And was the holy Lamb of God,
On Englands pleasant pastures seen!
- And did those feet, William Blake
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lørdag 30. mai 2026

Saint Julian in a fragment - chance survivals, canonicity, and the cult of saints in medieval Scandinavia

 

Much of my research deals with questions pertaining to the cult of saints in medieval Scandinavia. This is a topic that labours under the double-edged problem of having both very few surviving sources - making it difficult to make strong claims about certain questions - as well as such a wide variety of source types, making it difficult to have the required expertise to use all these sources together. Concerning the cult of saints, we know that there were many more sources used and produced in medieval Scandinavia than those we have access to today. The surviving sources have, therefore, provided a skewed sense of the saints venerated by the medieval Scandinavians, as well as the stories told about those saints. Due to the source situation - combined with the nationalistic tilt embedded into the foundations of medieval studies in each Scandinavian country - we have a tendency to focus on the cult of native saints, especially the royal saints. Aside from the biblical saints and the most famous of the early Christian saints - especially Laurentius, who was patron saint of the Church of Lund, which became a metropolitan see in 1104 - there has been relatively little work done on the veneration of the saints less known in our own time. Judging from surviving materials, we have a pretty good idea of how popular and important these famous saints were. But we cannot really know whether some of the saints that we consider minor today were, in actuality, major saints throughout the Scandinavian Middle Ages, or at least within one time period or within one milieu. 


I was reminded of this issue earlier this spring, when I was at the Danish National Archives in Copenhagen to research some manuscript fragments. In one of the boxes I had ordered was the upper part of a two-columned page from a twelfth- or early-thirteenth-century manuscript, the text of which is the saint-biography of Julian Martyr, also known as Julian of Le Mans. The fragment is well known in medieval studies and I have seen it mentioned and analysed several times. It is most likely produced in Scandinavia, probably in Norway, and it is a important witness to the earliest stages of native Norwegian manuscript production. The content of the fragment, however, has received much less attention than its codicological, palaeographical and iconographical aspects. This text provides a very good starting point for reflecting on the state of our knowledge about the cult of saints in twelfth-century Norway.



Rigsarkivet, Fr. 251

Rigsarkivet, Fr. 251



Saint Julian was a third-century bishop of Le Mans. Since he was martyred during the heroic age of Christianity in what was later to become France, his cult and his figure appear to have been important elements not only of Le Mans' own identity but also the identity of France as a kingdom having received special divine attention. This kingdom-wide identity was also propped up by the cults of Saint Dionysius of Paris, of Saint Remigius and the Holy Ampulla, and eventually also the cult of Saint Louis IX. The early date of Julian's life and martyrdom also meant that he was included in several early martyrologies and calendars, and his cult was disseminated far and wide. 

In Scandinavia, there are few surviving traces of Julian in the sources. For example, the only sources from Sweden, as far as I am aware, are twelve calendars that contain his feast-day, which is celebrated either on January 26 or Janaury 27. Since most calendars used in medieval Sweden have survived only as fragments, however, the actual number of calendars containing his feast-day was significantly higher. In any case, no other sources are known - not sculptures, not altarpieces, not wall-paintings. I know of no sources from medieval Denmark, although I have not yet checked whether his feast is included in the late-medieval printed breviaries. In Breviarium Nidrosiense, the breviary printed in Paris in 1519 and aimed at the entire Norwegian church province, his feast is not included. In other words, Saint Julian of Le Mans appears to have been virtually unimportant in the cult of saints in medieval Scandinavia. 

However, Saint Julian was at least known, if only in the monastic or ecclesiastical community in which the manuscript containing his passion story was used. We do not know what community this was, but it is likely that the manuscript was a collection of saints' lives produced for - and perhaps at - one of the leading religious centres of twelfth- or early-thirteenth-century Norway. My own hunch is that the original manuscript was a typical hagiographical collection that was used during the Matins of the feast-day of the saints included in the collection. Matins was the divine service in the middle of the night, and it was during this service that the saint was venerated with a liturgical office which included both chants and readings from the saint's biography. The original manuscript, therefore, is likely to have contained the legends of several other saints aside from Julian. 

What, then, are we to make of the inclusion of Saint Julian of Le Mans in this hypothetical, now-lost hagiographical collection. Probably not much. Such collections were typically compiled from available materials, and those materials tended to contain those stories and legends that were widely accessible rather than those which were particularly important to a specific diocese or church province. Put differently, the legend of Saint Julian was sufficiently widespread that it was easy to get hold of. Its appearance in Norway reflects Julian's general canonicity as a saint in Latin Christendom by the late twelfth century rather than the importance of his cult among Norwegian Christians. 

On the other hand, the fact that Julian's legend was available in Norway and accessible at one - if not more - major religious centre should be taken seriously. What happens at such an institution when the available hagiographical material is limited? Do those stories that are available become more important than they otherwise would be? Can the cult of Saint Julian have been strengthened at this institution simply because the clerics or monastics who comprised the institution's community were familiar with his legend? Very likely, because cults tended to be shaped by the personal devotion of those who were part of the veneration of saints at religious centres. Surges in a saint's popularity could be shaped by events that were interpreted as intercession from that saint, it could be shaped by dreams of individuals, of the constant, long-term pressure from exposure to the saint's story. We see this happen in the cult of Edward the Confessor, for instance, whose main promoter before the 1160s was the figure of Osbert of Clare who believed himself to have been healed due to the saint-king's intercession. Might not a similar causality - however imagined - also not affect the cult of a well-known but otherwise not particularly important saint-bishop? 

We do not have any evidence to suggest that the knowledge of Julian's legend made an impact on his cult in medieval Norway. And personally, I do not think it did, simply because this possibility hinges on our knowledge of one sole surviving fragment. However, this reflection is not primarily about Julian or his cult, but about how our ideas about canonicity and the cult of sains is shaped by the chance survivals of sources. The fragment containing part of the prologue of Julian's saint-biography proves that he was known somewhere in medieval Norway, and for at least a period, even if that period might only be the generation of clerics or monastics that first made use of this manuscript. 

As scholars we need to be very careful in assuming that the canon of literature that we imagine today based on the survival of sources is necessarily the same as the canon of literature of the Middle Ages. Indeed, we know very well that the so-called bestsellers of medieval Latin Christendom - such as the Imago Mundi of Honorius of Autun, or the Sententiae of Peter the Lombard - receive much less attention from and are much less accessible to modern readers than works such as Beowulf, which only survives in one single manuscript. The modern medieval canon is, in other words, very different from the medieval medieval canon. Similarly, the cult of saints as we understand it today might have been configured somewhat differently in the Middle Ages, with saints now lost to us or ignored by us having much greater prominence than we will ever know. 



Rigsarkivet, Fr. 251

Rigsarkivet, Fr. 251



lørdag 6. april 2024

The early cult of saints – an attempted history

 

[The following is an attempt at a brief history of the development of the Christian cult of saints in the first 500 years. This period saw a rapid development of this phenomenon, yet the relative paucity of the sources means that it can sometimes be difficult to understand that despite the rapidity of the process, it was also piecemeal and slow, as well as both decentralised and not streamlined. What prompted me to write this text was a promise to help a colleague with providing an overview of the cult of saints, and I ended up putting together this text which is aimed at giving those unfamiliar with the topic some sense of the historical process, as well as some key terms and dates.] 



Terminology and the first hundred years    

 

The word ‘saint’ is the English translation of ‘sanctus’, which in turn is the Latin translation of the Greek ‘hagios’, which means ‘holy’. In the epistles of Paul, this term is used indiscriminately about all followers of Christ, but it later came to signify an especially holy kind of Christian. There was, in other words, a shift from the more general use of ‘hagios’ to a kind of elite Christians. Here, the elite status is based on whether they died for the faith, not their social standing or their position in the early church hierarchy. The circumstances of this shift are nebulous to us, and it was likely a gradual development that grew out of the early persecutions of Christians. (Although it is likely that the persecutions under Nero were too early to have an impact on this shift, and it is more likely that the persecutions under Domitian and Trajan had the most immediate effect – especially those of Domitian.) It is not clear how this change in terminology began, whether it was initiated by the leaders of the early congregations, or whether it emerged from common usage that eventually became the standard way of referring to those who had shown their faith more clearly and publicly. These persecutions served to solidify the sense of a shared identity among Christians, and therefore also gave root to a stronger development of a Christian collective memory. This memory was perpetuated in part through the celebration of the anniversaries of those who had died for the faith. These celebrations were held at the graves of the dead, and from this practice grew the elaborate liturgical celebrations that came into place in the fourth and fifth centuries. The day of the saint’s death became known as ‘dies natalis’, birthday, as it was the beginning of the saint’s life in Heaven. Eventually, as Christianity became more widely common and eventually legalised, the remnants of the especially holy dead Christians could be moved into churches or other sacred spaces intended for the veneration of these remnants. These remnants were relics, which were held to be sacred, and to provide a tangible contact point through which the power of God could work miracles for the glory of the saint (cf. ‘translation’ below).     

            We do not know who were the first saints. Arguably, the apostles, John the Baptist and perhaps also the Virgin Mary are likely to have been held in very high regard from the earliest stages of the Christian religion. Because the early church was both scattered and very heterogenous, however, it is doubtful that we can surmise any coherent approach to the memorialisation of those who died for the faith. In both the Latin and Greek traditions, one of the earliest saints is said to have been Polycarp of Smyrna, whose death is conventionally dated to 155 CE. Early accounts of his death were written in both Latin and Greek, which shows that there was a lot of exchange between those Christians who were Greek-speaking inhabitants of the Roman Empire – not necessarily citizens, although some, like Paul, were – and those whose main written language was Latin. Stories travelled, and so did the terminology. In some cases, this exchange led to the translation of Greek terms into Latin – ‘hagios’ to ‘sanctus’, for instance – but in other cases the Greek terms became dominant also in the Latin language. The best example of this retaining of Greek is seen in the word ‘martyr’, which means witness, and came to mean someone who bore witness to their Christian faith by accepting death rather than recanting their faith. Another of these Greek terms is ‘apostolos’, which means envoy or messenger, and which became slightly Latinized as ‘apostolus’.   

 

The early literature: c.160-c.400     

 

The account of Polycarp of Smyrna’s death – commonly known as The Martyrdom of Polycarp – is believed to have been written relatively shortly after his death, and is often dated to 160 CE. This text is interesting because it shows that many of the typical features of later literature about saints were already in place by the mid-second century CE. For instance, there is an elaborate martyrdom, the remnants of Polycarp were gathered by Christians and held in greater value than jewels – this is perhaps the earliest reference to the veneration of the relics of saints – and the text also exhibits very strong anti-Semitism. Throughout the second and third centuries, several texts about the especially holy Christians appeared, perhaps most famously the Passion of Perpetua and Felicitas, written in Carthage around the year 200 CE. In this early period, however, there was no coherent genre for writing about saints. The term ‘hagiography’, writing about the holy, was first used by Greek-speaking Jews to refer to the Ketuvim, but at some later point became adopted by Christians to refer to the accounts of saints and their deaths and deeds. As far as I know, we cannot say for certain when this terminology came into this Christian usage.

            Following the legalisation of Christianity during the reign of Emperor Constantine, the churches became more stable centres of administration and memory-production. The various church leaders were able to communicate more frequently with one another, and this exchange led to a streamlining of both terms, practices and forms of memorialisation. By Constantine’s death in in 337, the veneration of relics had become standard practice among Christians, and rich Christians had begun collecting them and turning their house complexes into memorial spaces. The memories of the recent persecutions under Diocletian – particularly in the period c.300-305 – were transformed into a collective memory that further solidified a Christian, but also a Roman Christian, identity. One of the best examples of this memory-making is Pope Damasus I (r.366-84). He himself was born around the time of the Diocletian persecutions, and as bishop of Rome he began to collect the bones of those who had died in the persecutions. These bones were placed in churches and the places of their martyrdoms were memorialised through epigrams. This effort effectively converted Rome into a Christian space, and several popular saints – such as Agnes and Sebastian – became famous through the efforts of Damasus. These epigrams were also part of the early literature about saints.

            In the second half of the fourth century, some of the most impactful texts about saints were written, and these came to establish the form that hagiography would retain throughout the medieval period and into the modern era. The biographical accounts of Martin, bishop of Tours (d.397), written by Sulpicius Severus while Martin was still alive, and the account of Anthony, the Egyptian hermit, by Bishop Athanasius of Alexandria (d.373) came to provide a template for later saint-biographers. The biography of a saint – often called ‘vita’, life, or ‘passio’, passion, or even ‘acta’, acts – typically described the saint’s childhood and background, their conversion or at least deeper commitment to Christianity, their suffering, their good deeds, their deaths, and eventually also the appearance of miracles. These two biographies also established more clearly that even those who had not died for their faith – which neither Martin not Anthony had done – could be considered holy, because their way of life had proved their commitment to Christ. They were ‘confessores’, confessors, of their faith, rather than martyrs. 

            The emergence of a more formally coherent Christian literature also led to the more coherent stylistic form of saint-biographies. Although a Christian was always supposed to imitate the life of Christ, this was paramount in the case of the saints. The early saints had imitated Christ by choosing death, and died like Christ, even though the manner of dying was not necessarily on a cross. This imitation of Christ, ‘imitatio Christi’, became more important to demonstrate with the cessation of persecutions, and the relative scarcity of new martyrdoms that followed the legalisation of Christianity. From the late fourth century onwards, therefore, saint-biographers modelled their accounts even more explicitly on episodes from the Gospels, and emphasised the parallels between the life of Christ and the saints more strongly. This practice continued throughout the medieval and modern periods.

            As part of the more formalised and streamlined cult of saints, collections of miracles became more common. I do not know exactly when such accounts of miraculous events first became committed to writing, but it is likely that an expectations of signs and miraculous cures led to orally transmitted accounts in the early period of the veneration of saints. Augustine’s City of God includes an account of the miracles said to have appeared in the wake of the finding of the body of Saint Stephen Protomartyr in 417, and the arrival of some of the relics of Stephen in Carthage in 424. The popularity of Augustine’s writings also had an impact on later miracle collections.    

 

Saints in the Christian cosmology  

 

We know little about how the earliest venerators of Christian saints understood the place of the especially holy dead in the greater scheme of things. There was an expectation of an afterlife, and most likely the saints were believed to be in Heaven. It is unclear whether the veneration of the early saints was done with the hope that those who were venerated would provide help, but such an expectation came into place as the cult of saints became more Romanised. The collection of verse biographies by the poet Prudentius – Liber Peristephanon – shows that by the turn of the fourth century, Christians in the Roman Empire, at least those who belonged to the upper classes, understood the saints as ‘advocati’, intercessors or ambassadors, in the Heavenly Senate. In other words, the system of Roman society – where the rich were patrons who bestowed favours on the common people in return for services, and where the Senate was the house of ultimate authority – was transposed onto the greater cosmology. Saints were understood as patrons, and in return for their aid – ‘beneficium’ – the living Christians performed their duties or their labours, ‘officium’. This idea of saints as interceding before God on behalf of the living has remained a key point in Christian thinking. The ‘beneficium’ usually came in the form of cures or other miraculous events by which God was believed to demonstrate the holiness of his saints. The ‘officium’ usually signified the celebration of the anniversaries of the saints, mainly their day of death or the day of the moving of the relics, the so-called translation. The term ‘officium’ later came to denote the performance of liturgical songs and readings in the course of a daily round in a church or a monastery. Saints interceded on behalf of the living, but they could also punish the living for wrongdoing, neglect of their patrons, or heresy.     

 

Continuity and discontinuity

 

There has been a lot of discussion about the degree to which we can see a continuity from the pagan polytheism to the role of the saints within Christian monotheism. The traditional argument has been that the old gods were simply replaced with different figures, and that people attributed to these figures a lot of the same properties and powers that they did the old gods. Since Peter Brown’s monograph The Cult of Saints (1981), however, the main consensus is that the situation is more complicated than that. Naturally, there might well have been Christian converts who did not discern much of a difference between the saints and the old gods, but to the Christian theologians and, indeed, to the bishops and missionaries, there were many important differences. First of all, a saint does not make any decisions of their own, but with the approval of God. Miracles, moreover, are not brought about by the saint. Instead, God performs the miracle as a favour to the saint in return for the saint’s merit – ‘meritum’ – which is the quality of the saint’s life on earth. Furthermore, while the Christians venerated the saints as heroes, and although Paul’s epistles uses terms like soldier and athlete – there was nothing physically violent about the way the saints met their demise. They fight consisted of enduring violence – often described in gruesome detail by Christian authors – and from the point of view of the pagan Romans, there was little heroic about such passivity. In other words, and following the arguments of Peter Brown, the heroes and gods of the pagan pantheon had little in common with the heroes of the Christians.      

            The differences between the worship of pagan gods and the veneration of Christian hero, however, do not mean that there were not continuities. As the Christian religion became legalised and increasingly infused with Roman impulses – one of which was the transposition of the patron-client system onto the Christian cosmological system – there were several aspects of the various polytheistic religions that came to shape Christian religious practice. For instance, the practice of incubation ritual, where someone sleeps at a shrine in order to acquire a religious experience, was very common among various polytheistic religions. This practice was adopted by Christians, and from miracle collections from the Middle Ages we often read about cures and visions that happened to those who slept or kept a vigil by the saint’s shrine.

            Another form of continuity can be seen in the deliberate re-use of pagan cult places by Christians. Pagan shrines, temples or sacred trees were destroyed with the purpose of replacing the pagan holy place with a Christian one. Among the earliest surviving records of this idea is the Life of Saint Martin by Sulpicius Severus, where Martin cuts down a sacred tree. In Gregory the Great’s Dialogues – a collection of saint stories written during his papacy (590-604) – we read that Saint Benedict of Nursia destroyed a shrine of Apollo and replaced it with an altar of Saint Martin, which suggests a deliberate imitation of the holy bishop. This incident is also a reminder that saints could imitate other saints, not only Christ or biblical figures. In addition, however, it is important to be cautious about whether this hagiographical topos was indeed enacted in real life, or whether it was only a literary claim. It is likely that the hagiographical topos did indeed inspire real-world events, but it is also possible that in some cases we are dealing with a claim of imitation only, not an actual event.  

 

 

+++    

 

Key terms      

 

Apostolos: Greek for envoy or messenger; term used for those of Christ’s early followers who were missionaries, but also used about those saints credited with introducing Christianity to a new place or a new people

 

Beneficium: the favours given by a saint to the living

 

Confessor: those who testified to their faith by their Christian living, but who did not die a violent death (cf. martyr)

 

Dies natalis: the Heavenly birthday of the saint, meaning their day of death

 

Hagiography: writing about the holy; in the Christian sense, any text that provides an account of the saint’s life, characteristics, death, and/or associated miracles. What makes a text hagiographic is that it has its focus on the saint, and many different types of texts therefore qualify as hagiographic, not solely biographies of saints

 

Hagios: Greek for ‘holy’, Paul’s word for the early followers of Christ

 

Imitation of Christ: every saint was expected to imitate Christ to some degree; this imitation could be achieved in many different ways, either by simply sacrificing their life for the faith, or by imitating specific episodes from the Gospels. Saints could also imitate other saints

 

Martyr: Greek for witness; a term used for those who died for the faith and thereby testified to their conviction

 

Meritum: the quality of a saint’s life which makes the saint earn the goodwill of God; the better a saint’s meritum, the more efficient the saint is as an intercessor for the living

 

Miracle: in Christian terms, signs by which God shows His will on Earth, and through which humans are expected to recognise the holiness of a saint  

 

Officium: the veneration given by the living in order to deserve the favours given by the saint

 

Passio: Latin for ‘suffering’, a word commonly used to describe accounts of the saint’s tortures and subsequent death (cf. The Passion of Perpetua and Felicitas)

 

Relics: the remnants of the saints, usually their bodies or bones; some relics were so-called contact relics, meaning relics that had absorbed some of the holiness of the saints by contact with them – either while the saint was living or after the saint’s death. Through this contact, items such as clothes placed on the saint’s relics or the saint’s shrine could become a new tangible relay point through which God’s power worked miracles. The container in which these relics were placed is commonly referred to as a reliquary, but also sometimes a shrine (cf. ‘shrine’)

 

Sanctus: Latin for ‘holy’; the root of the English ‘saint’

 

Shrine: can be used to refer to the holy space in which a saint is placed and venerated, but it could also mean the casket or container in which the saint’s body or the saint’s bones, dust and ashes were placed

 

Translatio: the moving (translation) of a saint’s relics to a place of rest, sometimes to a new place of rest. The occasion could be celebrated by an anniversary feast.  

 

Vita: Latin for ‘life’, a very common term to denote biographical account of a saint  (cf. Life of Saint Martin)

                  

+++    

 

Brief timeline (all years in CE)       

 

c. 30: commonly accepted date of Christ’s death

 

c.35-64: the missionary activity of Paul the apostle

 

54-68: reign of Nero; possibly the first, and if so very limited, Christian persecutions

 

81-96: reign of Domitian; first major persecutions of Christians

 

155: conventional date of Bishop Polycarp of Smyrna       

 

c.160: composition of The Martyrdom of Polycarp

 

203: conventional date for the death of Perpetua and Felicitas in Carthage, whose imprisonment was recorded in an account that partly might be dictated by Perpetua herself          

 

249-51: reign of Decius, which saw a major persecution of Christians  

 

257-58: the Valerian persecutions; Bishop Cyprian of Carthage died in 258  

 

c.300-305: the Diocletian persecutions

 

313: the Edict of Milan, which legalised Christianity

 

366-84: papacy of Damasus I, one of the major campaigns for Christianising the topography and urban space of Rome

 

373: death of Athanasius of Alexandria, author of The Life of Anthony of Egypt         

 

397: death of Martin of Tours       

 

415: death of Prudentius, author of Liber Peristephanon    

 

417: the finding of the body of Stephen Protomartyr

 

424: the arrival of some of the relics of Stephen Protomartyr in Carthage        


425: death of Sulpicius Severus, author of The Life of Martin 

 

430: death of Augustine of Hippo

 

543: death of Benedict of Nursia

 

590-604: the papacy of Gregory the Great

mandag 10. juli 2023

Saint Knud Rex and negative cultural memory in twelfth-century Denmark

 
Today, July 10, is the feast of Saint Knud Rex, who was killed in Odense by rebellious Danes in 1086. In 1095, his bones were moved from the floor of the Church of St Alban, where he was buried after his death, to the crypt in the new stone cathedral which was then under construction. A synod of the bishops of Denmark declared him a saint, and the cathedral was dedicated to him. This translation of Knud's relics was the starting point for the official cult of the royal martyr, although I am personally convinced that the clerks at St Alban's in Odense - which was the cathedral church prior to the building of the new cathedral in stone - venerated the murdered king from the day of his killing.  

The early cult of Saint Knud has left a plethora of sources: One commemorative inscription placed in his shrine, one poem, two saint-biographies, and one liturgical office, all composed in the period 1086-c.1120. From the 1130s onwards, the cult's momentum within Denmark was hampered by the outbreak of dynastic strife, which came to dominate the development of Danish history for the subsequent two decades. Since Saint Knud's cult was associated with one part of the struggle, his cult was largely reduced to a local cult centred in Odense, although it was celebrated, and probably with a high liturgical rank, in all Danish dioceses. The details concerning this shift in the cult's importance to the royal family are not needed for this particular blogpost, but some of the articles in this article collection will provide a good sense of the situation.

The main topic of the present blogpost is the matter of Saint Knud Rex's negative cultural memory. While he was venerated in Odense - and accepted as a saint throughout Denmark - there were nonetheless stories about the dead king which cast him in a much more negative light. The oldest surviving witness to this negative memory comes from the Chronicon Roschildense, the Roskilde Chronicle, written by a canon in the diocese of Roskilde around 1140. The chronicle covers the history from the late ninth century until the mid-twelfth century, and the canon's opinion of Saint Knud is quite clear: He had been a strict and miserly king, who burdened his subjects with heavy taxes, and his sanctity was solely due to his repentance in his hour of death. Interestingly, the chronicler refers to Knud's law of taxation as 'nova lege et inaudita', a new and unheard-of law. This expression is also found in Gesta Swenomagni, the second saint-biography about Knud, and one written by Aelnoth of Canterbury in the mid 1110s. In Gesta Swenomagni, however, this term, and the accusation that it contains, is attributed to the rebellious Danes. The Roskilde chronicler has, in other words, probably read this term in a saint-biography but decided to level it against the saint. Importantly, however, the Roskilde chronicler does not deny Knud's status as saint, only the basis for this status.  

That such a negative depiction of a saint is put into writing is interesting, especially because it does not deny the sanctity of the person in question. It is possible that this depiction is based on a tradition that was widespread outside of Odense, at least within the diocese of Roskilde (which covers the island of Sjælland). Considering that the chronicler recorded this opinion close to sixty years after the king's death, at a time when few of those who were adults by the time of Knud's reign can be expected to have still been alive, the negative opinion has been passed down at least one generation. As such, the opinion can be said to have become a cultural memory, kept alive by people who did not themselves experience it, but who learned it from their elders. This negative cultural memory suggests that the cult of Knud Rex began as a top-down enterprise, at least as it was disseminated outside Odense diocese (which covers the island of Fyn and some smaller islands as well). Since the rebellion against Knud spread across all of Denmark, starting in the north of Jutland, we should expect that it was not just in the diocese of Roskilde where this negative cultural memory was vibrant, but also, and perhaps even more strongly, in the Jutland dioceses.    


Saint Knud Rex 
Detail from the wall-painting programme of the Chapel of the Three Holy Kings in Roskilde Cathedral



The Roskilde Chronicle is not the only source to this negative cultural memory concerning Knud. A glimpse of it can be detected in the Historia Compendiosa by Sven Aggesen from around 1180, but the clearest evidence is Saxo Grammaticus' account of Knud Rex in his Gesta Danorum from the turn of the twelfth century. Both Sven and Saxo were patronized by Archbishop Absalon of Lund, who had previously been bishop of Roskilde.

In Gesta Danorum, Saxo lambasts those who still claim that Knud had only merited his sanctity because of his repentance at the hour of dying, and he is making sure that the reader is well acquainted with the holiness of the dead king. We might interpret Saxo's correction of affairs as a way to counteract the historiographical tradition, or it might be seen as a measure aimed at eradicating a more widely held view. To put it differently, we do not know whether Saxo saw this belief as an error still thriving among the laity, or whether he knew of the error from the diocesan church's own historiographical tradition. 

The case of Knud Rex's negative cultural memory provides an interesting counterweight to our understanding of the cult of saints in twelfth-century Denmark. I have argued elsewhere - in a soon-to-be-published article which I will announce on the blog once it comes out - that the cults of Danish saints were strongly local in their reach, and that what we see in official documents such as saint-biographies, liturgical calendars or letters does not necessarily reflect the opinion of the broader width of medieval society.  

With regards to Knud's popularity, however, we are in murky waters. There are sources suggesting he was popular among traders in mid-twelfth-century Denmark, not only from Odense but also elsewhere. There are sources claiming that pilgrims flocked to Odense from all over Denmark. What we do know, however, is that by the end of the fourteenth century, when the Kalmar Union was established under the aegis of Queen Margaret I, Knud gradually came to represent Denmark in the union, and his cult became more widespread throughout Denmark. By that time, the negative cultural memory seems to either have faded or to have been suppressed.



fredag 20. november 2020

Songs for Saint Edmund - liturgy and identity at Bury St Edmunds

 


Today is the feast of Saint Edmund Martyr, the king of East Anglia who was killed by Danish Vikings in 869, and who became one of the most important native saints of medieval England. This year's feast is, moreover, a special occasion, as it is the millennial anniversary of the founding of the monastic community at Edmund's shrine in the town that came to be Bury St Edmunds, and which is referred to in Edmund's saint-biography by Abbo of Fleury from c.987 as Bedricurtis, or Bedricsworth. The shrine of Edmund had been established shortly after his death, although the actual historical circumstances were in all likelihood very different from how they are depicted in Abbo's Passio Eadmundi. What we do know, however, is that Edmund's shrine was the centre of a local cult for most of the tenth century, but one that attracted the veneration of several magnates and bishops and was a significant feature in the religious life of East Anglia. Based on the miracle stories included in Passio Eadmundi, this shrine was maintained by priests and recluse women, and it had amassed a trove of wealth that was sufficiently large to attract the attention of a group of thieves. So while it was not a monastic community, it certainly had both monastic elements and a great status - which is probably why the shrine was selected to be reformed as a Benedictine abbey. 

The reformation of the community took place under the auspices of King Knud I of England, Denmark and Norway. Knud was an active patron of religious houses in England, and Bury St Edmunds was one of several to which he turned his attention. However, the Danish background of the king must have been particularly poignant aspect of Knud's patronage of Bury, as his father, Svend Forkbeard, had died only six years prior during his invasion of Denmark, and according to the local legends it was Saint Edmund himself who had killed the Danish king for having exacted a heavy tribute from Edmund's shrine. This episode became one of the most iconic scenes to be depicted in pictorial renditions of Edmund's legend. 

In its first few decades, the change to a monastic community at Bury is likely to have been important, but not necessarily dramatic beyond the introduction of a monastic liturgical use, which was more elaborate than the one that was performed previously - although we do not know anything about the details of that liturgy. In the second half of the eleventh century, however, Bury became a major cult centre that established connections with other religious houses on the continent, and that actively promoted and disseminated Edmund's cult beyond its own territory. The man in charge of this dissemination programme was Abbot Baldwin, a former monk at Saint-Denis who had been the physician of Edward the Confessor, and who was appointed by the king to the abbacy. During Baldwin's reign, Bury was the location of a significant textual production, which included the copying of books as well as the composition of new material. Arguably, the most important of the new productions was the liturgical office, because it was through this medium that the abbey formulated its own relationship to its patron saints, and formulated its own identity through its presentation of the life and history of that patron. This identity - this blend of history and iconography - was taught to the monks of Bury through the annual celebrations of Edmund's feast day, November 20, and through this communal, immersive performance the community reminded itself of its role in the holy scheme of God, of the merits of its patron, and of the place of Bury St Edmunds in the fabric of Creation. This kind of identity-construction and identity-perpetuation was a key element of liturgy, and one of the reasons why a new monastic office was composed under the auspices of Abbot Baldwin. It is perfectly possible that another monastic office existed prior to Baldwin's abbacy, but I for my part find it unlikely. 

The office for Saint Edmund is of great interest to us, not only because of its key position in the cult of Edmund and the life and identity of the abbey, but because it has come down to us in one of the oldest surviving sources from Bury: A manuscript dated to around 1070, København Kongelige Bibliotek GKS 1588, in which an almost-complete version of the office can be found, along with the earliest known copy of Passio Eadmundi. For the millenary of the abbey of Bury St Edmunds, I here present a little selection of the content of this office. The translations are based transcriptions and translations from my PhD thesis. A modern arrangement of the office of Saint Edmund can be found here.  


København Kongelige Bibliotek GKS 1588, f.28r


The first song of the office as it has come down to us from MS GKS 1588 is the Magnificat antiphon, performed in conjunction with a psalm during the hour of Vesper. In this chant, Bury's identity vis-à-vis its wider geography, as the chant asks the church of the entire English people - i.e. not only the local branch of East Anglia - to celebrate Saint Edmund. This imparts the idea that Edmund is of so great a standing in the senate of God - a typical metaphor for Heaven - that he can intercede for all the English people, not just those of his own community at Bury. 


Exulta sancta ecclesia totias gentis anglice ecce in manibus est laudatio eadmundi regis inclyti et martyris inuictissimi qui triumphato mundi principe celos ascendit uictoriosissime sancta pater eadmundo tuis supplicibus intende

Rejoice, holy church of the entire English people, behold in [whose] hands is Edmund praised, the illustrious king and invincible martyr, who triumphing over the prince of the world ascended victoriously in heaven. Holy father Edmund, hold out your prayers




København Kongelige Bibliotek GKS 1588, f.28v


The next chant I want to emphasise is third antiphon of Matins. The hour of Matins was the climax of the liturgical celebration of the feast day. This was the longest of the eight services of the daily round, and it was here that the community shared in the story of their patron to chants and readings. The chants of the office were chanted by all the monks, and chants are thus an immensely powerful vehicle of identity construction since the singing makes each individual monk of the community take part in the perpetuation of the institution's collective memory.

This antiphon, Legem dedit, is of particular interest because it adds a new element to the iconography of Saint Edmund. It introduces the idea that the Danish chieftain, Hingwar, threatened Edmund with exile lest he submit to him. The invocation of exile is not mentioned in Passio Eadmundi, but it is a signficant addition in the liturgy, because even though the legend does include an exile for Edmund, the mere threat invokes the image of the exile, and the archetype of exiles for all saints was Christ, who had gone into exile as a child to escape the slaughter by Herod. Since the efficaciousness of saints was often measured in the extent to which they imitated Christ, an added element of this imitation, the threat of exile, served to impress upon the community at Bury how Christlike was their patron.  

Legem dedit rex crudelis hinguuar / ut eadmundus exilio relegarent / aut capite potius detruncarent / si eum suis legibus inclinare aut subdere non possent

The cruel king Hingwar gave the condition / so that Edmund would be banished into exile / or else decapitated, if he could not / bend to his laws and place himself under them



København Kongelige Bibliotek GKS 1588, f.29r


The final example for this millenary blogpost is the first responsory of the office, also performed during Matins. A responsory is a chant sung after a lesson, and it is comprised of three parts: The main part which is the responsum (literally, the response, as it responds to the lesson), then comes the verse, v, and then finally the repetenda, r, which repeats the last line of the responsum for emphasis.

The first responsory comes after the first lesson, in which we learn about Edmund's characteristics and his merits as a king and saint. The responsory emphasises that Edmund was pre-destined to become a saint, and that his entire life was planned by God so that Edmund would join him in Heaven as one of his soldiers in the fight against the devil. This pre-ordained destiny was typical of all saints and not unique to Edmund, but it was nonetheless an important trait, and by repeating this aspect of Edmund twice in the same chant, the community at Bury were reminded, and reminded themselves, that their patron was one of the elect of God, and could therefore aid them in their needs. Such a comfort, the idea of a patron who was especially beloved by God, should be understood as a crucial aspect of a cult centre's identity construction.


Sancte indolis puer eadmundus ex antiquorum personis regum natiuitatis sumpsit exordium quem sue milicie informauit rex celestis ut sibi coheredem transferet in celis.
[v] Cuius infantium illustrauit spiritus sancti gratia quoniam complacuit sibi in illo anima domini iesu

[r] ut sibi


With inborn holiness, the boy Edmund, born from old royal lineage, was taken from the beginning, whom the heavenly king shaped [into] his soldier so that as His coinheritor He could transfer him to heaven.
[v] Whose childhood shone with the gifts of the Holy Spirit, since it was acceptable to him in this soul
[r] so that





The examples I have pointed to here are only three of many. The office is of course a unit in the sense that it conveys a unified legend in a short space of time, but it is also comprised of episodes in which particular aspects of the saint, the saint's qualities and the institution's identity are given particular attention. The full scope of the programme of identity construction begun under Abbot Baldwin requires an immersion in the entire office, not just its texts but its texts performed with music, but even by these few examples we manage to see some of the key aspects of this identity-construction. 






onsdag 14. juni 2017

The typology of decapitation - the case of Edmund Martyr and John the Baptist



When working on the cult and literature of saints, one of the most noteworthy aspects one comes across is the many ways in which one holy person is typologically connected with other holy men and women of Christian and biblical history. This means a saint is understood as the antitype, i.e. as a kind of later reconfiguration, of an earlier type, hence typology. All saints are expected to be an antitype to Christ, but one saint can be typologically connected to a number of saints, either by shared features, belonging to the same category of saints, by intertextuality, or by other means. Mapping these connections is sometimes the most fun part of working with saints.

These days I am returning to Edmund Martyr, the king of East Anglia who in 869 was killed by Danish Vikings and who was venerated as a saint from at least the late ninth century. The first biography of Saint Edmund was written by Abbo of Fleury c.985, and this was the foundation for the later texts that were produced at Bury St Edmunds, the centre of his cult.


Edmund tortured by Vikings
BL MS Harley 2278, John Lydgate's life of Edmund and Fremund, England, between 1434 and 1439
(Courtesy of British Library)


In Abbo of Fleury's Passio Eadmundi, we are told how Edmund was tied to a tree and pierced by arrows while the Danish chieftain Hingwar (usually identified as Ivar Boneless) tried to make him subdue to Danish overlordship. When Edmund refused, his head was chopped off and thrown into the bushes lest a veneration of the deceased monarch should emerge. The head was later found, guarded by a wolf, and when it had been interred in a simple wooden chapel, the head and body miraculously merged into an intact unit.
 

The finding of Edmund's head
BL MS Harley 2278, John Lydgate's life of Edmund and Fremund, between 1434-39
(Courtesy of British Library) 


 Passio Eadmundi was the fundamental text for the later composition of a liturgical office at Bury St Edmunds. This office is today recorded almost completely in Pierpont Morgan MS 736, which was written and put together c.1130. The office for Edmund's feast day - November 20 - consists of a collection of chants and readings to be performed at the hour of Matins on the night of his dies natalis, his heavenly birthday and his death-day on earth. This office forms the centrepiece of my chapter on Saint Edmund for my doctoral thesis.

One night I was playing with one of my most important research tools, the CANTUS database in which liturgical chants from the Middle Ages are catalogued. While doing so, I serendipitously discovered that one of the chants for Saint Edmund - the seventh antiphon, i.e. a chant sung before the seventh of the psalms during the night office - shared some features with an antiphon for the feast of the beheading of John the Baptist.


Decollation of John the Baptist
Amiens - BM - ms. 0195, f.133v, pontifical of Corbie, thirteenth century, Northern France
(Courtesy of enluminures.culture.fr)

According to Matthew 14, Mark 6, and Luke 9, John the Baptist was beheaded on the orders of King Herod Antipas. The reason for the beheading was that Herod's wife Herodias hated John the Baptist and told her daughter Salome that should Herod ask what she wanted as a gift, Salome would request the head of John the Baptist on a silver platter. Salome then danced for the king, and Herod was overcome with delight and told his step-daughter to ask for anything she wanted as a reward for her dance. Salome then heeded her mother's words, and John the Baptist was duly beheaded.

The death of Saint John the Baptist is marked with its own feast in the Catholic liturgical calendar, and it is celebrated on August 29. Unlike most other saints, however, the death-day of John the Baptist is not his principal feast, which is his nativity on June 24. Nor is the day marking the day of his beheading, but instead it marks the finding of his head. This is why the day is known as the feast of the decollation, rather than the dies natalis.


Even the marginal hybrids turn their face away in sorrow 
Limoges - BM - ms. 0002, f.182v, gradual, Fontevrault, c.1250-c.1260
(Courtesy of enluminures.culture.fr)

Since both John the Baptist and Edmund Martyr were beheaded, it is no wonder that the venerators of Saint Edmund should think that the two saints were typologically connected, especially the hagiographers and liturgists at Bury whose job it was to emphasize such connections through musical borrowings, textual allusions, and iconographic similarities. To illustrate how this was done, I will here present you the antiphon of Edmund and that of the feast of the decollation to illustrate how this typological connection was made through liturgical borrowings.

The antiphon for Saint Edmund:

Misso spiculatore de crevit tyrannus
dei adletam eadmundus dum capite
detruncari sicque ymnum deo personuit
et animam celo gaudens intulit.

(The thrown stabs increased by the tyrant, the athlete of God, Edmund, when his head was cut off, and thus resounded with hymns for God and brought the soul rejoicing to Heaven)

The antiphon for the decollation of John the Baptist:

Misso Herodes spiculatore praecepit
amputare caput Joannis in carcere
quo audito discipuli ejus venerunt et
tulerunt corpus ejus et posuerunt
illud in monumento
(The thrown stabs ordered by Herod amputated the head of John while in prison. When his disciples heard this, they came and interred his body and placed it in a monument.)


Praecepit amputare caput Joannis in carcere
Cambrai - BM - ms. 0189, f.161v, Evangeliar, Use of Cambrai, c.1266, Cambrai
(Courtesy of enluminures.culture.fr)


As can be seen from the words put in bold, it is likely that the antiphon for the feast of the decollation served as the foundation for the antiphon of Edmund Martyr. This relationship is also strengthened by some of the words that are not identical but nonetheless carry the same meaning. While the Edmund antiphon uses "detruncari" and the decollation antiphon uses "amputare", it is nonetheless clear that they signify the same form of execution. Similarly, while the primary antagonist in the antiphon for the decollation is identified as Herod, the antagonist of the Emund antiphon is not named but instead referred to as "tyrannus", a term which in medieval liturgical chants is sometimes used about Herod (such as this hymn verse for the feast of the Holy Innocents).

These two antiphons, therefore, provide a good example of how the typological connection of two saints could be emphasized through liturgy. By borrowing key words and phrases from an antiphon for the decollation, the liturgists pointed to the fact that Edmund and John the Baptist both were beheaded, and that they therefore had a relationship in the collegium of saints. Such connections were important to bring out because that way the typological roster of Saint Edmund - i.e. the list of his features shared with other saints - could be mapped out more completely, and thus Saint Edmund's role in the history of Creation could be understood more clearly. This in turn would mean that he could be addressed more accurately, more flatteringly, which might bring about his help more effectively.

Although such a connection might seem arcane to us who do not perform medieval liturgy, we must remember that the monks at Bury St Edmunds would sing both these antiphons. And even though the antiphons were sung at different times in the year, they would nonetheless be performed by the same monks year after year, and thus be remembered. In this way, the monks who venerated Saint Edmund would be reminded that their patron also shared features with the forerunner of Jesus Christ.













onsdag 31. mai 2017

Learning to transcribe - a few personal notes on working with Saint Edmund Martyr




One of the recurring sensations in my time in academia is the feeling that there are things with which you never really finish. Today this feeling was brought on by a revision of a transcription of the office for Saint Edmund which I undertook back in 2015, and which forms one of the main pillars for the research of my doctoral thesis.

The offices for the vigil and feast of Saint Edmund Martyr are contained in a manuscript produced at Bury St Edmunds around 1130, together with the first saint-biography of Edmund, Abbo's Passio Eadmundi, and collections of miracles related to Saint Edmund. This manuscript contains the most complete version of the office for the feast of Saint Edmund that has survived, and also the only version of the office for the vigil. For my chapter on Saint Edmund, I have gone into great detail about the chants and readings for the office for the feast day, but now it was time to turn to the office for the vigil instead and get a better overview of what it contains.

The office for the vigil was performed on the eve before the feast of Edmund (November 20), and contains one nocturn of four lessons with responsories in accordance with the monastic model. The chants and lessons all take their material from the miracle collection written down by Herman the Archdeacon around 1080-90. The selection of miracle stories is not wide, as they all focus on one of the most salient episodes in the history of the cult of Saint Edmund, namely the divine punishment of Svein Estrithsson.

The story which Herman wrote down tells of how the Danish king Svein Estrithsson (d.1074/76) invaded England and demanded tribute from the English. He also demanded tribute from the monks at Bury St Edmunds and sought to despoil the riches that had accumulated at the shrine of Saint Edmund Martyr. The monks turned to Edmund for help, and their heavenly ambassador brought divine wrath down upon the Danish king to such a degree that the king exempted Bury from paying tribute. At the time when Herman composed his collection of miracles this story had not been in circulation for many years, but it tied in with another punitive miracle that had been included in the Passio written by Abbo of Fleury in the 980s and so the punishment of the Danish king became one of the most iconic miracles attributed to the merits of Saint Edmund (but performed by God).



Opening of the office for the vigil of Saint Edmund
MS Pierpont Morgan 736, Bury St. Edmunds, c.1130 (photocopy)

I find the miracle story fascinating, especially in the way it cemented Saint Edmund Martyr's reputation as a guardian of his own shrine and ensured that this reputation would be a recurring feature in later writings at Bury St Edmunds, such as the chronicle of Jocelin of Brakelond from c.1200.

In the coming days I will immerse myself further into the miracles of Saint Edmund, which I left off in 2015 so that I could focus more single-mindedly on the office of the feast itself. To return to this text was a reminder that those things on which you work the most are sometimes the things most likely to stay with you. This feeling of return was perhaps also exacerbated by the fact that back in 2015, the office for the vigil of Saint Edmund was the first text I ever transcribed from a medieval manuscript - or rather, from a printed out photocopied version of the manuscript.

I remember very well the excitement of those summer days in June 2015 where I had a 27-page document to transcribe and make sense of - without any prior experience of transcription. Foolhardy and stupidly optimistic as I sometimes can be, I nonetheless thought that I would be able to do it. And sure enough, I did manage to tackle the text after two intense weeks of work, and I remember feeling overly proud of myself for getting this done.

Today, close to two years later, my experience with transcription is significantly greater, and armed with more experience - and much greater knowledge of the textual corpus in question - I set out to see how much of the transcription work of my 2015 self I had to correct.

It turned out that there was quite a lot to correct, both in terms of things I had misread, things I had failed to understand, things that were close to unintelligible, and also in terms of lack of standardized practices for how to deal with scribal inaccuracies. This was perhaps particularly noticeable in the office for the vigil, since this is the very beginning of the manuscript and the very first text with which I had to try my inexperienced brain.

On the one hand, correcting my mistakes from two years ago gave me a sense of how inexperienced I still am when it comes to manuscript work, even though I have gained a lot more since 2015, and many of the mistakes had the very dirty tinge of the dilettante about them. On the other hand, however, it made me realize just how much I had learned in the two years that had passed, and it also gave me an optimistic sense of all the things I have yet to learn and hopefully will learn as I continue to carve my path through the dense forest that is academia. It is a pleasing thought, and such thoughts are always welcome in the thesis process.




tirsdag 7. juni 2016

Detours of academic research - Saint Edmund and his reintegrated body



Academic research does not progress in a straight line. This is knowledge than any academic will accumulate in the course of their career, and it is not necessarily a bad thing. At this point I'm halfway through my PhD, and in those years I have been active as a researcher there have been several detours from my main research trajectory. In some cases, such detours have led me to very fruitful results, as when I tried to map the occurrences of the word "decus" in royal hagiography. Other times, these detours have been a complete waste of time, for instance when I spent an entire workday trying to find the origin of a Latin proverb only marginally relevant to my work, without any success at all. In the following blogpost, I want to share a minor detour which in the end put me on the right track, from my current research.

These past days I've been working extensively on the liturgical material for the feast of Edmund Martyr. His cult and the literature of that cult is one of the three case studies for my PhD thesis, and that means examining and translating a lot of material. At this point, I'm working my way through the chants for Matins in the office for Edmund, as transmitted in MS Pierpont Morgan 736, a manuscript from Bury St Edmunds dated to c.1130. This manuscript has, to my knowledge, not been edited, and I have therefore had to transcribe the entire thing myself, which has been something of a baptism by fire in paleography. The process has been very educational, and it has taken a long time. It has also needed a lot of revising, and sometimes my transcriptions have not been correct in the first place. Trying to find out what the original handwriting actually says, is precisely something that precipitates detours.

Antiphons of the second nocturne of the office for Saint Edmund
Photograph of a photocopy
MS Pierpont Morgan 736, f.94r

Today, my challenge was an antiphon from the second nocturne in the office for Saint Edmund. Antiphons are brief chants performed after each psalm during Matins. Each psalm can have its own individual antiphon. In some cases, the antiphons are taken from a common repository known as the commune sanctorum, the common of saints. In other cases, such as in the office for Edmund, the antiphons are composed specifically for that saint.

Since antiphons are musical pieces and sometimes have notation, as seen above, it is sometimes challenging to decide whether the space between strings of letters indicate a change to a new word, or whether it indicates a liturgical elongation, i.e. a word made longer through song (as when you sing "can't" as "caaaan't" and write it "ca an't"). This problem tricked me many times during my first round of transcribing, because I was not used to this phenomenon.

The antiphon I'm talking of here is the one marked as #57 in the picture above. Its text tells about the translation of the body of Edmund which was incorrupt and entire, despite Edmund being beheaded by the Danes. The text goes like this:

Translato thesauro signum divinum incorrupti et redintegrati corporis enituit vena tantum resplenduit sanguinea quo daret indicium illo sanctum pertulisse martyrium

[In the translation of this treasure, as a divine sign the incorrupt and reintegrated body shone and a bloody vein radiated so much as to give an indication of this holy one who had suffered martyrdom. (My rough translation)]

Translation of Edmund's corpse, guarded by the wolf
MS Harley 2278, John Lydgate's life of Edmund and Fremund, England, between 1434 and 1439
Courtesy of British Library


The problem for me was that I had not been careful enough when transcribing, and I had been fooled by the space which is set between "redinte" and "grati", making one word seem like two. When I was sitting down to translate this I hit one major obstacle, namely the fact that "redinte" is not a word in the Latin lexicon, at least not according the comprehensive but incomplete database of William Whitaker's Words. "Grati" was not a problem as such, since it is a possible form of "gratia", which can be translated as "favour", "goodwill" or "gift", but it did not help at all when "redinte" could not be translated.

After racking my brain a bit and still not realizing that the two words were actually one, I googled the line "redinte grati corpori", hoping that there would be some text or other that contained the same combination of words. The search did not yield any direct hits, but it did send me to a digitized version of Augustine's De genesi ad literam, a commentary on the book of Genesis. This particular version which I was lead to, is the third volume of an edition of Augustine's works, edited in Lyons in 1586. The phrase which led me to this particular book was "redintegratus corporibus", the renewal or revival of the bodies. This made me finally realize what was going on in the liturgical manuscript.

Augustine's use of this phrase has most likely no connection at all to the use of "redintegrati corporis" in the office for Saint Edmund. It is of course possible that the composer or composers of these chants was/were familiar with Augustine's commentary on Genesis, and it is even possible that they had that particular book in mind when putting this antiphon together. But without any more tangible proof of such a connection, I hesitate to make any such conclusions. Instead, the fact that a similar phrase to the one in the antiphon is found in Augustine, is a useful reminder that such detours in research can end in surprising and at the same time helpful results.