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

mandag 2. april 2012

Library Unlocked

Medieval libraries were, of course, not public libraries, for there was no reading public, nor were they lending libraries such as came into existence at the universities.
- The Renaissance of the 12th Century, Charles Homer Haskins

One of the many great historical buildings of York is the archbishop's palace, located at the far end of Deanery Park and currently housing the York Minster Library. Being a part of the York University Library system - which also includes the King's Manor Library and the JBM - I was occasionally directed hither in the course of my research. The general collection - one of four different collections - is found on the first floor of the palace, situated in a lofty room with bookshelves reaching for the ceiling, containing books on a large number of topics any Medievalist might find interesting. Having endured the monstrous architecture of the JBM and the creaking floors of King's Manor Library it was a relief to walk in a real, archetypal English library that had the ambience I was expecting.




These days there is an exhibition at the Library called "Unlocked!", aiming to put some of the Library's many treasures on display. The selection ranges from matters of primarily local interest to manuscript illuminations and other historical curiosities, and I'm convinced any history enthusiast will find it worth his or her while. For a brief presentation of the exhibition I refer you to York Minster Library's facebook page where there is a short introductory video.

torsdag 29. mars 2012

A Dream of Vaults and Vellum



Last week I was skimming through a book on Gothic art and architecture and I came across a beautiful 13th-century illumination depicting a unicorn killed by an armed soldier. Later I discovered that this particular illumination comes from the Royal 12 F. xiii manuscript, currently a part of the British Library collection. The manuscript is a bestiary once belonging to the Benedictine cathedral priory of St Andrew in Rochester, and its illuminations were performed by a peripatetic lay professional.

Bestiaries were, as the name suggests, books about the animals of the world, some of which were real, some of which were not and others which were inaccurate depictions of actual creatures. To the Medieval mind they were all part of Creation, and they could all be used for didactic purposes since by their behaviour they provided mankind examples or counterexamples of proper Christian living. Several animals were also used as metaphor for God the Father, Christ the Son or any of the virtues and vices. Christ was called "the spiritual unicorn" according to the bestiary of the MS Bodley 764, drawing on passages from Song of Songs and Psalm 92, to mention just a few.

The unicorn could also be called rhinoceros or monoceros. It was believed to be too swift for any hunter to catch, but if it were to encounter a virgin it would fall asleep in its lap and could be caught there. This is exactly what happens in the Rochester bestiary.

Mesmerised by the simple yet very beautiful illumination I started imagining how the artwork had come about, conjuring up its genesis in a scriptorium under the aegis of the senior clergy, carried out by a man - whom I at that time wrongly imagined to be a monk - rather wishing to be a part of the somewhere he was creating than the stone walled world he actually did inhabit. The result was the poem below, and the illumination is taken from the British Library website.





A Dream of Vaults and Vellum

After an illumination from MS Royal 12 F XIII f.10 v (13th century)

The artist, having made a unicorn
With features reminiscent of his own,
Smiles as he finds himself in dreams forlorn,
His head a crown, the maiden's lap his throne.

In dreams forlorn he makes these walls of stone
A forest in a distant Anywhere,
Removed from disapproving eyes. Alone
He wanders with that maiden fair.

Still lost in dreams a knight approaches near,
His tonsured head hid' underneath the hood
Of chain mail armour. Thrusting forth his spear
He wakes the dreamer and uproots the wood.

The unicorn, now dying, is confined
To vellum and a dreamer's pensive mind.
- March 20-28 2012

søndag 25. mars 2012

Annunciation Canticles

Today is the Feast of the Annunciation, one of the feast-days ascribed to the Virgin Mary in the Roman sanctorale. This feast commemorates the archangel Gabriel's visit to the Virgin as told in Luke 1, and this event has resulted in numerous pieces of art and music throughout Christian culture. Being a non-denominational Christian I usually do not celebrate the Annunciation, but in the course of my Medieval scholarship I have become more fascinated with the phenomenon and decided to attend an Annunciation concert in the cathedral of Trondheim. The concert was a wonderful experience and as I sat there I was trying to compose a poem for this particular occasion. As a finishing touch to this Annunciation I present the result below.


The Cestello Annunciation by Sandro Botticelli


And Mary said, My soul doth magnify the Lord
- Luke 1:48

Annunciation Canticles

Prelude: The Kingdom of March

Now March, the kingdom of contrite concessions
Draws to its end.
Clouds in their mute procession
Filters the light for angels to descend.

Now I, a sinner, this annunciation
Offer my light.
Such is my celebration
For that one light that burns throughout my night.


Beata Viscera

After Perotin

As notes descend and rise a light is born,
A light in darkness peering through the glass
Dividing earth and Heaven. The orient corn
Burgeons gently through the withered grass.

March has its end, its numbered days will pass;
The mourning tapers dwindle in the sand
While Mary bearing Mankind's looking-glass,
Accepts the lily from the angel's hand.


Ave Maria

Bearer of Christ, Hail Mary,
Bright as a burning wick!
Love is the light you carry;
Mine is a candlestick.
- Trondheim, March 25, 2012



Notes:

 Beata Viscera: This monophonic musical piece attributed to Pérotin (fl. c.1200) is a celebration of the blessed womb of the Virgin Mary. The poem is an incomplete Spenserian sonnet whose opening lines came to me while the choir performed Beata Viscera.

Orient corn: This is a reference to Thomas Traherne's Centuries of Meditation. The phrase "oriental and immortal wheat" has connotations of a childhood remembered - at least the way it is used by Derek Walcott - and is here an elaborate metaphor for rememberance of childhood.

Mankind's looking-glass: The idea here is that Christ, as a perfect human being, represents a mirror image of the inherently faulty humanity. Christ becomes here the looking-glass in which we may look to find our imperfections reflected by His perfection.








fredag 16. mars 2012

Flores Historiarum, pt. 4 - The Ethics of Historiography

In short, they are often deceived and deceive by their guesses, though these are quite sophisticated, but by means of trickery in their predictions they lay claim amongst naive people to a foreknowledge of the future which they do not at all possess.
- Prologue to Book 1 of Historia Rerum Anglicarum, William of Newburgh


I was first introduced to the Augustinian canon and historian William of Newburgh (b. 1135/6, d. in or after 1198) in a course on literature in the Anglo-Saxon world I took at the University of York. The course, England in Europe, aimed to explore the literary influences and connections between England and the continent from the early Anglo-Saxon period until the Anglo-Norman era of the 12th century. William's History of English Affairs marks the tail-end of the period covered by this course as it was, probably, begun in 1196 and apparently never completed due to his death two years later. Historia Rerum Anglicarum, which I have already mentioned in part two of this series, is famous for its commitment to truth and the ethics of historiography. In his prologue to book 1 - the only part of the book covered on the course - these ethics surface in William's vicious attack on Geoffrey of Monmouth's History of the Kings of Britain. To me it is a great delight to read these attacks because through his indignation and ferocity William serves a scholarly - albeit severely ungenerous - critique of what he considers imagined history, a critique that is as valid today as it was in the 12th century and - in some cases - equally necessary. In this blogpost I will present some of the highlights from William's prefatory attack on poor historiographical scholarship.

William dedicates most of his prologue to castigate Geoffrey of Monmouth's dishonesty, a dishonesty mirrored by the excellence of the historians Bede and Gildas whom William praises for their research and truthful account. Gildas, William claims, "does not hesitate to write as a Briton about Britons that they were neither brave in war nor trustworthy in peace." This is one of the cruxes of William's antipathy for Geoffrey of Monmouth's History of the Kings of Britain is very much concerned with how great the old Britons were and, as we shall see, especially King Arthur. This is how William describes his fellow historian:

But in our own day a writer of the opposite tendency [of Gildas and Bede] has emerged. To atone for these faults of the Britons he weaves a laughable web of fiction about them, with shameless vainglory extolling them far above the virtue of the Macedonians and the Romans. This man is called Geoffrey and bears the soubriquet Arthur, because he has taken up the stories about Arthur from the old fictitious accounts of the Britons, has added to them himself, and by embellishing them in the Latin tongue he has cloaked them with the honourable title of history.

Aside from the ethical problems of Geoffrey's rendition of history, William also accuses him of blasphemy or at least irreligion. One of the perhaps most famous passages of History of the Kings of Britain is the prophecies of Merlin, the offspring of a woman - some say a nun - and an incubus. It is Merlin's demonic heritage that allows him to see into the future and to William this is highly troublesome:

In fact we are instructed by both true reasoning and the sacred writings that demons are shut out from God's light, and are wholly unable to have prior knowledge of the future by mentally observing it, though they apprehend certain future events by guesswork rather than knowledge, through signs better known to them than to us.

To a modern mind this might appear petty and pedantic, and I recall two of my fellow students at York being quite amused by this emphasis. To William of Newburgh, however, demons of various kinds - incubi, succubi and the like - were parts of reality and evil parts at that. No wonder, then, that William found Geoffrey's claim preposterous. Geoffrey, he maintains, "has not learnt the truth about events, and so without discrimination he gives space to fables without substance."

Merlin reading his prophecies to King Vortigern

William also finds it hard to swallow Geoffrey's unabashed representation of the British kings as heroes mightier than those of Antiquity. To William this is a perverse distortion of the truth found in the historical accounts he treasures greatly and he does not hold back:

But even a person of dim mental vision can observe how much the unadulterated historical truth preempts the falsehood which has been compiled at this point. Geoffrey makes Arthur himself outstanding and remarkable above all others; he seeks to present him in his achievements according to the free rein of his fancy.

"[T]his is doubtless", William complains, "to make this Briton's [i.e. Arthur] little finger appear thicker than the mighty Caesar's loins." Our Augustinian canon goes further and points out not merely wild heroic fantasies but also grave historical inaccuracies by pointing out that at a feast in praise of Arthur "[t]hree British archbishops, of London, Caerleon and York, are present, and this at a time when the Britons never had even a single archbishop, for Augustine was the first to receive the pallium from the Roman pontiff and to become archbishop in Britain."

After listing a range of Geoffrey's unbridled exaggerations and fantasies William deals his adversary the following blow:

Is he dreaming of another world containing kingdoms without number, in which the events took place which are mentioned by him earlier? Certainly in our world nothing of this kind took place; for how could the historians of old, who took immense pains to omit from their writings nothing worthy of mention, and who are known to have recorded even modest events, have passed over in silence this man beyond compare and his achievements so notable beyond measure?

It is this precise refutation and the ones above, which make me greatly appreciate William of Newburgh as an historiographer. He shows in this prologue commitment to truth, to a work-ethos and to Orthodoxy that to my mind appears staggeringly precocious in comparison with Geoffrey's more far-fetched imagined past. This is not to say, however, that William himself is singular in his ethics and nor does it mean he was precocious to his age - although it may appear thus to modern historians thoroughly familiar with the advent of the humanist ad fontes approach of Lorenzo Valla. Medieval historians, it is true, did not have the benefit of methodological tools burgeoning from centuries of academic evolution, but - as we can see in the case of William of Newburgh - they were far from indifferent or careless in their commitment to the transmission of history.

søndag 11. mars 2012

Flores Historiarum, pt. 3 - Jocelin's Chronicle

Such one king Edmond, but was rent for gaine
- The Ruines of Time, Edmund Spenser


Jocelin of Brakelond (fl.1173-c.1215) was a monk at the Abbey of Bury St Edmunds in Suffolk and his chronicle is an interesting work, motley in the best sense of the word and a must-read for any anglophile medievalist. Unlike so many chronicles or gestae of the Middle Ages the scope of Jocelin's opus is unambitious and succinct, focussing primarily on the career of Abbot Samson (1135-1211) rather than attempting a broad historical narrative of either a geographical area, an institution or even a person's life, which were common scopes of Medieval histories. Throughout his chronicle Jocelin describes events and individuals with striking intimacy and a keen alertness to human nature, and as such it can be appreciated as History's own version of Ken Follett's modern classic Pillars of the Earth.

Through Diana Greenway and Jane Sayers' well-wrought translation and explanatory notes the reader is allowed a clear - but limited - view of the complex worlds of Medieval monasticism, jurisprudence and history, following Jocelin's account of the various battles lost and won by Samson in his various struggles with king and fellow ecclesiastics. Since Jocelin wrote for an audience familiar with the various details of Medieval life - details that to us are strange and arcane - the reader him- or herself is introduced to a multitude of quotidien and extraordinary aspects as ingrained in a larger narrative. The consequence is that the reader will eventually become used to these details and absorb them - aided, of course, by the very comprehensive notes - and thus learn them more easily than would otherwise be the case.

The greatest asset of the Chronicle of the Abbey of Bury St Edmunds, however, is Jocelin's frankness when depicting himself and fellow monks, a feature that makes this book all the more accessible even to the modern reader. Eager to see the best in people Jocelin is sometimes forced to admit and portray the darker side of humanity, and even Abbot Samson - the "protagonist" - is allotted a chapter recounting his sundry faults. Perhaps the most poignant example of this can be found when Jocelin describes the state of the abbey in the reign of Samson's predecessor, the old and easily manipulated Abbot Hugh:

This is the hour of darkness. This is the hour in which flatterers prevail and are believed: their might is increased and we can do nothing against it. For the time being we must ignore these things. Let the Lord look down and judge.
- Chronicle of the Abbey of Bury St Edmunds, Jocelin of Brakelond (translated by Diana Greenway and Jane Sayers)

A similar comment can be found concerning the division of the monks during the election of a new abbott in 1182. Jocelin states "Many opposed him [i.e. Samson] in those days, though later they became his flatterers."

The appeal of Jocelin's account lies, as stated, to a great extent in the various details - sometimes of a very intimate and even personal nature - that appear throughout the pages. Sometimes we may even catch a glimpse of various prejudices, either held by Jocelin or the people he describes:

He [i.e. Samson] confirmed only one manor by charter: that was Thorpe, held by an Englishman, a free man, though tied to the soil, of whose loyalty he was confident, because he was a good farmer and could not speak French.

Or better still, we are treated to an anecdote told by Samson about how, when he travelled to Rome and back during the schism of Alexander III and Victor IV, he avoided being mistaken for an Englishman:

But I pretended to be a Scotsman, wearing Scottish dress and behaving like a Scot. To drive off those who jeered at me, I brandished my stick as if it were a type of spear known as a "gaveloc" [javelina], and used threatening language as Scotsmen do.

On other occasions these personal details are of a more sombre nature. Particularly striking is a passage where Samson, obviously weary of the way of the world,

(...) swore that if he could have foreseen the nature and scope of the abbot's duties, rather than be abbot and lord, he would have been master of the aumbry and librarian, which was the office he had wanted above all others.

A similar weariness can be found in Jocelin himself in this very lamentable and poetic passage:

But the good fortune that had smiled on him [i.e. Henry of Essex, constable-turned-monk] in these and similar activities now intervened to bring him unending tribulation, and behind the illusion of a happy beginning worked out a sorrofwul end for him. Fortune has a habit of smiling as a prelude to becoming enraged, of caressing only to deceive, and of praising in order to disparage.

The tale of Henry of Essex also highlights Jocelin's approach to history, namely to provide examples for posterity to emulate or avoid, an approach that informs much of Medieval historiography and hagiography:

It is essential to have an understanding of evil in order to avoid it, and for that reason it is worth recording the actions and aberrations of Henry and Essex, not as a model, but as a cautionary tale. To persuade by example is a helpful and painless way of correcting faults.
Jocelin's alertness to human nature together with a sometimes very terse, almost resigned prose often result in very beautiful passages. One example is a dispute between Samson and his prior:

(...) the abbot said several things that should not have been said, and swore that he would be master as long as he lived. But with the evening approaching, he spoke more mildly with the prior.

Jocelin also shows resignation over monastic politics and after having discussed an election he utters this passage, a particular favourite of mine:

Spare your praises of the new man, because high office changes a man's character, or rather demonstrates its true nature. First take note of which advisers he has, and what they are like and in whom he trusts, because like naturally attracts like.

Jocelin's chronicle reads partly as a contemporary history of Bury St Edmunds, partly as a biography of Abbot Samson and partly as a cautionary tale where Samson's virtues and faults are highlighted for the sake of edification. This is a common and almost ubiquitous feature of Medieval historiography, but rarely is it given such an intimate tinge as that of Jocelin's account.

onsdag 29. februar 2012

Flores Historiarum, pt. 2 - The Purpose of History

It is my considered opinion that the sweetest relief from suffering and the best comfort in affliction that this world affords are to be found almost entirely in the study of literature, and so I believe that the splendour of historical writing is to be cherished with the greatest delight and given the pre-eminent and most glorious position. For nothing is more excellent in this life than to investigate and become familiar with the course of worldly events.
- Historia Anglorum, Henry Huntingdon (translated by Diana Greenway)


This blogpost is an adaptation of a draft for one of my thesis chapters, focussing on various sources for the life, times and cult of Edward the Confessor. My emphasis in this essay is the purpose of history, why chroniclers spent time and faculties to record past events. The selection is rather minute, but it does include some of the most important figures in the literary history of the English High Middle Ages.

One of the chief strands of purpose detectable in the tapestry of Medieval histories is the idea of history as a looking-glass in which one can learn of good deeds to emulate and wicked deeds to shun, learning by example and counter-example alike. This approach is widely disseminated in the monastic tradition, as exemplified by the Anglo-Saxon Chronicle and the writings of William of Malmesbury, where scribes and authors were primarily subjects of their superior clerics rather than the milieu of a temporal court and thus less likely to indulge excessively in dithyrambics and eschewed reality in favour of a worldly prince. However, it would be exceedingly naïve to suggest that the monastic historiographers were unscathed by the temporal influences; both the above examples prove cases in point. The C manuscript of the Anglo-Saxon Chronicle, for instance, shows a very partisan quill in favour of the Godwin family, while William of Malmesbury, in his own words, was spurred on his historiographical task by Queen Matilda and later sought the patronage of her daughter Empress Matilda. No wonder, then, that the Empress is spoken of with unquestionable, albeit modest, favour in William's last opus, Historia Novella.

Another important strand of purpose is the exaltation of an individual, often with didacticism as an important, but secondary, object. This tradition is closely connected with the temporal world, native to the court and the deeds of princes, nobles, kings and emperors whose names are found in its titles. For instance we have Gesta Fredericii, a chronicle of Frederick Barbarossa's Lombard campaign, or Gesta Stephani, concerning the reign of King Stephen of England. Like the general histories or annals these, too, are written by clerics, but the audience is of the court, not the monastic sphere, and the purpose of such works is first of all to record illustrious deeds and make sure that the fame and glory of the subject-matter is passed on to posterity.

These features are are also found in the lives of saints, only with a more clearly didactic aim. Hagiographers chiefly sought to illustrate how Christian life should be led through accounts of various religious paragons whom Christians could emulate. Naturally there were other considerations at stake as well, such as establishing a cult that could rival that of a neighbouring family, diocese, realm or branch of Christianity, but regardless of such personal incentives saints' lives were didactic texts where, unlike general histories, lessons were taught through the good examples of forebears whom, as guaranteed by the Church, God had included among his sanctorum communionem of the Apostolic Creed.

All in all there are few major differences in how hagiography and historiography, as subgenres, approach the matter of history: both are didactic and both are written with one eye on the author's contemporaneity and the other fixed on posterity. The authors, however, are not always equally conform, especially with regards to their incentives to write history. In this chapter I will consider how the authors of various sources to Edward the Confessor approach history and what they state as their purposes for writing. This exploration of Medieval historical writing will also include various texts written during the 12th and early 13th centuries where Edward the Confessor is of minor or no importance, but whose authors are partakers in the same tradition as the authors who deal with Edward in greater detail. In this way I hope to elucidate why history was written and how this affects the way we consider these texts as sources for Edward the Confessor.

The form of Medieval historical writing was heavily indebted to two traditions: the Jewish as found in the Old Testament and the Roman as found chiefly in the works of Poets as Lucan and Virgilius. Roman historians left relatively few fingerprints in the pages of Medieval historiographies, but were important to the genesis of hagiography due to their emphasis on exhaltation of individuals through rhetoric. The main influence with regards to form, however, must be said to have been Eusebius' church history whereas philosophically Medieval historians were indebted by Augustine's De Civitate Dei, both due to its sharp division between matters temporal and spiritual and its division of history into the six ages corresponding the allegorical days of Creation. In this chapter my emphasis is on the English tradition which, in addition to the antecedents already mentioned, draws on the work of Bede, both when it comes to form and purpose.

Although the following selection belongs to the English tradition it should be noted that the term "English" is used because of its convenience rather than its accuracy since the array of authors - named and anonymous alike - encompasses the Anglo-Norse, the Anglo-Norman and the Plantagenet political landscapes. In addition we must consider the various spheres, both geographic and religious, to which the authors belonged. Accordingly I will below present the various authors chronologically, giving a brief outline of their potential biases and certain characteristics where necessary.

Henry [of Huntingdon] (c. 1088 - c. 1157) was of Anglo-Norman origin and dedicated his book Historia Anglorum to Bishop Alexander of Lincoln, a Norman who during his episcopate was praised as a patron of learning, commissioning for instance Geoffrey of Monmouth's Vita Merlini. In his prologue to book I of Historia Anglorum Henry expresses his enthusiasm with regards to the study of literature, claiming it to be one of the greatest forms of solace in this world. Further on he praises history, considered a subgenre of literature, to be a better teacher of right and wrong than moral philosophy since it offers example of what to emulate and what not to emulate. History, Henry says, "allows judgement of the future by representing the past" and he goes on to state that history "distinguishes rational creatures from brutes", pointing out that there is something inherently noble in desiring knowledge of one's own origin and history. His main incentive for writing history, it appears, is for the sake of erudition, teaching by example and counterexample in the manner of Bede. Such erudition is inherently moral since it calls for the emulation of good - i.e. moral - values and deeds, but Henry was not content with merely illustrating good and bad examples, he also emphasised divine vengeance, treating the five invasions of Britain as punishments by God. This was a literary tradition with firm roots in Christian literature found in works by Alcuin, Gildas, Nennius and Bede. Henry relied in great part on Bede's Ecclesiastical History of the English People and the Anglo-Saxon Chronicle, but there are influences by other works as well, for instance Geoffrey of Monmouth's Historia Regum Britanniae, and he himself became widely read and very influential, leaving his traces in the works of important historians such as William of Newburgh and Matthew Paris. To consider him a reliable source, however, is problematic since he allows himself a certain poetic - or perhaps educational - license, when describing the Battle of Lincoln through invented speeches of leading combatants.

William of Malmesbury (c. 1090 - c. 1042) was a Benedictine monk of Anglo-Norman ancestry (prologue book II) he pursued from early years a love of reading and learning, and in the prologue to book IV of Gesta Regum Anglorum he exudes a particular dedication to historical Truth in a discussion concerning the problems of objectivity inherent in the writing of contemporary history. He also states, in the prologue to book I that he is spurred on in his labours both by love of his country and the encouragement of friends. He is not deterred, it appears, despite love for friends and country, from committing himself to historical truth, and like Horatius he stresses the twofold virtue of history: teaching good deeds by example and counter-example. To exonerate him from bias, however, will not do, and it would be contrary to William's own stated caution to presume that he was not influenced by his ties to the royal family, ties which he asserts in his letter to Empress Matilda and which become quite evident in his Historia Novella, as stated above. Nonetheless, it is important to stress that despite such biases and loves, William writes first and foremost for the sake of learning, with the object of educating his contemporaries and his posterity and to pick up the historiographical tradition from the Venerable Bede.

Geoffrey of Monmouth (d. 1154/55) is included here quite simply because he is a bit odd. He does not shed any light on Edward since his works deal with the history of the Britons up until the death of Cadwallader in 689, but he was a very influential writer of history and he represents a slight anomaly with regards to the historiographical commitment to which some of his contemporaries subscribed. In his prefatory dedication to Robert of Gloucester, Henry I's illegitimate son, Geoffrey states that his work is a translation of a work "in the British language" concerning the forefathers of the Britons and he expresses a deep interest in the oral accounts of his native Britain. Geoffrey himself was most likely a Welshman, at least he had a strong affection for Welsh history and he was bishop of St. Asaph, known as Britain's smallest cathedral. This Welsh bias permeats his History of the Kings of Britain, a book written - or translated if we are to believe him - because the deeds of the ancient kings "deserve to be praised for all time". This is somewhat reminiscent of William of Malmesbury's professed love for literature since Geoffrey's incentive seems to be that the story must be told because it is a good story. There might be a purpose of erudition here as well, but if that is the case it resembles more the tendency of hagiography where example is set first and foremost by men of glorious character. In any case we are not expressly told, as we are with several other historiographers, that Geoffrey seeks to educate his readers in any particular way, nor that the praiseworthy deeds are worthy of emulation as well as praise. This last point may be ascribed to the severe political implications of such emulation, but that cannot be settled here.

Aelred of Rievaulx (1110-67) is undoubtedly Edward the Confessor's most important hagiographer, writing the first saint's life of Edward,
Vita S. Eduardi regis et confessoris in 1162/63, a work commissioned by Lawrence of Westminster and heavily reliant on Osbert of Clare's edition of Vita Ædwardi. Aelred's Vita is an interesting work not only because of its importance to the emerging Angevin cult but also because of the cultural landscape it is situated in. It is a book about an Anglo-Saxon king written by a seneschal at the Scottish court turned Cistercian monk at the behest of the Abbot of Westminster, a Benedictine monastery, and dedicated to the Angevin king, Henry II. However, the most important aspect of Aelred's Vita in this respect is the stated purpose of its composition. From the very start the reader is told that Aelred's purpose is to present examples of virtue from the past to those who live in the present, inspired by "the endeavor of many ancients". It is also very fascinating to note that the book is expressly dedicated to the king for the edification of his own kingship. In his letter to Robert of Gloucester William of Malmesbury flatters Earl Robert by writing that the illustrious deeds of his forebears are already found in him and Robert needs no education on the subject. Aelred, however, states very overtly that Edward the Confessor is a suitable model for kingship and begs Henry II to emulate his predecessor's noble virtues.

Also worth including in this array is William of Newburgh (1135/6 - c. 1198), historian and Augustinian canon at the monastery of Newburgh. His work Historia rerum Anglicarum is concerned with the history of England after the Norman invasion and as such is not a source to the life of Edward the Confessor, nor is there any mentioning of the Angevin cult, an omission quite puzzling since the work was commissioned by Ernald, abbot of Rievaulx, a Cistercian monastery and home to Aelred, Edward's most important hagiographer. Nonetheless William offers a very interesting approach to history because of his fervent commitment to historical truth and a textual scrutiny reminiscent of the much later and more famous Lorenzo Valla. In his prologue to Historia rerum Anglicarum William launches a vitriolic attack against Geoffrey of Monmouth on grounds that he is a story-teller, fabulator, and not a proper historian, treating honourable history and local legends with the same credulity and even adding to them himself. In the same spirit of historiographical commitment, but with a gentler voice, he commends the historian Gildas (fl. 5th and 6th centuries) for the latter's willingness to condemn "many evil traits" of the old Britons. This historical criticism has earned him a high standing in the eyes of subsequent historians, although is reputation has waned somewhat in recent decades. Like William of Malmesbury and Henry of Huntingdon before him, William of Newburgh writes history to edify, stating in his prologue that the purpose of his book is to "advance the knowledge and circumspection of posterity".

The last historian to be included is Matthew Paris (c. 1200 - 1259). Little can be ascertained with regard to his personal life or origin aside from his early attachment to the Benedictine monastery of St. Albans. Throughout his works we also find a fervent Anglocentrism and this, along with arguments made by Paul Meyer on grounds of phonology, suggests he was an Englishman. Already in his own time he achieved a certain reputation as a writer, gained in large part by his Chronica Majora, and he had friends and connections reaching far and wide, ranging from native aristocratic women with whom he corresponded to the courts of Håkon IV of Norway and Louis IX of France. Matthew Paris was a many-faceted writer and supervisor of a number of works, including "five chronicles, six hagiographies, two domestic histories, a cartulary, and a collection of fortune-telling tracts. They amount to well over a million words, most of them penned by Paris himself." Although a diligent writer he was less concerned with whether his writings reflected truth and he did not shy away from a little manipulation of history could it serve his needs. In his verse life of Edward the Confessor Matthew Paris turns to the saint, asking him to "have regard" for him as a sinner who has translated his deeds into French that "memory of thee may spread." Although the stated purpose is piously simple and straightforward - and a literary device - it is nonetheless evident that Paris uses this hagiography as a vehicle for his own politics. For instance we find in Matthew's work praise for Edward's eschewing of foreigners, a sentiment echoing his own Anglocentric opinions rather than any attitude of Edward. It is likely that Matthew Paris wrote his life of St. Edward to provide King Henry III with a model for royal behaviour, perhaps inspired by Aelred's dedication to Henry II in his Life of St. Edward, which was Matthew's source, where Aelred begs king Henry II to emulate his virtuous and blessed predecessor.

As we have seen the Medieval historiographers had various reasons for embark on their literary quests, but didacticism and a love of literature remained important incentives throughout the period here covered. When we look at this aspect of historiography we catch small glimpses of the authors themselves, centuries away, and we learn to appreciate what an important part in their lives the history and the recording of history must have been.

mandag 27. februar 2012

Flores Historiarum, pt. 1 - Sowing the Wind


For they have sown the wind, and they shall reap the whirlwind
- Hosea 8:7
In the course of my thesis work I have been dealing quite a bit with English Medieval historians, scouring chronicles for representations of Edward the Confessor and compiling lists of how he is portrayed by the various scribes of the High Middle Ages. I enjoy this work greatly as it allows me to delve into primary sources and catch small glimpses of a past world seen through the eyes of monks, perched on their vantage point often at the very fringe of society. Sadly, however, I am no expert in this field and my scant grasp of Latin, together with an ever-nearer deadline for my dissertation, prohibits any close reading of great length. Nonetheless I have become familiar with a few historians and in a series of blogpost I aim to present selections from their work featuring passages that have caught my interest or amused me. The title of this series - Flores historiarum - is taken from a chronicle begun in the mid-13th century that encompasses the history of the world from Creation and until the accession of Edward II in 1307. This particular chronicle was long attributed to one Matthew of Westminster, but this is a confusion of Matthew Paris - whose Chronica Majora this work draws heavily on - and the chronicle's Westminster provenance. Flores historiarum was written by a number of anonymous hands and Matthew of Westminster never existed.

The aim of this series is partly to introduce my readers to various historical figures and maybe even one or two lesser known facts from Medieval history. I hope to achieve this primarily through presentations of individual writers, but also through discussion on topics related to Medieval historiography. In this first blogpost I want to start gently with a brief illustration of the transmission of knowledge in the literary world of the Middle Ages.

My example is a brief note I came across serendipitiously while skimming through Historia Regum by Symeon of Durham (fl. c.1090-c.1128). In the conclusion of a paragraph chronicling the year 1052 the following passage was included:

Eodem anno in nocte festivitatis sancti Thomæ apostoli tantus tamque vehemens extitit ventus, ut multas ecclesias domusque dirueret, et innumerabiles arbores frangeret vel radlicitus erueret.

Roughly translated the passage recounts a vehement wind that occurred at the night of the feast of St. Thomas the Apostle - December 21 - and which shook many churches and houses and uprooted innumerable trees. I'm not sure why this passage stuck in my mind, but I presume it owes to the hurricane that ravaged Norway December 26 2011.

The above passage is not original to Symeon, but a translation - and an emendation - of the entry for the year 1053 in the Anglo-Saxon Chronicle, a work Symeon relied on quite heavily for his own opus although feeling free to add the details about how fierce the wind was. What is even more interesting is that I happened to come across this passage in another Medieval chronicle, namely that attributed to Florence of Worcester (d. 1118).

The authorship of this particular chronicle is a matter of contention and it may well be that the bulk of the labour was performed by John of Worcester (fl. 1095-1140) rather than Florence. In any case, the passage concerning the great wind of 1053 is found also here in a translation almost identical to that of Symeon, the only difference being "domosque" in the Worcester chronicle and of course the wind being ascribed to the year before. Both Florence and Symeon rely on the Anglo-Saxon Chronicle for their passages.

Later I came across this passage again in the chronicle of Roger Hoveden (d. 1201/02), also here placed in 1052. Roger Hoveden belonged to what William Stubbs has termed the Northumbrian school of historians, a term encompassing historians from the Venerable Bede and onwards. The Northumbrian provenance of Roger may suggest, as Stubbs hints at, that he relied on Symeon of Durham for this passage. What is interesting here, however, is the way it was rendered in Roger's chronicle, which deviates from both the Anglo-Saxon Chronicle, Symeon and Florence of Worcester. In Roger's chronicle it runs accordingly:

Eodem anno, in nocte festivitatis Sancti Thomæ apostoli, tantus tamque vehemens exstitit ventus, ut multas ecclesias domosque diueret, et innumeras arbores frangeret vel radicitus evelleret.

What I find interesting about these repetitions and modifications is the way they illustrate in part the transmission of knowledge and literature in Medieval England, and also how they suggest the importance of the Anglo-Saxon Chronicle in that literary sphere. Later on, presumably due to the shift from Anglo-Saxon vernacular to Anglo-Norman, the Chronicle waned in importance and left fewer traces throughout the pages of Medieval historians.