et à la reine, à cheval, il gagne successivement les quatre coins de la lice et avec l’éventail, signe chacun des angles (TLB, 100). Avant un combat à outrance, chaque combattant avec un petit éventail marque les quatre coins de la lice, le champ clos (TLB, 154). Ensuite chacun rejoint son pavillon et deux Franciscains envoyés par les juges, se présentent pour les confesser à nouveau, puis les deux chevaliers communient d’une bouchée de pain, car on ne leur aurait pas donné en cette occasion le corps du Christ (TLB, 154). 20 D’autres gestes de dévotion sont mentionnés moins souvent. Le signe de croix fait de la main droite n’apparaît que deux fois, peut-être est-il trop banal et surtout son usage est le fait de tout un chacun. Il est signalé pour Lalaing encore en robe, quand il fait son entrée à pied dans les lices et se présente au duc de Bourgogne, avant d’affronter Thomas Qué à Bruges (OM II, 124). Contre Diégo de Gusman, en présence du roi de Castille, après le troisième coup de la trompette, Lalaing, tout armé, qui sort de son pavillon se 21 signe, puis fait passer sa hache de la main gauche à la main droite (LF, 138). L’agenouillement, marque de déférence profonde, d’adoration, intervient 22 avant le combat. Dans le Pas de la Fontaine des Pleurs, le premier candidat est représenté par un héraut nommé Toulongeon, ‘comme officier bien apprins, s’agenoilla devant la vierge Marie, salua honnorablement la dame de Plours’ (OM II, 147). Tirant le Blanc, qui vient de vaincre en duel à outrance Thomas de Montalban, se place au milieu du champ clos et s’agenouille, pour rendre grâce à la divine Bonté de lui avoir permis, par son secours d’obtenir la victoire (TLB, 159). Certains éprouvent le besoin de multiplier les gestes pieux, qui se combinent avec les prières dans un ordre plus ou moins attendu. Lors du Pas de la Fontaine des Pleurs, dans son pavillon, le chevalier Amé Rabustin, seigneur



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d’Espiry, assis sur sa chaire et armé de toutes ses armes tient sa bannerolle à la main et achève une oraison, jambes croisées. Puis il se lève, fait un grand signe de croix avec sa bannerolle, sort de son pavillon, se signe à nouveau et donne sa bannerolle aux deux jeunes écuyers à sa gauche (OM II, 184). Lors du banquet d’adieu, un entremets représente entre autres le pavillon avec l’image de la Vierge. Lalaing va la saluer en lui disant une oraison. Il s’adresse ensuite à la dame, qui lui répond: ‘Puisque c’est de Dieu le plaisir, / Bien le devons rengracier, / Sy alons la croix adorer.’ La Vierge Marie les précède, sort du pavillon en longue robe de drap de soie, ses cheveux épars sur ses épaules et fait son oraison devant la croix. La dame prie pour remercier les jouteurs, puis pour le chevalier. Ce dernier à son tour adresse une supplique à la croix, source de vigueur et pour augmenter sa foi. Enfin il se tourne vers la dame pour d’ultimes dispositions ‘si Dieu plaist’ (LF 240-42). Sans surprise la hiérarchie des gestes de dévotion correspond à celle de la communauté des saints. À la fin du Pas de la Fontaine de Pleurs, le dernier jour, les officiers d’armes rapportent les mystères. Leal le poursuivant de Jacques de Lalaing porte la licorne, la fontaine et les trois targes, Toulongeon, la dame des Pleurs, Charolais, la représentation de la Vierge. Ils arrivent à l’hôtel de l’entrepreneur, qui laisse passer la licorne, se décoiffe devant la dame des Pleurs, met genoux à terre devant la Vierge et lui baise les pieds très dévotement (OM II, 202). La fin des fêtes d’armes, comme leurs préliminaires, est propice à la multiplication des gestes de dévotion. Comme le signe de la croix, le baiser de paix et l’accolade ne donnent pas lieu à une recension systématique. Les chroniqueurs ne les rapportent que lorsqu’ils choisissent de donner un compte-rendu détaillé des 23 fêtes ou lorsqu’un autre rituel, l’adoubement, s’y ajoute. Juste après le combat, les deux adversaires se présentent devant le juge et s’embrassent à sa 24 demande ou d’eux-mêmes, comme Jacques de Lalaing et Jean Pitois de Montolon, après un combat très disputé (OM II, 199). Au début d’un combat à outrance, le baiser n’a pas la même signification. Dans Tirant le Blanc, Kirieleison de Montalban et le héros se donnent l’accolade devant les juges et s’embrassent en manière de pardon qu’ils s’accordent mutuellement s’ils se tuent (TLB, 152). La cérémonie d’ouverture comprend une prestation de serment par les cham25 pions. Le rituel est si convenu que les auteurs des chroniques n’éprouvent pas 26 besoin de le rappeler ni même d’en donner la teneur. Ainsi Olivier de la Marche note que les rencontres du Pas de l’arbre de Charlemagne, le 6 août, commencent une fois ‘les devoirs faits’ (OM I, 319). Pour le duel judiciaire entre Maillotin de Bours et Hector de Flavy, qui combattent en champ clos à Arras sur le marché, seul le second serment est évoqué de manière sommaire: ‘et là, avecques les cérémonies qui y appartenaient leur fit-on jurer sur le missel chascun que tous deux combattoient à bonne et à juste querelle, et la jurèrent l’un après l’autre’ (GC II, 197).

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Ces gestes accompagnent des pratiques de dévotions régulières, privées et peu mentionnées ou collectives et plus volontiers décrites. Les fêtes d’armes n’interrompent pas, voire renforcent ces comportements qu’ils soient le fait des 27 combattants ou de leur entourage. L’auteur du Livre des Faits de Jacques de Lalaing rapporte qu’il a entendu dire que: ‘jamais ne se fust allé coucher sans soy avoir confessé, pour tant qu’il se eust senti estre en péché mortel’ (LF, 6162). À Évora, au Portugal, il est reçu par des nobles de l’Hôtel du roi, après le souper, tous se lèvent de table, ‘après grâces rendues à Nostre-Seigneur, se mirent à deviser’ de son emprise (LF, 122). Dès le début de sa carrière, en 1445, ‘de tout son cœur et très souvent faisoit ses prières à Dieu et à la Vierge Marie sa mère, pour accroistre et augmenter la maison d’où il estoit issu, qu’ils luy voulsissent octroyer de parvenir à son intention et désir’ (LF, 65). Quand il est informé de l’arrivée à Anvers de Jean de Boniface, qui assiste à la messe la plus suivie de la ville, en portant une emprise pour susciter des compétiteurs, il remercie le Seigneur et la Vierge (LF, 70-71). Par contre, sa mère ‘très souvent es lieux solitaires de son hostel rendoit grâces à Nostre-Seigneur, luy priant dévotement qu’il voulsist garder et préserver son très-cher fils de mal et d’encombrier’ (LF, 163). Les invocations se multiplient dans les récits des chroniques et plus encore dans les romans, sans en surévaluer la signification, il convient, comptetenu de leur nombre, d’y voir l’indice d’une foi sincère, qui se manifeste jusque 28 dans les tournois. Elles ouvrent la plupart des chapitres et sont adressées à 29 30 Dieu, au Christ, à sa mère, parfois à saint Georges comme lors des adoube31 32 ments et à d’autres saints, avec une coloration politique comme pour saint Michel (JS, 270). Elles participent à la définition des objectifs. Dans les chapitres du Pas de la Fontaine des Pleurs, le chevalier tenant le pas se présente comme désireux de ‘mettre paine de tout son pouvoir de acquérir la grâce et bienveillance de celle qui par-dessus toutes dames terriennes est la non33 pareille’ (LF, 198). Elles interviennent quand les chapitres envisagent la chute, la perte de l’arme, les blessures, la maladie, les empêchements raison34 nables que l’entrepreneur ne souhaite pas et qu’il espère ainsi éviter. Au moment du départ de l’entrepreneur, qui va faire le tour des principales cours pour trouver des compétiteurs, ses amis et ses proches forment des vœux de 35 bonne réussite de son projet et surtout pour sa vie. Lors des rencontres avec les autorités susceptibles de donner leur autorisation, les invocations rappellent 36 que l’aboutissement de l’emprise dépend de la volonté de Dieu. Quand enfin la fête d’armes commence, comme à Gand en 1445, les dames et demoiselles, qui sont aux fenêtres le long du trajet qui conduit Lalaing aux lices, prient pour qu’il puisse en revenir et avec honneur (LF, 82). Quand le duc de Bourgogne choisit Toison d’Or comme juge du Pas de la Fontaine des Pleurs, Lalaing le remercie en ‘priant Nostre-Seigneur qu’il luy voulust octroyer grâce que faire luy pust service qui luy vinst à gré’ (LF, 200). Tirant le Blanc, avant un duel pour l’honneur à outrance, propose à un chevalier félon de lui pardonner s’il



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demande sa grâce à genoux, ce dernier plein d’une mortelle colère refuse: ‘A Dieu ne plaise que je commette jamais un acte aussi infamant, Notre-Seigneur me préserve de cette vilenie’ (TLB, 102). Enfin les invocations s’accompagnent d’offrandes le jour même du tournoi (Van Den Neste 1996: 219-20). 3. Un comportement Les célébrations liturgiques sont loin de paraître incompatibles avec les tournois, les joutes et les pas d’armes, qualifiés d’’honnestes passetemps’ (OM II, 1). Les cérémonials d’état et les cérémonies d’information comprennent des célébrations religieuses et des armes. Après la naissance du duc Philippe, en 1478, la messe de relevailles est suivie de joutes, tournois, banquets, danses et caroles (OM III, 254). Les fêtes des ordres de chevalerie s’accompagnent d’un grand nombre de solennités religieuses, Jean Le Févre le constate pour celles de la Toison d’Or et Olivier de la Marche et Georges Chastellain en font la 37 recension. Le fait mérite d’être relevé même si une seule cérémonie de la Toison d’Or a donné lieu à des joutes. Les armes peuvent coïncider avec des fêtes religieuses qui attirent beaucoup de monde. Le dauphin assiste à Bruges à la procession du Saint-Sang et aux joutes organisées par le comte de Charolais, puis aux banquets (GC III, 309). Les célébrations ont lieu en parallèles aux épreuves ou sont associées aux fêtes d’armes et ponctuent leur déroulement. Lalaing, lors de son périple européen pour obtenir l’autorisation de réaliser son 38 emprise, ne quitte pas une ville sans entendre la messe, il cherche à se loger dans chaque nouvelle ville près d’un établissement religieux, pour faire de même chaque jour (LF, 115). Avant d’être reçu en audience par les autorités et 39 comme dans chaque circonstance grave il assiste à une messe pour obtenir 40 dans la négociation qui s’engage une issue favorable, parfois il a déjà revêtu la tenue adéquate, ses meilleures robes (LF, 122). Ainsi, à la cour de France, chaque jour, avant qu’il parte de son logis, il fait chanter une messe, qu’il entend très dévotement, en faisant ses prières à Dieu et à la Vierge ‘pour qu’ils le voulsissent garder d’encombrier’ (LF, 49). Après avoir été reçu par la reine d’Aragon et en entendant sa réponse, le lendemain matin Lalaing entend la messe (LF, 155). Il est aussi invité par les autorités qui le recoivent à aller à la messe avec elles (LF, 103, 106), marque de bon accueil qui ne préjuge pas du résultat. La messe joue un rôle particulier dans la publicité des fêtes d’armes. Un chevalier de l’hôtel du roi d’Aragon et de Sicile, Jean de Boniface, le 26 septembre 1445, arrive à Anvers. Le 27, il part de son hôtel, accompagné entre autres d’un poursuivant, avec une cotte portant ses armes, et s’en va à la plus grande église paroissiale de la ville, portant à la jambe gauche un fer, à la façon des esclaves, pendant à une chaîne d’or. Il entend la messe. Lalaing informé de sa présence lui envoie le roi d’armes, Toison d’Or pour connaître ses intentions (LF, 70-73). Le calendrier des combats tient compte des impératifs liturgiques. Dans Tirant le Blanc, pour les fêtes d’Angleterre, les rois d’armes, les poursuivants et les hérauts publient ce que l’on doit faire chaque jour de la

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semaine et donnent l’explication de l’interruption des combats le vendredi. ‘Le vendredi, jour de la Passion, on ne doit en aucune façon entrer en lice, mais, après la messe et les vêpres chantées, il sera permis d’aller à la chasse’ (TLB, 41 85). Antoine de la Sale rappelle que les interdits liturgiques de la Trêve de 42 Dieu s’applique aux tournois. 43 Les participants des fêtes d’armes entendent la messe ou font des 44 dévotions avant de partir jouter. Le Pas de la Fontaine des Pleurs commence le 13 septembre 1450, la lice préparée, la maison du juge et les pavillons des champions tendues, le juge installé en compagnie de ses conseillers, Lalaing part de l’église des Carmes, située à la porte de la ville et du faubourg ‘de la 45 porte de Sainct Jehan du Maiseau’. Après avoir entendu trois messes très dévotement, il entre dans un bateau pour traverser la rivière et arriver dans l’île, où ont lieu les combats (OM II, 149). La fréquentation du même office permet des rapprochements. Lors du Pas de la Fontaine des Pleurs, Lalaing va entendre la messe à la grande église de Chalon, où il trouve le seigneur de Saint-Bonnet. Quand il l’aperçoit, il lui parle bien qu’il soit décidé depuis la veille que SaintBonnet serait à dix heures en l’église des Carmes, dans les faubourgs de la ville, pour présenter au chevalier du pas ses excuses. Lalaing le dispense de porter le bracelet attestant sa défaite et ils deviennent comme frères (LF, 223). 46

Les hommes d’Église apparaissent dans les fêtes d’armes dès leur préparation. Au royaume de Navarre, l’archevêque de Caval envoie plusieurs nobles pour accueillir J. de Lalaing qui vient proposer son emprise (LF, 148). Lors du Pas de la Fontaine des Pleurs, Pierre de Chandio entre dans les lices accompagné entre autres de l’évêque de Langres, duc et pair de France (LF, 205). Après les armes faites en Écosse, Jacques et Simon de Lalaing et Hervé de Mériadec rentrent avec une attestation donnée par l’abbé d’Ascuque et James Douglas (LF, 179 n. 1). Jean de Saintré est accompagné d’un chapelain (JS, 181). Les prêtres sont nécessaires au bon déroulement des duels judiciaires. Dans Tirant le Blanc, ils interviennent à la demande des juges ou des 47 combattants pour leur assurer une assistance spirituelle. Les officiers d’armes, les hérauts ont un statut particulier: lors des tournois, qui sont précédés d’une messe, ils assistent l’évêque dans le service liturgique à la place des clercs de sa chapelle. Ils prêtent serment lors de leur prise de fonction et reçoivent une bénédiction solennelle, une sorte de baptême d’eau et de vin, de la main du prince dans un lieu consacré. Les compétiteurs, qui souhaitent participer aux fêtes d’armes, se 48 présentent, ou se font présenter, en promettant d’être là le jour convenu, du 49 moins si Dieu leur permet d’arriver sans encombre, pour faire les armes (LF, 50 51 225) avec son aide. La formule n’en est pas une pour certains. Lalaing, qui a montré ‘tant de vertus, d’onneurs et de vaillance’ selon Olivier de la Marche 52 (OM I, 268), qui est ‘dévot vers Dieu et aumônier’, craint et aime Dieu par 53 dessus tout d’après Le livre des faits et, d’après Le Febvre de Saint Rémy,



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‘estoit délibéré de servir Dieu toute sa vie’ (LF, 255). Jacques de Challant, seigneur de Marville, est décrit lui aussi ‘plein d’honneurs, de vertus, si prudent, si vaillant et catholique’ (OMI, 320). La conviction des champions est que l’issue du combat dépend du plaisir de Dieu, de sa mère, de saint Jacques, 54 55 sainte Anne et saint Georges (LF, 188). Ils l’expriment dès l’envoi du défi. Le juge fait de même, lors des derniers conseils avant de donner le signal du combat. Ainsi dans Tirant le Blanc, il conseille aux duellistes de ne mettre leur confiance qu’en Dieu et en leur courage (TLB, 111). Dieu donne la victoire 56 (SR II, 105) et permet de revenir couvert d’honneur (LF, 162). L’affirmation 57 est répétée entre deux échanges très disputés, pendant le combat, quand se 58 pose le problème de l’interrompre par révérence pour Dieu, à l’issue d’une 59 rencontre même désastreuse. Tirant le Blanc, pour ‘mettre Notre Seigneur de son côté’ dans un combat où il n’a pas l’avantage, propose de pardonner son adversaire à condition qu’il en fasse autant (TLB, 152). Dans le même dessein, la duchesse d’Orléans conseille à Lalaing, ‘Jacquet, à Dieu soyez!’ (LF, 44). Les textes rappellent que les compétiteurs, comme ils s’y sont engagés lors l’adoubement, doivent se comporter en chevalier (OM II, 104, 111), sans haine et sans esprit de vengeance à l’égard de leur adversaire, avec un double objectif la défense de la foi et de l’Église. Les armes achevées à l’aide de Dieu, le champion se dit prêt à continuer toujours avec son aide (LF, 237-38). Puis les compétiteurs doivent se réconcilier et former les uns pour les autres des vœux pour que le Seigneur leur accorde une bonne et longue vie (LF,169) plus tard de bons vœux de joie et de 60 prospérité accompagnent l’ensemble des participants qui vont partir. La fin de 61 la fête est parfois plus édifiante encore. Immédiatement après le combat le vainqueur éprouve le besoin de rendre grâces à Dieu. Ainsi après son combat à pied à la hache avec Jean de Boniface, Lalaing ‘se tira tout armé à la prouchaine eglise de son logis et là moult dévotement rendit grâces à Dieu et se monstra devant, lors et depuis, moult bon et devot catholicque’ (OM II, 100). Son comportement n’est pas isolé. Après le dernier combat du Pas de la Fontaine de Pleurs avec Jean Pientois, les deux hommes s’étant embrassés, ‘s’en alla l’escuyer tout armé à Nostre Dame des Carmes et messire Jaques s’en alla désarmer en son pavillon’ (OM II, 199). Lors des fêtes de Nancy, après 62 avoir jouté, assisté au banquet, aux danses et à la remise des prix, les participants ‘se reposèrent jusque le lendemain matin, que chacun s’en alla oyr la messe’ (LF, 65). Enfin, les blessés une fois guéris, dans un laps de temps très 63 variable, ne manquent pas de remercier le Christ et sa mère. À l’issue d’un terrible duel judiciaire, Thomas de Montalban, gravement blessé par Tirant le Blanc, est dégradé dans le champ clos et conduit à l’église Saint-Georges, sous les injures des enfants. Devant l’église, le poursuivant d’armes lui lance à la tête l’eau d’un bassin d’étain. Puis il est soigné. Ses blessures guéries, il prend l’habit dans un monastère de l’observance de Saint-François (TLB, 160).

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Parfois l’entrepreneur du pas offre des éléments du décor à l’église consacrée à la Vierge la plus proche pour la remercier de sa protection et perpétuer la mémoire des hauts faits intervenus lors de la rencontre. À la fin du Pas de l’arbre de Charlemagne, au bout de six semaines, le lendemain de l’expiration, un dimanche, un peu avant la grande messe, les rois d’armes, les hérauts apportent les deux écus qui ont été pendues à l’arbre pendant la durée du Pas, entrent dans l’église Notre-Dame de Dijon et, à genoux, les présentent à 64 la Vierge. À la fin du Pas de la Fontaine de Pleurs, le dernier jour, tous les nobles et les serviteurs de Lalaing viennent accompagner les officiers d’armes qui portent les mystères à l’hôtel de l’entrepreneur avant de les offrir à Notre65 Dame de Boulogne (OM II, 202). La mémoire de ces fêtes semble entretenue longuement, puisque Bayard, prisonnier d’Henry VIII depuis la journée des éperons, va, en se rendant à un tournoi, qu’il a publié à Aire, visiter le 66 monument commémoratif du Pas de la Belle Pèlerine. Le retour est l’occasion pour les combattants de rendre grâce à Dieu en 67 faisant des aumônes, la grande affaire dans tous les textes reste le pèlerinage et plus encore la croisade (Jusserand 1986: 133-34). Le pèlerinage qui inter68 vient après les combats peut avoir un lien direct avec les armes. Mais les entrepreneurs tiennent compte des routes de pèlerinage et de la date des 69 grandes célébrations comme le jubilé, pour leur emprise. Le pèlerinage est 70 l’occasion de rencontrer d’éventuels compétiteurs. Louis de Luxembourg ‘porta emprise par un an entier, à intention d’avoir a besongnier à tel que ne pouvoit finer. Sy en fit le voyage à Saint-Jacques, en pompeux estat, mais non venant à ses intentions, retourna non délivré de nulluy’ (GC II, 171-72). Les pèlerins, qui rentrent des lieux saints, n’hésitent pas, malgré les frais 71 supplémentaires engendrés, à s’arrêter pour assister au Pas. Certains chapitres prévoient que, s’ils n’ont pas les chevaux nécessaires, on les leur prête (LF, 195, et ME I, 272). Le thème du Pas de la Pèlerine leur est dédié en quelque sorte (OM II, 121). En 1448, La Belle Pèlerine attaquée sur le chemin de son pèlerinage vers Rome, ne reprend la route que lorsque son défenseur le seigneur d’Haubourdin, une fois le pas achevé, peut l’accompagner (ME I, 244 et 250), aussi se hâte-t-elle de l’aider. Antoine de la Sale est le seul à évoquer, sous une forme parodique, la pratique de l’offrande propriatoire associée au pèlerinage. Belle Cousine voue à Dieu et à la Vierge, à Notre-Dame de Léesse en Laonnois, une statue de cire, ex-voto anatomique qui représente le jeune Saintré en entier, en armes, monté sur un destrier houssé de ses couleurs, le tout pesant trois mille livres (JS, 273). Après l’affrontement, la donatrice vient remercier Dieu et la Vierge de la protection accordée (JS, 299). À la fin du Pas de la Fontaine des Pleurs, Lalaing se rend aux pardons de 72 la sainte cité de Rome. Après avoir fait ses dévotions, il rencontre, à la cour 73 d’Aragon, le duc de Clèves, qui rentre juste de Jérusalem et lui fait part de son projet ‘tout son vouloir sy estoit de s’en aller user sa vie et exposer son corps au service de Nostre-Seigneur, et de soy tenir en frontières sur les



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marches des Infidèles, sans jamais plus retourner par-deçà’ (LF, 254). Il n’est pas le seul: par son vœu le seigneur d’Etampes, lors du banquet de Lille, le 17 février 1453, montre qu’il entend mettre son talent au service de Dieu contre 74 les Infidèles en proposant d’affronter en combat singulier les princes turcs. La croisade reste le but ultime, tout y tend, du moins pour une minorité de champions très dévots. Joutes, pas d’armes et tournois, à la fin du Moyen Âge, ne sont plus incompatibles avec de hautes exigences spirituelles. Loin de mener en enfer, ils constituent pour quelques âmes élevées une étape, une préparation au pèlerinage par excellence, la croisade. Pour la plupart des participants, les gestes de dévotion répondent au besoin de se protéger des accidents, des blessures, de la défaite, du déshonneur, et surtout de la mort dans des exercices qui restent dangereux, voire mortels. Ils s’inscrivent dans un ensemble cohérent de pratiques collectives et individuelles, qui montrent la participation des fêtes d’armes aux valeurs communes de la société chrétienne. Le mouvement est un point d’aboutissement, qui intervient après un effort multiséculaire et conjugué de l’Église et des princes contre ces exercices violents. Les participants des tournois ont l’initiative de cette christianisation informelle et témoignent ainsi de l’intériorisation de la doctrine chrétienne, rares sont ceux qui s’y opposent de manière délibérée. Par rapport aux premiers tournois, le progrès est considérable. Mais l’inflation des duels pour l’honneur, à l’époque moderne, montre que le problème s’est seulement déplacé au plan religieux comme politique.

Notes

1. En 1446, lors des trêves entre Anglais et Français, ‘les seigneurs et nobles hommes n’avoient mie grant occupacion pour le fait de la guerre, se commancèrent à mettre sus plusieurs joustes de par le Roy de France, les princes et grans seigneurs, et aussy aultres esbastemens de grans coustaiges et despens, affin de entretenir leurs gens en l’exercice des armes et aussy pour passer temps plus joyeusement’ (ME I, 107). 2. Dès le XIIIe s. circule une histoire édifiante: un chevalier, qui préfère entendre la messe de la Vierge, plutôt que d’aller à un tournoi y est et remplacé par elle (Du chevalier qui voit la messe et Nostre Dame estoit pour lui au tournoiement. Barbazan et Méon, Fabliaux et contes, Paris, 1808, t. I, p. 82, cité par Jusserand 1986: 46-48). 3. Après un premier soir passé à souper, danser et échanger de gracieux propos, le lendemain a lieu la visite des timbres et bannières. Les cloîtres avec leurs arcades et leur promenoir couvert sont parfaits pour ces exhibitions (Paris, B.n.f., ms. Fr. 2695, fol. 68, XVe s.). Aussi le roi René recommande-t-il aux juges ‘de eux loger en lieu de religion, où il y ait cloître’, ‘parce qu’il n’y a lieu si convenable pour asseoir de rang les timbres des tournoyants comme un cloître’ (Des anciens tournois et faits d’armes, 1458, Paris, B.n.f., ms. Fr. 1997, du roi René d’Anjou et éd. Prost, Traités du duel judiciaire, Paris, 1872) (Jusserand 1986: 86).



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 4. Charny et ceux qui gardent le pas logent dans trois châteaux dont un appartient à l’abbaye de Sainct-Bénigne de Dijon (OM I, 294). 5. Lors de la réunion à Gand du chapitre de la Toison d’Or, sont célébrés une grande messe puis les vêpres à Saint-Jean de Gand (OM II, 89-90). Le duc Charles tint à Bruges sa première réunion en l’église de Notre-Dame (GC V, 376). 6. Les chapitres du Pas de la Belle Pèlerine donnent le lieu: ‘la Crois à la Pellerine’ et les dates: du 15 juillet jusqu’à l’assomption (ME I, 251). Cette croix en grès d’une élévation de douze pieds, et qui, anciennement était surmontée d’une croix en fer, est connue sous le nom de Croix Pèlerine (M. Quenson, La Croix Pèlerine. Notice sur un monument des environs de Saint-Omer, Mémoires de la Société royale et centrale d’agriculture, sciences et arts du département du Nord, séant à Douai, t. V (1833-34), 307-346). Elle est située dans la commune de Saint-Martin-au-Laërt, vis-àvis du château de Long-Jardin ou Beau-Jardin, démoli en 1832. Le dessin figure dans le t. I, des Mémoires de la Société des antiquaires de la Morinie, p. 502. 7. Lalaing est reçu à l’abbaye de Notre-Dame de Mont-Sevrat par l’abbé et après une nuit, entend la messe et fait des offrandes à la Vierge (LF, 153). 8. L’auteur relève le fait quand il va affronter le premier candidat Pierre de Chandio, en février (LF, 203), Jean de Boniface le 6 avril (LF, 208), Gérard de Roussillon, le 28 mai 1450, à onze heures ou environ (LF, 215), et encore, Claude Pitois, seigneur de Saint-Bonnet, le 2 octobre 1450 à la même heure (LF, 218), Aimé de Rabustin, seigneur d’Espiry (LF, 224), Jean de Villeneuve, dit Pasquoy, environ à onze heures, le chevalier tenant le pas étant désarmé (LF, 227), Gaspar de Durtain, encore à onze heures, le chevalier étant avec sa compagnie (LF, 229) et enfin Jacques d’Avanchies, écuyer de Savoie (LF, 230). 9. Le palais épiscopal de Londres, dès le XIVe s., abrite les jouteurs qui y sont logés et nourris. 10. Dès 1252, les moines de l’abbaye de Walden accueillent les tournoyeurs qui participent à une table ronde (Barker et Barber 1989: 153). 11. L’adversaire de Tirant, décédé lors du duel non autorisé, est mis en bière dignement, recouvert d’un magnifique drap d’or, réservé aux chevaliers morts au combat. Avec le vainqueur blessé et couché sur un grand pavois, il est porté en cortège avec en tête les croix et les gens d’église à Saint-Georges, où est chanté la messe de requiem, puis le corps est descendu dans la sépulture (TLB, 117). La sentence contre les duellistes est prononcée dans l’église par le roi, qui donne l’autorisation de laisser en sépulture chrétienne le vaincu (TLB, 118). 12. La salle où les prix sont remis est éclairée par des torches et de grosses chandelles plantées sur des croix de bois horizontales suspendues au plafond en guise de lustres (Jusserand 1986: 97). 13. 1454, le comte de Saint Pol tient la fête de la Licorne dans la cité de Cambrai avec des joutes. Malgré de grandes dépenses, les princes y sont peu nombreux (ME II, 129). 14. D’après Olivier de la Marche, au ‘dossier’ du pavillon et au plus haut, il y avait un tableau, la représentation de la vierge Marie, tenant son fils, et plus bas, au côté droit, de l’image était figurée une dame très richement vêtue, la tête couverte d’un simple atour. Elle pleurait tellement que les larmes tombaient et courraient jusque sur le côté gauche où était figurée une fontaine et sur celleci était assise une licorne, embrassant les trois targes semées de larmes bleues. Et pour ces raisons la dame fut nommée la dame de Pleurs, et la fontaine, la fontaine de Pleurs (OM II, 146). Mathieu d’Escouchy évoque rapidement le décor, une dame tenant une licorne portant trois targes (ME I, 265).





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 15. Mathieu d’Escouchy décrit les entremets du banquet de Lille en 1454 avec Sainte Église, Grâce-Dieu, les douze vertus, relève les vœux concernant le voyage de Turquie (ME II, 117) et mentionne les joutes. 16. Guillaume Durand (1230-1296) la donne dès 1286 pour l’équipement de guerre dans son Rationale divinorum officiorum. 17. Charny arrive par l’entrée droite du champ. Après avoir salué le duc, il se retire dans son pavillon ‘et avoit en sa main une bannierrette, là où il y avoit, à l’un des costés, l’ymage de Nostre Dame, et, à l’autre lez, saint George ; et en faisoit souvent le signe de la croix’ (SR II, 317). 18. De même le seigneur de Ternant, lors des armes à pied contre Galiot de Baltasin, chambellan du duc de Milan, en avril 1446, à Arras, à 15 h., sort de son pavillon équipé: ‘Et fit une grande croix de sa main dextre’ (OM II, 70). 19. Lors du Pas de la Fontaine des Pleurs, pour des armes à pied, Pierre de Chandio sort de son pavillon, la cotte d’armes au dos, bassinet en tête et la visière close, il se signe de sa bannerolle, Lalaing sort à son tour ‘et après la recommandacion de sa bannerolle’ on lui donne sa hache (OM II, 152-53). 20. Lors du grand pas d’armes au château de Nozeroy, en 1519, l’imitation de la lutte à outrance est poussée jusque dans l’observation des pratiques pieuses. Les assaillants baisèrent la terre au moment de l’assaut, en invoquant Dieu pour qu’il leur donne la victoire (Jusserand 1986: 139). 21. Jean de Villiers dans son Traicté des duels et gages de batailles décrit les chevaliers qui entrent ‘les visières baissées faisant le signe de la Croix’ (TA, 111). 22. Il est suivi d’autres gestes de dévotion, qui appartiennent au rituel de l’adoubement. Ainsi, Lalaing baise la poignée de son épée avant de la tendre au duc qui l’a adoubé (OM II, 98). 23. Quand Lalaing est adoubé, le duc lui donne l’accolade (OM II, 98 n. 1). 24. Lors du Pas de l’arbre de Charlemagne, Charny et Pietre Vasque de Saavedra obtempèrent sur les lices en présence des spectateurs et ils touchent, c’est-à-dire topent la main (OM I, 305). 25. Le roi René évoque le même jour que la Merci des dames, la veille du tournoi, la visite des lices par les chevaliers et la cérémonie du serment, qui y a lieu; le héraut crie: ‘Vous lèverez la main droite en haut vers les saints et tous ensemble …, jurerez par la foi et serment de vos corps et sur votre honneur que nul d’entre vous ne frappera l’autre audit tournoi, à son escient, d’estoc, ni aussi depuis la ceinture en aval, en quelque façon que ce soit’, etc. (Jusserand 1986: 90). 26. Antoine de la Sale donne la teneur du serment que le maréchal fait prêter sur les Évangiles, à la demande du roi, à Saintré et Cervillon (JS, 235). Jean de Villiers en donne un presque identique (TA, 118-19), qui vise à prévenir l’utilisation de maléfices, ensuite le défendant et l’appelant baisent la croix et les Évangiles. René d’Anjou, dans son Traictié de la forme et Devis d’ung Tournois, évoque un autre serment interdisant de frapper d’estoc. 27. Antoine de la Sale rapporte les prières de Belle Cousine, de la reine et des spectatrices (JS,175, 185, 218), des spectateurs (JS, 191, 264). 28. Mathieu d’Escouchy éclaire les intentions de l’entrepreneur ‘car en verité de Dieu, il le fait pour tout bien et causes raisonnables, pour essauchier le noble estat de chevallerie et pour soy occuper, pour ce que Dieu mercy! on est à présent en ces marces assez en repos du traveil des guerres’ (ME II, 273).



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 29. Dieu, le Père, est invoqué 209 fois, Notre Dame, la Vierge 40, Notre Seigneur, Jésus-Christ, Dieu le Fils 30. Parmi les saints sont invoqués Georges (7), Michel (6), Gabriel (1), Julien (1), Denis (1) (Andrews 2003: 86-87). 30. En 1445, les chapitres des armes à cheval de Jean de Boniface commencent ainsi: ‘A l’honneur et louange de Nostre-Seigneur Jésus Christ et de sa très glorieuse Vierge mère et de monsieur Saint-Georges, je, Jehan de Boniface’ (LF, 79). Lalaing lit les chapitres des armes à pied de point en point, les accepte et ‘moyennant la grâce de Nostre-Seigneur et de sa très-digne mère, sans y rien ajouter de nouvel, ni faire refus, promit de les entretenir’ (LF, 82). 31. En 1445, le duc de Bourgogne, qui adoube Lalaing, lui souhaite: ‘Bon chevalier, puissiez-vous estre, au nom de Dieu, de Nostre Dame et de monseigneur saint Georges’ (LF, 85). 32. En 1448, les chapitres de la Fontaine des Pleurs dans le comté d’Auxonne, en Bourgogne, commence par ‘A la louenge et ou nom de Dieu, de la glorieuse vierge Marie, de monseigneur Saint-Jaques, de madame Saincte-Anne et de monseigneur Saint-Georges, conduiseur de toutes bonnes armes!’ … le chevalier entreprend ‘à l’aide de Dieu et de la glorieuse vierge Marie’ ce qui s’ensuit (ME I, 264). 33. Il fait savoir ‘que à l’aide de Dieu et de la glorieuse Vierge Marie sa douce mère et de Monseigneur saint George, se Dieu le gard de féal essonne’, il tiendra le pas (LF, 198). Les spectateurs prient: ‘Dieu eust gardez les corps de loyal essone’ (JS, 264). 34. En 1446, Lalaing au chapitre quatre de son emprise prévoit sa chute, ‘dont Dieu ne veuille’, au cinq, celle de son adversaire ‘si ainsi estoit que Dieu et celle qui a plus de pouvoir sur moy que nulle chose en ce monde’ (LF, 96). Le second chapitre du pas de la Fontaine des Pleurs envisage la perte de sa hache ‘que Dieu ne veuille!’ Le quatrième évoque la chute ‘laquelle chose jà Dieu ne veuille’ (LF, 191), même invocation dans le chapitre neuf, lors du combat à l’épée, en cas de chute, dans le treize, pour le combat à la lance (LF, 193), et encore dans le dix-sept ‘que s’il advenoit, laquelle chose jà Dieu ne veuille! que ledit entrepreneur fust porté par terre en combattant aux armes de pied, ou qu’il eust blessure, maladie, inconvenénient ou autre empeschement raisonnable, en ce cas il pourroit commettre en son lieu’ (LF, 194). Dans le Pas de La Belle Pèlerine, il est prévu le cas où un chevalier touche la terre de sa main, ou du genou, ou il est désarmé (ME I, 256). La formule longue ‘laquelle chose jà Dieu ne veulle!’ (ME I, 268, 269) est abrégée deux fois ‘que Dieu ne veulle!’ (ME I, 270). 35. À Lalaing, qui lui annonce ses chapitres, le roi de France répond: ‘Vos faits et œuvres ont beau commencement, Dieu y veuille mettre le parfait’ (LF, 95). Lalaing lui réplique ’Sire, Dieu veuille par sa grâce parfaire en moy ce qu’il faut’ (LF, 96). À Pampelune, le prince refuse d’autoriser l’emprise par crainte de rompre les bonnes relations avec la Bourgogne. Lalaing répond: ‘Monseigneur le prince, jà à Dieu ne plaise que je sois cause’ (LF, 108). Puis il prend congé ‘puisqu’ainsy est que vostre plaisir est tel, nous sommes contens et prions Dieu qu’il vous veuille conduire’ (LF, 110). Il vient ensuite à la cour du roi de Castille qui lui fait un accueil favorable, il le remercie et ajoute ‘Dieu me doint par sa grâce faire chose qui luy soit agreable!’ (LF, 111). Il l’informe de son projet: ‘j’ay entrepris et entreprens, à l’aide de Dieu, porter une emprise d’armes par la plupart des royaumes chrestiens’ (LF, 114). 36. Lalaing, qui rend visite au roi de France, en profite pour rencontrer la comtesse de Ligny. Elle lui dit: ‘Messire Jacques, je prie à Nostre-Seigneur Jésus-Christ qu’il vous veuille conduire et vous doint la grâce d’accomplir vostre bon vouloir et retourner à l’honneur et salut de l’hostel dont vous estes parti’ (LF, 92). Le duc de Bourgogne, avant le départ de Lalaing pour l’Écosse, le reçoit: ‘Messire Jacques, Dieu par sa grâce veuille parfaire en vous ce qu’il y faut’ (LF, 164).





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 37. À Gand, la réunion du chapitre de la Toison d’Or (OM II, 89-90, 93, 94), celle du 30 avril 1478, à Bruges (OM III, 250-51), puis dans le Mémorial de la fête de la Toison d’or tenue à Boisle-Duc en 1481 (OM IV, 147), les célébrations se suivent. Dans l’Espitre pour tenir et célébrer la noble feste du Thoison d’or faicte et composée par et comme s’ensuit, s’enchaînent une grande messe pour les Trépassés (OM IV, 185), les vêpres du Saint-Esprit (OM IV, 187), la grande messe du Saint-Esprit (OM IV, 188), une messe de Notre-Dame (OM IV, 189). Lorsque le duc tient la fête de son ordre à La Haye, sont célébrés messe et vêpres (GC, III, 89). 38. Avant de quitter Sabugal (LF, 119), Estremos (LF, 121), Evre (LF, 131) il entend la messe. Après avoir été accueilli par l’archevêque de Caval, il le quitte le lendemain, après avoir assisté à la messe, puis part pour la Navarre jusqu’à Tudela où il reste une nuit. Après la messe, il va jusqu’à Mansilla où il est reçu par Don Pédro de Péralta, le lendemain, après la messe, il le quitte (LF, 149). Il fait un séjour à Montpellier, avant de partir de la ville, il entend la messe (LF, 15960). 39. Jacques de Lalaing se rend à la cour du duc de Bourgogne pour se présenter à son maître, le duc de Clèves, il arrive à Notre Dame de Hal et ‘fit chanter une messe devant l’image de la Vierge Marie, où il fit ses humbles prières et requestes, telles que pour lors sa devotion l’incitoit à ce faire’ (LF, 26). 40. Au royaume de Navarre, avant de voir l’archevêque (LF, 148), puis à Saragosse, avant de voir le roi de Navarre, Lalaing entend la messe (LF, 152). 41. Lors du pas d’armes de Nozeroy, en 1519, il est prévu que le troisième jour du pas, ils se reposeront ‘en l’honneur des Saints Innocents’ (BP, 235, et Jusserand 1986: 138). En 1429, lors des noces d’Isabelle de Portugal, à Bruges, avec joutes lundi mardi, mercredi et jeudi ‘Sy se reposèrent le vendredy’ (SR II, 169). 42. La période du Carême, de l’Avent, les dimanches, la Semaine Sainte (JS, 99), mais dans les romans arthuriens Pentecôte est volontiers retenue et les exceptions abondent (Barker et Barber 1989: 187). 43. Antoine de la Sale précise qu’il s’agit de la messe du Saint-Esprit (JS, 228). 44. Ces dévotions ne changent guère leurs habitudes. Boucicaut qui se lève tôt passe chaque jour trois heures en prières, entend deux messes. Le vendredi il s’habille de noir, le dimanche et les jours de fête, il fait à pied un pèlerinage, écoute la lecture de vies de saints et participe à des entretiens édifiants, d’après Le livre des fais du bon Messire Jehan le Meingre dit Boucicaut. 45. Elle est ainsi appelée en raison de l’église prieurale de Saint-Jean qui y était située et portait le nom de Maizel. 46. Chez Chrétien de Troyes, dans les romans arthuriens, les hommes d’Église ne s’opposent pas aux jeux chevaleresques. Le changement d’attitude de l’Église, dans la première moitié du XIVe s., explique le rôle des clercs dans les fêtes d’armes. Le pape Clément VI assiste à un tournoi organisé par Annibale Ceccano, près de Sorgues et l’évêque de Liège, Jean de Bavière, assiste aux joutes de Lille en 1409. À Saint-Omer en 1459, des joutes ont lieu pour fêter le nouvel évêque de Thérouanne, Henri de Lorraine. 47. Dans Tirant le Blanc, Martorell oppose deux situations dramatiques. Dans le premier cas, le duel à outrance n’est pas autorisé. Le juge met en garde l’attaquant: ‘Ayez Dieu devant les yeux, et renoncez à mourir sans espoir, car vous savez parfaitement que Notre-Seigneur n’accorde point son pardon à l’homme qui provoque sa propre mort, et c’est justice: cet homme est éternellement



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 damné’, puis il tente de les réconcilier en vain (TLB, 112). Dans un duel pour l’honneur prévu à outrance, en présence du Roi d’Angleterre et d’un grand concours de noble dans un champ clos préparé avec soin, où les duellistes sont conduits en cortège, deux Franciscains les confessent, ils communient d’une bouchée de pain, puis les juges les exhortent à oublier leur querelle. Pour donner plus de force à cette dernière tentative de conciliation ils ont fait venir un prêtre avec l’ostensoir et l’hostie à la main, qui adjure Thomas de Montalban de pardonner, il s’agenouille en voyant le corps du Christ, l’adore, mais refuse de pardonner (TLB, 154-56). 48. Ils doivent envoyer un héraut auprès de la Belle Pèlerine (ME I, 256). 49. OM II, 147, et ME I, 251, 259, 261. 50. TLB, 109, 140, 148, 153, 159; LF, 123; OM II, 199. 51. Dans le Pas de la Fontaine de Pleurs, Lalaing affirme qu’ ‘il désiroit, soubz le plaisir de Dieu, d’avoir présenté sa cotte d’armes ou sa personne en lices closes, et avoir combattu trante hommes avant qu’il eust trante ans d’eage’ (OM II, 143, et LF 201 n. 1). 52. ‘C’est vertu qui florit en renommée’ (OM II, 60). 53. D’après le Livre des faits de Jacques de Lalaing, le héros est ce qu’il paraît ‘il estoit tant bel et bien fait de tous membres, que Dieu et nature à le former n’avoient rien oublié. Certes, avec ce estoit débonnaire et courtois en faits et en paroles dévot vers Dieu et aumônier’ (LF, 48). À propos des relations de Lalaing avec les duchesses d’Orléans et de Calabre, ‘oncques il ne fit chose dont il dust estre reprins devant Dieu, ne le monde. Il craignoit et aimoit Dieu sur toute rien’ (LF, 49). 54. Lors de l’adoubement, les mêmes protecteurs sont évoqués (OM II, 98 n. 1). Dans la réponse de Gloucester aux lettres du duc de Bourgogne, il accepte de relever le défi, ‘à l’ayde de Dieu, NostreDame et monseur saint George’ (SR II, 104). 55. OM II, 66; TLB, 144; SR II, 101. 56. En 1445, les chapitres des armes à pied de Jean de Boniface évoque ‘celuy a qui Dieu donnera la victoire’ (LF, 81). L’affirmation figure aussi à plusieurs reprises dans l’œuvre d’Antoine de la Sale (JS, 165, 273, 275, 297). 57. Au cours d’une joute, Lalaing jette à terre son premier adversaire, les comtes du Maine et de Saint-Pol, s’approchent de lui, avant le troisième combat: ‘Vostre commencement a esté bel: Dieu vous doint cet honneur de mieux en mieux persévérer!’ Réponse de Lalaing: ‘Au bon vouloir que j’ay parmi la grâce de Dieu, j’ai aujourd’hui intention que vostre honneur et le mien y seront bien gardés’ (LF, 57, et encore LF, 58). 58. Le duc de Bourgogne interrompt à la demande de certains grands seigneurs le combat en champ clos à Arras de Maillotin de Bours et d’Hector de Flavy ‘pour l’honneur et révérence de Dieu et pour l’honneur de noblesse’ (GC II, 199), car ils l’ont bien servi et peuvent encore le faire. 59. À propos des armes faites à Arras, entre Français et Bourguignons, qui se soldent par trois blessés du côté des cinq Français ‘Sy prirent l’honneur et la patience devers eux et se contentoient du plaisir de Dieu’ (GC I, 25). 60. Dans la lettre de la Dame des Pleurs aux dames et damoiselles, qui ont assisté au banquet (LF, 246).





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 61. Dans Tirant le Blanc, à l’issue d’un duel à outrance qui laisse un mort et un blessé grave, le juge signe deux fois chaque combattant, prend deux morceaux de bois, en fait des croix qu’il pose sur les corps (TLB, 114). 62. Tirant le Blanc montre la forme extrême que peut prendre la célébration du vainqueur. Une lettre, avec le seing de vingt cinq notaires, en rapporte l’ordonnance. Après proclamation dans les quatre coins des lices qu’il est le meilleur des chevaliers, il est hissé sur un grand cheval tout blanc. Tous les présents, avec le roi, en procession générale et Tirant sous un dais se rendent à l’église ‘du glorieux messire saint Georges’, où sera dite une messe chantée, au cours de laquelle sera prononcé un panégyrique solennel de Tirant le Blanc, retraçant ses exploits (TLB, 97). 63. Lalaing blessé dans le combat avec Thomas Keith, ‘lorsqu’il se sentit sain et guéri de son bras, il fut moult joyeux, sy en loua Nostre-Seigneur et la Vierge Marie’ (LF, 199). 64. Les écus sont, au moment où Olivier de la Marche écrit, encore dans l’église, dans une chapelle à main droite quand on vient du chœur (OM I, 333). Dans cette chapelle dite de l’Apport et plus tard du Bon Espoir, Philippe Pot fit aussi placer un tableau votif avec sa devise: ‘Tant L vaut’. 65. Olivier de la Marche écrit qu’on pouvait de son temps encore les voir dans l’église sur l’oratoire du duc de Bourgogne. 66. Un noble bourguignon dès 1333 prescrit par testament l’offrande à l’église Saint-Lazare d’Autun de deux chevaux de tournois (P. Contamine, ‘Les tournois à la fin du Moyen Âge’, in Fleckenstein, 1985, 429). 67. Après le Pas de l’arbre de Charlemagne et avant d’entrer dans Dijon, sur le chemin du retour, Pierre de Bauffremont et ses douze compagnons d’armes font d’abondantes aumônes à l’Hôpital du Saint-Esprit de Dijon (OMI, 334 n. 1). 68. Tirant défié par le frère d’un défunt qu’il a tué, lui propose dans une ultime tentative de conciliation pour attirer la faveur de Dieu, d’aller pieds nus à la sainte maison de Jérusalem, d’y séjourner un an et un jour et d’y faire dire chaque jour trente messes pour les âmes de ceux qu’il a tué de ses mains (TLB, 152). 69. Pour le Pas de la fontaine de Pleurs, le lieu est choisi parce que la noblesse est nombreuse en Bourgogne et, seconde raison, ‘pour ce que le pays estoit situé au passaige de France, d’Angleterre, d’Espaigne et d’Escosse, pour aller à Romme dont les sainctz pardons et la jubilée de l’an cinquante approuchoient et sembloit que, par ces deux raisons plus de nobles hommes seroient advertiz de son emprise’ (OM II, 143, et LF, 201 n. 1). Dans Tirant le Blanc, les rois, qui se présentent en Angleterre, le font après avoir été informés à Rome, où il se rendait à l’occasion du saint Pardon du jubilé, le jour où l’on montre la sainte Véronique et les autres saintes reliques, dans l’église de saint Pierre (TLB, 122). 70. De Werchin, sénéchal de Hainaut, part en 1402 et annonce, rapporte Monstrelet, que, se rendant à Saint-Jacques d’Espagne, pour le bien de son âme, il est prêt à accepter le combat à armes courtoises contre tout opposant qui ne le détourne pas de plus de vingt lieues de son itinéraire, dûment notifié d’avance à tous (Jusserand 1986: 127). 71. Lors du Pas de la fontaine de Pleurs: ‘En ce temps et en celle sepmaine, revint du voyage de Jerusalem et de là retourna par Romme pour gaigner le sainct pardon messire Jehan, seigneur de Crequy, ung moult noble et vertueulx chevallier.'. 'Et combien qu’il eust esté un an ou plus en son voyage à grans frais et missions (car il estoit fort accompaigné de chevaliers et de nobles



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 hommes), toutesfois, pour l’amour qu’il avoit à son dit neveu, il arresta au lieu de Chalon’ (OM II, 185, et LF, 218 n. 2). 72. À la fin des fêtes du Pas de la Fontaine des Pleurs, après la remise des prix et le banquet pour les dames de la ville ‘messire Jacques de Lalaing prit congé d’elles pour s’en aller et prendre son chemin aux pardons de la sainte cité de Rome’ (LF, 245). 73. Après son pèlerinage à Rome, Lalaing arrive à la cour du roi d’Aragon et trouve là le duc de Clèves, nouvellement arrivé du saint Sépulcre de Jérusalem (LF, 247). 74. Il formule le vœu suivant: ‘et durant ledit sainct voyage, se je puis savoir et congnoistre qu’il y ait aucungs grans princes ou grans seigneurs de la compagnie dudit grand turc et tenans sa loy, qui ayent voulenté de avoir à faire à moy, corps contre corps, deux à deux, trois à trois, quatre à quatre, ou cinq à cinq, je pour ladicte foy chrestienne soubstenir, les combatray à l’ayde de Dieu le tout puissant et de sa très doulce mere’ (OM II, 383).

Bibliographie Sources Chastellain, George. Œuvres. Ed. M. le baron E. Kervyn de Lettenhove. 8 tomes. Bruxelles: Victor Devaux, 1863-1866. [GC] Le Débat des hérauts d’armes de France et d’Angleterre. Ed. J. Coke, L. Pannier, P. Meyer. Paris: Firmin-Didot, 1877. [DH] d’Escouchy, Mathieu. Chronique. 2 tomes. Nouvelle édition revue sur les manuscrits et publiée avec notes et éclaircissements pour la Société de l’Histoire de France, par G. du Fresne de Beaucourt. Paris, 1863. [ME] Martorell, Joanot. Tirant le Blanc. Traduit du catalan par Jean-Marie Barberà. Toulouse: Anacharsis Éditions, 2003. [TLB] Le Fèvre de Saint-Rémy, Jean. Chronique. 2 tomes. Transcrite d’un manuscrit appartenant à la bibliothèque de Boulogne-sur-mer et publié pour la Société de l’Histoire de France par François Morand. Paris, 1876-1881. [SR] Le livre des fais du bon Messire Jehan le Meingre dit Boucicaut Mareschal de France et gouverneur de Jennes. Ed. Denis Lalande. TLF 331. Genève: Droz, 1985. Le livre des faits du bon chevalier Messire Jacques de Lalaing. Dans Chastellain, Georges. Œuvres. Tome VIII. Bruxelles: Victor Devaux, 1866. 1-259. [LF] Marche, Olivier de la. Mémoires. 4 tomes. Publiées pour la Société de l’Histoire de France par Henri Beaune et Jean d’Arbaumont. Paris, (1883-1888). [OM] La Sale, Antoine de. Jehan de Saintré. Ed. Joël Blanchard. Trad. Michel Quereuil. Paris: Le Livre de poche, 1995. [JS] Traicté de la forme et devis comme on faict les tournoisþ . Ed. Bernard Prost. Paris, 1878. [BP] Villiers, Jean de. Traitez et advis sur les duels et gages de batailles. Paris: J. Richer, 1586. [TA] Études Cat = Catalogue d’Exposition Andrews, Mélanie (2003). ‘La christianisation des tournois à la fin du Moyen Âge dans Jehan de Saintré.’ Mémoire de maîtrise sous la direction de C. Raynaud. Université de Provence, Aix-Marseille I. Avril, François (1986). Le 'Livre des tournois du roi René' de la Bibliothèque nationale (ms. fr. 2695). Introd. Paris: Herscher. Barber, Richard, et Juliet Barker (1989). Les Tournois. Londres / Paris : Compagnie douze.





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 Chabas, M. (1978). Le duel judiciaire en France (XIIIe-XVIe siècles). Saint-Sulpice-de-Favières: Jean Favard. Champier, Symphorien (1992). Les gestes ensemble la vie du preulx Chevalier Bayard. Présentation Denis Crouzet. Paris: Imprimerie nationale éditions. Fleckenstein, Joseph, dir. (1985). Das ritterliche Turnier im Mittelalter. Göttingen: Vandenhoek and Ruprecht. Gaier, Claude (1993). ‘Arms and armour used in lists contests in the Burgundian principalities during the XVth century.’ Livrust Kammaren. Journal of the Royal Armoury: 46-88. Jourdan, J.-P. (1990). ‘Le thème du Pas dans le royaume de France à la fin du Moyen Âge.’ Annales de Bourgogne 62: 117-33. Jusserand, Jean-Jules (1986). Les sports et jeux d’exercice dans l’ancienne France. Paris: Plon, 1901; Genève: Champion-Slatkine, reprints. Gaucher, Elisabeth (1994). La biographie chevaleresque. Typologie d’un genre (XIIIe-XVe siècle). Paris: Honoré Champion. Gautier, Léon (1895). La chevalerie. Paris: Sanard et Derangeon. La Curne de Sainte-Palaye (1759). Mémoires sur l’ancienne chevalerie. Paris. Ménestrier (Père C.-F.) (1669). Traité des tournois, joutes, carrousels et autres spectacles publics. Lyon. Mérindol, Christian de (1993). Les fêtes de chevalerie à la cour du roi René. Emblématique, art et histoire. Paris, éd. du C.T.H.S. Cat – Riddarlek och tornerspel (Tournaments and the dream of Chivalry). Stocholm, 1992. Stanesco, M. (1988). Jeux d’errance du chevalier médiéval. Aspects ludiques de la fonction guerrière dans la littérature du Moyen Âge flamboyant. Leiden / New York / Copenhague: E. J. Brill. Van Den Neste, Elisabeth (1996). Tournois, joutes, pas d’armes dans les villes de Flandre à la fin du Moyen Âge (1300-1486). Paris: Ecole des Chartes. Vulson de La Colombière, M. (1648). Le vray théâtre d’Honneur et de Chevalerie. 2 vol. Paris.

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BETWEEN CHRONICLE AND LEGEND: IMAGE CYCLES OF ST LADISLAS IN FOURTEENTH-CENTURY HUNGARIAN MANUSCRIPTS

Béla Zsolt Szakács

Abstract The paper analyses two image cycles representing the life and miracles of St Ladislas, king of Hungary (1077-1095). The Hungarian Angevin Legendary (c.1330) represents the saint’s life in twenty-four images. The image cycle is partially based on the written legend, but some of the scenes follow the text of the Hungarian Chronicle. The other pictorial source is the Illuminated Chronicle (Chronicon Pictum, c.1360). The chapter describing the deeds of Ladislas is illustrated with seventeen miniatures. This cycle emphasises the miraculous events more than the political acts and includes supernatural elements not described in the text. Thus, the illustrations of the chronicle and the legendary moved towards an ideal compromise between the secular and the religious character of Ladislas, creating an influential ideal, athleta patriae, an important propaganda tool for the legitimacy of the Hungarian Angevin dynasty.

I Chronicles and legends: these are usually the most important narrative sources of medieval history in Hungary as well as in other countries. They are connected to each other in several ways; sometimes even the texts are partially identical or one derives from another. However, their primary aims are quite different. Chronicles were from the secular world, while legends are used mainly for liturgical and other ecclesiastical purposes. Even if they present the same person or period, their points of view are naturally different, which may result in opposing evaluations of the same event. From an art historical point of view, it usually does not make a great difference if the illustrated text is a chronicle or a legend. Both of them require narrative episodes in an easily readable sequence, which makes it easier to follow or obviates the fatiguing labour of deciphering the written text itself. In the following, I present two versions of the same story, described and illustrated in two of the most important and luxurious codices of fourteenthcentury Hungary. The hero of these image cycles is St Ladislas, king of Hun1 gary between 1077 and 1095. Ladislas was second son of King Béla I. After the death of his father in 1063, the throne was inherited by Ladislas’ nephew, Solomon. Ladislas’ brother, Prince Géza ruled one third of the country and King Solomon controlled the two thirds. The relationship between the king and

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the princes was not ideal. Ill-intentioned advisors did their part on both sides, and finally King Solomon lost his throne in 1074. Géza ruled for three years, followed by Ladislas in 1077. His rulership is considered one of the most successful in the early history of the country. He consolidated the kingdom after many decades of controversy and finished the dissemination of Christianity started by the sainted King Stephen 80 years earlier. St Stephen, together with his son St Emeric and St Gerard, the Venetian-born bishop of the Hungarian diocese of Csanád, were canonised in 1083 by the initiative of Ladislas. Ladislas died in 1095 and his relics were elevated in 1192 in Várad, where he was buried. His tomb became one of the most frequented pilgrimage centres of Hungary, as records from the early thirteenth century show, and several 2 Hungarian kings and queens were buried nearby. The life of St Ladislas is described in two basic sources. One of them is a legend, known from two versions, which was created around the time of his 3 canonisation. The other source is the Hungarian Chronicle, a text written and re-written time and again from the eleventh century onwards, which survives in 4 different versions compiled in the fourteenth and fifteenth centuries. We are fortunate to have richly illustrated manuscript versions of these two sources from within a relatively short period (both from the middle third of the fourteenth century). In comparing the two pictorial versions we will see how much they deviate from the written texts, and how they moved toward each other to create a common ideal figure of a knightly saint.

II 5

Let me start with the Hungarian Angevin Legendary. This extraordinary codex remains only in a fragmented state, and its pages are now kept in six collections 6 on two continents. The majority of the pages are kept in the Vatican library, while significant parts have been collected in the Pierpont Morgan Library, 7 New York (M. 360, 1-26), and in the Hermitage in Saint Petersburg. Additionally, single pages are held by the Bancroft Library of the University of 8 9 California, Berkeley, the Metropolitan Museum of New York, and the Print 10 Room of the Louvre. At present, altogether 145 folios are known of the more than 180 pages of the original manuscript. No direct information is known about the origin of this codex: no inscription or coat of arms helps scholars find the identity of the donors, scribes and illuminators. However, the presence of typically Hungarian saints such as St Emeric, St Ladislas and St Gerard clearly points to Hungary as a place where 11 its program was formulated. The large number of images (today 549 pictures are known), the lavishness of the decorated golden leaves, and the generous use of parchment (one side of each folio remained empty, thus protecting the miniatures of the other side) suggest an extremely rich donor, probably the



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Hungarian king himself. Stylistically, the codex can be connected to the Bolognese school and dated to ca. 1330 (Gnudi 1972, Wehli 1991, Gibbs 1993-94). The most surprising feature of the codex is its purely visual character. It consists of 58 image cycles related to Jesus Christ, the apostles, martyrs, confessors and women saints. No textual version of the legends is given in the codex; only short inscriptions (tituli) help in identifying the persons and scenes represented. The cycles follow the Legenda Aurea of Jacobus de Voragine; in those cases in which the saints were missing from this collection, local legends 12 were utilised. The image cycles are of different lengths: the longest is that of Jesus Christ (originally 96 scenes), the shortest is the life of St Luke with two images. The majority of the legends are presented in eight pictures; the more important saints have twelve to sixteen scenes. The image cycle of St Ladislas consists of twenty-four images, thus its length is equivalent to that of the most important 13 apostles (Paul and John the Evangelist with 24 scenes, Peter with 22 scenes). The first page is dedicated basically to Ladislas’ royal dignity. In the first image he is entering the town of Székesfehérvár, where Hungarian kings were to be crowned. The second image depicts his coronation. The third image (‘quomodo ibat cum processione’) is perhaps the closing part of the coronation ceremony; at the same time it may reflect the good connections between the king and the church. However, it should be mentioned at this early point that the legend, as well as the Hungarian chronicles, explicitly tell that St Ladislas 14 did not want to be crowned while the previous king, Solomon, was still living. The last image of the page tells us the story of Ladislas feeding his army miraculously. According to the legend, Ladislas was praying for his soldiers, because there was great hunger in his camp. Following the prayers, a great number of deer and cows followed him to the camp to feed his army (SRH II, 520). The next image also reflects his military activity: it probably represents the siege of Belgrade. This event is missing from the legend, but is mentioned by the Hungarian Chronicle (SRH I, 373). The next four images are dedicated to the pious character of the saint. King Ladislas is shown praying in a church at night, when the devil attacked him in the form of a dead man. The devil threw a catafalque at the king. Finally, Ladislas showed the cross and the devil left immediately. A detailed textual source for this event is not known; the legend mentions only that the king frequently prayed at night in church (SRH II, 519). The most famous story connected to Ladislas is his fight with the Cuman. The historical background is a Cuman (or Petcheneg) attack on Hungary, which ended in the battle of Kerlés with the victory of the Hungarians. At the end of the battle (as is described in the Chronicle), a Cuman tried to escape with a 15 beautiful Hungarian girl, but Ladislas saved her. The Angevin Legendary describes the story in six images. In the first scene, Ladislas is pursuing a

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Cuman; in the second, they are fighting with each other. In the third scene, the girl helps Ladislas by striking the Cuman’s feet with a battle-axe, and finally she cuts off the head of the pagan soldier. The story ends with the scenes of the king at rest and the miraculous healing of the king by the Virgin Mary. This entire story is missing from the written legend, but different versions can be 16 found in chronicles (Chronicon Pictum c. 103, Chronicon Mügeln c. 36), and in painted cycles in fourteenth- and fifteenth-century churches in Hungary (Lukács 1980, László 1993, Lángi 2001). The last image of the page depicts the levitatio of the saint, which happened in a church in Várad according to the legend (caput 5; SRH II, 519-20). The next page is dedicated to the last episodes of the legend: the king made peace in Bohemia shortly before his death (SRH II, 522), then he died, and his corpse was carried to Várad to be buried. According to the legend, the saint was to be buried in Székesfehérvár, but the coach miraculously went to Várad without being pulled by horses (SRH II, 522-23). The bishop and the clerics are shown on the right side representing the procession which received the body of the saint, which was buried in a sarcophagus and was venerated by the people. The last two scenes show a miracle which happened at the tomb: a count declaring at the tomb of the saint that a silver cup (represented here as a bowl) was his own died because he was lying. The poor nobleman who was the real owner of the silver cup took it home without difficulty. The cycle finishes with this miracle, which is in fact the only one described in detail by the legend (SRH II, 524-25). Comparing the textual background with the image cycle, it is evident at first sight that the visual version exceeds the written legend. While the majority of the image cycles of the Angevin Legendary follow more or less faithfully the Legenda Aurea or the local legends, the case of St Ladislas is quite different. Ten of the twenty-four scenes are related to parts of the legend, two stories (comprising seven scenes) are from the chronicle, and some scenes cannot be connected to known written sources at all. It is quite remarkable that the image cycle of St Ladislas is the only one utilising elements of the Hungarian Chronicle in the entire Hungarian Angevin Legendary. Here the Chronicle served as the textual basis for the siege of Belgrade and the fight with the Cuman: both represent St Ladislas as the victorious military leader and knight. The third group of images, missing from the legend, is the beginning of the cycle: the coronation of the king. Thus, the new scenes not only enriched the saint’s portrait with further legendary episodes, but also changed its concept. The new images emphasized the knightly virtues and legitimacy of the saint-king. The legend was filled out with elements from the chonicle – in fact, the concept of the legend grew closer to that of the chronicle.



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III To tell the truth, we do not know if there was an illustrated version of the chronicle as early as when the Angevin Legendary was painted. The only illustrated medieval copy of the Hungarian Chronicle is from a few decades 17 later, dated to c.1360. This manuscript, kept in the National Széchényi Library in Budapest (Cod.lat. 404), is the so-called Illuminated Chronicle (Chronicon Pictum), one of the most important sources of medieval Hungary. Although nothing concrete is known about its origin, its frontispiece suggests that it was ordered by King Louis the Great. The date of 1358, mentioned in the foreword, may correspond to the execution of this manuscript, which remained unfinished: the last folio ends with the first half of a sentence, and the empty place is filled with a repetition of a previous miniature. Leaving aside the 18 adventurous theories on the origin and fate of the codex, I will concentrate on the image cycle related to King Ladislas. This part is one of the longest in the chronicle, with 17 interrelated images. Interestingly enough, there are three folios (fols. 41r, 42r, 43r), where miniatures in medallion format were added to the bottom of the page, seemingly with the intention of making the illustration of this part even more elaborate. The cycle starts on fol. 36v with the story of Ladislas and the Cuman, already known from the Angevin Legendary. Here it is condensed into one single P initial, focusing on the fight itself. The next part is related to the conflict between King Solomon and his nephews, Prince Géza and Ladislas. In the first image (fol. 37v) the capture of Belgrade is represented together with the quarrel over the booty. Saint Ladislas is depicted with a halo, while his brother, Prince Géza is marked with radiating rays of light. On fol. 39v, Prince Géza is receiving the ambassadors of the Byzantine emperor, while King Solomon is listening to a quarrelsome counsellor. On the same page, the people of Nis are giving presents to the Hungarian rulers. Fol. 41r is decorated with two scenes in medallions: the intrigue of King Solomon is revealed to Prince Géza by the Abbot of Szekszárd, and the treacherous knights of the prince are killed by ignorant soldiers of Solomon. The next image depicts a miraculous vision of Ladislas, who saw an angel bringing a crown to Géza. On fol. 43r we see the victorious battle against King Solomon, after which the princes decided to found a monastery. The exact place of this foundation is determined by another miracle: suddenly a deer appears with burning candles in his antlers. King Solomon, after losing the battle, escapes to his brother-in-law, Emperor Henry IV, who came to Hungary to help him. However, he returned, and the next time Solomon had to run away from Ladislas, seeing angels with protecting swords above the saint. The rule of King Ladislas is illustrated more laconically. It starts with the scene of his coronation, in which the crown is brought by two angels. In fact, this scene is not based on the text of the chronicle and contradicts all written

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sources, as we have seen above. Ladislas is depicted in full regalia in the next image, which is the usual way of representing rulers in the manuscript. Two military actions are indicated briefly in the next images: the king, after defeating the Ruthenians, receives their delegation, and his siege of the city of Cracow. Finally, the last deeds of the king are depicted. He moved the seat of the bishopric from Bihar to Várad and started to build a new cathedral; this church soon became the burial place of the king. The chronicle describes that before his death he was invited to lead the Christian soldiers of the First Crusade, but he died before he could accept it (of course this has no real historical basis; cf. Veszprémy 1999). The last image related to Ladislas is the burial scene. Although the chronicle mentions only briefly that the king was buried in Várad, the illuminator knew the whole story of the coach moving without horses. At that point it is clear that the miniature follows the text of the legend instead of the chronicle. The image cycle of King Ladislas in the Hungarian Illuminated Chronicle is not a faithful illustration of the text. It is a selection which emphasizes the miraculous events more than the battle scenes or political acts (Klaniczay 2002: 364). Moreover, supernatural elements are represented which are not described in the chronicle. The crown brought by angels for the coronation of Ladislas is such a scene. The coach moving to Várad by itself is a motif originating from the legend. Similarly, the representation of Géza, brother of Ladislas, with light radiating around his head (both on fols. 37v and 44), may go back to the legend. The text says that Géza was decorated by his virtues and admirable deeds so much that he would have been venerated as a saint if discord had not arisen between him and King Solomon (SRH II, 515). Thus, the pictorial cycle of King Ladislas in the Illuminated Chronicle not only underlines the legendary elements of the text, but completes it with the help of the saint’s legend. This is the opposite of what we have seen in the case of the Hungarian Angevin Legendary.

IV This short overview of the image cycles of the Hungarian Angevin Legendary and the Illuminated Chronicle shows that they seem to be related to each other at several points. In a way they complete each other: the Illuminated Chronicle includes legendary elements, while the Angevin Legendary incorporates stories from the chronicle. This relationship is partially explained by the connections between the two texts. Hungarian philologists and historians have pointed out the close textual interdependency between the two sources and have been debating the 19 priority of the legend or the chronicle for decades. The majority of scholars



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argue for the priority of a first version of the chronicle which was utilised in wording the legend of St Ladislas after his canonisation in 1192. However, after 1200 significant additions were made to this first version of the chronicle of Ladislas, which are consequently missing from the legend. These additions, in which Ladislas is consistantly called ‘beatus’ or ‘sanctus’, describe five miracles of the king. Thus, if the legend of St Ladislas originates from the chronicle, the Hungarian Chronicle later incorporated new legendary elements. These trends, pointed out in the development of the texts, have also been demonstrated in their later illustration. The double secular-religious character of the same figure, historical and legendary, derives from two aspects of the personality of Ladislas; on the one hand, he was a historical person, one of the greatest rulers of medieval Hungary. On the other hand, he was canonised a hundred years after his death and his tomb became one of the most venerated pilgrimage centres of the kingdom. The cult of St Ladislas was especially intense in the time of the Angevin kings in the fourteenth century (Klaniczay 1986, Klaniczay 2002: 322-26, 33145, 356-66). The first Hungarian ruler of the dynasty, King Charles Robert, strongly supported the rebuilding of the cathedral of Várad, centre of the cult. One of his sons was named after Ladislas, and his third wife, Queen Beatrix, was buried near the saint. His son, King Louis the Great, made a pilgrimage to the tomb of Ladislas at Várad after his coronation in 1342. In the second half of the century St Ladislas was represented on the reverse of the famous Hungarian golden florin. Ladislas became more and more popular as a patron saint of churches and chapels, as well as a person represented in fresco cycles and 20 secular objects. None of these were radically new features of the fourteenth century, as the cult of St Ladislas had started to flourish a few decades earlier, in the late thirteenth century, under the last Arpadian rulers. The new dynasty, the Anjous, adopted and expanded this tradition in order to emphasize their legitimacy: as descendants of the Arpadians in the female line, they frequently referred to their saintly ancestors, first of all St Stephen and St Ladislas. The figure of Ladislas successfully represented the ideal knight, which was so important in the courtly culture of the Hungarian Anjous (Kurcz 1988). If it was clear that the fourteenth-century illustrations of the earlier texts do not follow scrupulously either the legend or the chronicle, but combine these sources in a new and special way, we can now see that this feature is only part of a longer development. The illustrators of the Angevin Legendary and the 21 Illuminated Chronicle, probably not knowing about each other, gradually moved towards an ideal compromise. King Ladislas of the chronicle was represented as a saint living a pious and miraculous life. In the Legenday, as a saint, he manifested the ideal knight and ruler, athleta patriae, as he was called 22 in a medieval hymn. That is how an extremely influential ideal was created,

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one of the most important propaganda tools for the legitimacy of the Hungarian Angevin dynasty.

Notes 

1. Karácsonyi (1926); Györffy (1977: 533-64), Mezey ed. (1980). 2. E.g. King Stephen II († 1131), Queen Beatrix († 1319), Queen Mary († 1395), King Sigismund († 1437). 3. Legenda S. Ladislai regis (1938) (BHL 4670-4671e); cf. Klaniczay and Madas (1996: 117-21, 135-38). 4. Chronici Hungarici composito saeculi XIV (1937); Hoffmann (1936); see also notes 27 and 32. 5. Facsimile edition Levárdy (1973). Most recent study with further bibliography: Wehli/Mikó (2000); from a hagiografical point of view: Szakács (2001). 6. Bibliotheca Apostolica Vaticana, Vat.lat. 8541; facsimile edition with commentaries: ‘Ungarisches Legendarium’ (1990). 7. Nr. 16930-16934; cf. Vayer/Levárdy (1972). 8. MS f. 2MS2A2M2 1300-37; cf. Bader/Starr (1986), Török (1992). 9. MS 1994.516; cf. Boehm (1995), Wixom (1999: no. 172). 10. MS RF 29940; cf. Török (2001). 11. Further saints of the codex related to Hungary are Stanislas, Louis of Toulouse, Demetrius and Martin; cf. Szakács (1997) and Szakács (2000). 12. E.g. such a collection of lives of Hungarian saints as the one published in Strassburg c.1486, and in Venice in 1498 and 1512; cf. Madas (1992), and Klaniczay/Madas (1996: 143). 13. The image cycle of St Ladislas in the Hungarian Angevin Legendary was analyzed for the first time by Karl (1925). 14. Chronicle: SRH I, 404-405; legend: SRH II, 518. 15. A few Hungarian scholars have inferred nomadic origins for the story, e.g. Vargyas (1980), others compared it to western courtly and knightly topoi, e.g. Vizkelety (1981); for an art historical point of view, see Tóth (1995: 147-48). 16. SRH I, 366-69; Chronicon Mügeln: SRH II, 177; cf. Antonius de Bonfinis 58. 17. Most recent facsimile edition with studies: Képes Krónika (1987). For the critical edition, see Domanovszky (1937). 18. According to some scholars, the manuscript was intended as a gift for the French royal court; it may have spent some time with the Serbian despota as well as in Turkey, and was kept in Vienna from the sixteenth century to 1932. 19. Basic literature: Hóman (1925), Gerics (1974), Kristó (1994), Szovák (2000), Klaniczay/ Madas (1996: 117-21, 135-38), Klaniczay (2001), Klaniczay (2002: 173-94).





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 20. For his cult in general, cf. Bálint (1977: I, 480-504), Török (1992), Magyar (1996); for the dedications, see MezĘ (1996: 134-41 and 2003: 211-21); for the representations: Marosi (198788: 211-56), for the coins: Réthy (1899-1907: nos. 64-67, 94-97, 104, 111-13, 118-19 etc.); for the frescoes, Lukács (1980), László (1993), Lángi (2001). 21. According to ErnĘ Marosi there is no direct connection between the two manuscripts; see Marosi (1995: 68). 22. Hymn ‘Regis regum civis ave’ (c.1192); cf. Dreves (IV, 174); ‘Historia rithmica de Sancto Ladislao’ 148.

Bibliography Primary sources – Manuscripts Chronicon Pictum Budapest - Országos Széchényi Könyvtár Cod.lat. 404 Facsimile edition Képes Krónika. I. Hasonmás kiadás. II. Tanulmányok és fordítás. Ed. Bellus Ibolya, Kristó Gyula, Dercsényi DezsĘ, Csapodiné Gárdonyi Klára. Budapest: Helikon, 1987. Hungarian Angevin Legendary Berkeley, Bancroft Library of the University of California f. 2MS2A2M2 1300-37 New York – Metropolitan Museum MS 1994.516 New York – Pierpont Morgan Library M. 360, 1-26 Paris – Louvre RF 29940 Saint Petersburg – Ermitage 16930-16934 Vatican – Bibiotheca Apostolica Vaticana Vat.lat. 8541 Facsimile editions Magyar Anjou Legendárium. Ed. Ferenc Levárdy. Budapest: Helikon, 1973. ‘Ungarisches Legendarium’, Vat.lat. 8541. Kommentar v. G. Morello, H. Stamm, G. Betz. Stuttgart: Belser, 1990. Texts SRH = Scriptores Rerum Hungaricarum tempore ducum regumque stirpis Arpadianae gestarum. 2 vols. Ed. Emericus Szentpétery. Budapest: Magyar Tudományos Akadémia, 1937-1938. [SRH I, II] Chronici Hungarici composito saeculi XIV. Ed. Alexander Domanovszky. SRH I, 217-505. Legenda S. Ladislai regis. Ed. Emma Bartoniek. SRH II, 507-27. Analecta hymnica medii aevi. Ed. G. M. Dreves and Cl. Blume. Leipzig, 1886-1922. ‘Historia rithmica de Sancto Ladislao.’ Ed. József Török. In Mezey (1980). 148-49. Antonius de Bonfinis. Rerum Hungaricarum Decades. Ed. I. Fógel, B. Iványi and L. Juhász. Tomus II. Decas II. Leipzig: Teubner, 1936. 58.



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 Secondary literature Bader, J., and G. Starr (1986). ‘A Saint in the Family: a Leaf of the “Hungarian Anjou Legendary” at Berkeley.’ Hungarian Studies 3-11. Bálint, Sándor (1977). Ünnepi kalendárium. Budapest: Szent István Társulat. Boehm, Barbara Drake (1995). ‘A Leaf from a Royal Manuscript with Scenes of the Life of Saint Francis.’ The Metropolitan Museum of Art Bulletin, Fall: 24. Csóka, Lajos (1967). A latin nyelvĦ történeti irodalom kialakulása Magyarországon. Budapest: Akadémiai. Gerics, József (1974). ‘Krónikáink és a Szent László-legenda szövegkapcsolatai.’ In Középkori kútfĘink kritikus kérdései. Ed. János Horváth and György Székely. Budapest: Magyar Tudományos Akadémiai, 113-36. Gibbs, Robert (1993-94). ‘Towards a History of earlier 14th-century Bolognese illumination. Little-known manuscripts by Nerio Bolognese and the Hungarian Master.’ Wiener Jahrbuch für Kunstgeschichte 46-47: 211-21. Gnudi, Cesare (1972). ‘La Bibbia di Demeter Nekcsei-Lipócz, ill “Leggendario” angioino e i rapporti fra la miniatura bolognese e l’arte d’Occidente.’ Actes du XXIIe Congrès International d’Histoire de l’Art, 1969. Vol. I. Budapest: Akadémiai. 569-81. Györffy, György (1977). ‘A lovagszent uralkodása (1077-1095).’ Történelmi Szemle 20: 533-64. Hoffmann, Edith (1936). Die Bücher Ludwigs des Grössen und die ungarische Bildchronik. Leipzig. Hóman, Bálint (1925). A Szent László kori Gesta Ungarorum és XII-XIII. századi leszármazói. Budapest. Horváth, János (1954). Árpád-kori latin nyelvĦ irodalmunk stílusproblémái. Budapest: Akadémiai. Karácsonyi, János (1926). Szent László király élete. Budapest: Szent István Társulat. Karl, Louis (1925). ‘Notice sur un légendier historique conservé à Rome.’ Revue archéologique Ve série 21: 293-322. Klaniczay, Gábor (1986). ‘Az Anjouk és a szent királyok.’ “Mert ezt Isten hagyta…” Tanulmányok a népi vallásosság körébõl. Ed. Gábor Tüskés. Budapest: MagvetĘ. 65-87. ——— (2001). ‘Szent László “csodás” tettei krónikáinkban.’ Magyar Könyvszemle 117: 393410. ——— (2002). Holy rulers and blessed princesses. Cambridge: University Press. Klaniczay, Gábor, and Edit Madas (1996). ‘La Hongrie.’ Hagiographies. Histoire internationale de la littérature hagiographique Latine et vernaculaire en Occident des origines à 1550. 2 vols. Ed. Guy Philippart. Turnhout. II, 103-60. Kristó, Gyula (2000). A történeti irodalom Magyarországon a kezdetektĘl 1241-ig. Budapest: Argumentum. Kurcz, Ágnes (1988). Lovagi kultúra Magyarországon a 13-14. században. Budapest: Akadémiai. Lángi, József (2001). ‘Új, eddig ismeretlen Szent László ábrázolások falképeken.’ In A szenttisztelet történeti rétegei és formái Magyarországon és Közép-Európában. Ed. Gábor Barna. Szeged: Néprajzi Tanszék. 80-97. László, Gyula (1993). A Szent László-legenda középkori falképei. Budapest: TKM Egyesület. Lukács, Zsuzsa (1980). ‘A Szent László legenda a középkori magyar festészetben.’ In Mezey (1980). 161-204. Madas, Edit (1992). ‘A Legenda aurea a középkori Magyarországon.’ Magyar Könyvszemle 108: 93-99. Magyar, Zoltán (1996). ‘Keresztény lovagoknak oszlopa’. Szent László a magyar kultúrtörténetben. Budapest: Nemzeti Tankönyvkiadó.





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 Marosi, ErnĘ (1987-88). ‘Der heilige Ladislaus als Ungarischer Nationalheiliger. Bemerkungen zu seiner Ikonographie im 14-15. Jh.’ Acta Historiae Artium 33: 211-56. ——— (1995). Kép és hasonmás. Budapest: Akadémiai. Mezey, László, ed. (1980). Athleta Patriae. Budapest: Szent István Társulat. MezĘ, András (1996). A templomcím a magyar helységnevekben (11-15. század). Budapest: METEM. ——— (2003). Patrocíniumok a középkori Magyarországon. Budapest: METEM. Réthy, László (1899-1907). Corpus Nummorum Hungariae. Budapest: Magyar Tudományos Akadémia. Szakács, Béla Zsolt (1997). ‘Két tours-i püspök: Szt. Márton és Szt. Bereck a Magyar Anjou Legendáriumban.’ Ars Hungarica 25: 57-68. ——— (2000). ‘“Parallel Lives”: St. Martin and St. Gerard in the Hungarian Angevin Legendary.’ Acta Ethnographica Hungarica 45: 121-36. ——— (2001). ‘Le culte des saints à la cour et le Légendaire des Anjou-Hongrie.’ L’Europe des Anjou. Paris: Somogy. 195-201. Szovák, Kornél (2000). ‘Szent László alakja a korai elbeszélĘ forrásokban.’ Századok 134: 11745. Tóth, Melinda (1995). ‘Falfestészet az Árpád-korban. Kutatási helyzetkép.’ Ars Hungarica 23: 137-53. Török, Gyöngyi (1992). ‘Neue Folii aus dem “Ungarischen Anjou-Legendarium”.’ Zeitschrift für Kunstgeschichte 61: 565-77. ——— (2001). ‘Problems of the Hungarian Angevin Legendary. A New Folio in the Louvre.’ Arte Cristiana 89: 417-26. Török, József (1992). ‘Szent László alakja a liturgikus szövegek tükrében.’ In Szent László és Somogyvár. Ed. Kálmán Magyar. Kaposvár: Somogy Megyei Múzeumok Igazgatósága, 101-5. Vargyas, Lajos (1980). ‘Honfoglalás elĘtti hagyományok Szent László legendájában.’ In Mezey (1980). 9-18. Vayer, Lajos, and Ferenc Levárdy (1972). ‘Nuovi contributi agli studi circa il Leggendario Angioino ungherese.’ Acta Historiae Artium 18: 71-83. Veszprémy, László (1999). ‘Dux et praeceptor Hierosoliminatorum. König Ladislaus (László) als imaginärer Kreuzritter.’ In … The Man of Many Devices, Who Wandered Full Many Ways …. Festschrift in Honor of János M. Bak. Ed. Balázs Nagy and Marcell SebĘk. Budapest: CEU Pess. 470-77. Vizkelety, András (1981). ‘Nomádkori hagyományok vagy udvari-lovagi toposzok.’ Irodalomtörténeti Közlemények 85: 243-75. Wehli, Tünde (1991). ‘Megjegyzések a Magyar Anjou Legendárium stílusának kérdéséhez.’ Ars Hungarica 19: 141-48. Wehli, Tünde, and Árpád Mikó (2000). Három kódex – Three manuscripts. Budapest: Osiris. Wixom, William D., ed. (1999). Mirror of the Medieval World. New York: Metropolitan Museum of Art.

ILLUSTRATIONS I. The Hungarian Angevin Legendary Biblioteca Apostolica Vaticana, Vat.lat. 8541; after the edition of Ferenc Levárdy, Magyar Anjou Legendárium (Budapest: Magyar Helikon, 1973)

Fig. 1. Fol. 81v: Ladislas and the devil



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Fig. 2. Fol. 82r: Ladislas and the Cuman, part 1

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Fig. 3. Fol. 83v: Ladislas and the Cuman, part 2



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Fig. 4. Fol. 84r: Ladislas and the Bohemian king; his death and burial

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Fig. 5. Fol. 85v: Miracles at the tomb of Ladislas



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II. The Illuminated Chronicle Országos Széchényi Könyvtár, Budapest, Cod.lat. 404; after the edition of Képes Krónika. I. Hasonmás kiadás; II. Tanulmányok és fordítás. Ed. Bellus Ibolya, Kristó Gyula, Dercsényi DezsĘ, Csapodiné Gárdonyi Klára (Budapest: Helikon, 1987)

Fig. 6. Fol. 36r: Ladislas and the Cuman

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Fig. 7. Fol. 37v: The capture of Belgrad and the quarrel over the booty



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Figs. 8 + 9. Fol. 39v (1): King Solomon listening to a quarrelsome counsellor, and Prince Géza receiving the ambassadors of the Byzantine emperor, and (2): The people of Nis giving presents to the Hungarian rulers

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Figs. 10 + 11. Fol. 41r (1): The intrigue of Solomon is revealed to Prince Géza by the Abbot of Szekszárd, and (2): The treacherous knights of Géza are killed by ignorant soldiers of Solomon



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Fig. 12. Fol. 42r: Ladislas seeing an angel bringing a crown to Géza

Fig. 13. Fol. 43r: Ladislas and Géza defeating Solomon

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Fig. 14. Fol. 45r: The miracle of the deer with burning candles

Fig. 15. Fol. 47r: Solomon paying his respect to Emperor Henry IV



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Fig. 16. Fol. 49r: Solomon running away from Ladislas protected by angels

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Fig. 17. Fol. 49v: The coronation of Ladislas

Fig. 18. Fol. 50r: King Ladislas



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Figs. 19+ 20. Fol. 52v (1): Ladislas receiving the delegation of the Ruthenians, and (2): The siege of Cracow

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Fig. 21. Fol. 53r (1): Foundation of the cathedral of Várad

Fig. 22. Fol. 53r (2): Ladislas receiving the crusaders



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Fig. 23. Fol. 55r: The burial of Ladislas

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THE VIKINGS AND THE NATIVES: ETHNIC IDENTITY IN ENGLAND AND NORMANDY C. 1000 AD

Letty ten Harkel

Abstract This paper examines the role that the power politics of ninth- and tenth-century England and Normandy played in the forging of new identities. Through a detailed analysis of contemporary written sources, mainly chronicles and histories, it will show that upon their arrival the Vikings were regarded as a separate ethnic group, set apart from the native inhabitants mainly on grounds of their heathen religion. In due course, however, they assimilated with the native population, in Normandy a greater degree than in England. This paper argues that the degree to which distinct ‘ethnic’ characteristics survived is the result of the impact of the pre-existing political situations in both areas.

Introduction In the year 793 AD the Anglo-Saxon Chronicle (MS D) reports that ‘earmlice hæþenra manna hergunc adilegode Godes cyrican in Lindisfarnaee þurh hreaflac 7 mansliht’ (the raiding of heathen men miserably devastated God’s 1 church on the island of Lindisfarne through looting and slaughter). The attack on Lindisfarne may not have been the first, but it was certainly one of the most famous Viking raids on Western Europe, and is often regarded as the event that heralded the beginning of the Viking Age. For several decades following the attack on Lindisfarne the nature of the Viking raids did not change. From the mid-ninth century onwards, however, the invasions took on a new character. In addition to the ‘hit-and-run’ tactics that the Vikings had employed so far, the raiders now also became settlers. Not only did they target previously uninhabited territories such as Iceland (Rafnsson 1997: 122), but they set their sight on the already populated Anglo-Saxon and Frankish realms as well. The Anglo-Saxon Chronicle gives a detailed account of the ninth-century settlement of England. In 875 the Viking leader Halfdan divided up the land of Northumbria amongst his followers (MS A), and two years later another group of Vikings took over the kingdom of Mercia (MS A). In 878 they nearly overran the kingdom of Wessex too, were it not that the West-Saxon King Alfred the Great managed to stop them, and persuade their leader, Guthrum, to convert to Christianity, and settle in the kingdom of East-Anglia instead (MS A). The Viking settlement of the Frankish Empire goes back even further. From the beginning of the ninth century onwards the Frankish rulers were on several occasions forced to grant parts of Frisia to various Viking leaders (Van

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Houts 2000: 14), and from the 840s Frisia was almost continually in the hands of Viking warlords (Nelson 1997: 25). Further west, the lower Loire was also more or less permanently occupied from the 840s onwards (Nelson 1997: 26), and, according to the Anglo-Saxon Chronicle (MS F) in the year 876 a Viking leader called Rollo invaded Normandy ‘and ruled 50 years’. Even if nowadays historians may dispute such an early date for Rollo’s arrival, there is little doubt that some decades later, in c. 911 AD, the West-Frankish King Charles the Simple confirmed Rollo’s lordship over the area in a famous treaty, first alluded to in one of the king’s charters dated to 918 AD (Van Houts 2000: 1314 and 25), and later extensively elaborated upon in tenth- and eleventh-century Norman historiography (see Van Houts 2000, chapter 1). The Viking settlement of Normandy and the Anglo-Saxon kingdoms makes interesting comparison. Both realms were already fully inhabited before the arrival of the invaders, and had a functioning social, economic and political infrastructure. Both York and Rouen were important centres of Roman Christianity, and continued to be so in spite of the arrival of the pagan Vikings. What is more, neither the Franks nor the Anglo-Saxons ever managed to expel the Vikings intruders again: both Normandy and the northern part of AngloSaxon England, which later became known as ‘the Danelaw’, would have a lasting ‘Scandinavian’ element The arrival and continued presence of the Viking settlers in these Frankish and Anglo-Saxon regions has generated much academic discussion, in more recent years in particular amongst scholars engaged in the so-called ‘ethnicity’ debate. Yet, despite the obvious similarities between the situations in Normandy and the Danelaw, hardly any comparative approaches have as yet been undertaken. The traditional national boundaries that historians so often adhere to have been most faithfully observed. A second shortcoming of those engaged in the ethnicity debate is, as the medievalists Hadley and Richards have pointed out, the often unquestioning accepteance of the notion that there is a direct correlation between relative numbers of settlers and their degree of cultural influence upon native society (2000: 4-5). Other aspects that could affect the process of cultural assimilation, such as the political or ideological significance that was attached to a certain ‘ethnic’ identity, have, on the other hand, frequently been ignored. To use Hadley and Richards’s own words, ‘there is … a need to address the question of what people thought of themselves and their “ethnic” allegiances, if, indeed, they ever or normally thought in those terms’ (2000: 4). This article aims to address that question, whilst at the same time breaching the traditional divide that exists between scholars from both sides of the English Channel. Using contemporary sources, mainly late ninth- to eleventh-century English and northern French chronicles and histories, it will compare the portrayal of the Vikings in Anglo-Saxon England to that of those occuping the northern part of the West-Frankish kingdom. This article will

 

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furthermore suggest that the existing differences can be understood only in relation to the contemporary political situations in both areas. Ethnic identity: towards a definition Any study into the issue of ‘ethnic identity’ has to face the inevitable problem of defining the concept itself. It is a problem that has, over the years, generated an almost incredible amount of scholarly discussion, a discussion that was held with such fervour that at times the search for a good definition almost obscured the study of ‘ethnicity’ itself. Although this is not the place to repeat the various arguments in detail, a few words on current academic opinion may be in place. In contrast to the first half of the twentieth century, when ethnic identity was regarded as an objective fact, and historical peoples as ‘monolithic and unchanging entities’ (Trafford 2000: 26), at present ethnic identity is often defined as ‘a culturally constructed group identity’ (Jones 1997: xiii). It is a ‘sense of group self-consciousness, Zusammengehörigkeitsgefühl, based upon a set of perceived characteristics, which could themselves change or be redefined according to need’ (Trafford 2000: 26). Likewise ‘ethnic groups are culturally ascribed identity groups, which are based on the expression of a real or assumed shared culture and common descent (usually through the objectification of cultural, linguistic, religious, historical and/or physical characteristics)’ (Jones 1997: 84). The notion of ‘a real or assumed shared culture’ is important in this context. It acknowledges the possibility that people can change or re-invent their ethnic allegiances, that to a certain extent they can choose to which ‘ethnic group’ they wish to belong. As a result cultural assimilation, the process during which distinct ethnic groups disappear or form ‘new’ ethnic groups, cannot be explained, as in the past it often has been, by reference to relative numbers of settlers alone. Instead, it becomes a matter of choice, and, ultimately, of the reasons behind the choices that were made. Ethnicity and power For the ninth- and tenth-century Viking settlers, the wish to maintain control over their newly acquired lands must have been an important factor in the choices and decisions they had to make. Likewise, the Anglo-Saxon and Frankish rulers were almost without a doubt led by the wish to re-establish control over the territories they had lost to the invaders. As Van Houts has pointed out, even in the case of Normandy, where Viking control had been legitimised by royal decree, ‘King Charles the Simple’s treaty with Rollo … was probably meant to be a temporary arrangement like the treaties made by his predecessors with Viking leaders further north in Frisia’ (2000: 15). Yet, despite efforts to the contrary, the arrangement turned out to be permanent, just as it had been in the northern and eastern Anglo-Saxon kingdoms.

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Still the eventual degree of ‘Scandinavianization’ of Anglo-Saxon and Norman society differed significantly. The precise extent to which characteristically ‘Scandinavian’ elements survived in Normandy in the tenth and eleventh centuries has given rise to an ongoing debate in its own right (for a brief summary of the debate, see Van Houts 2000: 8-9). However, there seems to be little doubt that the impact of the Viking settlement on Anglo-Saxon society was both more noticeable and more enduring (for the situation in Britain, see Hadley and Richards 2000). In fact, one explanation for the existence of the few ‘Scandinavian’ characteristics that did survive in Normandy is the possibility that they were reintroduced from the Danelaw, after the Norman Duke William the Conqueror became King of England in 1066 AD (Van Houts 2000: 9; also see Van Houts 1983). The question why the influence of the Vikings was more noticeable in England than in Normandy has never been satisfactorily answered. This can at least in part be blamed on the lack of comparative studies of the Viking settlement in both areas, but it is also a result of the tendency to accept the supposed correlation between numbers of settlers and cultural influence. The Scandinavian settlers of Normandy are commonly regarded as a significant minority that formed the ruling elite (Van Houts 2000: 1), whilst various models exist for the situation in England, ranging from large-scale peasant migration to small-scale elite settlement (for a brief and somewhat simplified overview of the different hypotheses, see Keynes 1997: 68-69). Where scholars have compared both realms, those in favour of large-scale settlement in England tend to believe the solution lies in numbers. By those who favour the idea of elite settlement, the different degree of 'Scandinavianization' is often explained in terms of greater similarities between AngloSaxon and Viking society than existed between the Frankish and Viking worlds. Although both explanations may contain elements of truth, neither recognises the possibility that the outcome was the result of conscious political choice. Let us therefore explore the suggestion that the different degrees of Viking influence were indeed related to the pre-existing political situations in the Frankish and Anglo-Saxon realms. Whilst in the ninth century England was divided into a number of independent kingdoms, each at times striving to subordinate the others to its supreme rule, Normandy was part of the WestFrankish kingdom, a kingdom that was, in spite of continuing rivalry amongst the leading aristocracy, a more or less united whole. Even if the Frankish realm would in future years gradually fall apart, its recent history was one of unity, a unity that only a century earlier had encompassed most of western Europe. The last time that England had nominally been united, on the other hand, was before the withdrawal of the Roman army in AD 410, before the arrival of the AngloSaxon dynasties that were now competing for power.

 

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The remainder of this paper comprises a study of the contemporary written source material, in particular the Anglo-Saxon Chronicle and a number of eleventh-century Norman histories, although different sources will be used where they add significantly to our understanding of tenth- and eleventhcentury England and Normandy. Its main focus will be on the relationship between ethnic identity and political survival. In England, where political and social diversity was the norm, the introduction of a new ‘ethnic’ group did not disrupt society to the same extent as it did in Normandy. The result, as we know, was a more lasting ‘Scandinavian’ impact. The Vikings and the natives The Vikings’ heathenism was always their most significant defining characteristic, and generally regarded as unacceptable by Anglo-Saxons and Franks alike. Although the earliest entries of the Anglo-Saxon Chronicle often refer to the Vikings in rather neutral terms as se here (the raiding army), or occasionally as wicingas (Vikings), often the Chronicle refers to them as hæþene men (heathens), using their religion to set them apart from their Anglo-Saxon 2 enemies þa cristnan (the Christians). From the early tenth century onwards the Chronicle increasingly labels them as Dene (Danes), and occasionally as norð3 men (Northmen). However, the term hæþene men remains in use as well. The Vikings’ paganism features in a number of other sources too. The Welsh monk Asser, in his ninth-century Latin Life of King Alfred, invariably refers to the Vikings as pagani, heathens, as opposed to the protagonist of his story, King Alfred, whom he portrays as a model of Christian kingship (Keynes 4 1983: 230-31, n. 12). Much later still, in the early eleventh century Archbishop Wulfstan ‘the Homilist’ of York implied in his famous Sermo Lupi ad Anglos (The Sermon of the Wolf to the English) that, at least in his opinion, one had to be a pagan in order to become a Viking: Ðeah þræla hwylc hlaforde ætleape & of cristendome to wicinge weorþe … (Wulfstan b: 268) (If any slave escape from his lord, and, leaving Christendom, becomes a Viking …)

The earliest history of the Normans, the De Moribus et Actis primorum Normanniae Ducum written by the Frankish monk Dudo of St. Quentin in c. 1000 AD, elaborates even more on the Vikings’ pagan origins, even if it portrays the Norman settlers themselves as exemplary Frankish citizens (see 5 below, p. 183). Its first three chapters provide many details of the foreign origin and strange customs of the invaders’ forefathers, ranging from their immoral sexual behaviour (Dudo I, 1) to the human sacrifices they were supposed to have made in honour of the pagan god Thor (Dudo I, 2). Other sources do nothing to contradict the image created by Dudo (much of the later histories are in fact adaptations of Dudo’s work); on the contrary, in

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most cases they actually ascribe the same pagan vices to the early settlers themselves as Dudo did to the settlers’ forefathers . Dudo had not been the first to refer to the settlers’ pagan background either. The earliest source that mentioned it was, however, not a chronicle, but a letter, written in the first half of the tenth century by Archbishop Guy of Rouen, who reportedly described the Norman settlers as his qui rebaptizati sunt, et eque ut ante baptismum juxta paganismi morem, quemadmodum sues suum reversi ad volutabrum, et canes ad vomitum, ludicras voluptates nefando paganorum ritu exercuere. (Guillot 1981: 107)6 (those who, once baptised, have followed pagan customs, just like before their baptism, like pigs return to their quagmire, and dogs to their vomit)

A century later, in the 1030s, Adémar of Chabannes, a Frankish monk from Angoulême in Acquitaine, elaborated on the early settlers’ reputation as stubborn heathens in a passage devoted to Rollo, the first of the Norman dukes: Qui [Rollo] factus christianus, captivos plures ante se decollare fecit in honore quos coluerat deorum. Et item infinitum pondus auri per ecclesias distribuit christianorum in honore veri Dei, in cujus nomine baptismum susceperat. (Adémar III, 20) (He [Rollo], having been been made a Christian, beheaded many of his captives in front of him in honour of the gods whom he had worshipped. And he also distributed an infinite amount of gold to the churches of the Christians in honour of the true god in whose name he had been baptised.)

Thus only the Vikings’ paganism their primary defining characteristic, and it also became one of the main focal points in the political interactions between Viking and native. Their heathenism, or rather their conversion, became a political tool that the Anglo-Saxon and Frankish rulers used with the aim to re-establish a certain degree of control over their subjects through the imposition of a single ‘state religion’. The baptism of their defeated enemies had other political advantages too. When in AD 878 King Alfred defeated a Viking army at Edington in Wessex, their leader, Guthrum, was baptised, and 7 Alfred himself became his godfather (MS A: 878; Asser: 56). Guthrum had entered into Anglo-Saxon society, or, to quote Asser, he had become Alfred’s ‘adoptive son’ (Asser: 56). The social obligations that existed between a godfather and his godson are more clearly expressed in Dudo’s De Moribus et Actis Primorum Normanniae Ducum. When Robert, Duke of the Franks, offered baptism to Rollo, the latter replied in the following words: Volo consentire regi Francisque, ut veniat ad denominatum placitum meque redimat fonte immersum. Hic mihi sit paterno amore pro patre, ego filiorum dilectione ero illi pro filio. Succurrat mihi, si necesse fuerit, ut pater filio; ego illi, ut filius patri. Gaudeat mea

 

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prosperitate, tristetur mea adversitate. Quae mea potestatis sunt, sui juris sint, et quae mei juris, suae potestatis sint. (Dudo II, 27) (I wish to do as the king and the Franks want: let him [Robert] come to the appointed meeting and receive me when I have been immersed in the font. Let this man be to me as a father with fatherly love; I will be as a son to him, with the love of sons. Let him aid me, if need be, as a father aids a son; I, him, as a son aids a father. Let him rejoice in my prosperity, and sorrow in my adversity. What is in my possession will be his by right, and what is mine by right shall be his possession).

Whether the Vikings understood – or wanted to understand – the implications of their baptism is a more difficult question to answer. In England the envisaged result was short-lived. For a number of years following Guthrum’s baptism the Anglo-Saxon Chronicle reports no further hostilities, but it would not last. In AD 885 Guthrum himself, now King of East-Anglia, ‘broke the peace’ (MS A: 885). After Guthrum’s death in 890 the troubles continued, in particular in 893, when the Viking leader Hæsten, the father of one of Alfred’s other godsons, spent the best part of the year raiding across Alfred’s kingdom (MS A: 894), and, as we have seen, even after the turn of the millennium 8 Wulfstan ‘the Homilist’ still equated ‘Vikingism’ with paganism. In Normandy there is less evidence for the continuation of pagan practices beyond the first generation of settlers. With the possible exception of Rollo, the Norman dukes were generally seen and portrayed as patrons of the Christian Church. In particular the reign of Duke Richard I (943-96), Rollo’s grandson, saw the foundation or re-foundation of a significant number of abbeys and monasteries (Van Houts 2000: 22). Even if Richard I’s interest in the Church may to a significant extent have been politically inspired (Van Houts 2000: 22), not one of the surviving sources questions the sincerity of his, or his subjects’, faith. It seems that by now the Normans had completely abandoned the religion that had once formed such an important part of their own distinct identity, and adopted the Frankish religion instead. The Norman absorption of Frankish culture was remarkably quick in other aspects too. Unlike in England, the Scandinavian language left almost no trace in Normandy: within three generations few were still able to speak it (Van Houts 2000: 1). What is more, almost all surviving legal practices whose origins can be traced back to the turn of the millennium are entirely ‘Frankish’ as well, and likewise the archaeological evidence does not suggest a continuing existence of a distinctly ‘Scandinavian’ identity either (Van Houts 2000: 20), again in stark contrast to the evidence from the Danelaw. To return to the argument that forms the basis of this paper, an explanation for this discrepancy can be found in the pre-existing political situations in the Frankish and Anglo-Saxon realms. In the (unified) WestFrankish kingdom the Viking invaders were intruders, only tolerated in order to protect the realm against further intrusion from outside. To maintain their

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position they had to adapt. In England, on the other hand, the intruders could take advantage of the existing rivalry between the various kingdoms, and in doing so maintain their own distinct identity to a greater degree. Their infiltration was made even easier after king Alfred of Wessex had expressed his vision of a united England, a concept that was born in the wake of the Viking invasions themselves. Although actively pursued by the West-Saxon rulers, Alfred’s vision was certainly not unanimously supported by the other AngloSaxon rulers. In particular the kingdom of Northumbria, the area that would become the ‘heart’ of the Danelaw, was vigorously opposed to West-Saxon overlordship. The Anglo-Saxon Chronicle contains abundant evidence for Northumbrian collaboration with the Viking invaders. A particularly good example is the revolt of the 940s. In the year 942 the West-Saxon king Edmund, one of Alfred’s grandsons, on a campaign to free the ‘Dæne’ (Danes) who were ‘under Norðmannum nyde gebæded on hæðenra hæfteclommum’ (under Northmen, subjected by force in heathens’ captive fetters) ‘besieged Olaf and Archbishop Wulfstan in Leicester’ (MSS A, D: 942-43). This passage requires a little explanation. In AD 926 Edmund’s predecessor Athelstan had conquered the kingdom of Northumbria, which he ruled to his death in 939. Two years later the Northumbrians, defying Edmund’s succession, chose the pagan Viking leader Olaf Sihtricson from Dublin as their king (MS D: 941). Despite the fact that Olaf was still a heathen one of his chief supporters was Archbishop Wulfstan I of York (not ‘the Homilist’!). It did not take long before King Edmund mustered his army, and besieged Olaf and Wulfstan in Leicester. Olaf subsequently ‘obtained King Edmund's friendship’, and was baptised (MS D: 943). Edmund himself acted as his godfather, whilst, interestingly, Wulfstan I was noticeably absent. The events of 942/43 were not the last time that the Northumbrians stood up against southern overlordship. In AD 947/48 they took the pagan Norwegian prince Eric Bloodaxe as their king, thereby belying their renewed pledges to the West-Saxon king Eadred, Edmund’s successor (MS D). Eric was soon driven out again, but returned in 952 (MS E), whereupon Eadred promptly imprisoned Archbishop Wulfstan I (MS D), apparently because the latter had, again, supported the pagan Eric in defiance of West-Saxon rule. The Chronicle’s account of the 940s revolt is particularly interesting for two reasons. First, it makes an important distinction between the Dene (Danes), second- and thrid-generation settlers, and the Norðmen (Northmen), the new invaders. The Danes are no longer the enemy. Even if they are not quite ‘English’, they have been accepted into English society. When the heathen Norðmen assume control over Northumbria the West-Saxons therefore regarded it as their duty to see to it that the Dene were ‘ransomed again to the honour of Edward’s son, protector of warriors, King Edmund’ (MS A, D: 942).

 

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The multi-cultural nature of Anglo-Saxon society obviously did not stand in the way of the West-Saxon vision of a united England. After all, England had never been united before, and so many regional differences had to be overcome that one more hardly mattered. Second, the account also demonstrates that the Northumbrians themselves were diametrically opposed to the message the Chronicle tried to convey. To them the choice was between West-Saxon invasion or Viking invasion, and, interestingly, they chose the latter. Different ethnic identities were even less relevant here than in the south. All that mattered was to resist the West-Saxon vision of a united England, and to maintain political independence. The first king whose rule would eventually be unanimously and unconditionally accepted throughout all England earned his success through a combination of luck and political vision. Edgar, younger brother of the AngloSaxon king Eadwig of the West-Saxon dynasty, had himself been chosen as anti-king by the Northumbrians in 957 AD. For two years he ruled the north in defiance of his brother, but when his brother died Edgar succeeded to the entire Anglo-Saxon realm. However, he never made the mistake most of his predecessors had made. In his most famous legal code he decreed ‘þæt stande mid Denum swa gode laga saw hy betste geceosan’ (that amongst the Danes such good laws exist as they can best decide upon), as long as ‘Godes gerihta standan æghwær gelice on minum anwealde’ (the dues of God are everywhere alike throughout my dominion; IV Edgar: 12 and 1). In other words, England was unified only through the political legitimation of a distinctly ‘Scandinavian’ element amongst its inhabitants. The situation in Normandy had always been very different. There had never been any question of an independent Normandy, and there was no native population willing to support the Viking invaders in defiance of the WestFrankish king. The best Rollo and his men could probably hope to encounter was indifference, but as the early sources show mostly they were regarded with outward hostility and distrust. Resistance to the Norman presence did not abate after Rollo’s death either. His son William Longsword, a devoted Christian, was murdered in 943 by the count of Flanders, and even William’s son and successor Richard I had frequently to defend his realm against the Frankish 9 aristocracy (Van Houts 2000: 16, 41). The Norman response was to be as ‘Frankish’ as possible, a policy that is particularly evident from the reign of Richard I onwards. Richard I was not only a dedicated supporter of the Christian Church and responsible for the (re)foundation of many monasteries in his realm, but also Dudo of St. Quentin’s patron, and the commissioner of the De Moribus et Actis primorum Normanniae Ducum. In this work Dudo provided the Normans, despite their pagan forefathers, with a Christian origin-myth, and portrayed them as better Christ10 ians, as better ‘Franks’, than the Franks were themselves. According to the De Moribus, Rollo was a saint-like man who had been divinely inspired to come to

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Normandy in order to seek baptism. His intentions had ever been peaceful, and at one point he even asks himself: Quid mali egimus contra Francos? Cur nos adsalierunt? Quam obrem nos occidere maluerunt? Illorum est initium mali, culpa invadentis, non obstantis: praesumptio occidere volentis, non defendentis. (Dudo II, 14) (What evil have we done against the Franks? Why did they assail us? For what reason did they want to kill us? Theirs is the first step in wrong-doing, the blame for attacking rather than defending.)

Dudo’s De Moribus gives a radically different portrayal of the Norman settlement than most other early sources do, and it should not come as a surprise that a lot of his work belongs to the realm of fiction. Yet historical veracity does not matter in this context. Its significance lies in its implicit account of the Norman policy of adaptation and assimilation, a policy that allowed the Norman settlement its eventual success. In that sense it is unique, and bears comparison with only one source from Anglo-Saxon England, not a chronicle, but a letter, written on behalf of the Danish king Cnut who became King of England in 1017. When Cnut ascended the English throne, the political situation in England had changed drastically since the days of King Edgar. For nearly thirty years Edgar had been the undisputed ruler of a united England, untroubled by further Viking attacks. However, within a few years after his death in 975, during the reign of Edgar’s son Æthelred ‘the Unready’, the Viking invasions resumed in all their previous strength. For some years Æthelred managed to keep the (now mostly Christian) invaders at bay, mainly through the payment of everincreasing amounts of tribute (Keynes 1997: 76-77), but in AD 1013 the attacks culminated in the political conquest of England by the Danish king Svein Forkbeard, Cnut’s father. Although the Northumbrians no longer openly supported the invaders, still they do not seem to have fought them either, but ‘immediately submitted’ to Svein’s army (MS D: 1013). It is in this context that the Anglo-Saxon Chronicle D entry for AD 959, perhaps composed by Wulfstan ‘the Homilist’ of York in the early eleventh century, should be placed, which criticises King Edgar for the fact he elðeodige unsida lufode, 7 heþene þeawas innan þysan lande gebrohte to fæste, 7 utlændisce hider in tihte, 7 deriende leoda bespeon to þysan earde. (he loved bad, foreign habits, and brought heathen customs too fast into this land, and attracted strangers here, and introduced a damaging people into this land.)

The Danish Svein died within a year of his conquest, whereupon Æthelred resumed the throne, and forced Cnut to return to Denmark where his elder brother ruled. Yet Cnut was not easily diverted, and succeeded to conquer England in AD 1017 (MS D). A couple of years later, after the death of his

 

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brother, Cnut set off to claim the Danish throne as well, and it was then that he commissioned a letter, explaining his absence to his English subjects in the following terms: Þa cydde man me þæt us mara hearm fundode þonne us wel licode; 7 þa for ic me sylf, mid þam mannum þe me mid foron, into Denmearcon þe eow mæst hearm of com … Nu ðancige ic Gode ælmihtigum his fultumes 7 his mildheortnesse, þæt ic þa myclan hearmas þe us to fundedon swa gelogod hæbbe, þæt we ne þurfon þanon nenes hearmes us asittan, ac us to fullan fultume 7 to ahreddingge, gyf us neod byð. (pp. 140-41) (When I was informed that we were threatened with danger greater than we could regard with equanimity, I went in person, with those who accompanied me, to Denmark, which was the chief source of danger to you … Now I thank God Almighty for his help and his mercy, that I have disposed of the great dangers which threatened us, with the result that we need not expect any danger from that quarter, but rather abundant help and deliverance, if we need it.)

That Cnut chose to write his letter in Old English rather than, for example, in the more neutral Latin is already interesting enough in itself. However, most significant is the fact that Cnut, the Danish invader who had conquered England only two years previously, portrayed himself as the king who saved England from the threat of Danish conquest. Like his Norman counterparts a century earlier, Cnut had conquered a realm where not everyone supported his presence, and, like the Normans, Cnut chose to adapt, and 11 ‘become’ English. Conclusion In short, the ‘ethnic allegiances’ of the Vikings and the native population in tenth- and eleventh-century Normandy and Britain were, to a large extent, determined by the political climate of the region and the time, and were certainly not ‘monolithic and unchanging’ (Trafford 2000: 26). There was never any doubt that the Viking invaders belonged to a separate ethnic group characterised by their foreign origins and heathen religion, nor was there any doubt that initially, and not surprisingly, they were mostly regarded as unwelcome intruders. However, the degree of resistance they encountered upon their arrival in Normandy and Britain, and therefore the degree of cultural assimilation that eventually took place, was not exclusively determined by their own separate ethnic identity, but also by the pre-existing political situations in the two areas. Of course other factors beside politics played a role too. Yet the fact that it was in Northumbria, where political resistance against the Viking invaders was minimal, that the cultural influence of the settlers was most clearly felt cannot be coincidental. Ethnic identity was, after all, subject to choice, and as such could be used as a political tool. In the West-Frankish realm, and later to a

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lesser extent also in the south of England, the settlers could only safeguard their political survival through their adaptation to local customs and, above all, their conversion to Christianity. The situation in Northumbria was always different. Here the native aristocracy were themselves faced with an imminent threat to their own political survival: the West-Saxon vision of a united England. Presented with the choice between a Christian West-Saxon lord and a pagan Viking lord, the Northumbrians preferred the latter. The result was an area with a distinct ethnic identity, an identity that is nowadays generally referred to as 12 ‘Anglo-Scandinavian’.

Notes 

1. Throughout this article I have mainly used (the most recent editions of) versions A, the oldest of the Anglo-Saxon Chronicle manuscripts that was begun in Wessex in the 890s, and D, the oldest of the so-called ‘northern’ manuscripts, probably written out in the mid-eleventh century at Worcester (Swanton 2000: xxi-xxix). Only occasionally, where the other versions add significant new material, have I made use of those too. All translations are my own. 2. se here: MS A 873, 874, 875, 876, etc. wicingas, wicengas, wycingas: MS A 879, 885, 921, etc. In the Anglo-Saxon period the term wikingas was not yet specifically used for pirates with a Scandinavian background, but rather referred to any sea-faring pirate (Clark Hall 2000: 407, I). hæðene/hæþene/hæþne men: MS A 851, 853, 855, 865, et cetera. þa cristnan: MS A 894. 3. By now at least some of the Viking rulers themselves had converted to Christianity, possibly resulting in the need to find other criteria to distinguish between Viking and native: the traditional juxtaposition of pagan vs. Christian now began to be replaced by that of Danish vs. English. Dene, Dæne, Deniscan men: MS A 910, 911, 913, 914, etc. Later manuscripts, such as the eleventh-century C-version, also use the term in their earlier entries (cf. 787, 832, 833, 834, etc.). Norðmen: MS A 937. Again the later versions E and F also use the term in earlier entries (cf. 787). 4. Asser was a Welsh scholar who lived at King Alfred’s court. His Latin Life of King Alfred, the first surviving bibliography of an Anglo-Saxon king, was probably completed in 893. It is a combination of translations of various parts of the Chronicle, combined with several anecdotes about Alfred’s childhood and personal qualities (Lapdige 2001: 48-49). A good starting point for those who are interested in this remarkable Life is, still, the introduction to Keynes’s 1983 translation. 5. Dudo was allegedly invited to write his De Moribus by the Norman dukes themselves whilst he was staying at their court, where he had come as an ambassador in the late 980s or early 990s (Van Houts 2000: 25). His elaborate descriptions of the Normans’ pagan heritage may seem out of place in this context, but it is entirely possible that these were used to emphasise the contrast with the exemplary Christian behaviour of the Norman settlers themselves (see also pp. 183-84 of this article). 6. Archbishop Guy of Rouen used these words to describe the behaviour of the Norman settlers in a plea for help to his colleague archbishop Hervey of Rheims. Guy’s original letter does not survive, but Hervey’s reply, in which he apparently quotes Guy, does. Unfortunately a complete edition of this letter is not available. This quotation is taken from Guillot’s 1981 article, in which he edited and translated a number of passages.



 

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 7. The active engagement of Anglo-Saxon kings with the baptism of their pagan Viking enemies was not at all uncommon in ninth- to eleventh-century England. In AD 942 Alfred’s successor Edmund became the godfather of the Viking kings Olaf Sihtricson and Rægnald Guthfrithson (MS A: 942), and it is well possible that King Aethelred the Unready was partly responsible for the conversion of Olaf Haraldson in AD 1013 (Ten Harkel 2002: 57-58). 8. Wulfstan’s De Falsis Diis, an early eleventh-century adaptation of Ælfric’s late tenth-century homily with the same title, constitutes even better evidence for the persistence of heathen practices in England, quite possibly amongst ‘Anglo-Saxons’ and ‘Danes’ alike. For an interesting selection of papers on the subject of Christian vs. pagan in early medieval Europe, see Hofstra et al. (1995). 9. William Longsword’s murder is lamented in a poem known as The Planctus of William Longsword, composed shortly after his death. The poem survives in two different manuscripts, but has never been properly edited due to its linguistic difficulties. For a translation of five strophes of which the Latin could be reconstructed, see Van Houts (2000: 41). 10. The interpretation of Dudo’s intentions is, however, not as straighforward as it seems. Even though Dudo claims to have been commissioned to write his De Moribus by Richard I, he actually dedicated it to a Frank, bishop Adalbero of Laon. This dedication in particular has generated a long scholarly debate on the possible implications for the interpretation of his work. It is beyond the scope of this article to give due attention to all the complexities of the debate; for a brief discussion of the various opinions, see, for example, Christiansen (1998). 11. Archbishop Wulfstan ‘the Homilist’ of York, one of England’s most influential councillors at that time, is often held responsible for the political insight that is demonstrated through Cnut’s letter. However, it is also possible that Cnut may have been partly inspired by the Norman policy, with which he was certainly familiar through his marriage to Æthelred’s widow Emma, a Norman princess, daughter of Richard I and sister to the current Duke of Normandy Richard II. 12. I would like to express my gratitude to Sverre Bagge, David Dumville, Dominic Perring and Julian Richards, whose comments have been useful in the process of writing and rewriting the various versions of this paper. I would also like to thank Erik Kooper and Liesbeth van Houts for their supervision of the dissertation that forms the basis for this paper. Their support and enthusiasm have been invaluable.

Bibliography Primary sources Adémar de Chabannes, Chronique. Ed. J. Chavanon. Paris, 1897. Ælfric, De Falsis Diis. In Homilies of Ælfric: A Supplementary Collection. 2 Vols. Ed. J. C. Pope. London, 1967-8. 676-724. The Anglo-Saxon Chronicle, A Collaborative Edition. Gen. eds. D. Dumville and S. Keynes. 10 vols. Cambridge, 1983þ . [Cnut] Canute’s Proclamatioin of 1020. In The Laws of the Kings of England from Edmund to Henry I. 140-45. Dudo of St. Quentin. De Moribus et Actis Primorum Normanniae Ducum. Ed. J. Lair. Caen, 1865. ———. History of the Normans. Trans. E. Christiansen. Woodbridge: Boydell, 1998. IV Edgar. In The Laws of the Kings of England from Edmund to Henry I. 28-39. The Laws of the Kings of England from Edmund to Henry I. Ed. and trans. A. J. Robertson. Cambridge, 1925.



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 Wulfstan. De Falsis Diis. In The Homilies of Wulfstan. Ed. D. Bethurum. Oxford, 1957. 221-24. ———. Sermo Lupi ad Anglos. Ed. D. Whitelock. London, 1952. Secondary literature Christiansen, E. (1998). Dudo of St. Quentin: History of the Normans. Woodbridge, Boydell. Clark Hall, J. R. (2000). A Concise Anglo-Saxon Dictionary. Toronto: University of Toronto Press. Guillot, O. (1981). ‘La Conversion des Normands peu après 911.’ Cahiers de Civilisation Médiévale; Xe þ XIIe siècles 24: 101-16 and 181-219. Hadley, D. M., and J. D. Richards (2000). ‘Introduction: Interdisciplinary Approaches to the Scandinavian Settlement.’ In Cultures in Contact: Scandinavian Settlement in England in the Ninth and Tenth Centuries. Ed. D. M. Hadley and J. D. Richards. Turnhout: Brepols. 3-16. Hadley, D. M. (2002). ‘Viking and Native: Re-thinking Identity in the Danelaw.’ Early Medieval Europe 11: 45-70. Hofstra, T. (1995). Pagans and Christians: The Interplay between Christian Latin and Traditional German Cultures in Early Medieval Europe. Groningen: Forsten. Jones, S. (1997). The Archaeology of Ethnicity: Constructing Identities in the Past and Present. London: Routledge. Keynes, S. (1997). ‘The Vikings in England, c. 790 þ 1016.’ In The Oxford Illustrated History of the Vikings. 48-82. Keynes, S., and M. Lapidge (1983). Alfred the Great: Asser’s Life of King Alfred and Other Contemporary Sources. London: Penguin. Lapidge, M., et al. (2001). The Blackwell Encyclopaedia of Anglo-Saxon England. Oxford: Blackwell. Nelson, J. L. (1997). ‘The Frankish Empire.’ In The Oxford Illustrated History of the Vikings. 1947. The Oxford Illustrated History of the Vikings. Ed. P. Sawyer. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Rafnsson, S. (1997). ‘The Atlantic Islands.’ In The Oxford Illustrated History of the Vikings. 11033. Stenton, F. (2001). Anglo-Saxon England. 3rd ed. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Swanton, M. (1996). Anglo-Saxon Prose. London: Everyman. ——— (2000). The Anglo-Saxon Chronicles. Rev. ed. London: Phoenix Press. Ten Harkel, L. (2002). ‘The Vikings and the Natives: Ethnic Identity in England and Normandy c. 1000.’ Unpublished MA-Thesis. Utrecht University. Trafford, S. (2000). ‘Ethnicity, Migration Theory, and the Historiography of the Scandinavian Settlement of England.’ In Hadley and Richards. 17-39. Van Houts, E. (1983). ‘Scandinavian Influence in Norman Literature of the Eleventh Century.’ Anglo-Norman Studies 6: 107-21. ——— (2000). The Normans in Europe. Manchester: Manchester University Press.

ABBASID CALIPHS AND BIBLICAL PROPHETS: THE USE OF DREAMS IN TABARI’S HISTORY OF PROPHETS AND KINGS

Johan Weststeijn

Abstract On the basis of a narratological analysis of one dream from Tabari’s History of Prophet and Kings, this paper tries to explain the function of dreams in classical Arabic chronicles. According to the conventions governing these classical chronicles, storytellers were allowed to relate events, but not to explain or judge them in their own words. The occurrence of a dream was considered as such an event. However, the description of a dream, in contrast to that of other events, could contain fantastic imagery, which would be given a symbolic interpretation by the audience. The narrator could further steer this interpretation by introducing the character of a dream interpreter. Finally, dreams often contained direct or indirect references to a well known earlier event that could serve as a model with which to judge the events contemporary to the dream. It is concluded, therefore, that the incorporation of a dream in a chronicle allowed storytellers to remain within the chronicle’s conventions, while it offered them, at the same time, several possibilities for – indirect – explanation or judgement.

1. Introduction In the written heritage of classical Islam, a prominent position is taken up by dreams. Besides philosophical discussions on the nature of dreams, a large body of dreambooks – manuals for the interpretation of dreams – has been preserved. Moreover, in almost all genres of classical Arabic prose, from chronicles and biographical dictionaries to belles-lettres anthologies and mystical texts, one finds dream reports: short anecdotes in which someone recounts the contents of a dream. This abundance of materials on dreams leads to the question in what way these written materials reflect actual historical practices. What was the reason for this interest in dreams? Why were dreams told and interpreted? For what ends were they used? The philosophical discussions and the dreambooks are not the best sources with which to study the use that was made of dreams in classical Islam. Due to their complicated nature, philosophical discussions of dreams must have concerned only a small and unrepresentative number of people. The dreambooks probably had a wider audience, but almost nothing is known of the context in which these manuals were used. The dream reports, on the other hand, are presented to the researcher in a ready-made context, as they are embedded in texts that are mainly concerned with other subjects. A study of

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dream reports in chronicles for example, offers the possibility to study how and why dreams were used by historians. And as historians refer to the society in which they lived, such a study might offer a glimpse on how dreams were used by the people historians wrote about, such as rulers and their propagandists. In this piece I have chosen to analyse a dream report from the famous History of Prophets and Kings (52-55). This Arabic chronicle from the tenth century AD deals with the history of the world from its creation until the time of the author Tabari (839-923 AD). Classical Arabic chronicles like Tabari’s History have the form of compilations. They are in fact lists of short eyewitness reports, which are ascribed not to the chronicler himself, who pretends to be a mere collector, but to various informants. These informants, in their turn, pretend to simply report events, and do not openly state their opinion on the things they witnessed. The dream report I have selected is embedded in a larger eyewitness report, and deals with events that occurred in the years 785 and 786, a century before Tabari’s time. These events concern caliphs from the Abbasid dynasty, in particular four of its members: the previous caliph al-Mahdi, his wife Khayzuran, and their two sons: the caliph Musa al-Hadi and his younger brother Harun. This younger brother would later become the famous Harun alRashid, known for his appearance in the Arabian Nights and his historical contacts with Charlemagne. I will analyse this dream report to answer the following question: Why were dreams incorporated in chronicles? In the course of the analysis, I will focus on a subquestion: What image is painted of the Abbasids, of their dynasty in general and of the two brothers in particular, by means of the dream? I will begin by providing some information on the historical background, information that can be assumed to have been part of the general knowledge of a classical Arabic audience. After a summary of the anecdote in which the dream report has been embedded, I will first interpret the symbolical meaning of the imagery used in the dream. Then I will analyse how this imagery is used to judge and explain the events the dream refers to, that is, how the dream is used to influence the opinion of the audience on these events. Finally, I will analyse how the dream is embedded in the larger anecdote. I will analyse the way the story is told: in what order the events are presented, what is narrated by whom, and analyse the identity of the transmitters. I will conclude that the judgement and explanation offered by the dream is hidden under a deceptive outward appearance of objective reporting.

 

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2. The struggle for the succession to al-Mahdi The Abbasid dynasty had come to power after a revolution in AD 750. The caliphs of this dynasty depicted their predecessors, the Umayyads, as illegitimate oppressors, and themselves as messianic rulers who had come to restore the original ideal theocratic state as it had been founded by the Prophet Mohammed. ‘Succession to the Caliphate was the most crucial political question which confronted the ruling élite in early Abbasid times’ (Kennedy 1982: 29). Each caliph designated a wali ‘ahd, an heir apparent, normally one of his own sons, but such a designation was not final. There were very few rules or precedents to provide guidance in this matter. A rule like primogeniture, the eldest son taking the entire inheritance, did not apply to the Caliphate. As Kennedy puts it: ‘Within the Abbasid family, designation by the previous Caliph was a very important claim to legitimacy. But because such a designation was not final, no son could be sure of his position as wali ‘ahd until the moment of his father’s death’ (1982: 29). During the reign of the caliph al-Mahdi, the father of Musa and Harun, two groups fought for influence at the court in Baghdad and thereby over the Abbasid empire. On one side there were the palace servants, most of them freed slaves, who were later joined by the secretaries. This faction of palace servants and bureaucrats was opposed by the army. The debate between these two groups was not conducted ‘in terms of elections or coups d’état, but by supporting different candidates for the succession’ (Kennedy 1982: 32). The army supported Musa; the palace servants and the secretaries supported Harun. In the beginning of his reign, the caliph al-Mahdi appointed his son Musa as his successor. Soon afterward, however, the caliph showed signs that he preferred one of his other sons: Musa’s younger brother Harun. Al-Mahdi decreed that if Musa would die, the latter would not be succeeded by his own son, but by his younger brother, Harun. Eventually, al-Mahdi wanted to annul Musa’s appointment as heir apparent altogether, and to replace him with Harun. Musa, however, who was not in Baghdad at that time, refused to step aside. When al-Mahdi and Harun rode out to persuade Musa to relinquish the throne, al-Mahdi suddenly died, and Musa succeeded him as caliph (Bonner 1988: 84). Now it was Musa’s turn to appoint an heir apparent. Instead of choosing his brother Harun, as had been decreed by al-Mahdi, Musa decided to appoint 1 his own son (Tabari 45). This decision, however, provoked the anger of Musa’s mother, Khayzuran (Tabari 42), who chose the side of her other child Harun (56). When Musa died after only a year in office, it was rumoured that he had been killed by his own mother (42). Apparently, Musa had made plans to kill Harun in order to free the way for the accession of his own son. To prevent this murder of her favourite Harun, Khayzuran, it was rumoured, had chosen to sacrifice her son Musa (44).

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After Musa’s death, he was not succeeded by his own son, as he had wanted, but by his brother, Harun. The legitimacy of this accession was ambiguous. It is true that the second-to-last caliph, al-Mahdi, had decreed that Musa should be succeeded by Harun, but Musa himself as the last caliph, had wished that he should not be succeeded by Harun. For his accession to become completely legitimate, Harun had to prove somehow that he had more right to the throne than Musa’s son. Moreover, if Musa had indeed died an unnatural death, Harun’s accession to the throne was a result of murder, and as long as Harun did not take measures to revenge the murder of his predecessor, the legitimacy of his own rule would always remain doubtful. 3. Al-Mahdi’s dream The selected anecdote recounts an event that took place during the days of Musa’s caliphate. It is told by a freed slave who was present at one of the caliph’s court sessions. The friction between the two brothers is apparent. During the court session, the caliph Musa attacks his younger brother for thinking too much about a certain dream. He reproaches his brother: Oh Harun, it appears to me that you are dwelling too lengthily on the fulfilment of the dream – but before that can come to pass, you will have to strip the spiny leaves from the tragacanth bush’s branches! Do you really hope for the caliphate?

To strip the tragacanth bush of its spiny leaves was a proverbial expression meaning: to move mountains, to accomplish the impossible. Harun replies to this attack with an ambiguous platitude about the vicissitudes of power. This apparently satisfies the caliph, for he rewards his younger brother with large sums of money and bestows honours upon him. After this report of the court session, the narrator of the anecdote, who is as curious as his audience regarding this dream the brothers were arguing about, turns to one of the characters. He stresses that he was on intimate terms with Harun, so he asks him about the dream: Harun used to regard me as a close companion, so I stood up before him and said: ‘Oh my master, what was the dream which the commander of the faithful spoke to you about?’

Harun answers the narrator with a story told by his father al-Mahdi. One night, al-Mahdi relates, he dreamt that he gave a staff to two of his sons: one to Musa and one to Harun. In his dream, the staff he had given to Musa started to grow leaves, but only a few of them and only at the top. The staff he had given to his son Harun sprouted leaves from one end to the other. This dream was explained by an interpreter of dreams as meaning that both these sons would become caliphs, but that the younger son would rule longer. In the words of the interpreter, Harun’s reign ‘will extend further than that of any other Caliph who has ever lived; his days will be the finest of days and his age the finest of ages.’

 

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After this embedded story told by Harun, the narrator of the anecdote apparently returns to the main story line by stating: ‘Only a few days passed before Musa fell ill and died, his illness lasting for three days only.’ The narrator concludes by stating that Harun succeeded his brother and became caliph, and that his age was indeed the finest of ages. 4. The staff that put forth leaves: interpretation of the dream’s symbolism Let us first analyse the dream more closely. A staff, in general a symbol of power, was one of the three insignia of the caliphate, the other two being a mantle and a ring. A caliph giving two of his sons a staff is therefore a clear sign that he wants these two sons to succeed him. However, the Arabic word used here for staff, qadib, also means ‘branch of a tree’. In this sense, the two staffs are two branches of the Abbasid family tree. Musa’s branch only grows a few leaves: he will have but few successors. Harun’s branch, in contrast, has leaves from beginning to end: he will be the father to a long line of caliphs. The flowering staff has a third meaning. This plays upon the fact that the names of the two brothers, Musa and Harun, are the Arabic equivalents of the 2 names of the biblical brothers Moses and Aaron. In the Bible, God elects Aaron by way of a flowering staff. To decide who will be their leader, the twelve chiefs of Israel leave their staffs overnight in a tent. When they come back the following morning, they find that Aaron’s staff has grown leaves. This they take as a sign that Aaron has been chosen by God to lead them (Numbers 17). Finally, a flowering staff is one of the attributes by which the Mahdi, the Muslim Messiah, can be recognised (Attema 1942: 171 and 176). This Mahdi is the awaited redeemer who will once again reunite all Muslims under his just leadership and whose reign will herald the beginning of the End of Times. Such messianic symbolism was an important element of Abbasid propaganda: the two brothers and their father bore the messianic epithets al-Mahdi, al-Hadi and al-Rashid, which all mean ‘the rightly-guided one’ and which refer to the Mahdi as the expected just ruler. The messianic interpretation of the flowering staff is also supported by the fact that there are other dreams in which Abbasid caliphs are invested with eschatological attributes. Al-Mansur, the grandfather of Musa and Harun, had a dream that echoes the dream of al-Mahdi. AlMansur dreamt that his own father gave him and his brother each a black standard. These standards were symbols of power, and the longer standard was for al-Mansur, who would rule longer. However, these black standards were also eschatological symbols, because in one version of this dream al-Mansur’s standard is explicitly intended to fight the Dajjal, the Muslim Antichrist who will appear at the End of Times (ad-Duri 1981: 129). In another version, alMansur is not only given a standard but also a turban, which he has to wear ‘until the arrival of the Day of Judgement’ (Lassner 1986: 19-24).

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The messianic interpretation of the flowering staff also sheds light on the expression: ‘Harun’s age will be the finest of ages’. In a messianic context, ‘the finest of ages’ might refer to the Final Age, the age of the just ruler that precedes the End of the World. 5. Caliphs and Prophets: analysis of the implications of the dream How would this dream be understood by a classical Arabic audience, if seen against the background of the ambiguous legitimacy of Harun’s accession, and the rumours concerning Musa’s possibly violent death? In short, what is implied by the dream? In the first place the dream shows that Harun’s accession to the throne and his success had been predicted beforehand. It was apparently in the nature of things that his accession would take place. This in itself offers some kind of explanation and justification of these events. Secondly, the flowering staff shows that Harun had been chosen by God. The fact that Musa gave two of his sons a staff implies that he had chosen these two sons to succeed him; the fact that Harun’s staff grows more leaves than that of Musa shows that of these two brothers God prefers the younger one. Thirdly, by way of the messianic connotation of the flowering staff and the expression ‘the finest of ages’ it is hinted that Harun is not just a caliph, but that he might be the Messiah, the ultimate just restorer of religion. Finally, the link with the story of the biblical Aaron strengthens the connection, already apparent in the names of the two brothers, of Abbasid caliphs with pre-Islamic prophets. In Islam, biblical figures like Abraham, Joseph, Moses and Aaron were considered to have all been prophets who had preceded the prophet Mohammed. This link between Abbasid caliphs and what I will refer to as ‘biblical prophets’ has several implications: – Abbasid caliphs are more than kings. Whereas their predecessors, the Umayyads, were tyrants who had usurped power by sheer force and without any legitimisation, the Abbasids are to be compared to figures like Moses, who had been chosen by God to rule his people, to give them divine law, and to lead them away from tyranny. Abbasid caliphs were also chosen by God; they were given a divine licence to rule, to free the community of believers from the tyranny of the Umayyads, and to give them laws. It is not hard to understand why the Abbasid brothers were named after, of all prophets, Moses and Aaron. In the ongoing battle between righteous prophets and tyrannical kings, Moses and Aaron represent the ultimate prophet-leaders, who fought with their staffs against the ultimate tyrant, Pharaoh. – Abbasid caliphs are not only comparable to biblical prophets, they are also the successors to these prophets: they are the true inheritors of the prophets (waratha al-anbiya’), and the continuators of this line of rulers from World History.

 

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– The link of Abbasid caliphs with biblical prophets implies that the history of these caliphs is in fact a continuation of the sacred history of the Bible. Via this connection, an event from everyday politics – an ordinary power struggle between two brothers – is raised to a higher level, that of World History. Harun’s succession to Musa is implied to be an important step in God’s plan for mankind. At first sight, too much emphasis on the link between the Abbasid brothers Musa and Harun and the prophet brothers Moses and Aaron could seem dangerous for Harun’s image. In both the Old Testament and the Quran, Moses is more important than Aaron, who is only a sidekick, a support, a wazir to his brother (Quran 25: 35). However, because the link with biblical prophets is established in a dream, it also entails the association with the biblical prophet Joseph, the archetypal dreamer in Islam. Joseph, like Harun, had been shown in dreams 3 that he would be more successful than his older brothers. This connection with Joseph entails three biblical themes that are not only found in the Joseph story itself but can be considered stock themes in the history of the biblical prophets/ patriarchs. These themes are highly relevant to the power struggle between Musa and Harun. – God prefers the younger brother (as God prefers Abel over Cain, Isaac over Ishmael, Jacob over Esau, and Joseph over his brothers): the younger brother receives his father’s blessing instead of the first-born, becomes the more successful one and continues the family line (as is the case in the three succeeding generations of Isaac, Jacob and Joseph). – The older brothers become jealous and try to get rid of their younger brother (Cain slays Abel; Esau tries to kill Jacob, who has to go into exile; Joseph’s brothers sell him into slavery). God does not approve of this jealousy. – The younger brothers deceive the older ones, but whereas God disapproves of the jealousy of the older brothers, he condones the deceit by the younger ones (Jacob deceives his older brother Esau to receive their father’s blessing). The resemblance of these biblical themes with the situation of the Abbasid brothers Musa and Harun is obvious. Al-Mahdi’s dream implies that it is the younger son Harun who has his father’s true blessing. It is Harun who has been chosen by God to continue the family line. Musa’s jealousy of Harun and his efforts to put his younger brother out of the way are against God’s will. Harun, however, is allowed to use deceit to ensure his accession. The mother of Harun and Musa, Khayzuran, assumes the role of the mother of Jacob and Esau, Rebecca, who schemed on behalf of the younger son. Just as Rebecca is portrayed as the mastermind behind the betrayal of Esau, in order to relieve Jacob of his guilt, Khayzuran, and not Harun, is portrayed as the one who decided to kill Musa. Harun’s succession, even if against his brother’s will, is legitimate, and Harun does not have to revenge his brother’s murder.

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The fact that a younger brother succeeds and surpasses his older brother, the legitimate caliph, and might even have been instrumental in his brother’s death, is not the result of the fact that Muslims live in a time devoid of divine guidance, where injustice and disorder reign, a time of tyrants who do not recoil from murdering their own kin to achieve power. On the contrary, Harun’s actions conform to the standard behaviour of prophets; similar events also took place in those sanctioned days when God did still send prophets to guide man. Harun does not act opportunistically, he obeys a law of history. 6. Under a deceptive layer of objective reporting: strong opinion and dramatic effect The entire above-mentioned interpretation in favour of the Abbasid caliphs and of Harun’s accession in particular, is expressed indirectly. It is hidden behind a deceptive outward appearance of objective reporting by uninvolved reporters. The narrator pretends to adhere to all the conventions of classical chronicles: he pretends to simply testify what he has heard and seen with his own ears and eyes, and to refrain from giving his own opinion on the events he has witnessed. As is conventional for historical reports in classical Arabic chronicles, the anecdote is preceded by an isnad, a chain of transmitters. This chain bridges the distance in time between the historian Tabari and the reported event. At first, the isnad seems just a list of names without faces, but if we examine it more closely, it appears that the transmitters of this particular story belonged to a specific group. Tabari claims to have heard the story from a certain Muhammad b. Qasim b. al-Rabi’. This man was presumably the grandson of al-Rabi’ b. Yunus (Bosworth 1989: 52, n. 206), the leader of the palace servants who supported Harun (Kennedy 1982: 30). This grandson had heard the story from the son of someone who had witnessed the events personally: Amr al-Rumi. This eyewitness was a freed slave (Bosworth 1989: 53, n. 207), like most of the palace servants, and, as he was present during the court session, he probably did serve in the palace himself. The anecdote is thus presented by Tabari as having circulated among palace servants and their offspring, who tended to support Harun. The narrator Amr al-Rumi, however, does his best to appear objective, someone who does not take sides. Three modes of reporting are used by the narrator to appear as reliable and objective a reporter as possible: 1. Detailed report of a scene the narrator actually witnessed. 2. Consultation of another informant to obtain information about events the narrator did not witness himself, definition of relationship to this second informant (the narrator states that his informant Harun ‘used to regard him as a close companion’).

 

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3. Conclusion of the report in which the narrator refers to general knowledge of the audience. It should be noted that his method of reporting results in a reversal of the story’s chronology. The embedded story of the dream told to the narrator by Harun becomes a flashback to the time Harun’s father was still alive. Nowhere does the narrator say directly: In my opinion, Harun was more fit to rule than his brother; Harun was chosen by God. The narrator does not even quote characters who express their opinion and offer these judgements. All the narrator does is to quote someone who is describing his own dream. The account of a dream is not the expression of a personal opinion, but an eyewitness report of an experience the dreamer underwent. This dream is explained, but this is done by a dream interpreter, someone who is also not stating his personal opinion, but just doing his job, translating a message according to the rules of his trade. The statement ‘Harun’s age will be the finest of ages’ is of course a statement of opinion, but by putting it in the mouth of a dream interpreter, who is just decoding an event, it is disguised as a statement of fact. One could say that by voicing the opinion ‘Harun’s age is the finest of ages’ the narrator hides behind Harun, who, in turn, hides behind his father, who is just reporting an experience he pretended not to understand himself, so the father, in his turn, hides behind an interpreter of dreams. In the conclusion to the anecdote, the statement of opinion ‘Harun’s age is the finest of ages’ is even repeated a second time, but again the narrator pretends that it is a statement of fact and not the opinion of himself or one of the characters. In his conclusion, the narrator pretends just to be summarising what was said before or to be repeating what is already unquestioned general knowledge of the audience. The other judgements on the legitimacy of Harun’s accession, such as the link between Harun and biblical prophets and Harun and the Messiah, are not even mentioned in the anecdote at all. By reporting a dream, one can pretend to be just reporting an event. Every reader or listener, however, was of course aware that dreams could be more than events, that they are also messages that can be decoded. Although the dream of the flowering staffs is explained by an interpreter, most of this decoding is left to the audience. Neither the narrator nor the characters explain that the flowering staff is a reference to the biblical story of Aaron or to the Messiah. The classical Arabic chronicles claimed to be nothing more or less than documentation of the unadorned naked truth. Within these conventions, the narrator was not only expected to refrain from stating his own opinion, but also to refrain from making his story more captivating, by any embellishment or other manipulation of his materials. In this case, however, exactly by pretending to adhere to the rules of unimaginative but reliable reporting, the

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narrator has made his story more dramatic and added suspense, tragedy and irony. The narrator pretends that there was no particular reason for quoting the dream and its prediction, except for the fact that he happened to be at a court session where mention was made of a dream and that, as a reliable reporter should, he simply asked for information about a point that had remained unclear to him and his audience. However, the use of predictions in a story is a classic trick to add both suspense and to stress the importance of a particular event. By predicting an event, the narrator can tell it twice: first when it is predicted and a second time when it actually happens. If the prediction is encoded, the narrator can even refer to the event three times: (1) prediction of an event, (2) interpretation of this prediction, (3) description of the event when it actually takes place. By predicting an event, an arch of suspense can also be initiated that ends with the narration of the event itself. All material told in the time between the prediction and the outcome will be seen by the audience against the background of this prediction: – the audience wonders whether the prediction will come true; – if the character is unaware of what has been predicted, the audience knows more than the character, which results in dramatic irony; – if the character is aware of what has been predicted, his struggle to escape his destiny takes on a tragic aspect. In the anecdote analysed above, the narrator uses the classic trick of a prediction in an original way. By inverting the chronology, by first showing the audience that the two brothers are fighting about a certain prediction and only then disclosing in a flashback the contents of this prediction and its interpretation, the narrator adds another element of suspense. Reference is made to a dream. Apparently, the brothers share a secret, unknown to those present at the court session and unknown to the audience. This provokes the curiosity of both the narrator and his audience. The audience identifies with the narrator as he asks one of the characters for an explanation. Furthermore, the account of the argument between the two brothers over ‘the dream’ shows that both brothers were aware of what had been predicted to their father. Musa knows that, whatever he may try to do, his rule will be short, his end will be near and his younger brother will succeed him and surpass him in glory. Musa’s futile anger with Harun about something which is inescapable and not in human hands, makes him a tragic hero. The tragic irony is stressed by the fact that during their argument Musa says to his brother: You are thinking too much about the fulfilment of the dream, … but before that can come to pass you must first strip the spiny leaves from the tragacanth bush’s branches.

 

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Ironically, in this expression branches covered with leaves symbolise the impossibility of Harun becoming caliph, while in the dream account that follows, a leaf-covered branch symbolises Harun’s glamorous future. 7. Conclusion The dream discussed above is just one example of the dreams to be found in Tabari’s History of Prophets and Kings and in other classical Arabic chronicles. Other dreams include the appearance of a deceased person, such as the Prophet Mohammed or one of the other founding figures of early Islam. By such an appearance, the link with the past is established more directly than in al-Mahdi’s dream, where this connection rests on the intertextual reference to a story from the Bible. Not all dreams contain symbolism, not all dreams are explained by an interpreter. However, from the analysis of this single dream report we can deduce some general points concerning the use of dreams in classical Arabic chronicles. A prediction based on a dream could be used by a narrator to add suspense to his story and to highlight the predicted event. What is more important, a dream report offers the narrator several possibilities to express his opinion in an indirect way. By reporting a dream, the narrator seems to be reporting an event. The particular event of a dream, however, offered the narrator four possibilities to provide judgement or interpretation. In the first place dreams offer scope to introduce symbols. In contrast to reports about events from waking, daily life, the report of a dream could contain fantastic imagery. It would have gone too far to spread the story that Harun’s staff miraculously put forth flowers in real life, as did happen in the biblical story. Such miracles were against the conventions of classical Arabic historiography, and such a story would probably not have been believed by a classical Arabic audience. These miracles could only occur in dreams. Moreover, because dreams were considered to be more than events, to be messages which could be decoded, the narrator could expect that his audience would give the fantastic imagery of dreams a symbolical interpretation. Secondly, to steer the audience’s interpretation of the dream, the narrator could introduce an interpreter. By quoting the interpreter of the dream, the narrator seems to be quoting someone who is not giving a personal opinion, but just translating and applying the rules of the science of dream interpretation. Whether or not a dream contained symbolism, whether it was interpreted or not, a dream was considered to be a sign from God. By way of a dream, a narrator could imply God’s approval, one of the strongest opinions possible. Finally, dreams offered the possibility to link a contemporary event with the past, either directly, by the appearance of a deceased person, or indirectly, such as in the dream of al-Mahdi, by an intertextual reference. As has been shown above, by simply pointing to a similar event from the past, the narrator

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could imply that this past event should serve as a model by which to judge its contemporary counterpart. In short, by using dreams, the narrator was able to express his opinion without having to step outside the conventions of the classical Arabic chronicle.

Notes

1. It is unclear whether the appointment of Musa’s son as his successor had become completely official at the time of Musa’s death (see the conflicting reports in Tabari 45-55). There appears to be no doubt, however, as to Musa’s intentions, as some reports state that Musa put Harun in prison or even wanted to kill him, to secure the accession of his own son (Tabari 51, n. 199, and p. 92). 2. For other instances where the Abbasid brothers Musa and Harun are compared to the biblical brothers Moses and Aaron, see Bonner (1988: 82 and 86, n. 50). 3. For other comparisons between Harun and Joseph, see El-Hibri (1999: 41).

Bibliography Primary sources Tabari. The Abbasid Caliphate in Equilibrium. Trans. C. Bosworth. The History of al-Tabari: An Annotated Translation, XXX. Albany: State University of New York Press, 1989. ‘Tabari’ refers to this translation; ‘Bosworth 1989’ refers to the annotation. The original Arabic text of the discussed anecdote is to be found in: Tabari. Tarikh ar-rusul wa-l-muluk. VIII. Ed. Muhammad Abu al-Fadl Ibrahim. al-Qahira: Dar al Macarif, n.d. 210-12. Secondary literature Attema, D. (1942). De Mohammedaansche opvattingen omtrent het tijdstip van den Jongsten Dag en zijn Voorteekenen. Amsterdam: Noord-Hollandsche Uitgevers Mij. Bonner, M. (1988). ‘al-Khalifa al-Mardi: The Accession of Harun al-Rashid.’ Journal of the American Oriental Society 108: 79-91. ad-Duri, ‘Abd al-cAziz (1981). ‘al-Fikra al-mahdiyya bayn ad-dacwa al-cabbasiyya wa-l-casr alc abbasi al-awwal.’ In Studia Arabica et Islamica: Festschrift für Ihsan ‘Abbas. Ed. W. alQadi. Beirut: American University of Beirut. 123-32. El-Hibri, T. (1999). Reinterpreting Islamic Historiography: Harun al-Rashid and the Narrative of the Abbasid Caliphate. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Kennedy, H. (1982). ‘Succession Disputes in the Early Abbasid Caliphate (132/749-193/809).’ In Proceedings of the 10th Congress of the Union Européenne des Arabisants et Islamisants, Edinburgh 9-16 September 1980. Ed. R. Hillenbrand. Edinburgh. 29-33. Lassner, J. (1986). Islamic Revolution and Historical Memory: An Inquiry into the Art of Abbasid Apologetics. New Haven: American Oriental Society.

DIE HEILIGENLEGENDE ALS MULTIVALENTE GATTUNG ZWISCHEN KLÖSTERLICH-DYNASTISCHER MEMORIALKULTUR, CHRONISTIK UND LAIKAL-PRIVATER ANDACHT: BEOBACHTUNGEN AM ELISABETHLEBEN DES JOHANNES ROTHE

Jürgen Wolf

Abstract It was not long after her death that Elisabeth, Landgrave of Thuringia, became one of Europe’s most important saintly figures. In Thuringia, however, she was not just a saint, but the central player in the history of her Land. In this context, it is hardly surprising that two hundred years after her death Johannes Rothe, an Eisenach scholar who was closely connected with the House of the Thuringian Landgraves, turned his attention to the writing of a rhymed vernacular saint’s life. He intended to combine both aspects – devotion and history. The project was a success. A look at the history of its transmission and reception clearly shows the mutual dependence of historiography, dynastic memoria and devotion. A context and function dependent oscillation between memoria, historiography and lay devotion is clearly evident in the various positioning of Elisabeth narratives in the manuscripts. Genre borders are as obsolete as the old notion that verse forms=lies, prose=truth.

I. Vorgeschichte Bald nach ihrem Tod im Jahr 1231 in Marburg und ihrer Kanonisation 1235 avancierte die von ihrer Familie ins Exil gedrängte thüringische Landgräfin Elisabeth zu einer der zentralen Heiligengestalten in Europa. Schon ihr Beichtvater Konrad von Marburg hatte im Rahmen des Kanonisationsverfahrens eine erste Summa vitae verfaßt. In den folgenden Jahrzehnten entstanden zahlreiche weitere Viten. Eine durchschlagende Wirkung erzielte aber erst der Erfurter Dominikaner Dietrich von Apolda mit seiner lat. Vita 1 Sanctae Elisabeth (um 1300). Das rhetorisch anspruchsvolle Prosawerk wurde unzählige Male kopiert, in mehrere Volkssprachen übertragen und in beinahe 2 jeder größeren spätmittelalterlichen Legendensammlung rezipiert. Auch die thüringischen Landgrafen, die Elisabeth nach dem Tod ihres Gemahls aus dem Land gejagt hatten, entdeckten bereits unmittelbar nach ihrem Tod die ungeheure Wirkung dieser Lichtgestalt. Und spätestens mit der Heiligsprechung erhielt die geschmähte Elisabeth ihren festen Platz in der landgräflichthüringischen Memorialkultur. Als heilige Landgräfin war sie nun qua Amt und Status zugleich eine ebenso reale wie ideale Exempelfigur für die thüringische Geschichtsschreibung, eine Kulminationsfigur der landgräflichen Memoria und zugleich Objekt der religiösen Verehrung.

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II. Der Eisenacher Geschichtsschreiber Johannes Rothe Sicher nicht zufällig machte sich fast genau 200 Jahre nach ihrem Tod (vielleicht sogar anläßlich ihres 200. Todestages) der eng mit dem thüringischen 3 Landgrafenhaus verbundene Eisenacher Scholasticus Johannes Rothe daran, eine neue gereimte volkssprachige Vita der Heiligen Elisabeth zu verfassen. Schon in den Jahren zuvor hatte sich Rothe im Rahmen seiner chronistischen Arbeiten intensiv um die heilige Landgräfin bemüht. Er hatte dazu fast alle in Eisenach greifbaren Quellen ausgewertet, exzerpiert und im Kompilations4 verfahren daraus seine eigenen Chroniken montiert. Einer ersten noch lokal geprägten Eisenacher Chronik (ca. 1415) folgte bald eine Thüringische Landeschronik (1418; vgl. Weigelt) und zu Beginn der 1420er Jahre die Thüringische Weltchronik (Honemann 1987: 497-522): Die Eisenacher Chronik entstand wohl auf Veranlassung des Eisenacher Ratsmeisters Reinhard Pinkernail, die Landeschronik im Auftrag Brunos von Teutleben, dem Amtmann der über der Stadt gelegenen Wartburg. Die Weltchronik ist laut Akrostichon DER EDELN UND HOGIBORNIN FROWEN ANNEN LANTGRAFINNEN ZCU DORINGIN, also der Landgräfin Anna von Schwartzburg († 1431), gewidmet (Honemann 1987: 498-501). Von Bedeutung ist in unserem Zusammenhang die Form, die Rothe für seine Geschichtswerke wählte: Es war die Prosa – für sein städtisches Arbeitsumfeld eigentlich eine Selbstverständlichkeit, denn nach heftigen Theoriediskussionen im ausgehenden 12. und im 13. Jahrhundert hatte sich die Prosa in der Geschichtsschreibung flächendeckend durchgesetzt. An den deutschen Höfen bevorzugte man jedoch bis in das 15. Jahrhundert hinein weiter den 5 Reim. Auch am thüringischen Landgrafenhof scheint diese Vorliebe für die Versform Bestand gehabt zu haben. So jedenfalls können die Ausführungen Johannes Rothes zur Abfassung seiner von der Landgräfin Anna von Schwarzburg begerten Thüringischen Weltchronik (1421) verstanden werden, denn ‘er bittet Anna nachdrücklich, sein Werk nicht zu verschmähen, weil es ungereymet sei’ (Honemann 1987: 501). Schon drei Jahre zuvor hatte er in seiner Bruno von Teutleben gewidmeten und damit ebenfalls auf das höfische Publikum des Landgrafenhofes zielenden Landeschronik bedauert, daß er nicht in Reimen schreiben könne. III. Die Legende der Heiligen Elisabeth: Chronik oder Andachtsbuch? Wir wissen nicht, ob die Landgräfin seine Weltchronik wegen der fehlenden Reime tatsächlich verschmäht hatte, nur wenige Jahre später entsteht jedenfalls ein gereimtes Werk: Die Verslegende der Heiligen Elisabeth. Wie die beiden jüngeren Chroniken scheint auch dieses Spätwerk dem Landgrafenhof zugedacht – vielleicht eben jener von ihm hochgeschätzten Landgräfin Anna oder ihrem Gemahl Friedrich dem Friedfertigen († 1440). Daß Rothe einen dementsprechenden Auftrag erhielt, ist jedoch eher unwahrscheinlich. Das 6 Akrostichon nennt ausdrücklich nur den Autor JOHANNES SCOLAST, der



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demnach allein und eigenverantwortlich das Werk verfaßt haben dürfte. In unserem Zusammenhang von besonderem Interesse ist nun die indirekt damit verknüpfte Frage, inwieweit seine Legende als Historia, als Landgrafenmemoria oder als religiös-erbauliches Andachtsbuch konzipiert war. Die konsequent historische Verortung aller Berichte der Legende, häufig sogar mit beigefügten Jahreszahlen, scheint zunächst eindeutig für eine historiographische Ausrichtung zu sprechen. In Richtung Historia weisen auch die Quellen: Rothe hatte seine eigenen Geschichtswerke konsequent nach Elisabeth-Nachrichten durchforstet. Zusätzlich sichtete er noch einmal das chronistische Material, das er einige Jahre zuvor bei seinen Chronikprojekten benutzt hatte. Daß als Folie neben seinen eigenen Chroniken primär die 7 annalistisch geprägte lateinische Historia Eccardiana diente und gerade nicht die lateinische Elisabeth-Vita Dietrichs von Apolda, die er auch bestens kannte, wirft ein bezeichnendes Licht auf den historiographischen Anspruch. Anders als bei den vorangegangenen Chroniken hatte sich Rothe diesmal jedoch für die Reimform entschieden. Aber weist dies schon auf ein neues, ein anderes Genre? Oder hatte er sich nur den Wünschen des Landgrafenhofs gebeugt und deshalb mit der Elisabeth-Legende ein gereimtes Geschichtswerk geschaffen? Der Text der Legende gibt hier im ersten Zugriff keine befriedigende Antwort. Vieles spricht für die Historia, zumal Rothe streng darauf achtet, daß ein chronikalisches, beinahe annalistisches Gerüst stets die historische Plausibilität der Berichte garantiert. In diesem Sinne erscheint die Legende letztlich als eine Facette thüringischer Geschichtsschreibung. Im landgräflichen Konnex wäre dabei die Reimform folgerichtig als konsequente Umsetzung landgräflich8 adliger Ästhetikvorstellungen zu interpretieren. Auch hatte die Heiligenvita als Sonderform der Geschichtsschreibung gerade in Thüringen eine lange Tradition. Dies gilt nicht zuletzt für die Elisabeth-Vita Dietrichs von Apolda, die nach Matthias Werner ‘in weiten Passagen wörtlich übernommen, ebenso als Grundlage für Predigten [diente], wie sie gleichsam selbstverständlich auch als 9 ein Geschichtswerk betrachtet wurde’. Schaut man sich Rothes Elisabeth jedoch genauer an, müssen den Historiker ernste Zweifel an einer streng gedachten Historizität der Vita beschleichen. Lassen sie mich dies an einem markanten, aber keinesfalls einzigartigen Beispiel demonstrieren: In Rothes Thüringischer Landeschronik finden wir nach Berichten zum Tod des Landgrafen Ludwig III. (dem Milden) im Jahr 1190 den zentralen Hinweis auf die fehlenden Erben. In der Chronik heißt es dazu: ‘Disser landtgrave Loddewig der milde der hatte czu der ee frawen Margarethan, des herczogen von Osterrich tochter, unde gewan keyne erben von or’ (Weigelt, Landeschronik, Bl. 222r). In der Elisabeth-Legende stirbt der selbe Ludwig jetzt aber nicht ohne Erben, sondern ‘ane schamen’, d.h. ohne Schande. Die Erklärung für die Änderung scheint verblüffend: Der Strophenbau hatte einen Reim auf namen erfordert.

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Jürgen Wolf Syn son hiß Ludewig der dirte, Eyn furste abir der funfte mit dem namen. Obir mehir was her des keyßers geferte, Da starb her ouch ane schamen. (Elisabeth vv. 33-36)

Der gegenüber der Landeschronik ergänzende Hinweis auf Kaiser Barbarossa und die Kreuzfahrt ‘obir mehir’ ist durch die lateinische Historia Eccardiana (Sp. 394) gedeckt, der Tod ohne Schande findet jedoch in keiner der parallelen Quellen eine Entsprechung. Er erweist sich als nur mäßig gelungene reimtechnische Hilfskonstruktion. Opfert Rothe hier die historisch exakte, wichtige Nachricht der Form? Vergleichbare Zugeständnisse an den Strophenbau und das Metrum finden sich an vielen Stellen. Auch werden die einzelnen Protagonisten, die Landgrafen und ihre Verwandten, in der Vita regelmäßig blumig konturiert. Bei Ludwigs Fahrt nach Ungarn (Elisabeth vv. 1697ff.) stellt Rothe z.B. dessen Tugenden mit vielen schmückenden Adjektiven heraus. Im konzentrierten Blick auf die Heilige Elisabeth greift Rothe außerdem zu einer spezifischen Auswahl der chronikalischen Berichte, die vor allem am Schluß der Vita die historischen Konturen zugunsten legendarischer Wunderberichte verschwimmen lassen. Faßt man die Indizien zusammen, scheinen sich in Rothes Elisabeth-Legende die Momente Geschichtsschreibung, Dynastiememoria und Andacht in wechselseitiger Abhängigkeit zu durchdringen. Und genau eine solche Multivalenz spiegelt sich in der Rezeption des Werks in den folgenden Jahrzehnten wider. IV. Wirkungsfelder der Legende 1. Kloster Reinhardsbrunn: Memoria und Historia Ein Exemplar von Rothes Elisabeth gelangte vielleicht vermittelt durch die Landgrafen bald in das nahegelegene Hauskloster der Landgrafen, nach Rein10 hardsbrunn. Dort ging man sofort daran, die neue volkssprachlich-gereimte Legende für den im Kloster gepflegten Memorialkult um das Landgrafengeschlecht fruchtbar zu machen. Noch in den 1440er Jahren wurde eine sorgfältige Abschrift erstellt. Aber mehr noch, die Elisabeth-Legende wurde mit einer der kostbarsten Zimelien des Klosters, der Vita des heiligen Gemahls der Elisabeth vereinigt (Hs. C: Coburg, LB, Ms. Cas. 102; s. Anhang). Diese Vita Ludwigs des Heiligen († 1227) war im Auftrag des Reinhards11 brunner Abts Dither Nekil von Eisenach im Jahr 1405 von dem Schreiber Nicolaus Götze im Kloster angefertigt worden. Und es war nicht irgendeine Heiligenvita, sondern die Vita des Heiligen Landgrafen, dessen Grab zu den zentralen Heiligtümern des Klosters gehörte. Abt Dither Nekil ließ deshalb für das Ludwigs-Buch Pergament von ausgesuchter Qualität beschaffen. Auch beauftragte er den Schreiber, eine kalligraphische Buchschrift auf höchstem Niveau mit aufwendigem Fleuronnée zu verwenden. Wie Abdrücke auf der



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ersten und letzten Seite verraten, erhielt der Band damals einen sicher kostbaren Einband. In der Verbindung von Inhalt und Buchgestalt war hier zu Beginn des 15. Jahrhunderts gleichsam eine Ludwigs-Reliquie entstanden. Und nun, vier Jahrzehnte später, brach man diesen kostbaren Band wieder auf, um eine zweite Vita hinzuzufügen: Die Vita der heiligen Elisabeth. Auch jetzt verwendete man Pergament als Beschreibstoff und vertraute das ElisabethProjekt einer Spitzenkraft des Klosterskriptoriums an. Seine kalligraphische Bastarda erreichte allerdings nicht mehr das Schriftniveau des Nicolaus Götze. Auch das Pergament ist nun von deutlich geringerer Qualität. Hier spiegelt sich aber weniger ein geringeres Interesse an der Heiligen Elisabeth als vielmehr der einsetzende wirtschaftliche Niedergang des Klosters wider. Im Zuge der Vereinigung des heiligen Ehepaars in einem Buch wurden beide Legenden außerdem für die aktuelle Memorialkultur des Klosters aufbereitet: Bei Ludwig bereitete dies keine Probleme. Die Grablege im Kloster ‘produzierte immerwährend’ Ludwigswunder gleich im Dutzend. Die Ludwigsvita konnte so mühelos um aktuelle Wunderberichte aus den Jahren 1444-46 erweitert werden. Die im fernen Marburg beigesetzte Elisabeth ließ sich allerdings nicht so einfach für die klösterliche Memoria instrumentalisieren. Doch in der klostereigenen Cronica Reinhardsbrunnensis fand man schnell das gesuchte Bindeglied in Gestalt von Elisabeths Dienerin, der seligen Jutta (Guda): Ihre Lebensgeschichte wird umgehend aus der lateinischen Klosterchronik wörtlich ins Deutsche übertragen und der Elisabeth-Legende beigefügt, nahtlos, ohne Absatz. Daß es sich dabei um einen Prosatext handelte, fällt bei dem geschickt der Vita angepaßten Layout kaum ins Auge. Außerdem suggerieren die fortlaufend der Elisabeth-Legende angegliederten Jahreszahlen sowieso, es handele sich um eine organische Fortführung der Legende. Diese Jutta machte nun auch die Elisabeth-Legende für das Kloster Reinhardsbrunn fruchtbar, denn sie, die treue Dienerin der Elisabeth, hatte ihre Grablege in Reinhardsbrunn – und natürlich geschahen an ihrem Grab zahlreiche Wunder. Diese im Kloster zusammengestellte und ergänzte Legendensammlung bot nun das heilige Landgrafenpaar auf höchstem medialem Niveau vereinigt. Der Band erscheint damit als Schlüssel zur landgräflichen Memorialkultur und das Kloster als Zentrum derselben. Der Sammelband ist darüber hinaus ein eindrucksvolles Beispiel für eine autonome, klösterliche Memorialkultur, die sich einerseits dem Landgrafengeschlecht verpflichtet zeigt, aber andererseits die heiligen Protagonisten für die eigene Aura eines Wallfahrtszentrums einzusetzen versteht. Vorbild ist dabei die einhundert Jahre zuvor (um 1340/50) im Kloster entstandene lateinische Cronica Reinhardsbrunnensis, die schon genau diese Verschränkung von Kloster- und Landgrafengeschichte sowie Heiligenvita bietet. Die Reinhardsbrunner Geschichte der Elisabeth-Legende endet aber nicht bei dieser bifunktionalen Memoriaevariante. Nur wenige Jahrzehnte später wird im Kloster der gesamte, nun die Viten Ludwigs und Elisabeths vereinigende

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Sammelband komplett abgeschrieben und überarbeitet (Hs. G, um 1480). Die Heiligenmemoria wird dabei in einen historisch-genealogischen, deutlich stärker auf die thüringische Landgrafendynastie ausgerichteten Rahmen eingebunden: Den Legenden stellt man als historiographisches Gerüst eine aus den Annales Reinhardsbrunnensis geschöpfte Chronik der Landgrafen von Thü13 ringen voran. Aus den Heiligenlegenden wird so eine ‘heilige’ Geschichte der Landgrafen von Thüringen von der mythischen Gründung der Dynastie bis in die Gegenwart. Aber auch mit dieser Variante ist die historiographische Vereinnahmung der Elisabeth-Legende noch nicht an ihr Ende gekommen, denn es dauert wiederum nur wenige Jahre, bis diese historiographisch-dynastische Buchvariante Teil eines gewaltigen Geschichtswerks zur thüringischen 14 Geschichte wird: Hs. S fügt den Heiligenviten die weit über einhundert Blätter starke Thüringische Chronik Johannes Rothes und Auszüge aus dessen Weltchronik hinzu. Es entsteht ein umfassendes Geschichtskompendium zu Thüringen und der Welt, in dessen Gefüge die Heiligenviten vollends auf eine historiographische Funktion reduziert erscheinen. Daß viele Berichte in den im Sammelband addierten Legenden und Chroniken doppelt, drei- und teilweise sogar vierfach auftauchten, störte dabei ebenso wenig wie das Nebeneinander von Reim und Prosa. Mit dieser neuen Geschichtskonzeption haben wir allerdings die Pforten des Klosters Reinhardsbrunn bereits hinter uns gelassen. Aus Reinhardsbrunn stammen nur noch die legendarischen Vorlagen. Den Auftrag für den im Jahr 1487 von Urban Schlorff auf Schloß Tenneberg vollendeten Codex erteilten vermutlich die Landgrafen oder – noch wahrscheinlicher – der aus ihrem 15 direkten Umfeld stammende Schlorff legte die Sammlung für sich selbst an. In jedem Fall wird eine neue Interessenlage sichtbar: Anders als im Kloster steht nun die thüringische Geschichte, d.h. die Geschichte des Landes personifiziert in der Landgrafendynastie im Mittelpunkt. Das vormals selbst als handelndes Subjekt auftretende Kloster Reinhardsbrunn ist nun im doppelten Sinn Objekt geworden: Es erscheint als Ort der Grablege, d.h. der Ort vieler Wunder rund um das Ludwigsgrab, und aus der dortigen Klosterbibliothek 16 entnimmt man die Vorlagen. Im Kloster selbst entstehen jetzt keine weiteren Elisabeth-Handschriften mehr. Möglicherweise spielt hier die von den Landgrafen forcierte Renovatio des Klosters eine Rolle: Um den wirtschaftlichen und moralischen Verfall zu stoppen, hatte man sich im Jahr 1492/93 der Bursfelder Kongregation angeschlossen. Im Klosterskriptorium konzentrierte man sich nun auf innermonastische Themen und Texte. Für die Elisabeth, die augenscheinlich nicht dazu gehörte, waren wohl keine Kapazitäten mehr frei (vgl. Gerabeck 1995). 2. Private Andacht Im Gegensatz zu dieser unmittelbar an das Kloster Reinhardsbrunn und die Landgrafen gebundenen Traditionslinie von der Heiligen-, Dynastie- und



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Klostermemoria bis hin zum universalen Geschichtskompendium prägen sich außerhalb der Klostermauern grundsätzlich andere Traditionsstränge aus. Im städtischen Milieu Eisenachs entwickelt sich Rothes Elisabeth zu einem vor allem bei den Damen der Gesellschaft und den Klosterfrauen beliebten Medium der privaten Andacht. Die entstehenden Elisabeth-Handschriften werden zu diesem Zweck mit Gebeten, geistlichen Liedern, Traktaten und Abhandlungen zu regelrechten Andachtsobjekten ausgestaltet. 17 Einen solchen Andachtskodex (Hs. L ) ließ ‘Margarete zcu Erffa’ (141v) im Jahr 1492 anfertigen. Die wahrscheinlich aus dem Kloster Reinhardsbrunn stammende Vorlage erhielt zu diesem Zweck auf den letzten Blättern umfängliche Gebetspassagen zum Heiligen Ludwig, der Heiligen Elisabeth und der Heiligen Margarethe, der Namenspatronin der Besitzerin. Die jeweils mit Antiphon und Kollekte versehenen Gebete deuten auf eine aktive Andachtsfunktion des Kodex. Eine vergleichbare Funktion kann man bei den ergänzen18 den Texten in der etwa gleichzeitig (um 1490) entstandenen Münchner Hs. M vermuten. Dort folgen der Elisabeth die Legende vom Bräutigam im Paradies, Verse vom Leiden Christi und dem Leiden Mariae und ein Gebet zur Jungfrau Maria. Detaillierte Angaben zu Johannes Rothe in einer separaten Vorrede deuten wieder auf Eisenach als Entstehungsort (Abdruck in der DTM19 Ausgabe). Analog sind eine wenig jüngere Kasseler (Hs. K, 1498 ) und eine 20 Bamberger (Hs. B, 1517 ) Elisabeth-Handschrift gestaltet. In beiden Kodizes dominiert der christlich-erbauliche Teil mit einer Passion Jesu Christi, einer Vaterunser-Auslegung und den Zehn Geboten samt Auslegung sogar das Sammlungskonzept. Beim Kasseler Band kennen wir auch das Nutzungsumfeld. Laut Besitzvermerk gehörte die Handschrift der Karthause vor Eisenach: ‘Liber iste pertinet ad Carthusia prope ysenacum’, und von jüngerer Hand: ‘Daß buch gehoret yn dy carthuße / gelegen vor ysenach’ (Bl. 1r). V. Hagiographie zwischen Historia, Memoria und Andacht Was bleibt als Fazit festzuhalten? Die je unterschiedliche Verortung des Elisabethlebens in den einzelnen Handschriften läßt ein kontext- und funktionsabhängiges Changieren zwischen Memorialkultur, Geschichtsschreibung und privat-laikaler Andacht erkennen, wobei die pragmatisch-historiographische Vereinnahmung der Legende zunächst innerhalb der Klostermauern ihren Platz hat, die geistlich-erbauliche in einem städtisch-laikalen Umfeld. Die Frage nach Reim und Prosa erscheint in diesem Geflecht wechselseitiger Interessen keinesfalls auf die gängige Formel Vers=Lüge und Prosa=Wahrheit reduzierbar. Sie scheint schlichtweg nicht zu gelten. Und das macht das gewählte Beispiel so wertvoll: jeder einzelne Aspekt dieses Changierens zwischen Gattungen und Formen ist anhand der zahlreich erhaltenen RedaktorAutographen konkret und unmittelbar an der Überlieferung selbst nachvollziehbar. Daß sich – wohl nicht nur in unserem Beispiel – über weite Strecken die Gattungsgrenzen zwischen Hagiographie und Historiographie, zwischen

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Legende, Andachtsbuch und Chronik (vgl. Honemann 1991: 82) als neuzeitliche Schimäre erweisen, kann dabei als Beobachtung von grundsätzlicher Bedeutung festgehalten werden. ANHANG Überlieferungsübersicht von Johannes Rothes ‘Elisabethleben’ (neuzeitliche Abschriften sind kursiviert; Vn = Version) 21

Vn Sc

Datierung 1510/20

Bibliotheksort, Signatur Erfurt/Gotha, Universitäts- und Forschungsbibliothek - FB Gotha, Chart. A 195 Bamberg, Staatsbibliothek, Msc. Hist. 148a Coburg, Landesbibliothek, Ms. Cas. 102

Sigle A

Sc Sc Sc

1517 1404 / Mitte 15. Jh. um 1480

Eger (Cheb), Bibl. des Franziskanerkonvents, Schrank 11, ohne Sign. Halle, Universitäts- und Landesbibliothek, Cod. Stolb.-Wernig. Zb 33 Göttingen, Staats- und Universitätsbibliothek, Hist. 200 Erfurt/Gotha, Universitäts- und Forschungsbibliothek - FB Gotha, Chart. B 52 Erfurt/Gotha, Universitäts- und Forschungsbibliothek - FB Gotha, Chart. B 52a Hamburg, SUB, Cod. hist. 313 4° Kassel, MuLB, 4o Ms. Hass. 3 Kassel, MuLB, 4o Ms. Hass. 4

E

Sc

Ende 15. Jh.

Sc

1813

Sc

um 1480

Sc

16. Jh.

Sc Sc Sc Sc R R

17. Jh. 1498 2. Hälfte 17. Jh. 1492 Ende 15. Jh. 18. Jh.

R

18. Jh.

Weimar, HAAB, Q 156

R

17./18. Jh.

Weimar, HAAB, Q 159

R

vor 1798

Berlin, SBB-PK, mgq 353

Sc

18. Jh.

Wien, ÖNB, Cod. 12752

Sc

16./17. Jh.

Weimar, HAAB, Q 158

Sc

1487

Sc

1719

Erfurt/Gotha, Universitäts- und Forschungsbibliothek - FB Gotha, Chart. B 180 Weimar, HAAB, Q 160

Leipzig, Universitätsbibliothek, Ms 0287o München, BSB, Cgm 718 Weimar, HAAB, Q 157

B C

F F1 (Abschrift von F) G Go H K K1 (Abschrift von K) L M M1 (Abschrift von M) M2 (Abschrift von M) M3 (Abschrift von M) M4 (Abschrift von M) P (Abschrift von H) Q (Abschrift von B) S W (Abschrift von C)



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Anmerkungen 

1. Ausgabe: Rener (1993). 2. Vgl. zusammenfassend Werner (1987) sowie Lomnitzer (1980) und Patze/Schlesinger (1973: 227f.). Um 1300 fertigte ein Geistlicher, vielleicht in einem mittelhessischen Kloster (Wetzlar?), bereits eine mehr als 10.500 Verse umfassende mittelhochdeutsche Reimfassung an, die sich über weite Strecken fast wörtlich an die lateinische Vita anlehnt; vgl. Wolff/Lomnitzer (1985: 632-35). 3. Vgl. Honemann (1992: 277-85, und 1991). 4. Zu den Quellen der Chroniken vgl. zusammenfassend Honemann (1987: 505-9), Schmidt (1972), und demnächst detailliert die Ausgabe von Weigelt (DTM). 5. Vgl. dazu die überwältigenden Überlieferungserfolge der deutschen Kaiserchronik, der Weltchroniken des Rudolf von Ems, Jansen Enikels (Jan von Wien), Heinrichs von München und der Christherre-Chronik bis weit in das 15. Jahrhundert hinein. 6. Zu den unterschiedlichen Versionen des Akrostichons und der Identifizierung mit Johannes Rothe, vgl. Schubert (2004), und das Vorwort der Elisabeth-Ausgabe (DTM 85). 7. Vgl. Baltzer (1897: 30-40). Die Historia Eccardiana ist die chronistische Hauptquelle Rothes. Seine Thüringische Weltchronik erweist sich z.B. über weite Strecken gleichsam als Übersetzung der Eccardiana; vgl. Honemann (1987: 505-7) und Weigelt sowie die Quellennachweise in der Ausgabe von Liliencron (1859). 8. An vielen Stellen gewinnt man tatsächlich den Eindruck, Rothe habe die Reimform nicht ganz freiwillig gewählt. Seine Reime wirken oft ungelenk und der Text hölzern; vgl. mit ähnlicher Einschätzung schon Patze/Schlesinger (1973: 227). 9. Werner (1987: 541) mit einem dementsprechenden Beleg aus einer Erfurter Chronik des 14. Jh.s. 10. Vgl. Möller (1843), Gerabeck (1995), Ruge (1999), und Tebruck (2001). 11. ‘Iste liber Copiatus est p(er) venerab(i)lem in xpo (Christo) p(at)rem ac dominu(m) Dytheru(m) Nekils de ysenach abbate(m) sextu(m) decimu(m) anno domini Millesimo quadringentesimo qu(ar)to (1405). Translatus de Latino in Theutonicum p(er) Frydericu(m) Kodicz de Saluelt p(re)sb(iteru)m p(ro) tu(n)c r(ec)torem parvulo(rum) hui(us) monasterii cons(cri)ptus v(er)o et C(om)pletus p(er) Nycolau(m) Gotzen de Molhusin in vigilia sancti luce Ewangeliste Johannes’ (Hs. C, Bl. 55v). Es handelt sich hier um den 16. Abt des Klosters Reinhardsbrunn (Amtszeit 1402-1406). Als Auftraggeber des Elisabeth-Teils käme am ehesten Abt Dieterich Münzenberg in Betracht (1439-49 nachweisbar in verschiedenen Klosterämtern). 12. Gotha, FLB, Chart. B 52: Ein Wasserzeichen (Berg mit Kreuz) ist identisch mit dem Wasserzeichen d der Hs. S. Durchzeichnungen aller Wasserzeichen bietet die Archivbeschreibung des Handschriftenarchivs der Arbeitsstelle ‘Deutsche Texte des Mittelalters’ an der BerlinBrandenburgischen Akademie der Wissenschaften von Niewöhner (1942: hier Bll. 19-20; publiziert im Internet: http://dtm.bbaw.de/HSA/Gotha_700344260000.html) (s. Anhang). Ein neuer Handschriftenkatalog entsteht derzeit im Handschriftenzentrum Leipzig durch Falk Eisermann. 13. Anfang defekt [‘De origine Landgrauiorum Thuringia’]. Schluß: … ‘frouwe Anne starb zcu eckersberge vnde wart keyn Reynhersborn gefurt vnde al do in dem kore vor deme hoen alter begrabin. als man schreib nach christi ge thusint vierhundert vnde zcweyvndesechzcig iar’ (vgl. Niewöhner 1942: Bl. 26).



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 14. Erfurt/Gotha, FuLB - FB Gotha, Chart. B 180 (s. Anhang); zur Katalogisierung vgl. Anm. 12. 15. Auf Bl. 288r vermerkt Urban Schlorff, er habe diese Chronik (158v-288r) am Tag Johannes des Täufers (24. Juni) im Jahr 1487 auf Schloß Tenneberg abgeschlossen. Von 1482 bis 1511 ergänzt Schlorff den Band regelmäßig. Mit Schlorff gelangte die Handschrift nach Jena, wo dieser bis 1526 in den Steuerlisten nachgewiesen ist (Nachweise im Handschriftenkatalog der neuen ‘Elisabeth’-Ausgabe von Schubert/Haase). 16. Die Vorlagen für diese Sammelhandschrift stammen aus wettinisch-thüringischem Herrschaftsbesitz, und zwar der Legendenkodex mit großer Wahrscheinlichkeit aus dem wettinischen Hauskloster Reinhardsbrunn: Auf eine enge Verbindung des Kodex zu Reinhardsbrunn weisen neben dem Inhalt die äußere Gestaltung des Codex samt Einband (wie bei den Reinhardsbrunner Hss. C und G) und das verwendete Papier (einzelne Wasserzeichen identisch mit dem für Hs. C und G verwendeten Papier). Außerdem befindet sich auf Bl. 156r eine detaillierte Beschreibung der Exequien zum Tode der Landgräfin Anna, die 1462 in Reinhardsbrunn beigesetzt wurde. 17. Leipzig, Universitätsbibliothek, Ms. 0287° (s. Anhang). 18. München, BSB, Cgm 718 (s. Anhang). 19. Kassel, MuLB, 4° Ms. Hass. 3 (s. Anhang). 20. Bamberg, Staatsbibliothek, Msc. Hist. 148a (s. Anhang). 21. Sc = sog. Scolast-Version mit dem Akrostichon JOHANNES SCOLAST; R = sog. Rothe-Version mit dem Akrostichon JOHANNES ROTE. Beide Versionen sind in der neuen DTM-Edition komplett zugänglich.

Bibliographie Quellen DTM – Deutsche Texte des Mittelalters Cronica Reinhardsbrunnensis. Hrsg. Oswald Holder-Egger. Monumenta Germaniae Historica: Scriptores XXX,1. Hannover, 1896. 490-656. Duringische Chronik (Thüringische Weltchronik) des Johann Rothe. Hrsg. Rochus von Liliencron. Thüringische Geschichtsquellen 3. Jena, 1859. Johannes Rothes Leben der heiligen Elisabeth. Aufgrund des Nachlasses von Helmut Lomnitzer hrsg. Martin J. Schubert und Annegret Haase. DTM 85. Berlin, 2005. Johannes Rothes Thüringische Landeschronik nach Codex Gothanus Chart B 180 und Eisenacher Chronik nach der Berliner Handschrift Ms germ. 4° 252. Hrsg. Sylvia Weigelt. DTM 87. Berlin, 2006 (im Druck). Die Vita der heiligen Elisabeth des Dietrich von Apolda. Hrsg. Monika Rener. Veröff. der Hist. Kom. für Hessen 53. Marburg, 1993. Sekundärliteratur Baltzer, M. (1897). ‘Zur Kunde thüringischer Geschichtsquellen des 14. und 15. Jahrhunderts, besonders ihrer handschriftlichen Überlieferung.’ Zeitschrift des Vereins für thüringische Geschichte und Alterthumskunde NF 10: 1-60. Sankt Elisabeth (1981). Fürstin, Dienerin, Heilige. Aufsätze, Dokumentation, Katalog. Ausstellung zum 750. Todestag der Hl. Elisabeth, Marburg, Landgrafenschloß und Elisabethkirche, 19. November 1981 - 6. Januar 1982. Hrsg. von der Philipps-Universität Marburg. Sigmaringen.





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 Gerabeck, W. E. (1995). ‘Reinhardsbrunn.’ Lexikon des Mittelalters 7: 667-68. Homrich, Maria (1923). ‘Studien über die handschriftliche Überlieferung des Lebens der hl. Elisabeth von Johannes Rothe.’ Diss. masch. Frankfurt a.M. Honemann, Volker (1987). ‘Johannes Rothe und seine Thüringische Weltchronik.’ Geschichtsschreibung und Geschichtsbewußtsein im späten Mittelalter. Hrsg. Hans Patze. Vorträge und Forschungen 31. Sigmaringen. 497-522. ——— (1991). ‘Johannes Rothe in Eisenach. Literarisches Schaffen und Lebenswelt eines Autors um 1400.’ In Fortuna vitrea. Arbeiten zur literarischen Tradition zwischen dem 13. und 16. Jahrhundert. Hrsg. Walter Haug und Burghart Wachinger. Bd. 6. Tübingen. 69-88. ——— (1992). ‘Johannes Rothe.’ 2Verfasserlexikon 8: 277-85. Lomnitzer, Helmut (1980). ‘Dietrich von Apolda.’ 2Verfasserlexikon 2: 103-10. ——— (1985). ‘Friedrich Köditz.’ 2Verfasserlexikon 5: 5-7. Möller, J. H. (1843). Urkundliche Geschichte des Klosters Reinhardsbrunn. Gotha. Neumann, Hans (1955). ‘Johannes Rothe.’ 1Verfasserlexikon 5: 995-1006. Niewöhner, Heinrich (1942). Gotha (Archivbeschreibung). Patze, Hans (1968). ‘Landesgeschichtsschreibung in Thüringen.’ Jahrbuch für die Geschichte Mittel- und Ostdeutschlands 16/17: 95-168. ———, und Walter Schlesinger, Hrsg. (1968 u. 1973). Geschichte Thüringens. Bd. 1. Köln/Graz. Bd. 2. Köln/Wien. Ruge, Hans-Jörg (1999). ‘Das ehemalige Benediktinerkloster Reinhardsbrunn. Quellenüberlieferung und Forschungsstand.’ Studien zur Geschichte, Kunst und Kultur der Zisterzienser: Benediktiner, Zisterzienser. Bd. 7. Hrsg. Christof Römer et al. 72-79. Schmidt, Sibylle (1972). ‘Johannes Rothes Elisabeth-Gedicht im Vergleich mit seinen Quellen.’ Mag. Masch. Marburg. Schubert, Martin J. (2004). ‘Autorisation und Authentizität in Johannes Rothes Elisabethleben.’ Autor – Autorisation – Authentiziät. Beiträge der Int. Fachtagung der Arbeitsgemeinschaft Edition. Hrsg. Thomas Bein et al. Beihefte zu Editio 21. 183-91. ——— (2006). ‘Philologische Kontamination in der Überlieferung von Johannes Rothes Elisabethleben.’ Berichte und Abhandlungen der Berlin-Brandenburgischen Akademie der Wissenschaften (im Druck). Strohschneider, Peter (1998). ‘Johannes Rothes Verslegende über Elisabeth von Thüringen und seine Chroniken. Materialien zum Funktionsspektrum legendarischen und historiographischen Erzählens im späten Mittelalter.’ Internationales Archiv für Sozialgeschichte der deutschen Literatur 23: 1-29. Tebruck, Stefan (2001). Die Reinhardsbrunner Geschichtsschreibung im Hochmittelalter. Klösterliche Traditionsbildung zwischen Fürstenhof, Kirche und Reich. Jenaer Beiträge zur Geschichte 4. Frankfurt am Main. Werner, Matthias (1987). ‘Die Elisabeth-Vita des Dietrich von Apolda als Beispiel spätmittelalterlicher Hagiographie.’ Geschichtsschreibung und Geschichtsbewußtsein im späten Mittelalter. Hrsg. Hans Patze. Vorträge und Forschungen 31. Sigmaringen. 523-41. Wolff, L., und H. Lomnitzer (1985). ‘Das Leben der heiligen Elisabeth’. 2Verfasserlexikon 5: 63235.

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LE CADRE TEMPOREL DES GRANDES CHRONIQUES: NAISSANCE ET INTEGRATION DU SYSTEME DE DATATION PAR RAPPORT A LA NAISSANCE DU CHRIST

Véronique Zara

Abstract Part compilation, part original work, the Grandes Chroniques trace the history of the kings of France from their legendary ‘Trojan ’ origins to the reign of Philip Augustus. The text reveals, through its piecemeal composition, the evolution of the marking of time in medieval historical writing. As the royal story unfolds, a chronology defined with respect to a single point in time – that of Christ’s birth – will progressively be woven into the story and become the norm in historical writing. Conversely, other means of marking time, such as the number of years of the king’s reign, will become less frequent. The emergence of this new universal timeline based on a fixed point with respect to which every other event can be situated facilitates the measuring of the relative distance between events and bears witness to the long and difficult quest to conquer historical time in the thirteenth-century.

Dans la culture moderne occidentale, le marquage du temps est plus que jamais omniprésent: montres, calendriers, téléphones portables – sans parler de l’horloge atomique – nous rappellent sans cesse notre position exacte sur une ligne de temps imaginaire et continue. Pourtant, il fallut de nombreux siècles pour mettre au point le système que nous connaissons aujourd’hui, permettant de situer avec précision sur une échelle communément reconnue les événements d’une société. En sont témoins les textes historiques, particulièrement ceux du Moyen Age, qui peuvent nous renseigner sur la construction et intégration progressives de ce cadre temporel. L’étude des Grandes Chroniques de France, texte issu de cette tradition historique médiévale et qui nous est distant d’environ huit siècles, permet de montrer l’évolution du marquage du temps dans l’écriture historique, en remontant à une époque où le cadre temporel était encore en formation. Réalisées dans leur forme d’origine dans la deuxième moitié du XIIIème siècle à l’abbaye de Saint-Denis, les Grandes Chroniques retracent l’histoire des rois de France de leurs origines ‘troyennes’ légendaires jusqu’au règne de Philippe Auguste. Comme beaucoup de chroniques médiévales, l’ouvrage est le fruit d’un processus de composition complexe. Son ‘auteur’ présumé, le moine Primat, entreprit une compilation de textes existants tout en les modifiant selon ses besoins. En raison de cette composition hétéroclite, les Grandes Chroniques portent en elles des traces verbales et numériques de l’évolution du marquage du temps historique à travers les siècles. En examinant le style du texte pour reconstituer sa gestation,

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recherche que nous pourrions baptiser ‘archéologie de la chronologie,’ nous pouvons comprendre quand et comment les sources du texte furent remaniées afin de répondre aux besoins de l’écriture historique d’une époque plus tardive. Une analyse précise révélera que l’échelle de temps n’est que partiellement constituée au XIIIème siècle et qu’au fil du texte, une chronologie définie par rapport à un point fixe, celui de la naissance du Christ, est peu à peu intégrée dans l’ouvrage, entrant ainsi dans la norme de l’écriture historique. Cette échelle commune va progressivement se substituer à un repérage de temps basé sur la durée et sur des expressions temporelles sans lien direct avec cette échelle chronologique universelle. Cette nouvelle manière de marquer le temps permettra alors une mesure beaucoup plus fiable de la distance temporelle relative entre les événements et contribuera à l’élimination progressive de marqueurs temporels indirectement liés à cette échelle temporelle commune, posant ainsi les bases du système que nous connaissons aujourd’hui. S’étendant sur six volumes dans l’édition établie au début du XXème siècle par Jules Viard, les Grandes Chroniques de Primat couvrent une période historique très vaste, allant de ‘[q]uatre C et IIII anz avant que Rome fust 1 fondée,’ (GCF I, 9) – c’est-à-dire, en termes qui nous sont plus familiers 2 aujourd’hui, 1157 av. J.-C. – jusqu’à la mort de Philippe Auguste en 1223. Bien que cette période de temps retracée par la chronique soit inégalement représentée, avec un bien maigre début qui tient en quelques pages et parcourt les premiers 1500 ans environ, le texte retrace donc tout de même de l’ordre de 2400 ans d’une histoire qui se veut à la fois royale et française. Les événements sont repérés sur cette longue ligne temporelle de plusieurs manières. Premièrement, les dates articulent la position des événements par rapport à un point fixe, le plus souvent celui de la naissance du Christ. Si le premier chapitre des Grandes Chroniques commence avec une date, ‘[q]uatre C et IIII anz avant que Rome fust fondée,’ celle où ‘regnoit Prianz en Troie la grant’ (GCF I, 9), celleci relève d’une certaine tromperie pour le lecteur moderne. La position prééminente de cette date initiale pourrait suggérer une présence régulière de dates tout au long du texte. Or, il existe de longs silences temporels qui durent des décennies, voire des siècles, où toute mention de date disparaît. Ainsi, il n’existe aucune date explicitement mentionnée entre 895 av. J.-C. et 629 apr. J.-C., pour ne citer qu’un exemple, celui de l’intervalle sans date le plus long. Souvent, la seule date citée est celle de la mort du souverain, signalant la fin d’une époque et la transition vers une autre. Le tableau suivant témoigne de cette répartition inégale de la datation.



Le cadre temporel des Grandes Chroniques



3

o

217

Vol. n Période

Nombre d’années Nombre de dates Moyenne

1

1157 av. J.-C. – 585 apr. J.-C.

1742

3

580.7

2

585–768 apr. J.-C.

183

12

15.3

3

768–814

46

4

11.5

4

778–991

213

15

14.2

5

987–1137

150

12

12.5

6

1137–1223

86

50

1.7

Ce n’est en effet qu’au sixième volume, à partir de l’année 1179, qu’il est possible de constater une certaine régularité dans l’utilisation de dates, qui deviennent alors la manière la plus courante de marquer le temps. Entre ces mentions de dates parfois très espacées, le temps n’en est pas pour le moins absent. Le plus souvent, c’est la durée du règne du souverain qui constitue la référence de base. Le cycle temporel s’étend ainsi de la montée sur le trône d’un souverain jusqu’à sa mort et la prise de pouvoir par son successeur. Cette transmission de pouvoir remet le compteur temporel à zéro, découpant ainsi le temps en périodes. Les événements historiques s’inscrivent alors dans le cadre de cette durée du règne et sont repérés par rapport au moment initial de la prise de pouvoir par le roi. De manière corollaire, les événements peuvent aussi être liés entre eux par la durée, indépendamment du début du règne du roi. Un événement marquant de l’époque est alors utilisé, tel l’exemple suivant se rapportant à la mort de Clovis, qui ‘C et XII anz après le trespassement saint Martin fu morz’ (GCF I, 92). Le moment de la mort de Saint Martin n’est pas précisé, mais cette référence permet une mesure relative du temps écoulé entre les événements. Le marquage de temps par la durée est donc défini par l’absence d’un point de repère unique, les références temporelles étant imbriquées les unes dans les autres. Ceci crée une temporalité fragmentée s’articulant autour de multiples repères temporels. D’autres marqueurs situent les événements par rapport au cycle naturel de l’année, avec ou sans précision de la date. Les saisons constituent le moyen le plus évident de marquer le moment de l’année, parfois étant suffisamment 4 mémorables pour mériter une description plus détaillée. Ainsi, en 763, les Grandes Chroniques affirment qu’’en cele année fu li yvers si aspres et si forz que on ne recordoit pas que nus eust ainques veu si grant ne si cruel’ (GCF II, 253). D’autres événements annuels servent aussi de point de repère telles les fêtes religieuses importantes, généralement Noël ou Pâques, plus rarement la

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fête d’un saint. Le calendrier, héritage de la tradition latine, est en outre présent, bien que les mentions de jour et de mois soient souvent données sans préciser l’année. Ce calendrier comporte les douze mois qui nous sont familiers. En revanche, le jour est le plus souvent marqué selon la coutume romaine, qui compte le nombre de jours avant le premier du mois (ou ‘kalende’) à venir, celui-ci étant inclus dans le calcul. Ainsi, la mort de Charlemagne est survenue me le 28 janvier, ou selon le texte ‘en la V kalende de fevrier’ (GCF III, 292). Ce système coexiste avec le système moderne, moins fréquent, telle la mention en me 1146 ‘ou xxv jor de mai’ (GCF VI, 49). Il arrive aussi que l’heure ou le moment de la journée soient mentionnés, en particulier lorsque le texte se lance dans la narration d’une histoire. Le moment de la journée devient alors important et figure souvent de manière explicite et précise dans le texte: ‘endroit la mie nuit, que toutes choses sont en silence, uns granz rais de feu ardant eissi soudainement de l’eglise Saint Hylaire et descendi seur le paveillon le roi, là endroit où il dormoit’ (GCF I, 82). En revanche, à l’extrême inverse, lorsque le texte ne peut être plus précis, les références temporelles sont souvent des expressions ou des adverbes de temps. Références vagues, telles ‘en ce tens,’ ‘après granz periuz et granz tormenz,’ ’longuement,’ apparaissent fréquemment au long du texte. Une expression comme ‘après avint au tens’ sert aussi de transition pour établir la succession entre rois. L’abondance de ce type d’expression souligne la préoccupation, héritée de la tradition latine dont ces expressions ne sont que la traduction, de Primat et de ses prédécesseurs avec le temps qui passe et leur volonté de retraduire ce phénomène dans le texte. Ces expressions ont donc pour fonction à la fois de combler les vides temporels, devant l’absence d’information supplémentaires, et de permettre une transition simple et efficace entre périodes. La présence de nombreux marqueurs temporels fait donc écho aux propos de Bernard Guenée, pour qui ‘[le] plus grand mérite [de l’historiographie médiévale] est assurément la conquête du temps’ (1980: 147-48). Celle-ci n’a pourtant pas été simple, phénomène révélé par la très grande inégalité de la présence de marqueurs au cours du texte. La construction progressive d’un système de repères temporels absolus et consistants s’explique en partie par l’historique du système de datation dont l’apparition remonte au VIème siècle, lorsque le moine Denis le Petit décida d’adopter ce nouveau point de repère, valorisant un moment important de la religion chrétienne, dans ses travaux de table pascale. Jusqu’alors, les années étaient en effet comptabilisées à partir du règne de Dioclétien, personnage peu flatteur dans l’histoire du christianisme (Guenée 1980: 155). La datation à partir du Christ avait donc au départ une utilité bien plus limitée, servant à déterminer la date fluctuante de Pâques pour 5 les années à venir. Ce système ne devait s’étendre au repérage des années passées dans les écrits historiques que bien plus tard. Il fut ensuite repris par

 

Le cadre temporel des Grandes Chroniques

219

Bède, apparaissait fréquemment à l’époque carolingienne, mais ‘ne se généralisa qu’au cours du XIème siècle’ (Guenée 1980: 156). Ecrites au XIIIème siècle, les Grandes Chroniques ont donc été composées seulement deux à trois siècles après la diffusion générale du système de datation que nous connaissons aujourd’hui. Sur les 2400 ans racontés par le texte, la datation n’est d’usage courant que pour les derniers 200 ans environ. Cette mise en pratique tardive se trouve évidemment reflétée dans la répartition des dates à travers les Grandes Chroniques. Hormis les quelques premières dates du début du texte qui font exception, il faut attendre le VIIème siècle pour voir apparaître une datation éparse. Au XIIème siècle apparaît une datation régulière, ce qui correspond en termes approximatifs à l’époque où l’utilisation de ce système de repérage temporel devenait une pratique courante dans les milieux savants de l’époque. L’historique même du système de datation représente donc l’explication la plus évidente pour rendre compte de la grande inégalité de présence des dates au fil du texte. Pourtant, l’historique du système de datation ne suffit pas à rendre compte de son intégration au fil du texte, se substituant peu à peu à la durée. L’historique de la composition du texte lui-même est tout aussi influent, même si cette influence est plus subtile et difficile à déterminer. En effet, les Grandes Chroniques sont le fruit de multiples compilations, de remaniements effectués par de nombreuses mains et de la traduction et adaptation des sources latines. Comprendre le problème épineux de la provenance des dates relève d’une véritable fouille archéologique pour retrouver les vestiges du travail de composition du manuscrit et identifier les sources probables ou possibles des dates. En effet, celles-ci ne sont pas nécessairement issues de l’époque à laquelle elles se réfèrent et sont souvent au contraire les marques d’une époque postérieure, témoignage d’une réécriture du texte. Ainsi, de par l’historique de la datation, la conclusion s’impose que les dates antérieures au VIIème siècle sont nécessairement des reconstructions, ajoutées a posteriori puisque toute date de cette époque reculée représente un anachronisme dans l’écriture historique. Les dates de cette époque sont ainsi peu fréquentes et souvent peu fiables. A mesure que l’on avance dans le temps et que l’on s’éloigne du VIIème siècle, les dates entrant dans l’usage courant, il devient alors plus difficile de déterminer la nature de la datation. Est-elle toujours le produit d’une reconstruction ultérieure, artificiellement réintégrée dans le texte, ou bien reflète-t-elle plutôt une utilisation en connaissance de cause de cette nouvelle manière de marquer le temps ? En d’autres termes, à quel moment et de quelle manière les dates ne représentent-elles non plus un anachronisme mais plutôt une partie intégrante de la temporalité du texte, témoins d’une nouvelle manière d’envisager le marquage du temps? Face à cette question, nous pouvons formuler essentiellement trois hypothèses. Les dates peuvent provenir des ‘sources primaires’ des Grandes Chroniques, écrits historiques réalisés de manière plus ou moins contemporaine

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avec les événements qu’ils décrivent, et qui, au terme de multiples compilations, formeront la base des Grandes Chroniques. Les dates peuvent aussi avoir été rajoutées dans le texte de ces sources primaires entre le moment initial de leur production et leur réutilisation, bien que distillée, dans les Grandes Chroniques, ce rajout des dates se produisant alors à un moment fortuit, au gré des compilations. Enfin, les dates peuvent aussi avoir été réinsérées par Primat lors de la composition du texte des Grandes Chroniques elles-mêmes. En examinant les textes primaires, il faut conclure que, dans l’ensemble, ceux-ci reflètent la chronologie d’apparition de la datation mise en avant par Guenée. Les chroniques antérieures à la première moitié du IXème siècle, celles notamment d’Aimoin, Frédégaire, le Liber Historiæ Francorum, les Gesta Dagoberti, la Vita Karoli d’Eginhard sont sans dates et leur temporalité se base essentiellement sur la durée. A partir de la deuxième moitié du IXème siècle, les dates commencent à faire leur apparition dans les sources primaires, notamment chez Hugues de Fleury et dans la continuation d’Aimoin. A la fin du XIème siècle, Guillaume de Jumièges utilise les dates avec fréquence, de même que Rigord au XIIème siècle. Il faut cependant noter qu’il n’est pas toujours possible de généraliser, la tradition de la chronique sans date persistant au moins jusqu’à Suger qui écrivait sans datation au XIIème siècle. Néanmoins, dans l’ensemble, les sources primaires soutiennent la chronologie de l’appa7 rition de la datation établie par Guenée. Il est donc raisonnable d’affirmer que c’est vers le IXème siècle que la datation commençait à devenir une partie intégrante du texte historique, bien qu’elle ne soit pas nécessairement systématique. Ainsi, les dates des Grandes Chroniques postérieures au IXème siècle seraient essentiellement issues des sources d’origine. Les sources primaires permettent donc de rendre compte de la provenance des dates dans les Grandes Chroniques à partir de cette époque. Afin de comprendre l’utilisation de la datation avant le milieu du IXème siècle, une analyse de l’antécédent latin des Grandes Chroniques apporte des indices importants. Cet antécédent fut identifié par Viard comme étant le manuscrit de la Bibliothèque Nationale Lat. 5925 (GCF I, xii) et daterait essentiellement de 8 l’époque de Saint-Louis. Ce manuscrit intermédiaire constitue une étape importante dans l’écriture des Grandes Chroniques, permettant ainsi de comprendre l’évolution de la présence de la datation entre les sources primaires 9 et les Grandes Chroniques. En outre, son statut privilégié d’antécédent des Grandes Chroniques permet de mettre en évidence le rôle de Primat dans l’écriture de son texte. Une analyse du manuscrit 5925 révèle à la fois de profondes similarités avec la version de Primat en langue vulgaire, mais aussi des différences significatives. Comme les Grandes Chroniques, le manuscrit latin retrace l’histoire des rois des origines ‘troyennes’ jusqu’à la fin du règne de Philippe Auguste. A deux exceptions près qui seront examinées plus loin – celle d’une part de la présence d’une date ancienne isolée, erronée d’ailleurs,

 

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qui situe la mort de Clovis en l’an 500 et celle d’autre part d’une poignée de dates très reculées – la datation de la version latine commence bien plus tard, à partir de 735. Ce n’est que qu’en 814 que les dates des deux manuscrits commencent à se suivre, approximativement jusqu’en 1165, puis régulièrement ensuite, jusqu’à la dernière date du manuscrit latin, 1214. La période antérieure à 814 présente un intérêt particulier puisque c’est dans cette époque la plus reculée que les deux manuscrits divergent le plus. Le fait que la datation de la version latine n’apparaisse véritablement qu’à partir de 735 implique que dans les Grandes Chroniques, les dates de 629 à 715 ont été rajoutées au texte de base, vraisemblablement lors de la composition et traduction du texte. Etant donné les nombreuses sources qui ont été consultées pour la composition des Grandes Chroniques, il est difficile d’affirmer de manière précise la provenance de ces dates rajoutées, sauf qu’elles ne sont pas issues des chroniques d’origine, qui contiennent pas de dates. Il faut chercher ailleurs, en premier lieu dans les annales, autre source importante de l’époque pour la connaissance des événements passés. Ce genre de production historique, qui, selon Guenée, est apparu vers les VIIème et VIIIème siècles, était constitué au départ par ‘de brèves notes écrites une année après l’autre, dans les marges des tables pascales, grâce auxquelles une communauté entendait garder la mémoire du ou des événements marquants d’une année. Peu à peu, les annales se libérèrent des marges; elles furent directement écrites sur des feuilles blanches’ (1980: 203). Ce genre était presque toujours distingué des chroniques, et possédait deux caractéristiques essentielles: ‘les événements y étaient consignés au fur et à mesure qu’ils avaient été connus; ils étaient inscrits sous le numéro de l’année dans laquelle ils s’étaient passés, ou du moins sous le 10 numéro de l’année pendant laquelle ils avaient été connus’ (1980: 204). Selon Viard, Primat aurait en effet mis à profit certaines annales, au moins ‘la première rédaction des Annales royales, publiées par Pertz sous le titre d’Annales Laurissenses’ (GCF III, xxii). Cependant, celles-ci commencent en 741, trop tard pour l’époque en question ici. Viard affirme par ailleurs qu’il ‘est probable aussi que Primat put consulter les Annales Mettenses’ (GCF III, xxiii). Ces annales commencent en 687, pouvant ainsi avoir fourni une partie 11 des dates rajoutées dans la période de 629 à 715. Pourtant, un examen attentif du texte de l’édition de Viard montre que presque toutes les dates de cette période sont erronées, souvent décalées de plusieurs années par rapport à la date généralement acceptée par l’érudition moderne. Il faut donc conclure qu’en toute probabilité, ces dates n’ont pas été copiées telles quelles des annales mais sont plutôt des reconstructions. Pour combler le manque de dates, l’historien des Grandes Chroniques aurait alors entrepris de convertir les durées des textes des époques reculées, remontant le fil des durées qui se succèdent ou bien interpolant entre les rares dates qui lui étaient données, pour arriver à une datation aussi précise qu’il lui était alors possible d’établir. La difficulté de cette reconstruction ne doit pas être sous-estimée. Selon Guenée,

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‘les historiens se trouvaient donc devant le difficile problème de correctement donner l’année de l’incarnation dans laquelle avaient eu lieu des événements proches ou lointains alors qu’une documentation hétéroclite ne leur fournissait que durées approximatives et dates ambiguës’ (1980: 156). La datation qui résulte de ce processus est donc peu fréquente et souvent confuse ou erronée, rendant par ailleurs difficile la tâche de l’historien moderne qui tenterait de retrouver la trace de cette reconstruction. Pourtant, cette hypothèse de la reconstruction des dates du VIIème et début du VIIIème siècle est d’autant plus plausible lorsqu’on tient compte du changement qui a lieu dans la datation après 715. C’est en effet à cette époque que d’une part les dates du manuscrit latin font leur apparition et d’autre part les dates des Grandes Chroniques commencent à se révéler plus exactes. Cette période coïncide en outre avec une plus grande présence des annales, en particulier les Annales royales. Plus faciles à trouver, ces dates ont donc plutôt été réinsérées que reconstruites. Les dates du manuscrit latin allant de 735 au milieu du IXème siècle témoignent que le processus avait déjà commencé plus tôt et fut continué dans les Grandes Chroniques. Cette réinsertion de dates, et a fortiori leur reconstruction, montrent que la temporalité de l’histoire est importante pour l’historien du XIIIème siècle, qui s’attachait activement à compléter son texte aussi bien qu’il le pouvait. Cette réécriture active de la temporalité des époques passées est aussi soulignée par les quelques exceptions de datation du manuscrit 5925 antérieures à 735. La mort de Clovis, située de manière inexacte en l’an 500 dans le manuscrit latin, n’est pas précisée dans le texte de Primat. Cependant, cet événement important est bien à sa place, en 511, dans la suite chronologique des Grandes Chroniques, même si la date n’apparaît pas. Il est donc fortement probable que l’auteur de ce texte ait perçu que la date de 500 était erronée, ayant préféré situer l’événement ainsi: ‘[Clovis] trespassa de cest siecle quant il out regné 12 XXX anz chrestiens, en l’onziesme an après ce que il out ocis le roi Alaric. … C et XII anz après le trespassement saint Martin fu morz’ (GCF I, 92). L’esprit critique de l’auteur est donc bien présent dans la traduction et recomposition du texte qui doit être aussi exacte que possible. D’autre part, quelques dates très reculées figurent presque toutes dans les deux textes, mais à des endroits différents. Le manuscrit 5925 les donne très tard, lors d’un récapitulatif temporel, entre les folios 259r et 260r. Cette partie du texte, résumée rapidement, se retrouve dans les Grandes Chroniques à sa place chronologique, tout au début du texte. Ces événements ont donc été sciemment déplacés pour fournir au lecteur une version plus linéaire et cohérente du temps. Les différences entre le manuscrit 5925 et le texte des Grandes Chroniques montrent donc une réécriture active de la ligne temporelle dans le texte de Primat. Déjà entamée avant le manuscrit latin, cette réécriture est loin d’être complète et exacte avec la composition des Grandes Chroniques, mais petit à

 

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petit les dates manquantes et ses remaniements successifs comblent les plus grandes lacunes. Cette préoccupation avec la datation reste pourtant dans une grande mesure invisible, sous-jacente au texte. Puisque la datation est présente du début à la fin des Grandes Chroniques, seule une étude précise du texte permet de mettre vraiment en évidence que les dates ne sont pas toutes issues des sources d’origine. Nous pouvons donc d’autant plus apprécier le rare commentaire de Primat, qui, à propos de la mort de Carloman en 884, nous dit que ‘morz fu li rois Kallemaines (mès comment ne quant il morut, ne parole pas 13 l’estoire, et pour ce nous en covient taire)’ (GCF IV, 300-1). L’auteur démontre ici un souci d’exactitude particulier envers son texte, au point d’informer son lecteur qu’il n’est pas responsable du manque d’informations. S’il n’est donc pas toujours possible pour les historiens contemporains des Grandes Chroniques d’établir les dates avec exactitude, il n’en reste pas moins que ces marqueurs de temps sont activement et soigneusement recherchés. Un examen des sources primaires et du manuscrit 5925 nous montre donc que les trois hypothèses concernant la provenance des dates sont donc valables: les dates sont issues aussi bien des sources primaires, que de rajouts au gré des compilations, que du travail de Primat. La nature de la datation varie selon la tranche de temps en question, le texte glissant subrepticement de reconstructions au VIIème siècle à des réinsertions au VIIIème siècle, puis à une utilisation des dates des sources d’origine pour les périodes ultérieures. Cette division de la temporalité du texte en ‘époques’ demande pourtant une certaine prudence. La délimitation de celles-ci n’est évidemment pas rigide. En effet, différents types de datation peuvent coexister tout au long du texte, même si une forme donnée de datation est dominante, ce qui met en valeur les sources multiples utilisées et la construction complexe du texte. Néanmoins, les Grandes Chroniques témoignent aussi que cette utilisation du système de datation, encore relativement récente, n’est pas parfaitement assimilée au XIIIème siècle. Certes, le manque de dates pour certaines époques et la confusion générale qui règne pour l’époque mérovingienne doivent être relevés. Mais c’est plutôt une certaine hésitation dans le maniement de la datation se manifestant à l’occasion dans le texte qui montre bien que ce système n’est pas encore tout à fait perçu comme allant de soi. La trame intellectuelle de l’intégration de la datation est parfois encore visible, trahissant ses origines historiques. Il en existe un exemple frappant dans les Grandes Chroniques, présent à la fin du texte de Primat, sous le règne de Philippe Auguste. Bien que le texte résume de temps en temps les grandes lignes de la chronologie des rois, réaffirmant ainsi le passage du temps et la longévité de la lignée des rois de France, cet exemple précis est plus qu’un simple récapitulatif. Primat réutilise des éléments de chronologie pour ‘prouver mathématiquement’ que l’année en question est bien 1186 après J.-C., et, pour être bien sûr du résultat, additionne les années de deux manières différentes:

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Véronique Zara Pour ce que nous avons ci briement touchié de la generation des rois de France, nous devons metre le tens que li roi crestien commencierent à regner, et si le volons prover selonc les croniques Ydace et selonc les14 Gregoire de Tors. C’est donques asavoir que sains Martins trespassa de cest siecle en l’an XIe de l’empire l’empereor Archidien. Dès l’Incarnation Nostre Seigneur jus à celui an avoient coru CCCC et VII anz. Et de la transmigration saint Martin jusques à la mort le roi Cloovis premier crestien, corurent C et XII anz. Donques, de l’Incarnation jusques à la mort le roi Cloovis corurent D et XIX anz. Et dès la mort le roi Cloovis jusques au VIIme an dou regne le roi Phelippe, corurent VIc et LXVII anz. Et par ce, puet on prover que dou tens de l’Incarnation jusques au VIIme an de son regne corurent XIc anz et IIIIxx et VI. Autre prove de ce meisme. Au tens Aiot, qui fu li quarz juges d’Israel, fu Troie la grant edifiée. Si dura en povoir et en bon estat CLXXX anz. Ou XIIIme an, fu Abdon juge d’Israel qui fu li XIImes aprés Josué, fu destruite [Troie], et de la destruction de Troie jusques [à l’Incarnation] corurent XIc et LXXVI anz. Et de l’Incarnation jusques à la transmigration saint Martin corurent CCCC et VII anz; et de la transmigration jusques à la mort le roi Clodovée corurent C et XII anz. De la prise de Troie jusques au commencement dou regne Cloovis corurent [M] VIc et LX anz. Et note ci endroit, que Marcomires commença à regner en France en l’an de l’Incarnation CCC et LXXVI. Donques, de ce tens que li rois Cloovis regnoit jusques au VIIme dou regne le roi Phelippe, corurent VIIIc et X anz (GCF VI, 141-42).15

Ce calcul des années écoulées d’un moment à un autre s’inscrit dans une longue tradition historique remontant au moins jusqu’à Grégoire de Tours, qui, dans une perspective eschatologique, conclut son ouvrage l’Histoire des Francs avec ‘la somme totale des années du monde’ qui serait vieux de 5792 années (1965: 326). Cette tradition se poursuit dans les Grandes Chroniques, à la différence près qu’à cette époque plus tardive, le repère de l’année de l’Incarnation domine, la durée étant un outil pour déterminer la date: la ‘preuve mathématique’ apportée par l’auteur des Grandes Chroniques a alors pour but non de calculer l’origine des temps mais plutôt d’établir la date à partir de l’année de l’Incarnation de manière aussi précise que le permettait l’état des connaissances de l’époque. Cette ‘preuve’ est une lame à double tranchant: d’une part, l’existence même du système se trouve réaffirmée à un moment important du texte, mais dans un même temps, en montrant les rouages de la comptabilisation des années, l’utilisation de ce système souligne le caractère artificiel du système de datation à partir d’un point absolu. L’armature de construction du cadre temporel est encore visible. En outre, l’année de l’Incarnation n’est pas le seul point de repère temporel utilisé dans les Grandes Chroniques. En effet, si la naissance du Christ constitue la référence essentielle de la chronologie du texte, il est néanmoins possible de constater la présence occasionnelle d’autres points de repères. Primat commence son texte par ‘quatre C et IIII anz avant que Rome fust fondée’ (GCF I, 9) sans précision du rapport entre l’année de l’Incarnation et la 16 fondation de la Cité Eternelle. Au cours du règne de Philippe Auguste, nous pouvons aussi relever les passages suivants, où il est question de multiples systèmes de repérage temporel: ‘l’an de l’Incarnation M et CLXXXVI; dou

 

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regne des Arabiens, DLXXXII’ (GCF VI, 156) et ‘selonc les Ebrieux, en l’an dou commencement dou monde IIIIM D CCCC XLVI’ (GCF VI, 158). Bien que ces différents repères ne soient chacun mentionnés qu’une seule fois, le fait que l’auteur soit conscient de leur existence empêche l’année de l’Incarnation de se poser comme unique point de repère, absolu et incontournable. Enfin, il faut noter que le repérage temporel par la durée persiste même à la fin du texte où la datation est devenue courante. Dans l’exemple déjà cité où Primat établit la date par le calcul, sa ‘deuxième preuve’ ne donne pas les années depuis l’Incarnation mais calcule le laps de temps écoulé depuis Clovis: me ‘Donques, de ce tens que li rois Cloovis regnoit jusques au VII dou regne le c roi Phelippe, corurent VIII et X anz’ (GCF VI, 142-43). Date et durée coexistent donc et sont souvent indifféremment utilisées l’une pour l’autre. Vers la fin des Grandes Chroniques, elles apparaissent souvent côte à côte, ce qui pourrait faire effet de redondance à l’esprit moderne, mais cette répétition devient presque une formule dans le texte médiéval, surtout lors de la mort du roi. Trois éléments sont alors souvent précisés: la date, la durée du règne et l’âge du souverain au moment de sa mort. Ainsi, Philippe Auguste mourut ‘en l’an de l’Incarnation Nostre Seigneur M CC et XXIII; de son aage LVIII et de son regne XLIII’ (GCF VI, 374). Pourtant, malgré ces quelques hésitations dans l’utilisation de la datation, il est possible de constater une évolution dans le marquage du temps dans les Grandes Chroniques. Si datation et durée coexistent jusqu’à la fin du texte, il se dégage une impression générale de l’importance croissante de la datation, qui va au-delà d’une simple augmentation dans la fréquence d’utilisation. Au IXème siècle, lorsque les dates commencent à provenir des sources d’origine, celles-ci apparaissent généralement à la fin d’un chapitre et signalent la mort du roi. Ainsi, en 814, l’archevêque Turpin eut une vision annonçant la mort de Charlemagne. Le chapitre conclut par ‘li tens de l’Incarnation estoit D CCC me XIIII, en la V kalende de fevrier’ (GCF III, 292). La datation marque alors la fin d’une époque et le début d’une autre, essentiellement limitée aux événements les plus significatifs et reléguée à la dernière ligne d’un chapitre, donnant l’impression à nos esprits modernes que l’auteur ajouta en passant une dernière précision ou remédiait de justesse à un oubli. D’un point de vue médiéval, cette impression semble injustifiée et témoigne plutôt de l’importance émergente d’un système de datation cohérent et consistent où la datation fournit l’élément clé de transition entre époques. Vers la fin du texte, les dates sont mieux intégrées, se trouvant au milieu de phrases ou au tout début d’un chapitre, ce qui s’apparente bien plus, d’un point de vue stylistique, à l’utilisation de la datation aujourd’hui, comme en témoigne l’exemple suivant: ‘En l’an de l’Incarnation M CCIII, ou mois de mai, rassembla li rois Phelippes [Auguste] ses oz et entre en Normendie’ (GCF VI, 272). La datation se trouve alors intégrée dans la narration de l’histoire et utilisée pour des événements importants autre que la mort des souverains.

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Ce dernier exemple souligne aussi une autre évolution importante dans l’utilisation de la datation, à savoir son intégration avec le cadre temporel de l’année, cycle répétitif de douze mois. A l’origine, en effet, l’année et l’an ne vont pas de pair et existent séparément. La date peut être donnée sans que le moment de l’année soit précisé ou, plus fréquemment, le moment de l’année est précisé, sans que l’année soit citée. En effet, contrairement à la date, qui mit de nombreux siècles pour entrer dans l’usage courant, le texte a tendance à situer les événements dans le temps par rapport au cycle annuel, même pour les époques éloignées. L’importance du moment de l’année se retrouve dans un passage décrivant la mort de Dagobert: ‘quant ci evesques Ansoualz fu en France retornez, il raconta ce que il avoit oï de la bouche dou saint home; l’eure, li jors, li mois et la kalende furent noté’ (GCF II, 183-84). Dagobert étant mort en 639, alors que le système de datation n’est pas encore utilisé dans l’écriture historique, l’année ne peut évidemment être notée dans ce cas. L’utilisation simultanée de l’an et du moment de l’année mettra longtemps à entrer dans l’usage courant et cette séparation persistera bien au-delà de l’apparition des dates. Au fil du texte, il deviendra plus fréquent de trouver les années accompagnées du mois voire du jour. Ainsi, ‘en l’an de l’Incarnation M C XCI, en la xv kalende de mai, morut li apostoiles Climenz qui sist ou siege ii anz et v mois’ (GCF VI, 202). Cette convergence des cadres temporels ne se limite pas seulement au rapprochement entre l’an et l’année. Le moment de la journée, le jour de la semaine, peuvent aussi figurer, bien que beaucoup plus rarement, dans le texte. Décrivant la messe fêtant l’arrivée d’un nouvel abbé à Saint-Denis, ‘celebrerent la beneïçon dou novel esleu au maistre de l’eglise, en la presence de vii abbez, dou clergié et dou pople, un jor de diemenche en la me xv kalende de juin, en l’an de l’Incarnation M CL XXXV, dou regne le roi me me Phelippe vi , de son aage xxi ’ (GCF VI, 149). Cette convergence de multiples repères visant à une détermination précise de la temporalité n’est pas encore entrée dans l’usage courant mais nous pouvons voir ici les débuts de son acceptation. Une analyse précise des marqueurs temporels des Grandes Chroniques témoigne donc des progrès accomplis au cours des siècles quant à la conquête du temps. Bien que les mentions ne soient pas systématiques ni toujours exactes, le souci de retraduire aussi fidèlement que possible la distance temporelle entre les événements reste constant. La présence d’un système de repérage à partir d’un point unique facilite cette tâche. Alors, tout moment trouve sa place sur une ligne du temps qui s’étend des moments les plus reculés, du règne des ‘rois troyens’ jusqu’aux moments distants et incertains du futur. Cette utilisation de la datation remplace petit à petit la notion de durée et les expressions vagues des premiers temps, utilisées pour faire charnière entre différents moments de l’histoire, tels ‘en ce temps’ ou ‘après avint au tens,’ car le temps se trouve alors intégré dans la narration même de l’histoire. L’utilisation des dates permet de mettre tout point du texte en rapport avec les

 

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autres, construisant par ce biais les fondements de la temporalité historique moderne. Cette datation est tellement primordiale aujourd’hui qu’il est impossible au lecteur moderne de s’en passer. Témoins de notre dépendance psychologique de la datation: les dates entre crochets rajoutées discrètement par Viard dans son édition en haut des pages, auxquelles le lecteur peut se raccrocher pendant les longs silences temporels du texte médiéval. La disparité de la datation témoigne de la difficulté de la tâche des historiens tentant de construire un cadre temporel homogène. Le système de datation ne se pose pas encore comme l’unique système de marquage du temps, mais à travers les Grandes Chroniques, nous pouvons voir les débuts de sa prééminence.

Notes 

1. Toutes les citations des Grandes Chroniques de France se rapportent ici à l’édition de Jules Viard et seront indiquées par ‘GCF’ suivi du volume et du numéro de page. 2. L’exactitude de cette date est loin d’être certaine; voir Whitrow (1988: 67). Il existe donc des précédents historiques pour l’utilisation de la datation à partir d’un point unique. L’intégration de ce système dans l’Occident médiéval ne se fera, comme nous le verrons par la suite, que bien des siècles après la naissance du Christ. 3. Ces numéros de volume correspondent à l’édition de Viard, les six premiers volumes représentant la partie du texte réalisée par Primat. La division du texte en volumes choisie par l’éditeur est évidemment subjective, tout autant que son utilisation pour le tableau ci-dessus. Cette division suit néanmoins une certaine logique et permet au lecteur moderne de mieux cerner la chronologie parfois complexe des Grandes Chroniques, en particulier en ce qui concerne la période mérovingienne. Cette période présente une chronologie confuse, visible notamment ici par le retour en arrière entre le volume 3 et 4. Pour cette raison, la division en volumes a été retenue ici. Les six volumes présentant des parties de texte de longueur relativement comparable, le tableau révèle en outre la grande disparité de traitement des différentes époques. 4. L’année est précisée par Viard et ne figure pas dans le texte. 5. Les difficultés que la détermination de l’année de la naissance du Christ posa aux érudits du Moyen Age dépassent le cadre de cette étude. Il faut néanmoins signaler que les calendriers présentaient de nombreuses variations et erreurs. Voir à ce sujet Guenée (1980: 147-64). 6. L’expression ‘source primaire’ doit être entendue plus comme un outil conceptuel d’analyse plutôt que comme une réalité tangible. Peu d’écrits historiques, surtout des époques lointaines, sont des ouvrages entièrement originaux, contemporains des événements. A l’instar de Grégoire de Tours, dont l’ouvrage Historia Francorum présentait d’abord une compilation de récits historiques existants, puis glissait peu à peu vers une narration d’événements dont l’auteur était témoin, de nombreux ‘historiens’ du Moyen Age ont mélangé leurs récits originaux et ceux qui existaient déjà. Cependant, certains textes furent particulièrement connus et réutilisés, tels ceux d’Aimoin, Frédégaire ou d’Eginhard et peuvent servir de comparaison avec les textes d’époques plus tardives. 7. Les textes cités ici ne représentent pas une liste exhaustive des sources des Grandes Chroniques. Cependant, ils constituent les textes les plus fréquemment utilisés et leur temporalité reste relativement représentative de l’époque dont ils sont issus. 8. Voir Viard (GCF I, xii-xiii) et Spiegel (1978: 68). Cependant, Viard et Spiegel montrent aussi les



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 limites de la signification du ms. 5925. D’une part, celui-ci ne fut pas la seule source utilisée pour les Grandes Chroniques et d’autre part, comme le dit Spiegel, ‘nothing permits us to assume that B.N. lat. 5925 was consciously composed as a sourcebook for a projected Grandes Chroniques’ (1978: 71). 9. Pour une analyse détaillée des compilations intermédiaires et de leur chronologie, voir Spiegel (1978). 10. Une étude plus détaillée du genre annalistique a été effectuée par McCormick (1975). 11. Selon Hen, la partie la plus ancienne des Annales Mettenses aurait été composée au tout début du IXème siècle (2000: 175-90). Même dans le cas des annales, l’écriture de l’histoire n’est pas nécessairement le produit parfaitement contemporain de l’époque où les événements ont eu lieu et peut constituer une compilation ou une reconstruction, avec tous les risques d’erreur que ceci comporte. 12. Selon Viard, cette indication de durée aussi est incorrecte et ne serait que de cinq ans (GCF I, 92). 13. En note, Viard mentionne que ‘ce qui est entre parenthèses fut ajouté par l’auteur des Grandes Chroniques. Le continuateur d’Aimoin dit seulement, en effet: ‘Verum Carlomanno rebus humanis exempto filius ejus Ludovicus successit’ (GCF IV, 301). 14. Viard nous dit en note: ‘sous-entendu chroniques; latin: ‘Secundum chronica Hidacii et Gregorii Turonensis’ (Rigord, éd. H.-F. Delaborde, p. 63)’ (GCF VI, 141). 15. Ce passage provient à l’origine de Rigord, Gesta Philippi Augusti, chapitre 39, et a été repris par Primat dans les Grandes Chroniques. 16. Selon Guenée, pour dater les événements, ‘les chronographes du Bas Empire [donnaient] le nombre d’années écoulées ‘ab urbe condita’, depuis la fondation de Rome. Orose encore, au début du Ve siècle, était fidèle à cette ère romaine. Mais l’usage s’en perdit bientôt et l’Occident en fut pour longtemps réduit à d’imparfaits systèmes de datation’ (1980: 154). Cependant, cet exemple des Grandes Chroniques témoigne de la persistance de traces de l’ancien système romain, d’autant plus que, comme le dit Whitrow, ‘the BC system, extending backwards from the birth of Christ, was occasionally used by Bede, but after him it lapsed until the fifteenth century. It did not come into general use until the latter half of the seventeenth century’ (1988: 70).

Bibliographie Sources Delaborde, H. François, ed. (1882). Œuvres de Rigord et de Guillaume le Breton. 2 tomes. Paris: Société de l’Histoire de France. Grégoire de Tours (1965). Histoire des Francs. 2 tomes. Trad. Robert Latouche. Paris : les Belles Lettres. Monumenta Germaniæ historica. Scriptorum. (1826-1934). 32 tomes. Hanovre. Recueil des historiens des Gaules et de la France. (1840-1904). 24 tomes. Paris : Farnborough, Hants., England: Gregg, 1967-68. Viard, Jules, ed. (1920-53). Les Grandes Chroniques de France [GCF]. 10 tomes. Paris: Société de l’Histoire de France.



 

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 Études Guenée, Bernard (1980). Histoire et Culture historique dans l’Occident médiéval. Paris: AubierMontaigne. ——— (1984). ‘Les Grandes Chroniques de France. Le roman aux rois (1274–1518).’ La Nation. Tome 2 de Les Lieux de mémoire. Ed. Pierre Nora. Paris: Gallimard. 189-214. Hedeman, Anne D. (1991). The Royal Image: Illustrations of the Grandes Chroniques de France (1272-1422). Berkeley: University of California Press. Hen, Yitzhak (2000). ‘The Annals of Metz and the Merovingian Past.’ The Uses of the Past in the Early Middle Ages. Eds. Yitzhak Hen and Matthew Innes. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. 175-90. Holdsworth, Christopher, et T. P. Wiseman, eds. (1986). The Inheritance of Historiography (350900). Exeter: Exeter University Press. Humphrey, Chris, et W. M. Ormrod, eds. (2001). Time in the Medieval World. Rochester, NY: York Medieval Press. Kleinschmidt, Harald (2000). Understanding the Middle Ages: the Transformation of Ideas and Attitudes in the Medieval World. Woodbridge: Boydell. Leroux, Jean-Marie, ed. (1984). Le Temps chrétien de la fin de l’Antiquité au Moyen Age, IIIe – XIIIe siècles: Paris, 9-12 mars 1981. Paris: CNRS. McCormick, Michael (1975). ‘Les annales du Haut Moyen Age.’ Typologie des sources du Moyen Age occidental, fasc. 14. Louvain: Brepols Turnhout. Richards, E. G. (1998). Mapping Time: The Calendar and its History. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Spiegel, Gabrielle (1978). The Chronicle Tradition of Saint-Denis: A Survey. Brookline, MA: Classical Folia. ——— (1997). The Past as Text. Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press. Whitrow, G. J. (1988). Time in History: The Evolution of our General Awareness of Time and Temporal Perspectives. Oxford: Oxford University Press.

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THE CHRONICLE OF MONTPELLIER H119: TEXT, TRANSLATION AND COMMENTARY

Jeffrey S. Widmayer

The Old Occitan town chronicle of Montpellier that occupies column a of folio 118r through column a of folio 124r of manuscript Montpellier H119, stored in the Bibliothèque de Médecine of Montpellier, contains a considerable amount of information that is of interest to medieval historians. The chronicle appears at the end of H119, which contains a text of customary law referred to as La Charte de 1204, followed by laws enacted by the king of Aragon and a legislative council, oaths that guild members of Montpellier were required to recite before beginning their trade, an inventory of the municipal coffers of Montpellier, a list of legislative council members, and finally, the chronicle. This annal covers the period 814 through 1364 and, in varying forms, its text also exists, or existed, in at least four other manuscripts. The first is a manuscript, now lost, called Joubert, covering the years 1088 through 1264, which used to be stored in the Bibliothèque Royale in Paris. The second is in the Grand Thalamus of Montpellier. The third is in a copy that was named Thalamus des archives du roi, which is also now lost, and the fourth is in Le Petit Thalamus of the Municipal Archives of Montpellier, which relates events that occurred between 814 and 1604 (Archeological Society xlix). Le Petit Thalamus was edited, with its chronicle, by the Archeological Society of Montpellier in 1836. Before this, two editions of the chronicle were attempted, but they were never published: the first was written by President Philippy, a municipal administrator of Montpellier, in the middle of the sixteenth century, using the Thalamus des archives du roi, and the second was by Father Pacotte, the last of the Benedictines of the monastery of Saint-Germain-des-Prés, just before the French revolution (Archeological Society xlviii). In this translation and edition, I will compare the chronicle of Montpellier H119 to that of Le Petit Thalamus, since the latter is the only published edition and provides variants found in Joubert as well as in H119. The chronicles contained in these three texts, for the years that are common to them, were copied from the same source (Archeological Society xv). They differ, however, in the dates that they provide for many events. For nearly all common entries, the chronicle from Le Petit Thalamus is the most complete. The Archeological Society of Montpellier states that the Petit Thalamus chronicle was written negligently and hastily, with frequent orthographic and historical errors (xlvii). This can also be said of the H119 chronicle.

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The entire manuscript H119 was written prior to Le Petit Thalamus, as is implied by the more archaic orthography of the former: H119 prefers the more ancient spelling ‘Montpeslier’ over ‘Montpellier’, which appears in Le Petit Thalamus. ‘Montpeslier’ is nearer to the Latin version of the name, ‘Montepestalario’, whose etymology is debated (Liault 29). This is only one example of the more ancient orthography of H119. Also, the dates of the penultimate and final entries of the chronicle of H119, 1295 and 1364, suggest that it was finished before Le Petit Thalamus, which continues up through 1604. Differences in organization also demonstrate the relative ages of the manuscripts: in their introduction, the editors of Le Petit Thalamus indicate that older copies of the chronicle provided, separately from the chronicle entries, an annual list of town council members, which is true of H119 (xlviii). In Le Petit Thalamus, the town council members are listed in the margin next to the chronicle entries; they are not listed separately. The precise date of the redaction of the H119 chronicle is unknown, but it can be inferred that it was written in or shortly after 1295 since, until this date, all entries in H119 are in the same thirteenth-century gothic hand. The only entry after 1295 is the final 1364 entry, and it is in a more cursive hand, thus the primary scribe must have finished his section of the chronicle in or shortly after 1295, and whoever possessed H119 in 1364 (its history is unknown until its purchase by Jean Bouhier IV in 1733, in Montpellier) probably added the final entry. There are no long lapses in the chronicle of Le Petit Thalamus for the years 1295 through 1364, and the 1364 entry is absent from it. The author of the original register from which both the chronicles of H119 and Le Petit Thalamus were copied remains anonymous, yet one can conjecture upon his occupation and social status, based upon the fact that he was literate and of an important enough social status to record events, or at least to be interested in them, and upon his choices of inclusion of events. The editors of Le Petit Thalamus surmise that, c.1088, during the reign of Guilhem V of Montpellier, an unknown man decided to record events of political, religious, or natural importance (xlix). The editors do not justify their reason for believing that the chronicle began to be recorded in 1088, unless it is due to that being the beginning date for Joubert, the oldest of the manuscripts. It seems, however, that it could have been begun at a later date, and it was apparently continued by a succession of scribes or authors. Some of the scribes could have been clerics: a cleric would have been literate, and a great deal of information concerning miracles and the founding of religious orders is included in the chronicle. Yet a cleric would probably have written in Latin, not in the vernacular, unless he were perhaps continuing the chronicle, or writing it for a patron who could not read Latin. For this reason, it is difficult to determine if the authors, or some of them, were indeed clerics. The original scribe, like others of his time, evokes the memory of a

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lord, in this case, Raymond IV, count of Saint-Gilles and of Toulouse, but he errs by stating that at the time of the death of Charlemagne, Raymond IV was in power. The author’s memory is flawed: Raymond IV ruled from 10931105. The source of information for entries treating earlier years was most likely facts remembered collectively from centuries of rule by one dynastic family of Montpellier, the Guilhem, and vague historical knowledge. The first entry incorrectly states that eight hundred and nine years had passed between the birth of Christ and the death of Charlemagne. The entries are sparse from 809 through 1134 and the 1104 entry is out of chronological order. Beginning in 1141, some entries contain greater detail and there are multiple entries per year; thus it seems that the first author of this chronicle might have begun to write at about this time, not necessarily in 1088, relating events that occurred during his life, and mentioning past events from his historical knowledge. The chronicle that we find in H119 must have been copied by its scribe, from earlier sources, in or shortly after 1295, in order to record important events in Montpellier for posterity. The H119 chronicle was written during an important period for the production of town chronicles and shares characteristics with such texts as The London Chronicles, of which Kingsford mentions an early official record, written in 1274 (1977: v). First, both appear to have been written as reactions to a municipal need to record events that were important to the history of the town, as well as the names of town officers (listed separately in H119). The purpose of the H119 chronicle was to preserve important events in the history of Montpellier for officials or jurists who would have been concerned with the administration of the city. This is supported by the fact that in its two surviving examples it is bound with a text of the customary law of Montpellier. The annalistic form of the H119 chronicle and its focus upon local events are also similar to those of other town chronicles. The H119 scribe records three major types of events: political, natural and religious, all of which relate to the administration of Montpellier. Most of the entries are political or heraldic: the scribe lists victories and defeats of the Crusaders in the Holy Land, battles between Christians and Saracens in Spain, marriages of rulers, battles in the south of France, and visits by the king of France. His entries are usually extremely short, and he does not describe the conditions under which events took place, but merely states their occurrence. Although the scribe was interested in pageantry and royal events, he also exhibits concern for the merchant classes and the poor. He focuses upon the indiscriminate, global destruction of all human life by natural calamities, such as plague, which is described as having killed both the rich and the poor, the young and the old, ‘en l’an de .M. e .CC.LXXXVI., per tot l’estiu fon mot gran enfermetat e mortaudat de totas manieiras de gents e de rics e de paubres e de viels e de joves.’ When famine is mentioned, the inflated price of wheat that resulted is given as proof of the severity of the

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event, ‘et apres la guerra fon p[er] tot crestianisme carestia mortal, quar lo sestier de blat valia .XX. s[ols] de torn, e plus, tot aquel yvern el an apres entro a meixo[n]s.’ This consideration for citizens of the common and merchant classes is concordant in tone with the legal text contained in H119, which limits the power of the lord in order to protect the property and persons of these classes. Since the legal text included in H119 was written upon the marriage of Marie of Montpellier to the king of Aragon (Pedro II), who were financially indebted to the people of Montpellier and wished to show them some favor, the text provides and reiterates guarantees of both personal safety and of property rights for the city’s inhabitants. Containing stipulations on taxation, inheritance, search and seizure, and banning gratuitous corporal punishment, it protected the citizens of Montpellier and proclaimed that privileges that had been gained from the previous lords would be continued under the crown of Aragon. Before concluding, it would be useful to state the manner in which one must manipulate the dates provided in H119 in order to make sense of them under our system of dating. According to the editors of Le Petit Thalamus, its chronicler considered the year to begin on March 25, and this applies to the H119 chronicle as well (xlv). Thus, in order to make dates in the H119 chronicle correspond to the modern system of dating, using January 1 as the first day of the year, one must consider all dates from January 1 through March 24 to be of the following year. All dates from March 25 through December 31 are consistent with our method of dating. For example, the birth of James I of Aragon is described, ‘En l’an de .M. e .CC. e .VII. lo premier jorn de febrier, nasquet en Jacme, fill d’[e]n P[eire II], rei d’Aragon.’ However, James I of Aragon was born on the first or second of February 1208, not 1207. If one were to move the first or second of February to the following year, it would be correct. Unfortunately, many dates are recorded incorrectly in the manuscript, and it cannot be assumed that each error is the result of the scribe’s use of a different day for the beginning of the year. Further evidence of March 25 marking the beginning of the year in the mind of the H119 scribe is that, in the Joubert manuscript, according to the editors of Le Petit Thalamus, it is stated, ‘En lan 1229, lo dernier jorn de decembre so es a dire la vigilia dan nuou pres lo senhor en Jacme dAragon Malhorgas am sas hostz’ (xliii). H119 states, ‘En l’an de .M. e . CC. e .XXVIIII., lo segon jorn de jenoier, fon preza Malhorga e pres la en Jacme, rei d’Aragon.’ H119 and Le Petit Thalamus do not contain the words ‘a vigilia dan nou’. Considering that all three manuscripts state that this event happened in 1229, but Joubert records it as the last day of December, the day before the start of the new year, while Le Petit Thalamus and H119 record it as January 2, one could conclude that the year has not changed for the scribes of the latter two manuscripts between December 31 and January 2.

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Thus, the beginning of the year for the scribes of Le Petit Thalamus and H119 must be after the first of January. This manuscript is a valuable primary source, revealing eclectic information on the history of Montpellier in many domains, from the point of view of a medieval inhabitant. In reading it, one is impressed both by the frankness and simplicity of the scribe and the detail that is provided about certain past events. In my Old Provençal-English translation, I have attempted to remain as faithful to the words of the scribe as possible. In the edited Old Provençal text, square brackets are used to indicate folio numbers and my expansion of contractions. Identification of names and places, along with editorial comments, are footnoted. A raised dot (Â) indicates elided vowels. In the English translation, contracted names are expanded in the text without indication, and my editorial interventions, such as identification of members of the nobility, are placed in square brackets. I hope that this first English translation of the H119 chronicle will be useful to scholars who would like help in reading the text in its original Old Provençal form and that it will make the text accessible to a wider audience.

Bibliography Primary sources – Manuscripts Montpellier Bibliothèque de la faculté de médecine, fonds anciens H 119 Archives Municipales de Montpellier Le Petit Thalamus Primary sources – Texts Le Petit Thalamus de Montpellier. Archeological Society of Montpellier. Montpellier, France: Jean Martel Aîné, 1836. The Chronicle of James I, King of Aragon, Surnamed the Conqueror. Trans. John Forster. London: Chapman and Hall, 1883. Kingsford, Charles Lethbridge. Chronicles of London. Bath: Alan Sutton, 1977. Secondary literature Abadia, Jesus Lalinde (1979). La corona de Aragon en el Mediterraneo Medieval (12291479). Zaragoza: Institucion ‘Fernando el Catolico’. Baratier, Edouard, ed. (1973). Histoire de Marseille. Toulouse: Privat. Baumel, Jean (1969). Histoire d’une seigneurie du Midi de la France. 4 vols. Montpellier: Editions Causse. Boudet, Jacques (1983). Chronologie Universelle. Paris: Bordas. Burns, Robert I., ed. (1985). The Worlds of Alfonso the Learned and James the Conqueror: Intellect and Force in the Middle Ages. Princeton: Princeton UP. Chaytor, H. J. (1969). A History of Aragon and Catalonia.1933. Rpt. New York: AMS Press. Chevin, M. l’Abbé (1964). Dictionnaire latin-français des noms propres de lieux ayant une certaine notoriété. England: Gregg Press. D’Aigrefeuille, Charles (1976). Histoire de Montpellier depuis son origine jusqu’à notre temps. 1875-1882. Rpt. Marseille: Laffite Reprints.

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Enjalbert, Henri, ed. (1981). Histoire de Rodez. Toulouse: Privat. Hamlin, Frank R. (1988). Les noms de lieux du Departement de l’Hérault: Nouveau dictionnaire topographique et etymologique. Nîmes: Lacour. Huard, Raymond, ed. (1982). Histoire de Nîmes. Aix-en-Provence: Édisud. Liault, Jacqueline (1990). Montpellier la médiévale. Nîmes: Lacour. Mellersh, H. E. L. (1999). Chronology of World History, Vol. I: Prehistory – AD 1491. Santa Barbara: ABC-CLIO. Michaud, Jacques, and André Cabanis, eds. (1981). Histoire de Narbonne. Toulouse: Privat. Sagnes, Jean, ed. (1986). Histoire de Béziers. Toulouse: Privat. Storey, R. L. (1973). Chronology of the Medieval World: 800 to 1491 (Neville Williams, Ed.). London: Barrie and Jenkins. Strayer, Joseph R., ed. (1987). Dictionary of the Middle Ages. New York: Charles Scribner’s Sons. Wiacek, Wilhelmina M. (1968). Lexique des noms géographiques et ethniques dans les poesies des troubadours des XIIe et XIIIe siècles. Paris: A.G. Nizet. Dictionaries, Language and Paleographical Manuals Alcover, Antoni Maria (1969). Diccionari català, valencià, balear. 10 vols. 1930-1969. Palma de Mallorca: Impr. de mn. Alcover. Alibert, Louis (2002). Dictionnaire occitan-français selon les parlers languedociens. Toulouse: Institut d’Études Occitanes. Anglade, Joseph (1977). Grammaire de l’ancien provençal. 1921. Paris: Editions Klincksieck. Appel, Carl (1930). Provenzalische Chrestomathie. Leipzig: O.R. Reisland. Bec, P. (1973). La langue occitane. Paris: PUF. Cappelli, Adriano (1985). Dizionario di abbreviature latine ed italiane: usate nelle carte e codici pecialmente del medio evo riprodotte con oltre 14000 segni incisi. Milan: Ulrico Hoepli. Imbs, Paul, ed. (1971). Trésor de la langue française: dictionnaire de la langue du XIXe et du XXe siècle (1789-1960). 16 vols. Paris: Éditions du Centre National de la Recherche Scientifique. Du Cange, Charles du Fresne (1938). Glossarium mediae et infimae latinitatis. 10 vols. 18831887. Paris: Editio Nova. Fénie, Bénédicte and Jean-Jacques (1997). Toponomie occitane. Luçon, France: Editions Sud Ouest. Foulet, Alfred, and Mary Blakely Speer (1979). On Editing Old French Texts. Kansas: Regents Press. Gervers, Michael, ed. (2000). Dating Undated Medieval Charters. Rochester: Boydell Press. Godefroy, Frédéric (1961). Dictionnaire de l’ancienne langue française et de tous ses dialectes du IXe au XVe siècle. 10 vols. 1880-1902. Rpt. New York: Kraus Reprints. Grafström, M.A. (1958). Étude sur la graphie des plus anciennes chartes languedociennes avec un essai d’interprétation phonétique. Uppsala: Almquist and Wiksells. Grandgent, Charles H. (1905). An Outline of the Phonology and Morphology of Old Provençal. Boston: D. C. Heath. Greimas, A. J. (1980). Dictionnaire de l’ancien français. 2nd edn. Paris: Larousse. Hamlin, Frank R, Peter T. Ricketts and John Hathaway. (1967). Introduction à l’étude de l’ancien provençal. Geneva: Droz. Lafonte, Robert (1997). Histoire et anthologie de la littérature occitane. Montpellier: Presses du Languedoc. Levy, Emil (1973). Petit dictionnaire provençal-français. 5th Ed. Heidelberg: C. Winter. ——— (1894-1924). Provenzalisches Supplement-Wörterbuch: Berichtigungen und Ergänzungen zu Raynouards Lexique Roman. 5 vols. Leipzig: O. R. Reisland.

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Meyer-Lübke, Wilhelm (1968). Romanisches Etymologisches Wörterbuch. 1930-1935. Heidelberg: C. Winter. Mistral, Frédéric (1879). Lou tresor dóu felibrige. Aix-en-Provence: Veuve Remondet-Aubin. Raynouard, M. (1976). Grammaire romane ou grammaire de la langue des Troubadours. 1816. Rpt. Marseille: Laffite Reprints. ——— (1844). Lexique roman ou dictionnaire de la langue des troubadours comparée avec les autres langues de l’Europe latine. 6 vols. 1836-1844. Paris: Silvestre. Romieu, Maurice, and André Bianchi (2002). Iniciacion a l’occitan ancian. Bordeaux: Presses Universitaires de Bordeaux. Sainte-Palaye, M. la Curne de (1875-1882). Dictionnaire historique de l’ancien langage françois. Paris: H. Champion. Tobler, Adolf, and Erhard Lommatzch (1925). Altfranzösisches Wörterbuch. Berlin: Weidmannsche Buchhandlung. Von Wartburg, Walter (1928-2003). Französisches Etymologisches Wörterbuch. Bonn: Fritz Klopp / Leipzig: B.G. Teubner / Basel: Helbing & Lichtenhahn, Zbinden.

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[118a] Aisso son los aveniments e las antiquitatz 1 De la nativitat de Crist tro la mort de Karles Magnes ha .DCCC. e .VIIII. ans 2 et adoncs renhava Sant Gili. En l’an de .M. e .C. mens .I. preseron Frances Jh[e]r[usa]l[e]m. 3 En l’an de .M. e .LXXXVIII. pres l’Almassor Barsalona. 4 En l’an de .M. e .C. e .XIIII. presero[n] crestians Malhorgas. 5 En l’an de .M. e .C. e .XXXIIII, fon lo desbarat de Fraga e fon pres lo rei 6 d’Aragon. 7 En l’an de .M. e .C. e .IIII., .VIII. jorns el mes de jull, p[er]deron crestians Jh[e]r[usa]l[e]m. En l’an de .M. e .C.XLI. giteron los homes de Montp[es]l[ie]r en G[uilhem] de Montp[es]l[ie]r de la vila et anet s’en a Latas e duret la batalha .II. ans eÂl 8 coms de Barsalona rendet li la vila p[er] assetge et adoncs valian .X. favas .I. 9 d[enier]; eÂl coms de Barsalona basti la torre de Mo[n]tp[es]l[ie]r. [118b] En l’an de .M. e .C.XLVIII. fo[n] preza Almaria p[er] lo coms de 10 11 Barsalona, en setembre. En l’an de .M. e .C.XLVIIII. fon preza Tortoza que era de sarrazins, e pres la lo 12 coms de Barsalona. 13 En l’an de .M. e .C.LVI., mori lo coms de Barsalona en Proensa, a so[n] lieg. En l’an de .M. e .C.LXXXI., pres en R[aymond] Gaucelm lo vescomte de 14 Nemze e tenc lo pres .II. ans et a cap de .II. ans, compret lo coms 15 R[aymond] Nemze del vescomte p[er] sa rezemso[n]. 1 Correction: Charlemagne died on January 28, 814, not in 809. 2 Raymond IV, count of Saint-Gilles (Le Petit Thalamus 587). The editors of Le Petit Thalamus note that the scribe began to write the chronicle in 1088, in honor of Raymond IV, count of Saint-Gilles. However, Raymond IV ruled from 1093-1105: the scribe’s memory was flawed. 3 Al-Mansur, chief minister of the Umayyad caliphate of Cordoba, who sacked Barcelona in 985. The scribe seems to have erred on the date. 4 Majorca. 5 City located thirty kilometers from Lleida (Alcover ‘Fraga’). 6 Alfonso I was defeated at Fraga on July 17, 1134. 7 This date is not sequential and the entry does not appear in Le Petit Thalamus. 8 Raymond Berenguer IV. 9 Guilhem VI remained ousted from Montpellier for two years: the rebels withstood the siege of the count of Barcelona until the final months of 1143 (Baumel 1: 137). Ten beans cost one denier because of the long siege. 10 Raymond Berenguer IV. 11 The Dictionary of the Middle Ages claims that this occurred in 1147, not in 1148 (‘Ramon Berenguer IV’). 12 Correction: The Chronicle of World History lists this date as 1148, not 1149. 13 Correction: Raymond Berenguer IV died in 1162, not in 1156. 14 Bernard Aton VI. 15 The only information that I can find to illuminate this obscure entry and that is in chronological proximity to it is that, in 1184, viscount Bernard Aton VI ceded his rights to Nîmes to Raymond V of Toulouse (Histoire de Nîmes 124).

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The following are the past historical occurrences and events. From the birth of Christ until the death of Charlemagne, eight hundred and nine years passed, and at that time reigned Raymond IV, count of SaintGilles. In the year 1099, the French took Jerusalem. In the year 1088, Al-Mansur took Barcelona. In the year 1114, the Christians took Majorca. In the year 1134, the defeat of Fraga occurred and the king of Aragon was taken. In the year 1104, on the eighth of July, the Christians lost Jerusalem. In the year 1141, the men of Montpellier ousted Lord Guilhem [VI] of Montpellier from the town and he went to Lattes and the battle lasted two years and the count of Barcelona [Raymond Berenguer IV] returned the city to him by besieging it and, at that time, ten beans cost one denier, and the count of Barcelona erected the tower of Montpellier. In the year 1148, Almeria was taken by the count of Barcelona [Raymond Berenguer IV], in September. In the year 1149, Tortosa was taken, which was ruled by Saracens, and it was taken by the count of Barcelona [Raymond Berenguer IV]. In the year 1156, the count of Barcelona died, in Provence, in his bed. In the year 1181, the viscount of Nîmes captured Lord Raymond Gaucelm and held him captive for two years and at the end of two years, Count Raymond bought Nîmes from the viscount as his ransom.

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En l’an de .M. e .C.LXXXIIII., nasquet en R. Gaucelm, fill de la filha d’en 16 G[uilhem] de Mo[n]tp[es]l[ie]r, en mai. 17 En l’an de .M. e .C.LXXXVI., el mes d’ochoire, pres le coms de Tolosa la 18 regina Johana. 19 20 En l’an de .M. e .C.LXXXVII., el mes de mai, pres en G. de Montp[es]l[ie]r 21 n’Aunes. [118c] En l’an de .M. e .C.LXXXIX., el mes de mars, mori Richart, rei 22 d’Englaterra. 23 En l’an de .M. e .C.LXXXXII., en setembre, la vigilia de la cros, mori lo 24 solell e paregro[n] las estelas. En l’an de .M. e .C.LXXXXVI., el mes d’abril, mori n’Amfos, rei d’Aragon, a 25 P[er]pinhan, et en aquel an mori la dona n’Esmengartz de Narbona e⋅l coms 26 de Rodes, ad Amilhau. En l’an de .M. e .CC. me[n]s .I., el mes d’aost, fes Ma Dona Sancta Maria de 27 Montp[es]l[ie]r las vertutz. En l’an de .M. e .CC. e .III., el mes de setembre, mori en G. de Montp[es]l[ie]r 28 29 et en aquel an lo vescoms de Bezers pres la filha e donet la li lo rei d’Arago[n], el mes d’ochoire. En l’an de .M. e .CC. e .IIII., el mes de jull, pres lo coms de Proensa 30 Trencatalhas [118d] per forsa, et en aquel an pres lo coms la sorre del rei d’Arago[n] a Per16 This is a different Lord R. Gaucelm than in the previous entry. 17 Raymond VI. 18 Jeanne Plantagenet of England. Correction: the marriage occurred in 1196, not 1186. He later married the sister of Pedro II of Aragon. 19 According to d’Aigrefeuille, the marriage contract was signed in April, 1187 (71). Var: Le Petit Thalamus continues: ‘…a Barsalona’ (330). 20 Guilhem VIII. 21 Agnes of Castile (Baumel 1: 57). 22 Correction: Richard I of England died on April 6, 1199, not in March of 1189. Le Petit Thalamus lists this date as May of 1199. 23 The Exaltation of the Cross is September 14. Its vigil would be September 13. 24 According to the editors of Le Petit Thalamus, astronomical calculations suggest that this was not a month in which any eclipse took place in Montpellier. There is wide manuscript variation in fixing this date: no manuscript seems correct (588). 25 King Alfonso II of Aragon (son of Raymond Berenguer IV and Petronille) died on April 25, 1196. 26 Hugues III. 27 Marie de Montpellier was venerated as a saint for her piety and for her marital suffering. She was forced into marriage at about the age of ten years old by her father to Barral, the Count of Marseilles, and later with Bernard, Count of Comminges. Pedro II was her third husband, and he repudiated her in favor of Agnes de Castile. James I of Aragon, in his chronicle, claims that the sick were cured by drinking dust scraped from his mother’s tombstone with water or wine (13). 28 Correction: Guilhem VIII of Montpellier died in 1202 (d’Aigrefeuille 2). 29 The viscount of Beziers, Raymond Roger, married Agnes, the daughter of Guilhem VIII.

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In the year 1184, Lord R. Gaucelm was born, son of the daughter of Lord Guilhem of Montpellier, in May. In the year 1186, in the month of October, the count of Toulouse [Raymond VI] took [married] Queen Jeanne of England. In the year 1187, in the month of May, Lord Guilhem [VIII] of Montpellier took Lady Agnes [of Castile]. In the year 1189, in the month of March, Richard [I], king of England, died. In the year 1192, in September, on the Eve of the Exaltation of the Cross, the sun died and the stars appeared. In the year 1196, in the month of April, Lord Alfonso [II], king of Aragon, died in Perpignan, and in this year Lady Esmengartz of Narbonne died, and the count of Rodez [Hugues III], in Millau. In the year 1199, in the month of August, My Lady Saint Mary of Montpellier performed some miracles. In the year 1203, in the month of September, Lord Guilhem [VIII] of Montpellier died and in this year, the viscount of Beziers [Raymond Roger] married his [Guilhem VIII’s] daughter and she was given to him by the king of Aragon [Pedro II], in the month of October. In the year 1204, in the month of July, the count of Provence took Trinquetaille by force, and in this year the count took the sister of the king of Aragon in Per-

30 The editors of Le Petit Thalamus claim that the castle of Trinquetaille was conquered in 1162. Alfonso II was also the count of Provence, and thus could have done this in 1162. The marriage of the king of Aragon to Marie de Montpellier did take place in 1204.

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pinhan, et en aquel an trais lo rei d’Arago[n] la dona Maria de Montp[es]l[ie]r et espozet la. En l’an de .M. e .CC. e .IIII., el mes de mai, pres lo rei d’Arago[n] la dona de Mo[n]tp[es]l[ie]r. En l’an de .M. e .CC. e .IIII, el mes de jull, pres lo rei d’Aragon la regina a 31 Montp[es]l[ie]r, et en aquel an fo[n] barrejat l’alberc d’en B. Lamb[e]rt e de maistre Gui e d’en Huc de Tornamira. 32 En l’an de .M. e .CC. e .VI. a la festa de Sant Jacme, pres en Pons de 33 Montlaur eÂn R. d’Armasanegues lo coms R. e mesero[n] lo a Claret et estet hi .VIII. jorns e rezement se .C. milia s[ols] e mes Mo[n]tlaur en poder d’en Bremon d’Andusa, et en aquel an, lo coms R. pres en Pons de Mo[n]tlaur e 34 35 l’endeman de la Ascension hom lo gitet de la redorta d[e] [119a] Belcaire 36 avall, eÂn R. de Belluoc ab ell. En l’an de .M. e .CC. e .VI. comesset Sant Domergue l’orde dels Presicadors, e Sant Frances l’orde de Fraires Menors e⋅l Papa Innocent ters co[n]fermet los a Roma. En l’an de .M. e .CC. e .VII. lo premier jorn de febrier, nasquet en Jacme, fill 37 d’[e]n P., rei d’Aragon. 38 En l’an de .M. e .CC. e .VIIII., la festa de Sancta Maria Magdalena, fon Bezers pres e⋅ls homes mortz e las femenas e⋅ls enfants e fes ho lo duc de 39 Bergonha e⋅l coms de Nivers e⋅l coms de Sant Paul. 40 En l’an de .M. e .CC. e .XII. fon presa Calatrava, lo premier jorn de jull et apres tres setmanas fon facha la batalha d’Espanha e fes la lo rei d’Aragon e⋅l rei de Castela e⋅l rei de Navarra e lurs hosts. [119b] En l’an de .M. e .CC. e .XIII., .XVIIII. jorns dins abril, mori ma dona Maria, molher del rei d’Aragon, a Roma.

31 The marriage of Pedro II of Aragon and Marie de Montpellier is mentioned three times in this and the two preceding articles. The date of their marriage is generally agreed upon as the seventeenth kalends of July, 1204. 32 The feast of Saint James is July 25. 33 Raymond VI of Toulouse? 34 The fortieth day after Easter. 35 Beaucaire. 36 Beaujeu. 37 Pedro II of Aragon. His son, James I of Aragon (The Conqueror) was born on the first or second of February, 1208 (Baumel 1: 58). 38 July 22, 1209 (Chronicle of World History). 39 Béziers was attacked because of a large Albigensian presence (d’Aigrefeuille 107). The attacks on the south of France by Simon de Montfort and the counts of Nevers and Saint Paul are mentioned in Chronicle of James I, page xx. 40 City in Castile, near Ciudad Real.

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pignan, and in this year, the king of Aragon brought [summoned] Lady Maria of Montpellier and married her. In the year 1204, in the month of May, the king of Aragon took the lady of Montpellier. In the year 1204, in the month of July, the king of Aragon married the queen in Montpellier, and in this year the homes of Lord B. Lambert, of Master Gui, and of Lord Huc of Tornamira were destroyed. In the year 1206, on the feast of Saint James, Lord Pons de Montlaur and Lord R. d’Armasanegues captured Count R. and placed him in Claret and he was there eight days and he was ransomed for one hundred thousands sols and he [Count R.] placed Montlaur under the control of Lord Bremon d’Andusa, and in that year, Count R. captured Lord Pons de Montlaur and the day following Ascension, he [Pons de Montlaur] was thrown from the fortress of Beaucaire, and Lord R. of Beaujeu with him. In the year 1206, Saint Dominic founded the order of the Preachers [Dominicans], and Saint Francis founded the order of the Friars Minor, and Pope Innocent III confirmed them in Rome. In the year 1207, on the first day of February, Lord James [I, the Conqueror], son of Lord Pedro II, king of Aragon, was born. In the year 1209, on the feast of Saint Mary Magdalene, Béziers was conquered and the men, women, and children were killed, and this was done by the duke of Burgundy and the count of Nevers and the count of Saint Paul. In the year 1212, Calatrava was captured on the first day of July, and after three weeks, the battle of Spain was waged and this was done by the king of Aragon and the king of Castile and the king of Navarre and their armies. In the year 1213, on the nineteenth of April, My Lady Maria, wife of the king of Aragon, died in Rome.

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En l’an de .M. e .CC. e .XIII., el mes de setembre, las vespras de Sancta 41 42 Cros, mori lo rei P. d’Arago[n], a Murel. 43 En l’an de .M. e .CC. e .XVII., lo coms de Montfort pres Bernis. En l’an de .M. e .CC. e .XX., el mes de setembre, fon la gran plueja que fes mot de mal e derroquet mot en la ribieira del Les. 44 En l’an de .M. e .CC. e .XX., lo coms n’Amalric pres Servian et auci los totz a Taparels. 45 [119c] En l’an de .M. e .CC. e .XXII, el mes de mai, fon pres Boicharo[n], e prezero[n] lo li home de Montp[es]l[ie]r et en aquel an mori en R., coms de 46 Tolosa. En l’an de .M. e .CC. e .XXIII., dins jull, .XVII. jorns, lo rei de Fransa, Phelip, 47 mori. En l’an de .M. e .CC. e .XXIII, el mes de dezembre, Sant G. de Masselha mori p[er] la cros que havia levada e fes Dieus miracles per ell. En l’an de .M. e .CC. e .XXIIII., dins novembre .XV. dias, venc lo crotle a Montp[es]l[ie]r, egal hora nona e te[n]c tant quant hom poiria dir tres ves Pater Noster. En l’an de .M. e. CC. e .XXV., dins febrier .XIIII. dias, fo[n] la luna vermelha e negra e blanca e fon a mieja nueg e tenc tant que hom hagra anat doas 48 legas. En l’an de .M. e .CC. e .XXV., [119d] el mes de novembre, fon sagrada la 49 Glieia de Gran Mo[n] la derrieira ves. En l’an de .M. e .CC. e .XXV., fon sagrada la Glieia dels Malautes de 50 51 Melguer, la vigilia de Sant Andrieu. 52 En l’an de .M. e .CC. e .XXVI., el mes de jun, venc Lodoyc, rei de Fransa, al aceti d’Avinho[n], e pres lo e fes derrocar los murs.

41 September 14. 42 ‘Murel’ is present-day ‘Muret.’ Pedro II of Aragon died on September 13, 1213. 43 Var: Petit Thalamus: ‘En lan M CC XVII, pres en Symon coms de Montfort Bernis, e pendet los homes’ (332). The editors of Le Petit Thalamus cite Dom Pacotte in stating that it appears that Amaury of Montfort, son of Simon of Montfort, ordered these executions. 44 Count Amaury of Montfort, son of Simon of Montfort. 45 Boicharon is present-day Boisseron. 46 Var: Le Petit Thalamus: … ‘Et en aquel an meteus, el mes de setembre, mori en R. coms de San Gili a Tolosa’ (332). Baumel verifies that Raymond VI of Toulouse died in 1222 (1: 59). 47 Philip II of France died on July 14, 1223 (Chronicle of World History). 48 Correction: The editors of Le Petit Thalamus claim that a lunar eclipse occurred in Montpellier on the 24th of February. 49 This occurred on the twenty-first of november according to Le Petit Thalamus. 50 Melguer is present-day Mauguio. 51 Saint Andrew’s feast day is November 30. 52 Louis VIII.

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In the year 1213, in the month of September, on the vespers of the Exaltation of the Holy Cross, King Pedro [II] of Aragon died, in Muret. In the year 1217, the count of Montfort captured Bernis. In the year 1220, in the month of September, there was the great rain that did much damage and destroyed much along the river Les. In the year 1220, Count Amaury took Servian and killed everyone at Taparels. In the year 1222, in the month of May, Boisseron was taken, and it was taken by the men of Montpellier, and in this year, Lord Raymond [VI], count of Toulouse, died. In the year 1223, on the seventeenth of July, the king of France, Philip [II], died. In the year 1223, in the month of December, Saint G. of Marseille died on the cross that he had raised and God performed miracles through him. In the year 1224, on the fifteenth of November, the earthquake came to Montpellier exactly at three o’clock in the afternoon and lasted as long as it takes to say three Paternosters. In the year 1225, on the fourteenth of February, the moon turned scarlet and black and white in the middle of the night and it lasted as long as it takes to walk two leagues. In the year 1225, in the month of November, the church of Grammont was last blessed. In the year 1225, the Church of the Ill of Mauguio was blessed, on the eve of Saint Andrew. In the year 1226, in the month of June, Louis [VIII], king of France, came to the siege of Avignon, and captured it and had the walls destroyed.

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En l’an de .M. e .CC. e .XXVI., el mes de setembre, mori Lodoyc, rei de 53 Fransa, a Montp[es]l[ie]r, a son lieg. En l’an de .M. e . CC. e .XXVIIII., lo segon jorn de jenoier, fon preza Malhorga 54 e pres la en Jacme, rei d’Aragon. 55 En l’an de .M. e .CC. e .XXX., el mes d’aost, a la festa de Sant Geneis fon sagrada la glieia de Nostra Dona Sancta Maria de las Taulas de Montp[es]l[ie]r. En l’an de .M. e .CC. e .XXX., [120a] la vigilia de Nadal mori en Bertran de 56 Mesoa, avesque de Magalona e mori el camin de Roma. En l’an de .M. e .CC. e .XXX., en novembre, venc lo coms R. a Masselha e 57 deron li las rendas, e giteron ne lo comte de Proensa. En l’an de .M. e .CC. e .XXXIII., el mes d’aost, la festa de Sa[n]t Bartolmieu, fes Nostre Senher los miracles p[er] fraire Domergue dels Menors, a Montp[es]l[ie]r. En l’an de .M. e .CC. e .XXXVIII., el mes de setembre, la vigilia de Sant 58 59 Miquel, fo[n] presa Valencia e pres la en Jacme, rei d’Aragon. En l’an de .M. e .CC. e .XXXVIIII., lo premier divenres de jun, mori lo solell entre mieidia et hora nona. 60 En l’an de .M. e .CC.XL., passet lo rei de Navarra e⋅l coms de Monfort. 61 En l’an de .M. e .CC.XLII., [120b] passet Richart, fraire del rei d’Englaterra. 53 Var: Le Petit Thalamus: ‘…e uoys mori a Montpansier en Alvernhe’ (333). This contradicts H119, which states that Louis VIII died in Montpellier. D’Aigrefeuille confirms that Louis VIII died in Montpensier en Auvergne (123). Correction: Louis VIII died on November 8, 1226 (Baumel 2: 28). 54 Var: Joubert: ‘En lan M CC XXIX, lo dernier jorn de decembre, so es a dire la vigilia dan nuou, pres lo senhor en Jacme dAragon Malhorgas am sas ostz’ (Le Petit Thalamus 333). Considering that the words ‘la vigilia dan nuou’ are absent from H119, and the date is specified as the second of January 1229 in H119, while it is given as the last day of December 1229 in Le Petit Thalamus, as in Joubert, this implies that the new year did not begin on the first of January at the time H119 was written, but later. It seems that, in recording the dates of the event, the scribes differ by two days, but it is significant that in H119, this is not recorded as occurring at the beginning of the following year. James I mentions this victory and Montpellier’s role in the conquest in his chronicle, ‘E nos moguen en darrera del stol en la galea de Montpessler, a faem be M. homens recullir en barques, que volien anar ab nos, que nangu no hi passara’ (113). 55 Saint Genesius of Rome or of Arles. The feast day for both saints is August 25. 56 Var: Le Petit Thalamus: ‘En lan de M e CC e XXX, fon sagrada la glieya de Nostra Dona Sancta Maria de las Taulas de Montpellier, a XXV daost a la festa de Sant Genies, per M. Bertrand de Mesoa avesque de Magalona, local mori al camin de Roma la vigilia de Nadal seguent’ (333). 57 Raymond VII. This episode is discussed in Histoire de Marseille, page 73. 58 September 28, 1238. Saint Michael’s feast day is September 29. 59 The conquest of Valencia is discussed in The Chronicle of James I, beginning on page 222. 60 Var: Le Petit Thalamus, ‘…passeron la mar lo rey de Navarra el coms de Montfort’ (334). 61 Var: Le Petit Thalamus, ‘…passet la mar Richart fraire del rey dEnglaterra’ (334). The halfbrothers of Henry III involved him in a military venture in France.

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In the year 1226, in the month of September, Louis [VIII], king of France, died in Montpellier, in his bed. In the year 1229, the second day of January, Majorca was taken and it was taken by Lord James [I], king of Aragon. In the year 1230, in the month of August, on the feast of Saint Genesius, the church of Our Lady Saint Mary of the Tables, of Montpellier, was blessed. In the year 1230, on Christmas Eve, Lord Bertran de Mesoa, bishop of Maguelone, died on the path to Rome. In the year 1230, in November, Count Raymond [VII] came to Marseille and he was given tribute, and the count of Provence was expelled. In the year 1233, in the month of August, on the feast of Saint Bartholomew, Our Lord performed miracles through Friar Dominic of the Minors, in Montpellier. In the year 1238, in the month of September, on the eve of Saint Michael, Valencia was taken, and it was taken by Lord James [I], king of Aragon. In the year 1239, on the first Friday of June, the sun died between noon and three o’clock in the afternoon. In the year 1240, the king of Navarre and the count of Montfort [crossed the sea]. In the year 1242, Richard, the brother of the king of England [crossed the sea].

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En l’an de .M. e .CC.XLIIII., el mes d’aost, mori en R. Berenguier, coms de Proensa, ad Aix. 63 En l’an de .M. e .CC.XLVII., la festa de Sant Martin, pres lo rei Ferrando de 64 Castela, Sibilia. 65 En l’an de .M. e .CC.XLVIII., passet lo rei de Fransa, Lodoyc, otramar. En l’an de .M. e .CC.XLVIIII., passet n’Amfos, coms de Peitieus, et en aquel 66 meteus an mori en R., coms de Tolosa, ad Amilhau. En l’an de .M. e .CC.XLVIIII., lo jorn de Sancta Lucia, el mes de dezembre, 67 mori Frederic que era emp[er]aire. 68 69 En l’an de .M. e .CC.L., pres lo rei de Fransa Damiata, et en aquel meteus 70 71 an fo[n] desbaratatz a la Massorra e mori lo coms d’Artes e perdet s’i en Gautier de Sant [120c] Paul e⋅l rei fon pres e tug sieu fraire e⋅l coms de 72 Fla[n]dres e rezemero[n] se e re[n]dero[n] Damiata. En l’an de .M. e .CC.LI., el mes de setembre, mori la dona Yoles, regina 73 d’Aragon, molher del rei Jacme. En l’an de .M. e .CC.LI., vengron li pastorel en Aiguas Mortas, el mes d’aost. En l’an de .M. e .CC.LII., mori Dama Blancha, regina de Fransa, el mes de 74 jenoyer, a Paris. 75 En l’an de .M. e .CC.LII., demandet en Jacme, rei d’Aragon, las mealhas de Latas e l’endeman de la parection apres cobrero[n] las li home de Montp[es]l[ie]r e la cloqua dels armatz.

62 Correction: Ramon Berenguer IV, count of Provence, died on August 19, 1245. 63 November 11. 64 Ferdinand III. 65 Louis IX of France left for the seventh Crusade on 26 August, 1248 (Chronicle of World History 396). Le Petit Thalamus adds that he left from Aigues-Mortes (334). 66 Raymond VII, Count of Toulouse, died on September 27, 1249 (Chronicle of World History 397). 67 Correction: Frederick II died on Dec. 13, 1250, the feast day of Saint Lucy (Chronicle of World History 402). Var: Le Petit Thalamus adds ‘…que era emperaire de Roma’ (334). 68 Louis IX. 69 Present-day Damietta (Egypt). 70 Present-day Mansurah (Egypt). 71 Robert d’Artes. 72 Var: Le Petit Thalamus: ‘…e rezemeron CM marcs, e renderon Damiata’ (334). 73 Yolande was the second wife of James I, whom he married in 1235. She was the daughter of Andrew II of Hungary. His first wife was Leonor, daughter of Alfonso VIII of Castile, whom he married in 1221 and divorced in 1235. Var: Le Petit Thalamus adds ‘…a Lerida’ (335). 74 Correction: Blanche of Castile died November 12, 1252 (Chronicle of World History 402). 75 A mealha in Old Provencal, or maille in French, is a unit of currency equal to one-half denier.

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In the year 1244, in the month of August, Lord Ramon Berenguer [IV], count of Provence, died in Aix-en-Provence. In the year 1247, on the feast of Saint Martin, King Ferdinand [III] of Castile took Seville. In the year 1248, the king of France, Louis [IX], traveled overseas. In the year 1249, Lord Alfonso, count of Peitieus, passed, and in this same year, Lord Raymond [VII], count of Toulouse, died in Millau. In the year 1249, the day of Saint Lucy, in the month of December, Frederick [II] died, who was emperor. In the year 1250, the king of France took Damietta, and in this same year he was defeated at Mansurah and the Count [Robert] of Artes died and Lord Gautier of Saint Paul was lost there and the king was taken, along with all his brothers and the count of Flanders and they paid a ransom for themselves and rendered Damietta. In the year 1251, in the month of September, Lady Yolande, the queen of Aragon and wife of King James [I], died. In the year 1251, the shepherds came to Aigues-Mortes, in the month of August. In the year 1252, Lady Blanche [of Castile], queen of France, died in the month of January, in Paris. In the year 1252, Lord James, king of Aragon, demanded the mailles of Lattes, and the day after Epiphany, the men of Montpellier charged them this, upon the ringing of the bells.

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En l’an de .M. e .CC.LIII., mori Tybaut, rei de Navarra, lo premier dive[n]res de jull. 77 [120d] En l’an de .M. e .CC.LIIII., el mes de mai, mori Colrat las vespras de la Ascensio[n]. En l’an de .M. e .CC.LIIII., lo premier divenres de jull, tornet lo rei de Fransa 78 d’otramar e pres terra ad Ieyras. 79 En l’an de .M. e .CC.LV., .VII. jorns dins febrier, mori en P. de Concas, avesque de Magalona. En l’an de .M. e .CC.LVIII., el mes de dezembre, fon facha la composicio[n] entre⋅l rei d’Aragon en Jacme e la vila de Montp[es]l[ie]r, p[er] lo fag de las mealhas d[e] Latas. 80 En l’an de .M. e .CC.LXI., lo jorn de Sant Alari, mori en G. Cristol, avesque 81 de Magalona, et en aquel an fon elegut le senh[e]r en Gui, arcivesque de 82 Narbona, en cardenal de Roma, et en aquel an, el mes de febrier, Masselha 83 se revelet contra⋅l comte de Proensa. 84 [121a] En l’an de .M. e .CC.LXII., pres Karles, coms de Proensa, Castelana, et issilhet en Bonifaci, senher de Castelana. En l’an de .M. e .CC.LXII., el mes de novembre, venc Karles, coms de Proensa, contra⋅ls homes de Masselha al gra de Magalona e⋅ls fes reculhir a Latas ab lurs galeas e denfra aquel mes feron pas ab lo comte. En l’an de .M. e .CC.LXII., el mes de jull, pres p[er] molher don P., fill del rei 85 Jacme, rei d’Aragon, ma dona Costansa, filha del rei Matfren ;

76 King Theobald I of Navarre died on July 8, 1253 (Chronicle of World History 400). 77 Conrad IV, son of Frederick II. Chronicle of World History May 21, 1254: Conrad IV, Holy Roman Emperor and king of Sicily and Jerusalem died on his way to recover control in Germany. Var: Le Petit Thalamus: ‘…mori Colrat emperador fil de Frederic…’ (335). 78 Hyères. According to the editors of Le Petit Thalamus, the scribe meant ‘Cyprus’ by ‘Ieyras.’ In 1254, Louis IX did return to Hyères after a crusade. 79 Pierre de Concas. 80 Guillaume Cristol. 81 Gui Folcueis. 82 Marseille. 83 Correction: The editors of Le Petit Thalamus claim that the revolt of Marseille occurred in 1157 (589). 84 Charles I, count of Provence, Anjou, and Maine. 85 Correction: On June 6, 1262, Pedro, the son and heir of King James I of Aragon, married Constance, the daughter and heir of King Manfred of Sicily (Chronicle of World History). Baumel claims that the marriage occurred on the thirteenth of June, 1262, at Notre-Dame-desTables in Montpellier (2: 119). He explains that, by marrying his son to the daughter of Manfred, king of the Two Sicilies, James I could assure his family of the inheritance of Frederic II.

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In the year 1253, Theobald [I], king of Navarre, died on the first Friday of July. In the year 1254, in the month of May, Conrad [IV] died on the vespers of Ascension. In the year 1254, on the first Friday of July, the king of France returned from overseas and landed at Hyères. In the year 1255, on the seventh of February, Lord Pierre of Concas, bishop of Maguelone, died. In the year 1258, in the month of December, the agreement was made between the king of Aragon, Lord James, and the town of Montpellier, concerning the controversy over the mailles of Lattes. In the year 1261, on the day of Saint Alari, Lord Guillaume Cristol, bishop of Maguelone, died, and in this year Lord Gui Folcueis, archbishop of Narbonne, was elected cardinal of Rome, and in this year, in the month of February, Marseille rebelled against the count of Provence. In the year 1262, Charles [I], count of Provence, took Castelana, and exiled Lord Bonifaci, lord of Castelana. In the year 1262, in the month of November, Charles [I], count of Provence, attacked the men of Marseille at the inlet of Maguelone and forced them to retreat to Lattes with their galleys, and during this month, they made peace with the count. In the year 1262, in the month of July, don Pedro [III], son of King James [I], king of Aragon, took My Lady Constance, daughter of King Manfred,

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et en aq[ue]l mes pres p[er] molher lo fill del rei de Fransa la filha del rei 86 d’Aragon, a Clarmont d’Alvernhe. 87 En l’an de .M. e .CC.LXIIII., .VIII. jorns denant Pantacosta, fon sagrada la glieya de Fraires Menors [121b] e sagret la le senher en Gui Folcueis, cardenal d[e] Roma. 88 En l’an de .M. e .CC.LXIIII., fon la guerra del rei de Granada e del rei de 89 Castela, e⋅l rei de Granada tolc li vilas e ciutatz. En l’an de .M. e .CC.LXIIII., el mes de jull, cofermet lo rei als cossols las mealhas de penre a Latas, et aqui meteis lo rei volc cobrar la carta del 90 cofermament, quar li cossol no[n] li davon .C. milia s[ols]. 91 En l’an de .M. e .CC.LXIIII., lo dimecres denant Sant Symon e Judas, el mes d’ochoire, fes Karles, coms de Proensa, la justizia d’en B[e]rtran de Ginhac e d’autres motz. En l’an de .M. e .CC.LXIIII., lo jorn de Sant Symon e Judas, pojet hom lo sen 92 gros sus en la glieya, eÂl sen gros peza .LXX. quintals de net metalh. [121c] En l’an de .M. e .CC.LXX., passet Lodoyc, rei de Fransa, a Tunis e fes 93 vela lo premier jorn de jull e mori laÂi, las vespras de Sant Bertolmieu e 94 romperon totas las naus a Trapena. en 95 En l’an de .M. e .CC.LXXI., fon fag papa Gregori .X. En l’an de .M. e .CC.LXXIII., fon Papa Gregori a Lyun et en l’an apres, lo 96 premier jorn de mai comesset lo concili a Lyun. en En l’an de .M. e .CC.LXXV., mori Papa Gregori .X. e fon fagz papa Innocens 97 Quint, et en aquel an mori don Sancho, fill de monsenher en Jacme, rei d’Ara-

86 On the sixth of July, 1262, Elizabeth, daughter of James I of Aragon, was married to Philip, son of King Louis IX of France (Saint Louis) in Clermont d’Auvergne (Baumel 2: 120). 87 Var: Le Petit Thalamus: ‘III jorns denant Pantacosta’ (336). 88 Muhammad I. 89 Alfonso X, the Wise. 90 James I renounced his intentions to recover the money from Lattes on July 25, 1264 (Baumel 2: 121). 91 The feast of Saints Simon and Jude is October 28. 92 A quintal is a measure of weight equal to one hundred livres. According to Le Petit Thalamus, the bell was moved in 1309 to Notre-Dame-des-Tables, but its weight was then recorded as eighty ‘quintals’, not seventy, as the H119 scribe reports. 93 The day of Saint Bartholomew is August 24. The Chronicle of World History lists the date as August 25 (412). 94 Modern-day Trapani. 95 On September 1, 1271, Tedald Visconti of Piacenza was elected as Pope Gregory X (Chronicle of World History 416). ‘.x.en’ signifies dezen, ‘tenth’. 96 Correction: On May 7, 1274, Pope Gregory X opened the General Council of Lyons in France, in the hope of ending the schism with the Greek church (Chronicle of World History 415). 97 Corrections: Pope Gregory X died on January 10, 1276. Peter of Tarantaise was elected Pope

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and in that month the son of the king of France took the daughter of the king of Aragon as a wife, in Clermont d’Auvergne. In the year 1264, eight days before Pentecost, the church of the Friars Minor was blessed, and it was blessed by Lord Gui Folcueis, cardinal of Rome. In the year 1264, there was the war between the king of Granada and the king of Castile, and the king of Granada took the villages and cities. In the year 1264, in the month of July, the king confirmed to the council [the right to] collect mailles in Lattes, and the king wanted to charge for the charter of confirmation, because the council did not give him one hundred thousand sols. In the year 1264, the Wednesday before the feast of Saints Simon and Jude, in the month of October, Charles, count of Provence, rendered justice to Lord Bertran of Gignac and to many others. In the year 1264, on the feast day of Saints Simon and Jude, the large bell was mounted in the church, and the large bell weighs seventy quintals of pure metal. In the year 1270, Louis [IX], king of France, traveled to Tunis and set sail the first day of July and died there, on the vespers of Saint Bartholomew and all the ships were destroyed at Trapani. In the year 1271, Pope Gregory X was ordained. In the year 1273, Pope Gregory went to Lyon and the following year, on the first of May, the council of Lyon began. In the year 1275, Pope Gregory X died, and Innocent V was ordained Pope, and in this year don Sancho was killed, son of My Lord James, king of Aragon, archbishop of Toledo, by Saracens. And in this same year, the prince Lord James [II], son of the said lord king of Ara-

Innocent V on January 21, 1276. March 25 marking the beginning of the year could account for this error.

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gon, arcivesque de Toleto, p[er] sarrazins. Et en aquel meteis an, l’enfant en 98 Jacme, fill del dig senhor rei d’Aragon, pres per molher la sorre del comte 99 de Fois e fo[n] lo rei de Castela a Belcaire ab [121d] lo Papa Gregori, e mori don Ferrando, fill del rei de Castela, e⋅l fill de don Emanuel, en Montp[es]l[ie]r. En l’an de .M. e .CC.LXXVI., lo dimergue apres la festa de Sancta 100 Magdalena, a mieja nueg, mori mo[n]senher en Jacme, rei d’Aragon, a Valencia, en l’abite de Cistel, e juret lo pobol de Montp[es]l[ie]r a 101 mo[n]senher en Jacme so[n] fill, rei de Malhorgas. En l’an de .M. e .CC.LXXX., la nueg del Venres Sants fon emagenada la tracio[n] del palais. En l’an de .M. e .CC.LXXXII., el mes de jun, passet en Sicilia lo rei P., rei 102 et en aquel an entorn Paschas, lo senescalc de Belcaire fes d’Aragon, ganres demandas a Montp[es]l[ie]r : demandava las segondas appellacions e que⋅ls notaris mezesson en lurs car[122a]tas « Renhant Phelip, rei de Fransa, » e que no[n] soanes hom torneses ni paresins quant que fosson pelatz, sol que hi paregues lo tor[n] o la cros, ab que no[n] falhis, e quar hom no[n] volc obezir ad aquelas demandas et ad autras que fazia, ell fes ajustar 103 sas hosts mot grans contra Montp[es]l[ie]r, a Nemse et a Someire, p[er] talar las honors de Montp[es]l[ie]r, e mes gardas els camins e corsiers en l’estanh per so que no[n] pogues hom metre en Montp[es]l[ie]r viandas ni 104 autras cauzas. Pueis lo rei nostre de Malhorgas trames so[n] procurador al 105 dig senescalc, so es a saber n’Arnaut, baile, al qual det plen poder de far tot so que⋅l rei sos cors pogra far si hi fos. Et acabet ab lo senescalc, que ell se suffris de venir contra Montpesl[ie]r, quar ell fera tot aquo q[ue]⋅l [122b] senescalc volgra, tant que triet hom .XXIIII. pros

98 James II. 99 Esclarmonde de Foix. 100 James I of Aragon died on July 25, 1276 (Chronicle of World History 416). The feast day of Saint Mary Magdalene is July 22. 101 James II. 102 In 1282, the crown of Sicily was offered to Pedro III of Aragon, as heir to Manfred of Sicily (Chronicle of World History 419). 103 Modern-day Sommières, Gard. 104 The editors of Le Petit Thalamus explain that in 1282, the seneschal of Beaucaire, whose jurisdiction extended to the lands near Montpellier, wished to buy the city. He sought an order to this effect from the judges of the king of Majorca, demanded that the money of France be used and accepted in Montpellier, and that the name of the king of France be included in the seal on official acts in Montpellier. When the people of Montpellier refused, the seneschal attacked the town militarily. James II of Majorca entered into negotiations with the king of France, Philippe-le-Bel. James II and Philippe-le-bel decided that the court orders (appels) would be brought directly to Philippe-le-bel, instead of to the seneschal of Beaucaire, and that James II, as lord of Montpellier, would pledge his loyalty to Philippe-le-bel. 105 Chief administrative officer of a town. From Latin bajulus.

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gon [James I], took the sister of the count of Foix [Esclarmonde de Foix] as a wife, and the king of Castile went to Beaucaire with Pope Gregory, and don Ferdinand, son of the king of Castile, died, as well as the son of don Emanuel, in Montpellier. In the year 1276, the Sunday after the feast of Saint Mary Magdalene, in the middle of the night, My Lord James [I] died, king of Aragon, in Valencia, in the clothing of the Cistercian monks, and the people of Montpellier swore [their allegiance] to Lord James [II], his son, king of Majorca. In the year 1280, on the night of Good Friday, the overthrow of the palace was attempted. In the year 1282, in the month of June, King Pedro [III], king of Aragon, traveled to Sicily. And in this year, around Easter, the seneschal of Beaucaire made large demands of Montpellier : he demanded a second appeal and that the notaries indicate in their documents “Reigning Philip, king of France,” and that one should not doubt the authenticity of coins from Tours or from Paris, as worn-down as they may be, as long as one can make out the tower or the cross, and as long as it was not missing; and since the men [of Montpellier] did not wish to obey these commands and others that he made, he had his very large armies attack Montpellier, in Nîmes and in Sommières, to take away the lands of Montpellier, and he placed guards along the paths and warships in the bay so that no one might bring food or other goods to Montpellier. Then our king of Majorca sent his procurer to the said seneschal, that is to say, Lord Arnaut, baile, who possessed full power to act on the king’s behalf. And he obtained from the seneschal, that he [the seneschal] would withhold from attacking Montpellier, because he [the procurer] would do all that the seneschal should want, to the point that twenty-four noble-

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homes, dels melhors de Montp[es]l[ie]r, li quals anero[n] tener hostatges a Nemze. Et ado[n]cs lo senescalc intret en Mo[n]tpesl[ie]r e fes far alcunas cridas, et apres tornero[n] s’en li dig proshomes .XXIIII., e fes hom tant que nostre senhor lo rei de Malhorgas se vi ab lo rei de Fransa e reconoc li Montp[es]l[ie]r ab certz covenentz et encartamentz que foron fagz entre ells a Paris. E⋅l rei de Fransa aquitiet pueis, so es a saber en aquel an, al rei de Malhorgas, tot so que li podia demandar per las hostz de Nemze. 106 En l’an de .M. e .CC.LXXXIII., lo jorn de Sant Daunizi, intret lo rei de 107 Fransa en Montp[es]l[ie]r et estet hi .II. jorns. 108 En l’an de .M. e .CC.LXXXIIII., davant Sant Miquel, [122c] fon pres en los 109 110 111 mars de Polha lo princep de Salerna, fill del rei Karle, qu[a]nt la regina d’Arago[n] era en Sicilia, et en aquel an mori lo rei Karles so[n] paire, 112 en Calabria, a son lieg. 113 En l’an de .M. e .CC.LXXXV., el mes d’abril, venc lo rei en Peire, rei d’Aragon, a Perpinhan, sus al pong de l’Alba e pres p[er] assetje lo castel de Perpinhan, e pres lo rei de Malhorgas e la regina, seror que era del comte de Fois, e⋅ls enfans fills del rei de Malhorgas. Et en aquel meteis mes d’abril, venc lo rei de Fransa et un cardenal en Rossilho[n], ab lurs grans hostz, e 114 cremeron Salsas ; e passet la host a Castelnou, e no[n] lo poc assetiar e 115 et auciro[n] hi homes e parti se la host d’aqui et anet assetiar Euna femenas et enfants. E [122d] d’aqui anet s’en la host a Gerona, et estet hi .IIII. mezes o plus, tant que rendero[n] se aquels dedins ab covinents que no[n] degro[n] morir. Et en aquel meteis an, el mes de setembre, foro[n] desbaratadas .XXV. galeas del rei de Fransa, estiers las autras que ero[n] davant desbaratadas. 116 Et apres mori lo rei de Fransa a Gerona, et apres Sa[n]t Miquel, un

106 The feast day of Saint Denis is October 9. 107 Philip III. 108 September 29. 109 Puglia, a region of southern Italy. 110 The Prince of Salerno, Charles II. 111 Charles of Anjou, King of Sicily. 112 Correction: Charles of Anjou died January 7, 1285, not 1284 (Chronicle of World History 422). The discrepancy could be due to the scribe’s consideration of the beginning of the year to be in late March. 113 Pedro III. 114 Modern-day Salses, Pyrenées Orientales. On June 27, 1285, King Philip III of France invaded Aragon on his ‘crusade’ for Pope Martin IV against King Pedro III of Aragon and began the siege of Gerona (Chronicle of World History 422). 115 Elne, Pyrenées Orientales. 116 King Philip III the Bold of France died on October 5, 1285 (Chronicle of World History 422).

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men were selected, of the best of Montpellier, who were sent as hostages to Nîmes. And then the seneschal entered Montpellier and had some public cries made, and then returned the twenty-four noblemen, and our lord the king of Majorca met with the king of France and he recognized Montpellier with true agreements and charters that were made between them in Paris. And the king of France, in that year, recovered all that he could [for the king of Majorca] from the armies of Nîmes. In the year 1283, on the day of Saint Denis, the king of France [Philip III] entered Montpellier and stayed for two days. In the year 1284, before [the feast of] Saint Michael, the prince of Salerno [Charles II], son of King Charles [of Anjou, king of Sicily], was captured in the sea of Puglia when the queen of Aragon was in Sicily, and in this year, King Charles [of Anjou], his father, died in Calabria, in his bed. In the year 1285, in the month of April, the king Lord Pedro [III], king of Aragon, came to Perpignan, over the bridge of Alba, and took the castle of Perpignan by siege, and he captured the king of Majorca and the queen, the sister of the count of Foix, and the sons of the king of Majorca. And in this same month of April, the king of France [Philip III] and a cardinal came to Roussillon, with their great armies, and burned Salses, and the army went to Castelnou, and could not besiege it and then left and went to besiege Elne and there, they slayed men and women and children. And from there the army went to Gerona and was there for four months or more, so long that the inhabitants surrendered in exchange for the guarantee that they would not have to die. And in this same year, in the month of September, twenty-five galleys of the king of France were destroyed, aside from the others that were destroyed previously.

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divenres, mori lo senher en P., rei d’Aragon, a son lieg, quant las hostz s’en foro[n] tornadas. Et en aquel meteis an, .XV. jorns davant Nadal, se revelero[n] los homes de Malhorgas e redero[n] Malhorgas an n’Amfos, rei d’Arago[n]. Et en aquel an moriro[n] l’arcivesque de Narbona e d’Arle e l’avesque de Tolosa. Et apres la guerra fon p[er] tot crestianisme cares [123a]tia mortal, quar lo sestier de blat valia .XX. s[ols] de torn, e plus, tot aquel yvern el an apres entro a meixo[n]s. Et apres la carestia ta[n]tost, so es 118 per tot l’estiu fon mot gran a saber en l’an de .M. e .CC.LXXXVI., enfermetat e mortaudat de totas manieiras de gents e de rics e de paubres e de viels e de joves. En l’an de .M. e .CC.LXXXVI., el mes de jenoier, fon presa Menorca e pres la 119 n’Amfos, rei d’Arago[n], et en aquel an fo[n] pres e derrocat Castelnou de Rossilhon e pres lo mo[n]senher en Jacme, rei de Malhorgas. En l’an de .M. e .CC.LXXXVII., fo[n] facha la composicion entre⋅l senher en Jacme, rei de Malhorgas e cossols, e deron li de grat .X. milia l[iu]r[as]. Et en aquel meteis an, lo coms d’Artes que era en Polha, volc in[123b]trar en Sicilia ab mot gra[n]s gents, e foro[n] tug desbaratatz en un luoc que se apela 120 Logostar; e perdet hi .LXX. corses entre galeas e linhs, et hac ni motz de morts e de prezes, et aisso fero[n] las gents e las galeas del rei d’Arago[n] 121 p[er] mar e per terra. En l’an de .M. e .CC.LXXXVII., a la Pantacosta, fero[n] Fraires Menors lur capitol general en Montp[es]l[ie]r et en aquel meteis an bastiro[n] Fraires Menors las capelas novas que son sobre la claustra et entorn la glieya; et en 122 aquel meteis an, a la festa de Sancta Magdalena, feron Fraires del Carme lur capitol general en Montp[es]l[ie]r, et en aquel an muderon lur habite, quar portavo[n] enans mantels barratz de brun e de blanc, e prezero[n] per habite capas blancas. [123c] En l’an de .M. e .CC.LXXXVIIII., fon pres Triple el mes de jull per lo soldan, et aneron tug a l’espaza, si que ben aucizo[n] li sarrazins .LX. milia personas de crestians. Et en aquel meteis an fon empetrat lo prevelegi de lestudi general de Montp[es]l[ie]r; messier Joha[n] Marc era assessor de cossols. En l’an de .M. e .CC.LXXXX., lo dimars de mieg febrier a mieja nueg vi hom la luna vermelha e negra.

117 King Pedro III of Aragon died on Nov. 2, 1285 (Chronicle of World History 422). 118 Var: Le Petit Thalamus: ‘M e CC LLXXXVII’ (339). 119 Alfonso III. 120 In context, this seems to mean ‘ships,’ but it could also mean ‘soldiers.’ 121 June 23, 1287: King James II repulsed an Angevin invasion of Sicily and his ally, the Genoese admiral Roger Loria, defeated the Angevin fleet off Castellammare (Chronicle of World History 423). 122 July 22.

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And afterwards, the king of France [Philip III] died in Gerona, and after Saint Michael’s Day, one Friday, Lord Pedro [III], king of Aragon, died, in his bed, when the armies had left. And in this same year, fifteen days before Christmas, the men of Majorca rebelled and rendered Majorca to Lord Alfonso [III], king of Aragon. And in that year the archbishop of Narbonne and of Arles and the bishop of Toulouse died. And after the war, deadly famine spread throughout all Christianity, because a basket of wheat was worth twenty sols of Tours, or more, that entire winter and the year after, until harvest. And soon after the famine, that is to say in the year 1286, for the whole summer, there was great illness and death of all sorts of people, including rich and poor and old and young. In the year 1286, in the month of January, Minorca was taken by Lord Alfonso [III], king of Aragon, and in this year Castelnou of Roussillon was captured and destroyed, and it was taken by My Lord James, king of Majorca. In the year 1287, the agreement between Lord James, king of Majorca, and the council was made, and they gave him ten thousand livres, without obligation. And in this same year, the count of Artes, who was in Puglia, wanted to enter Sicily with many men, and they were all defeated in a place called Logostar, and there they lost seventy ships, between galleys and wooden ships and there were many killed and captured, and this was done by the men and ships of the king of Aragon, by sea and on land. In the year 1287, at Pentecost, the Friars Minor established their headquarters in Montpellier and in this same year the Friars Minor built the new chapels that are above the cloisters and around the church, and in this same year, at the feast of Saint Magdalene, the Carmelite Friars established their headquarters in Montpellier, and in this year they changed their vestments, because, before, they wore cloaks that were striped with brown and white, and they then began to wear white hoods. In the year 1289, Tripoli was captured in the month of July by the Sultan, and they all wielded their swords such that the Saracens slaughtered a good sixty thousand Christians. And in this year the privilege of the general cabinet of Montpellier was commissioned; Lord Johan Marc was the assessor of the council. In the year 1290, the Tuesday of mid-February, in the middle of the night, one saw the moon [the moon turned] scarlet and black.

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En l’an de .M. e .CC.LXXXXI., lo dimergue denant Sant Johan Baptista, 124 mori mo[n]senher n’Amfos, rei d’Aragon, ab l’abite de Fraires Menors. En l’an de .M. e .CC.LXXXXI., lo premier jorn d’abril, ve[n]c lo soldan davant 125 Acre, e tenc lo en aceti entro a .XVIII. jorns de mai, que pres Acre per forsa 126 de gienhs e de fuoc grezesc, e [123d] menet ho tot a l’espaza si que ben hi moriro[n] .LXXX. milia crestians. 127 En l’an de .M. e .CC.LXXXXI., que crestians perderon Acre, estet entredig Montp[es]l[ie]r per .VII. meses o de prop, e⋅l senescalc de Belcaire pres la terra del avesque, e la tenc .XXI. jorn, quar no[n] volia revocar l’entredig. E pueis l’arcivesque de Narbona entrames s’en e revoquet las sentencias e⋅l entredig e volc que l’avesq[ue] e⋅ls cossols se compromezesson en lo concell del rei de Fransa. En l’an de .M. e .CC.LXXXXIII., lo dimecres aprop la quinzena de Pascas, Amfos de Rouorai, senescalc de Belcaire, intret en possession de la part del avesque e l’endeman fes so[n] parlame[n]t a Fraires Menors e manifestet aqui lo fag dels escambis, e fes aqui sos cu[124a]rials e foro[n] fagz aqui diverses encartaments de sai e de lai. 128 En l’an de .M. e .CC.LXXXXV., lo dia de Totz Sants, lo senher en Jacme, rei 129 d’Arago[n], pres p[er] molher dona Blancha, filha del rei Karle. En l’an .MCCCLXIIII. et le .XX6. de dese[m]bre founc entarade Tivene, fame de Guillaume du Pous a la quapelle de Nostre Dame de Taulles per las prieres que fes Frances Bedous o Jaques de Lamanhine, borges de Montpellier, Raimo[n] de Canilac, prevous de Magu[e]llone et au prieur de S. Fermin au bas de son suogre, dit G. du Pous.

123 The feast day of Saint John the Baptist is June 24. 124 King Alfonso III of Aragon died on June 18, 1291 (Chronicle of World History 425). The editors of Le Petit Thalamus add that he died in Barcelona (590). 125 Acre, or Akko, Israel. 126 Gienhs could also signify ‘deceit.’ 127 Var: Le Petit Thalamus: ‘M CC LXXXXII’ (340). 128 November 1. 129 Blanche, the daughter of King Charles I of Naples.

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In the year 1291, the Sunday before Saint John the Baptist [’s feast], My Lord Alfonso [III], king of Aragon, died in the vestments of the Friars Minor. In the year 1291, the first day of April, the Sultan came before Acre, and kept it under siege until the eighteenth of May, and took Acre with war machines and Greek fire, and he led his men with their swords so that a good eighty thousand Christians died there. In the year 1291, when the Christians lost Acre, Montpellier was blockaded for about seven months, and the seneschal of Beaucaire took the land of the bishop and held it for twenty-one days, because he did not want to revoke the blockade. And then the archbishop of Narbonne intervened and revoked the mandates and the blockade and wanted the bishop and the council members to arrive at an agreement in the court of the king of France. In the year 1293, the Wednesday two weeks after Easter, Alfonso of Rouarai, seneschal of Beaucaire, entered into possession of the property of the bishop and the following day, he spoke with the Friars Minor and established the details of the exchange, and chose his officers, and diverse charters were drafted. In the year 1295, on All Saints’ Day, Lord James [II], king of Aragon, took Lady Blanche, the daughter of King Charles [I, of Naples], as a wife. In the year 1364, on the twenty-sixth of December, Tivene, wife of Guillaume du Pous, was interred at the chapel of Our Lady of the Tables, by the prayers that were said by Francis Bedous and Jaques de Lamanhine, bourgeois of Montpellier, Raimon de Canilac, prevost of Maguelone and by the prior of S. Fermin, on behalf of his father-in-law, named G. du Pous.