St. Cuthbert

After the conversion to Christianity of King Edwin of Northumbria in 627 CE, his people followed suit. About 634, Cuthbert was born to a well-to-do family. His life as a Christian would have experienced the conflicts between Roman Christianity and Celtic Christianity. Whereas Edwin was baptized by Paulinus of York, part of the Gregorian mission from Rome, Edwin's successor, Oswald, invited Irish monks from Iona. The Irish monks, whose leader was Aidan, founded the monastery at Lindisfarne. Cuthbert grew up near Melrose Abbey, a daughter house of Lindisfarne.

The night of Aidan's death (651), Cuthbert had a vision that inspired him to become a monk. He advanced quickly, starting at a new monastery at Ripon, then becoming prior at Melrose Abbey in 662, followed in 665 by becoming prior at Lindisfarne. He was made a bishop in 684, but when nearing the end of his life he resigned that position.

Despite his exposure to Celtic Christianity for much of his youth, after the Synod of Whitby he had no trouble following the Roman system, bringing it to Lindisfarne when he was prior.

His reputation for piety and asceticism drew much attention, and he had many visitors despite his preference for a quiet life. He performed missionary work all over northern Britain. He was known for generosity to the poor and for performing miracles of healing, earning him the title "Wonder Worker of Britain." Bede wrote that he was buried in a stone sarcophagus to the right of the altar at the church in Lindisfarne; when the sarcophagus was moved behind the altar 11 years later (a more prestigious position), it was opened; his body was  found perfectly preserved, "uncorrupted," a sign of his sainthood. This brought more pilgrims to Lindisfarne, and prompted many in need to pray for his intercession.

Lindisfarne, however, was not going to be Cuthbert's final resting place. He was going to be moved a few times due to Viking invasions, which I'll talk about next time. 

The Oldest Book

The "oldest book" is a flexible term. It depends on what you mean by "book." In this case, I am referring to the oldest book we have that was assembled with what we think of as modern bookbinding: that is, flat pages (not a scroll) bound along one edge and with a solid cover for the front and back. This would be the so-called "Cuthbert Gospel."

It is a "pocket-sized" Gospel of John from the 8th century, only 5.4' x 3.6" with 94 vellum folios (pages) and a leather binding/cover over wooden boards (pictured here). It was kept with other relics of St. Cuthbert at Durham Cathedral. When King Henry VIII dissolved the monasteries after 1536, it traveled probably through many hands until it finally landed at Stonyhurst College in Lancashire. It was on long-term loan to the British Library due to its value as an early example of book binding and its association with the Anglo-Saxon saint, Cuthbert of Lindisfarne. Eventually the British Library purchased it, so it is now part of their permanent collection. It is intended to be displayed alternately between the British Library and at Durham.

The reason we have such a well-preserved book is because it was not known to exist for several centuries. Cuthbert died in 687 CE; his coffin was moved more than once to protect it from Viking invasions. In 1104, the coffin was moved to Durham Cathedral for re-burying, and was opened for a glimpse of the venerable saint. That was when, four centuries after the death of Cuthbert, the gospel was found inside the coffin!

Initially thought to be Cuthbert's personal Gospel, it is now thought that it was placed in the coffin to be with him a few years after he died. Based on the form of writing, it is presumed to have been written between c.700 and c.730 and slipped into his coffin at a later date.

Who was Cuthbert? Why was he so important that someone wanted to give him a "gift" of a Gospel even after he died? And important enough that his coffin was moved several times to keep it safe? We'll take a look at him and his accomplishments next time.

Parchment Production

Parchment is animal skin. The word appears around 1300 CE, derived from Old French parchemin, in turn from Latin pergamentum, meaning "parchment" because it is first mentioned coming from the town of Pergamon in Asia Minor, where it replaced papyrus in the 2nd century BCE.

The person who made parchment was a parchmenter. He would first have to acquire the raw material, which probably meant a trip to an abattoir to choose the best skins for use. Assuming they were completely unprepared, he had to gauge how the color of the fur indicated the final color of the parchment. White fur meant you would have lighter pages when all is said and done, but darker colors were probably more common. The skins might have holes in them from damage the animal did to itself or from tick bites.

The first step in preparation was to wash the skins in cold water. Skins were then commonly soaked in vats of water with lime for three to ten days, stirring regularly, after which they were laid out so they could be scraped to get the fur off. They were soaked in water for a couple more days after the scraping. The now waterlogged skin was stretched on a frame to dry flat. Strings attached the skin to pegs on a wooden frame; the pegs would be tightened to stretch the skin. You would not want to put holes in the skin for the strings, however, so the edge of the skin was rolled around pebbles and the end of the string tied around them.

Once dried, the skin was now scraped thin and smooth with a lunellum, a blade shaped like the crescent-moon so there was no sharp point that would accidentally pierce the skin. Rubbing with chalk would help to further smooth the result. Pre-13th century examples of parchment were thicker than later sheets, as the process was used to make thinner and thinner pages. These pages could then be written on and cut to be bound.

The development of parchment allowed books to last in good condition far longer than paper. So what's the oldest (medieval) book in good condition, and why was it in the coffin of a 7th century saint? For that story, you'll have to stay tuned.

Books on Demand

We talked (finally) about the source of books for the general populace, but medieval bookshops were not like modern ones: you didn't walk in and see rows of titles with multiple copies so you could just grab one and walk up to a counter to pay. Often, you went to the bookshop to order the book you wanted. Again, unlike the modern bookshop, your order could take weeks or months, because the copy you wanted likely didn't exist: it had to be made and copied from the original.

Unlike the modern book store, however, you had choices that are not available today. Once you had determined that he did have access to a copy of the book you wanted, you had to decide on certain features.

Did you want parchment or paper? What quality of parchment (were holes okay)? What script did you want it produced with? Did you want illustrations? Since it was being made from scratch for you, you had options we cannot (and, fortunately, do not have to) imagine today. I've made the illustration a little larger than usual (I hope it shows clearly in your browser), so that you can see not only the samples of script being advertised by a 15th century bookseller, but also the names of the different scripts written above each sample in gold lettering. This is an advertising sheet produced by professional scribe Herman Strepel of Münster in 1447.

And if you were producing the book and looking for more business, why not include ads for your services? A Paris manuscript includes, on the last page, “If someone else would like such a handsome book, come and look me up in Paris, across from the Notre Dame cathedral.”

Not every "addition" to a book was an ad. A Middle Dutch chronicle includes the line “For so little money I never want to produce a book ever again!” 

Book production employed different skilled tradesmen: the scribe himself, the illustrator, and the person who did the binding of the completed pages. Inks and paper or parchment had to be readily available, so those manufacturers were kept busy by demand, especially in university towns. In Paris, the Rue St. Jacques was where you'd find the producers of Latin textbooks, making it easy for students to know where to go to order needed materials for study. A lot more about medieval books is available on this blog.

Of course Gutenberg changed a lot of that, which is why I consider his innovation to be one of the markers that the Medieval period had truly ended. Gutenberg's press did not end the need for something on which to put the printed word, however. Next I'll talk about the production of parchment.

Medieval Bookshops

The keyword "books" has been applied 100 101 times in the almost 1200 posts of this blog, but if the term is connected with a location, it has either been a private library or in the scriptorium of a monastery. At some point, however, copies of books became available to the general public. As with previous situations, they were managed from a religious organization. Unlike monastic scriptoria, however, they were made available on a for-profit basis.

Universities were the source of bookshops, and the rector would administer an oath to the person managing the business, such as:

“You swear that the books received by you shall be safely kept, exhibited and sold in good faith. You swear that you will not deny them nor conceal them, but that you will expose them at proper time and place. You swear that if you are consulted on the selling price of one or more books, you will give in good faith, reserving your proper commission, an estimation, i. e. , such a sum as you would voluntarily give on occasion. You swear that the price of the copy, and the name of the vendor (the person sworn), if required, shall be placed in some part of the book exposed for sale.”[link]

When a book was sold, the rector received the money after the bookshop manager took his fee. Besides selling, books could be borrowed from the shop for the purpose of copying—for a fee, of course.

The 14th century saw an increase in such shops, but it also saw an increase in rules and regulations about bookshops and booksellers, suggesting that the sellers were less than reputable. The temptation to create and sell cheap and flawed copies on the side was strong, as was the temptation to overcharge and increase one's own fee before passing the money to the rector. Hence the oath above that required making the proper price visible on each book.

Despite the picture above (of a current bookstore in France), the bookshop was not just a place with books on shelves waiting to be sold. There was also a lot of what we call these days "books on demand." I'll explain that tomorrow.

John de Garlandia

There were two "Johns of Garland" whose careers get conflated in the 13th century. One was the philologist and grammarian, discussed here, and the other was a musicologist. Both were living in France at one time, but the second seems to have been born around the time of the first's death. They are sometimes distinguished by calling the latter Garlandia.

From Parisian records, this John seems to have been a keeper of a bookshop, and referred to as Jehan de Garlandia. His name is attached to two treatises, one of which, De Mensurabili Musica ("On measured music"), is considered the most important treatise on the early history of notation. Here is a summary of what makes it so significant:

Specifically, it describes a practice already in use, known as modal rhythm, which used the rhythmic modes. In this system, notes on the page are assigned to groups of long and short values based on their context. De mensurabili musica describes six rhythmic modes, corresponding to poetic feet: long-short (trochee), short-long (iamb), long-short-short (dactyl), short-short-long (anapest), long-long (spondee), and short-short (pyrrhic). Notation had not yet evolved to the point where the appearance of each note gave its duration; that had still to be understood from the position of a note in a phrase, which of the six rhythmic modes was being employed, and a number of other factors.

Modal rhythm is the defining rhythmic characteristic of the music of the Notre Dame school, giving it an utterly distinct sound, one which was to prevail throughout the thirteenth century.[New World Encyclopedia]

Did a bookshop opener write this work? Evidence suggests that it was written in 1240, before John was born (he lived until 1320, so writing in 1240 was not possible), but his name is attached to it, leading to the assumption that he edited the work, or at least wrote later chapters of it. Some of the records of the time refer to John as magister, however, suggesting that he was a teacher at the University of Paris and not just a seller of books. How much he had to do with this work is unknown, but the connection made to it historically is accepted in the absence of other evidence.

For more on the history of musical notation, see here and here.

For information on bookshops in the Middle Ages, well, you'll just have to come back tomorrow.

John of Garland

John of Garland (c.1180 - c.[at least] 1252) was an English grammarian and poet. (He wrote a poem about a recording demon.) Despite his English origin, he spent most of his life in France, first in Paris in 1202 to study, then at the University of Toulouse.

He left Toulouse around 1232 when the Cathars re-asserted themselves and university professors stopped being paid. He fled to the University of Paris, where Roger Bacon heard him lecture. It was this time in Paris that gave him his surname: he explains it is from the Rue Garlande in the neighborhood of the University.

There are over two dozen of his writings known (there are a few titles we know of, but have no extant copies). One was his Dictionarius (shown here), which was not a dictionary as we know it, but a textbook that attempted to teach Latin to French students at the University of Paris. Some credit Garland for the origin of the modern word "dictionary."

Besides works of instruction, he wrote poetry such as the Epithalamium beatae Mariae Virginis (“Bridal Song of the Blessed Virgin Mary”) and his account of the crusade against the Cathars, De triumphis ecclesiae (“On the Triumphs of the Church”). His hostility toward heresy was extended to Jews. To quote an author who wrote about this topic:

Although he never denied the possibility that conversion to Christianity could redeem the Jews, he thought it unlikely they would come over to the Catholic faith or remain steadfast in the religion. His invective was extreme by the standards of the time but was influential in that it appeared in many of his pedagogical works for adolescents and young men at the universities. [Journal of Medieval History, Vol.48, Issue 4]

Despite his time in France, his numerous writings were very popular in England, and were printed and re-printed in the 14th and 15th centuries.

Curiously, there was a second John of Garland who lived and wrote about the same time; this one was a music theorist, and will be our next topic. 

The Recording Demon

Here's a story: during a church service, a deacon burst out laughing. Afterward, the priest admonishes the deacon. The deacon explains the outburst: during the service, he saw a demon writing down snatches of conversation between parishioners in the pews. The parchment was quickly filled with these idle comments, and the demon tried to stretch the parchment by biting on the top end and pulling. The parchment tore, and the demon fell over backwards. This made the deacon laugh. The priest used this information in a later sermon, warning the congregation that their idle chatter is recorded by a demon to be used against them when they die and are judged.

The notion of a "recording demon" was popular in the Middle Ages, and went from sermons to physical representations quickly. Here we see two men gossiping (from St. James' Church, Cristow, Devon), and no matter how close and secretive they are trying to be, right above their heads you can see the recording demon taking notes on what they are saying, to be used against them on Judgment Day.

The idea of a recording demon was known in Egyptian monasteries of the 4th century, and was said to visit churches and monasteries and write down the sins that he observed.  This demon was ultimately given a name, Titivillus, and he became responsible to some for causing scribal errors. He was used in sermons about acedia, "spiritual sloth": churchgoers who engaged in idle chatter during the service, and priests who mumbled swiftly through the words of the service in order to get done faster.

Another representation of a demon collecting people's words is the "sack-filling demon" or simply "sack demon." Caesarius of Heisterbach mentions this one: a devil in a high place catching the words of people and putting them in a sack. Jacques de Vitry in his sermons mentions the sack demon with an over-filled sack, difficult to handle with the enormous number of inappropriate things said by folk.

The story of the deacon laughing in church was repeated and embellished over time. One version has the deacon criticized by the priest, who does not believe his story. Later, while asleep, he is exonerated when the Virgin Mary places the scroll of the demon's writings on his chest. The scroll proves to the priest that the deacon was telling the truth.

This is told in a poem by John of Garland, of whom I will say more tomorrow.

The Demon Titivillus

This post mentioned Titivillus, a demon blamed for causing errors in the writings of Caesarius of Heisterbach. (Here he is in a Book of Hours from 1510, taunting St. Bernard.) More has been written about Titivillus—and he appears in more artist renditions—than some saints!

At a time when fear of demons was common, they were "seen" everywhere: causing children to be ill, folk to go mad, cows to dry up, crops to fail, wells to go bad, etc.—they were constantly interfering with human life. One of them was considered the "patron demon of scribes" because he was blamed for errors in manuscripts. His name was Titivillus, sometimes Tutivillus, but in some of the earliest manuscript mentions, their middle letter is unclear and could be n or u/v, so it is written sometimes as Titinillus.

Despite the connection to Caesarius, and a reference in the writings of John of Wales, who died c.1285, as a demon who existed to introduce errors into scribal work, the Oxford English Dictionary's entry attributes the first reference to Peter Paludanus (c.1275 - 1342), who became Latin Patriarch of Jerusalem. The OED suggests the name of the demon might come from Latin titivillitium, a "mere trifle." Titivillus must have been looking over James Murray's shoulder, because Titivillus is clearly found in John of Wales' work long before Peter Paludanus would have been writing. In the Tractatus de Penitentia ("Tract on Sin"), we find

Fragmina verborum titivillus colligit horum
Quibus die mille vicibus se sarcinat ille.

Titivillus gathers up the fragments of these words
with which he fills his sack a thousand times a day.

He gets mentioned in a lot of medieval sermons as a reminder to be ever on guard against error and sloth. Titivillus became a character in medieval Mystery Plays. In the 15th century morality play Mankind, Titivillus is summoned by Mischief and other distractions to make Mankind's life difficult, but only after the audience is asked to pay extra money to make him appear (presumably his costume was suitably fabulous to charge extra). Titivillus' standing as a literary figure fades after that, and Shakespeare uses "Tilly-vally" a couple times when a character brushes off a complaint worthy of Titivillus' sack.

Concerning the phrase "fills his sack." This is not about inducing errors into manuscripts, but something else. Titivillus' career gets conflated with that of other popular medieval figures to watch out for: a "recording demon" and a "sack demon." That's an entirely different post.

Titivillus' presence can still be detected, such as in the fact that the OED (and I cannot believe I have never mentioned it and its mentor James Murray before) misses the earliest reference (but then, I am reading from the first edition; it has been updated). He influences my own work: although I proofread my post hours after writing it and being away, I still miss errors, which are found and shared by a very good friend; I know he is a good friend because he reads daily! (Come to think of it, that friend's name is Nick, and isn't "Old Nick" a name for the devil? Maybe he's trying to undo Titivillus' history of work?)

Well, more demons tomorrow.

The Prolific Caesarius

A popular source of stories of miracles and of subjects for sermons was the body of work produced by Caesarius of Heisterbach (c.1180 - c.1240), commemorated here in a statue erected in 1897.

Caesarius was the prior (an administrator of an abbey, but not the abbot) of the Cistercian Heisterbach Abbey in western Germany. He wrote Dialogus miraculorum ("dialogue of miracles"), in which a monk tells tales of 746 miracles by saints to a young novice. About 60 versions still exist that were made by hand, suggesting that it was almost as popular as Jacobus de Voragine's Golden Legend.

He also produced sermons, which he claimed he had to make public because monks asked for more detail on his statements. One of his books deals specifically with his interpretation of the phrase Ave praeclara maris stella ("Hail bright star of the sea"), a nickname for the Virgin Mary and a 9th century hymn found in old manuscripts in the Abbey of St. Gall and elsewhere.

In one of his works he wrote about the fairly recent sack of the town of Béziers during the Albigensian Crusade led by fellow Cistercian Arnaud Amalric. Supposedly, when Arnaud was asked how to distinguish between Cathars and Catholics in the town, he said Caedite eos. Novit enim Dominus qui sunt eius ("Slay them all, the Lord will know his own"). This is apocryphal, but is considered the origin of the oft-used phrase "Kill them all and let God sort them out." He also is known for a paradoxical maxim about monasteries: that discipline causes prosperity and then prosperity undermines discipline.

Caesarius complained that his writings were taken and distributed before they were finished and proofread. Perhaps it was in this context that he blamed a demon for errors in his works. That demon was Titivillus, and he will be the subject of my next post.

The First Mass Murderer

I have mentioned the 12th century heresy called Catharism. The attempts to stamp it out are called the Albigensian Crusade (and sometimes the Cathar Crusade). One prominent Crusader was Arnaud Amalric.

Arnaud was a Cistercian (a branch of Benedictines), who became abbot of Cîteaux from 1202 to 1212. In 1204 he was sent by Pope Innocent III to attempt the conversion of the Albigensians who followed Catharism. His attempts to convert them to mainstream Catholicism did not work, and so his preaching turned to speaking out against them to those who would listen. This was followed by leading a Crusade against Catharism, the first major military operation of which was a 22 July 1209 attack on the town of Béziers in southern France.

In a letter to Innocent in August 1209, he describes the attack:

...while discussions were still going on with the barons about the release of those in the city who were deemed to be Catholics, the servants and other persons of low rank and unarmed attacked the city without waiting for orders from their leaders. To our amazement, crying "to arms, to arms!", within the space of two or three hours they crossed the ditches and the walls and Béziers was taken. Our men spared no one, irrespective of rank, sex or age, and put to the sword almost 20,000 people. After this great slaughter the whole city was despoiled and burnt...

The number 20,000 is clearly an exaggeration, but his description of the wholesale slaughter "irrespective of rank, sex or age" is likely to be more or less accurate. Because the sack of Bèziers apparently did not distinguish between Cathars and Catholics, Arnaud is reported to have said at the time "Kill them. For the Lord knows who are His."

This is considered the origin of an oft-repeated line: "Kill them all and let God sort them out." Arnaud's line was recorded 13 years later by Caesarius of Heisterbach, prior of a Cistercian abbey. Caesarius was not an eyewitness, never met Arnaud, and we have no proof that Arnaud actually said this, but some use the incident to refer to Arnaud Amalric as the first proponent of mass murder.

Arnaud was named archbishop of Narbonne in 1212, after which we hear little about him. He died on 29 September 1225.

As for his imaginative chronicler, Caesarius of Heisterbach, I'll tell you a little more tomorrow, as well as his identification of a particularly unhelpful demon.

Michaelmas

Michaelmas (Michael's Mass) honors St. Michael the Archangel. He is credited with defeating Lucifer during the war in Heaven that led to angels being cast down into Hell. A basilica dedicated to him was built near Rome and completed on 30 September in the 5th century. Celebrations in honor of that day began on the eve, and so 29 September is now Michaelmas. It is also known as Feast of Saints Michael, Gabriel, and Raphael; also as the Feast of the Archangels; also as the Feast of Saint Michael and All Angels.

It was a Holy Day of Obligation until the 18th century, but it is still noted and celebrated. Because it comes shortly after the autumn equinox it is associated with the start of fall. It became the day when a reeve was chosen on a manor to oversee the peasants. In Ireland it was the day rent was due.

Certain foods became associated with Michaelmas, especially because of a legend of St. Patrick. Supposedly, Patrick brought back to life the son of an Irish king who had choked on a goose bone during dinner. The king ordered that a goose be cooked annually in honor of the saint's feat. Starting in the time of Edward IV (1442 - 1483), geese were presented to the landlord by his tenants. Michaelmas was also a day for sheep to be slaughtered and "St. Michael's portion" given to the poor.

Traditionally, Michaelmas was the last day to pick blackberries, after which they were inedible. The legend behind this was that Lucifer, when cast down by Michael, landed in a blackberry bush whose prickles hurt him, so he cursed it to be inedible. Blackberries picked prior to 29 September are fine.

In this post I referred to the date of Michaelmas being different. Because of the correction in the Julian to the Gregorian Calendar. "Old Michaelmas Day" falls on 10 October.

For my next post: you may have heard some version of the phrase "Kill them all and let God sort it out." The man first credited with expressing that idea died on Michaelmas Day in 1225. I'll tell you about an early proponent of mass murder tomorrow.

To Kidnap a King

On his way back from the Third Crusade, King Richard I "Lionheart" of England was captured.

He had made many enemies in Europe. The Byzantine Emperor Isaac II Angelos was one, because Richard annexed the Island of Corfu (a Byzantine possession). Holy Roman Emperor Henry VI was angered because Richard supported King Tancred of Sicily, who had usurped the position from its proper heiress, Henry's wife Constance. Leopold of Austria blamed Richard for the murder of Leopold's cousin, Conrad of Montferrat.

So when Richard's ship was wrecked near Aquileia and Richard had to travel over land to get back home, he passed through Vienna, enabling Leopold to capture him around Christmas 1192. Interfering with a Crusader was against papal decree, but Richard had also personally offended Leopold by getting rid of Leopold's banner on the walls of Acre, even though Leopold had been with him at the Siege of Acre. When word got out, Pope Celestine III excommunicated Leopold.

Word got back to England of Richard's captivity, but no one knew where he was being held. He was given over to Henry VI's care on 28 March 1193, who imprisoned him at Trifels Castle. Not only was Henry angered at Richard's previous actions, he also had a goal: conquering all of southern Italy. This required military might, and that required money. Holding a king for ransom was one sure way of acquiring funds.

Henry's status as Holy Roman Emperor made Celestine reluctant to excommunicate him. Richard's treatment was initially respectful, but Richard treated Henry with disdain. Henry convened a council to condemn Richard for the capture of Cyprus, the insult to Leopold, the death of Conrad, and making a truce with Saladin. Richard defended his actions, and explained his lack of respect for Henry's imperial title by saying "I am born in a rank which recognizes no superior but God."

Afterward, Richard was kept in chains "so heavy that a horse or ass would have struggled to move under them." Henry demanded a ransom of 150,000 marks (100,000 pounds of silver). Richard's mother, Eleanor of Aquitaine, now in her early 70s, took action, riding the country to raise funds and writing the pope about the horrible situation. A tax of 25% of the value of property was decreed against layman and all churches. Meanwhile, Richard's brother John and King Philip of France offered Henry 80,000 marks to keep Richard at least until Michaelmas 1194 (29 September in Europe).

Henry did something honorable and refused their offer. The ransom from England came through, and Richard was freed on 4 February 1194. (The illustration shows Richard kissing the feet of the emperor.) Upon his return to England he forgave John's actions and named John his heir (instead of their nephew Arthur, son of their brother Geoffrey).

And now for something completely different: Michaelmas. What was it about, and why did I have to specify "in Europe" above? I'll explain next time.

Henry VI of Germany

King Henry VI of Germany who survived the Erfurt Latrine Disaster went on to become Holy Roman. Emperor. He was the second son of Holy Roman Emperor Frederick I (called Barbarossa), and a member of the Hohenstaufen dynasty.

He was born in November 1165, and named King of Germany by his father in 1169. His father made him King of Italy in 1186, the same year that Henry married Constance of Sicily. Constance was the sole heiress of Sicily, but was challenged by her illegitimate nephew, Tancred. Tancred controlled Sicily (with some difficulty) until after 1191.

In 1191, Henry and Constance were proclaimed Holy Roman Emperor and Empress, and they turned their attention to Sicily. Their attempts to take over in Sicily were hampered by the locals' fear of retribution from Tancred if they aided Henry. Even after Tancred's death in February 1194, Sicily remained in his family's control, but in November Henry prevailed. He was named King of Sicily on Christmas Day.

Henry was considered well-educated, learning Latin as well as Roman and canon law. He wrote poetry and was a patron of poets. A German songbook from the 14th century, the Codex Manesse, has three poems attributed to Henry and has a portrait of him, shown above.

He interfered with English politics somewhat. Richard I of England had made an arrangement with Tancred, and so Henry tried to isolate England: he negotiated with Richard's mother, Eleanor of Aquitaine, to break off the engagement of Richard with Alys, daughter of Louis VII of France.

Henry had an even more significant encounter with Richard in 1193, when Richard became Henry's prisoner. More on that tomorrow.

The Meeting at Erfurt

The Erfurt Latrine Disaster in 1184 took place when too many German nobles gathered on a second floor of the Petersberg Church at the request of King Henry VI. They gathered to try to resolve a dispute between the Archbishop of Mainz and Landgrave Louis III of Thuringia.

Louis (1151 - 1190), a nephew of Barbarossa, liked to feud with his neighbors, the nobles of Thuringia in Germany (that's his seal in the illustration). One of them was Conrad of Wittelsbach, the Archbishop of Mainz (c.1120 - 1200).

Conrad was problematic, and very much attached to temporal power. Appointed Archbishop of Mainz by Frederick I, known as Barbarossa, he refused to recognize the antipope Paschal III, put up in opposition to Pope Alexander III. This caused a falling out with Barbarossa, so he fled to Rome, after which Mainz was given to Christian von Buch. Pope Alexander gave Conrad other titles, but Conrad was still considered Archbishop of Mainz. Unfortunately for Conrad, Alexander was forced to accept Christian as Archbishop of Mainz after the Treaty of Venice in 1177, a peace treaty between the papacy and Barbarossa. When Christian died in 1183, Conrad returned to Mainz and resumed his former status, but remembered all the people who had not supported him and instead accepted Christian.

Conrad made enemies along the course of his life, and his falling out with Barbarossa made Barbarossa's nephew Louis opposed to him. While King Henry VI of Germany was traveling through the area on his way to fight Poland, he decided to convene all the region's nobles to insist that they cease the endless territorial disputes. Conrad was not present, but of course Louis was. One record of the latrine disaster claims that Henry and Louis had stepped away to an alcove to discuss matters privately, and were therefore not in the main area that collapsed. Another claims they had to cling to the iron railings of a window frame to save themselves (that would have been very quick thinking).

Either way, they were saved from the terrible outcome. Louis died in 1190 on the Third Crusade. Conrad lived until 1200. King Henry's survival at Erfurt meant he was alive to be made Holy Roman Emperor. We'll talk more about him next.