Rewriting Saints and Ancestors examines the ways medieval French writers re-remembered and rewrote the lives of saints and dynastic ancestors, reconceptualizing the past in order to make sense of the present.
2014 | 384 pages | Cloth $79.95
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Table of Contents
List of Illustrations
Notes on Terminology
Chapter 1. Cartularies: Remembering the Documentary Past
Chapter 2. The Composition and Purpose of Cartularies
Chapter 3. Twelfth-Century Narratives of the Past
Chapter 4. Polyptyques: Twelfth-Century Monks Face the Ninth Century
Chapter 5. An Age of Forgery
Chapter 6. Remembering the Carolingians
Chapter 7. Creation of a Carolingian Dynasty
Chapter 8. Western Monasteries and the Carolingians
Chapter 9. Eighth-Century Transitions: The Evidence from Burgundy
Chapter 10. Great Noble Families in the Early Middle Ages
Chapter 11. Early Frankish Monasticism
Chapter 12. Remembering Martyrs and Relics in Sixth-Century Gaul
Appendix I. Monasteries in Burgundy and Southern Champagne
Appendix II. Churches in Auxerre
List of Abbreviations
In medieval France thinkers constantly reconceptualized their past. The proper interpretation of past events could give validity to the present and help control the future. The saints that now presided over churches and the ancestors that had first established a dynasty were an especially crucial part of creative memory. Scholars have long known that many of our primary sources for the period were written well after the events they describe, so that, for example, the reign of Clovis is known principally from the Historia of Gregory of Tours, composed nearly a century later. Such post facto accounts form the heart of this book, including twelfth-century scribes contemplating the ninth-century documents they copied into cartularies; ninth-century churchmen considering their sixth-century predecessors; and sixth-century writers in Gaul coming to terms with the Christianity of the fourth and fifth centuries. The changes and upheavals of the period 500-1200 were met by rewriting and re-remembering. Memory was always malleable, as each generation decided which events of the past were worth remembering and which were to be reinterpreted or else quietly forgotten.
Memory is a potentially enormous subject, and this book has constantly sought to become the thousand-page wonder that makes academic publishers of the twenty-first century recoil in horror. To keep it manageable in size, I have omitted many interesting topics—some of which were spun off as articles, summarized only briefly here—and tried (not always successfully) to pare down the endnotes to the most recent or most influential works. I urge those seeking a fuller historiography to consult the notes to the books and articles cited. References are generally given in short form; full details are reserved for the bibliography.
Notes on Terminology
Royal lineages had no official names in the period covered by this book. Members of these lineages did, however, clearly recognize their relatives, and it has not therefore seemed an undue stretch for modern scholars to give collective names to those related in the male line. The Merovingians were those descended according to legend from Meroveus, offspring of a fifth-century sea serpent. The Carolingians, the family of Charlemagne (d. 814), are here the Arnulfings (or occasionally the Pippinids) before Charlemagne's time. The Capetians are the kings related in the male line to Hugh Capet, who replaced the last Carolingian on the French throne in 987, even though he was not in fact the first king in his family, a distinction that goes to his great-uncle. Before Hugh, the lineage is usually called Robertians, after his great-grandfather Robert the Strong.
Most of the people who appear in the book have names that could be spelled three or four or even more different ways: in modern English, French, or German (or occasionally Italian), or in medieval Latin. Thus Hugo, Ugo, Huo, Hugh, and Hughes are all possible ways to refer to the same person. If I have not always been completely consistent in choosing which version of a name to give someone (e.g., Charlemagne rather than Karl der Grosse, but Theoderic rather than Thierri), at least I have always called the same person the same thing. For clarity, I make a distinction in how I refer to a saint and how I refer to a church dedicated to that saint: Saint Martin indicates the person himself, St.-Martin a church dedicated to him.
Most of the examples in this book are from the regions now called France and Belgium, plus the westernmost edge of Germany (although the French-German border was not then where it is now, and Belgium did not exist as a country until the nineteenth century). In late antiquity this region is Gaul. In the Carolingian age it is Francia. In the eleventh and twelfth centuries it is simply France (although the French kingdom of the high Middle Ages did not include the lower Rhône, which had been part of Roman Gaul but in the twelfth century was part of the Holy Roman Empire). Although I take my examples from a broad geographic area, especially for the earlier period when the records are much sparser, the heart of my discussion is Burgundy-Champagne, the region stretching roughly from Châlons and Langres to Chalon and Mâcon, including Auxerre and Autun, the quintessential region "between the Rhine and the Loire." Place-names are given according to their modern French spelling (Reims instead of Rheims, Lyon instead of Lyons), except for those located in modern Germany (Aachen, not Aix-la-Chapelle). The few exceptions are for places much better known to an English-speaking audience by a different version of the name (Cologne, not Köln, and Burgundy, not Bourgogne).