The Western Schism

When Pope Clement V decided he wanted to live in his home country, France, he moved the papal offices from the Vatican in Rome to Avignon in 1309. The papacy returned to Rome in 1377 by Gregory XI—who was French himself, but was persuaded that the papacy should reside in its original home, perhaps through the efforts of Catherine of Siena—but French cardinals were not happy with that. When Gregory died a year later, Romans were determined that they would have an Italian pope who would stay in Rome and never move the papacy again, so they started a campaign of pressure. Cardinals in Rome elected the Archbishop of Bari, the well-respected Bartolomeo Prignano, to become Pope Urban VI, on 8 April 1378.

Papal authority went to Urban's head, and his attempts at reform and his outbursts of temper did not sit well with the college of cardinals, who soon began to regret their decision. In an extraordinary move, several of them met in Anagni in central Italy and had a second election on 20 September. They claimed that the election of Urban was illegitimate because it was due to threats of intimidation and violence, and so they justified themselves in electing Robert of Geneva as Pope Clement VII. Unable to reside at the Vatican due to Urban's presence, Clement and the supporting cardinals returned to Avignon.

Thus was born the Western Schism, also called the Papal Schism or the Schism of 1378. The world had no choice but to take notice, and to take sides. Rome had the support of the Italian states, the Holy Roman Empire, England, and much of Eastern Europe and the Scandinavian countries. Avignon was supported by France, the kingdoms on the Iberian peninsula, Scotland, and several Mediterranean countries. Some nations shifted their allegiance over timeNaples, Bohemia, Flanders and Portugal (among others), started with Avignon and later switched as Rome seemed to be a safe, traditional choice.

Urban vs. Clement was only the start. Urban was succeeded by Boniface IX, then by Innocent VII, then by Gregory XII. Clement was replaced by Benedict XIII.

Now we come to Peter of Candia: had been made a cardinal by Innocent VII in 1405, and his greatest desire was to reconcile the schism. When Innocent was succeeded by Gregory, Gregory made a move that shocked both Avignon and Rome, and would lead to the next step: a solution put forth in Pisa.

By 1409, the Italian city-state of Pisa had had enough of the controversy. They decided that 30 years of papal confusion and chaos needed to be resolved, and the only way they could think of to do so was . . . (wait for it) to elect another pope!

And that story will have to wait until tomorrow.

Catherine in the World

Catherine of Siena (25 March 1347 - 29 April 1380) wanted to join the Dominicans and retire from the world. This was not only discouraged by her mother, but a vision Catherine had of being married to Christ included the injunction to go out into the world to do good works.

During a 1374 visit to Florence, she made the acquaintance of Raymond of Capua, chaplain of a second order monastery of Dominican nuns. While nursing plague victims, he became ill; Catherine sat by his side during his recovery, which he attributed to her prayers.

They began a close relationship, and he became her confessor and spiritual advisor, traveling with and advising her. Catherine traveled around northern and central Italy, urging reform of the clergy. She convinced the cities of Pisa and Lucca to avoid an alliance with an anti-papal movement. She wrote to John Hawkwood, trying to persuade him to turn his energy to supporting God.

She had a long correspondence with Pope Gregory XI, which included urging him to return the papal headquarters from Avignon back to Rome, which he eventually did. Not all cardinals approved of the return, and when Gregory died a few years later, two competing groups of cardinals—in in Rome, one still in Avignon—each elected a pope, resulting in what is called the Western Schism. Such was her perceived influence that Catherine went to Rome at the request of Pope Urban VI to support his legitimacy. Unfortunately for Urban, her support was not sufficient.

Catherine's habit of extreme fasting was very unhealthy, and Raymond admonished her to eat more, but she refused. In 1380 she lost the ability to swallow easily. She suffered a stroke and lost the use of the lower half of her body. She died on 29 April 1380.

Although she was buried in Rome, her head was placed in a bronze bust and taken to Siena. It was carried through the city in a procession to the Basilica of San Domenico, accompanied by her then 89-year-old mother. Her mother and Raymond of Capua collaborated on her biography. She was named a Doctor of the Church in 1970 by Pope Paul VI in recognition of her pious example and her treatise The Dialogue of Divine Providence.

About this Western Schism, during which she was unsuccessful in convincing everyone to accept Urban as the legitimate pope: his opponent didn't succeed either. I should say opponents, because Avignon and Rome weren't the only cities to name a pope. That story is for next time.

Catherine of Siena

Catherine of Siena is an example of how one can be connected to a religious order and still influence events "in the world."

She was born on 25 March 1347 as Caterina di Jacopo di Benincasa, and survived the imminent Black Death that was about to ravage Europe. A happy child, she had a vision of Christ with Peter, Paul, and John when she was only five or six, and decided shortly after  to devote herself to God.

This was not her parents' plan for her, however, and at 16 they wanted her to marry the widower of a sister who had died in childbirth. Catherine cut off her hair and started fasting to show her opposition to this plan and to make herself less attractive to a husband.

Quiet rebellion won out, and eventually her father relented and allowed her to choose her own life's path. She would later advise Raymond of Capua how to manage adversity: "Build a cell inside your mind, from which you can never flee." In her imagination, she pictured her father as Christ, her mother as Mary, her siblings as apostles. She treated them with respect and used this approach as a path to spiritual growth.

After she had a vision of St. Dominic she expressed a desire to join the Dominicans; this upset her mother, who tried ways to change her mind, but eventually allowed her to join a local group of devout laywomen, the Mantellate Sisters, a third order devoted to the education of youth and caring for the ill and poor. They taught Catherine to read. She still lived with her family, but seemed to have taken a personal vow of silence. Also, she would give away food and clothing, upsetting her family.

At 21, she had a vision which she described as a mystical marriage to Christ (pictured above by Giovanni di Paolo, 1400s). She claimed that she received a wedding ring during this vision, but not a typical ring, rather Christ's foreskin from the time of his circumcison when he was eight days old. (She would claim that she wore this ring, but it was invisible.) During this vision, Christ told her to give up her quiet life at home and go into the world. She became more active in her charity, helping the ill or poor in hospitals or homes.

Eventually, Siena became too small a venue for her desire to do good works, and she started getting involved in much larger issues. What she did, and how she even fixed a "problem" with the papacy, we will talk about tomorrow.

Third Orders

While explaining oblates I mentioned that there was a group called "Third Orders."

"Third Order" signifies a lay member of a Christian religious order; that is, a person who wishes to be a member of a religious order and follow certain rules and lifestyle options, but does not live in a monastery or nunnery. Even today, people who fall into this category—sharing in the spirit of a religious order but living a secular life—can be found in Roman Catholicism, Lutheranism, and Anglicanism.

Originally, these tertiaries (Latin tertiarii, "third") began in the 12th century. If there is a third, then what are the first and second? First denotes the male order, since the male monastic version was usually the first founded. Second was when women wished to participate in the same order. For example: St. Francis, after being credited with establishing the Friars Minor, then established the Poor Clares, and afterward the Third Order of St. Francis. The Rule of the Third Order of St. Francis has become the standard for other third orders.

Those wishing to follow a third order often gathered in communities, called confraternities. There exists a Durham Liber Vitae, the Durham "Book of Lives," which is a confraternity book with a list of about 20,000 names (from the 9th century to about 1300) of those who were visited and supported the church in Durham. Donors to churches were often called confraters, a nice honorary title in exchange for their patronage. Groups like the Templars also had systems by which lay people could be confraters and support their mission.

The Second Vatican Council codified the "lay vocation" of the third orders, distinguishing it from a consecrated state. The various third orders had to revise their rules and submit them to the Vatican for approval. The term "third order" began to be replace by "secular order" to indicate that they were living "in the world" as opposed to cloistered.

An example of a third order religious who was active and influential in the secular world was Catherine of Siena, briefly mentioned here but sorely deserving of more attention, which I will give her next time. Until then...

Oblates

Becoming a monk was not always a choice. Sometimes it was the default choice for someone with no skills that he could turn into a career, or for someone who had no taste for farming. Sometimes, parents would decide that the church was the best option for their child.

The Venerable Bede was a puer oblatus, a "boy oblate," sent to be raised at a monastery at the age of seven. The word oblate, in fact, means someone who has been offered. Monasteries that adhered to the Rule of St. Benedict accepted oblates that young—it was their chief source of new members—until 656CE, when the Tenth Council of Toledo forbade boys before the age of ten. Orderic Vitalis was given to his monastery at ten or eleven, and could take vows as early as fourteen. Archbishop Lanfranc of Canterbury suggested that oblates could take vows when the authorities of the monastery decided he was mature enough to understand and handle the obligations involved.

Various monasteries had their own policies regarding oblates. The 11th century About William of Hirschau defined two kinds of oblate:

—fratres barbati ("bearded brethren), also called conversi (converts), who took vows but did not have to be clean-shaven or live cloistered.
—oblati (oblates), workmen who followed religious rules while working at the monastery.

Other terms were used over the centuries: commissioned, donates, confronter, with various distinctions that changed over time. Despite the many approaches to managing and designating those who wished to be involved in the monastic or priestly life, the chief distinction was between those who entered fully and took all vows, and those who were only partially committed.

Which leads me to a new idea about oblates: a third order, for lay members of religious orders. There is a long history of this, which I'll tell you about tomorrow.

The Venerable Bede

Start typing the word "venerable" into a search engine on the Internet and one of the options offered will be "venerable Bede." He was a monk, and the author of Historia ecclesiastica gentis Anglorum ("Ecclesiastical History of the English People"). This work was considered so important that it has survived in countless copies and translations.

Bede (Beda, Bæda) was born about 672-3 o lands belonging to the monasteries of Monkwearmouth and Jarrow in Northumbria (now Wearside and Tyneside). Because the name Beda appears on a list of kings of Lindsey in Northumbria, and because of Bede's obvious connections to notable men, we think he came from a well-to-do family, possibly royal.

He was sent to the monastery at Monkwearmouth at the age of seven as a puer oblatus ("a boy oblate" or "boy dedicated to God's service"). At the time, the abbot was Benedict Biscop. Some years later he went to Jarrow, which was dedicated on 23 April 635. A plague in 686 left only two survivors at Jarrow who knew the holy services, Abbot Ceolfrith and a young boy. Bede would have been about 14 and was likely that boy.

Bede was ordained a deacon earlier than the typical age of 25, indicating exceptional ability and respect earned. He became a priest at the age of 30. In started writing about 701, with De Arte Metrica ("On Metrical Art" [meaning poetry]) and De Schematibus et Tropis ("On Figures and Tropes"). Once started, he did not stop writing, producing works and translations to explain history, the church, church services and religious trappings, the Bible, histories of saints, histories of abbots of Jarrow, and far more.

One of his works created a stir: in De Temporibus ("On the Times," meaning the ages of the world), he calculated that Christ was born 3,952 years after Creation. The generally accepted feeling was Isidore of Seville's opinion that the length of time was more than 5,000 years. Some monks complained to Bishop Wilfrid of Hexham (mentioned here). Wilfrid did not share their concern about Bede, but a monk who was present relayed the event to Bede, who wrote back explaining his calculations and asked the monk to share his thinking with Wilfrid. Regarding dates: the use of Anno Domini ("Year of the Lord") to count years since the birth of Christ was introduced by Bede. Bede also writes extensively on the controversy over the proper dating of Easter Sunday.

We know from a letter written by a disciple of his, Cuthbert (not St. Cuthbert) that he began to feel ill, his breathing became labored, his feet began to swell. He asked for a box of his things to be brought to him, and gave away his possessions, described as "some pepper, and napkins, and some incense." He died 26 May 735, his body being found on the floor of his cell that morning.

In 1899, Pope Leo XIII named him a "Doctor of the Church," the only native Englishman to be given that title.

Although Bede's literary output and life have countless points from which I could find a link to tomorrow's blog post, I wanted to talk about the pracrive=ce of handing a seven-year-old over to be raised by strangers in a monastery. Next time.

The Synods of Clovesho

A synod, from Greek σύνοδος (sinoðos, "assembly") is a council of Christian authorities, usually to decide issues of doctrine or administration. Synods are usually named after the location of the meeting. This blog has mentioned synods in Elvira, Mainz, Verona, and (of course) Whitby.

There were several Synods of Clovesho recorded in the late 8th and early 9th centuries. The location of Clovesho (meaning "Cliff's-Hoe") has never been satisfactorily identified, but it is generally assumed to be somewhere in the kingdom of Mercia, since the current king of Mercia usually presides.

The Venerable Bede writes that, at the Council of Hertford in 672, Archbishop Theodore of Tarsus declared that he was made Archbishop of Canterbury by the pope, and that there should be a regular synod held on 1 August every year "in the place which is called Clofeshoch." Although it is likely that this schedule was followed, we do not have a record of any of the synods until 716 under King Ethelbald of Mercia, in which the freedom of the churches in Great Britain was confirmed.

The synods resembled the Anglo-Saxon witenagemot, in that it was more than a collection of bishops and abbots, but also included the king and his chief advisors and other high-ranking men of the kingdom.

The next recorded synod took place in 742. It affirmed the decision of 716. King Ethelbald of Mercia presided; his recorded statement is as follows:

I, Ethelbald, king of the Mercians, for the health of my soul and the stability of my kingdom, and out of reverence to the venerable Archbishop Cuthbert, confirm it by the subscription of my own munificent hand, that the liberty, honor, authority, and security of the Church of Christ be contradicted by no man; but that she and all the lands belonging to her be free from all secular services, except military expedition, and the building of a bridge or castle. And we charge that this be irrefragably and immutably observed by all, as the aforesaid king Wihtred ordained for him and his.

I previously mentioned Queen Cynethryth's last recorded mention was at the Synod of Clovesho in 798. It was presided over by King Coenwulf of Mercia and Archbishop Æthelheard. After the death of King Offa, his widow was made abbess at Cookham Abbey. At the synod, Æthelheard produced documents showing that the abbey belonged to Canterbury, and it was not in Mercia's power to make decisions about it. Æthelheard then granted the monastery to Cynethryth, but she had to give up other lands that were in her possession in Kent, amounting to 160 households' worth of property. (The site of Cookham Abbey has only recently been discovered.)

The last recorded Synod of Clovesho was in 824.

The Venerable Bede has been mentioned many times throughout the history of this blog, but has never received his own entry. Time to rectify that.

Queen Cynethryth

If Eadburh, wife of Beorhtric of Wessex, was as vindictive as history reports—exiling and executing enemies—what was the catalyst for that behavior? Did she learn from growing up and watching her mother, Cynethryth?

It is true that the queens of Mercia seem to have a notable amount of authority compared to other royal women—in fact, Cynethryth of Mercia, wife of King Offa, even had her own coinage with her image on it!—but was she actually as terrible and bloodthirsty as we are told?

We don't know anything about her or her parentage until 770, when her name appears as a witness on a charter. The similarity of her name to that of the wife and daughters of King Penda (c.606 - 655) of Mercia (Cynewise, Cyneburh, Cyneswith) suggests she was of that line, which would make her a distant relative of Offa.

The Vitae duorum Offarum ("The lives of the two Offas") relates and compares the stories of the 4th or 5th century Offa of Angel and the Offa of Mercia who reigned in the second half of the 8th century and was married to Cynethryth. Originally thought to be composed by Matthew Paris, it is now thought to be an earlier work. Of Cynethryth, the Vitae calls her "Drida," and that she was Frankish and condemned for some crime to be set adrift at sea. She drifts to the Welsh shore where she is found and brought before Offa. She claims to be a member of Carolingian royalty, and Offa puts her in the care of his mother, Marcellina. Offa eventually falls in love and marries her, after which she changes her name from Drida to Quindrida (from Thryth to Cynethryth).

The minting of coins in her likeness tells us a lot about how much authority Offa gave her. In one of his letter, Alcuin refers to Cynethryth as "controller of the Royal household." The marriage seemed to be a steady one. Alcuin, writing to their son Ecgfrith, advised him to follow the example of his parents, and comments on her piety.

What the crime was that originally caused her to be set adrift, we'll never know. Æthelberht II, King of East Anglia and Alfred the Great's older brother (died 20 May 794) is said to have been assassinated by Offa. Later chroniclers suggest that Cynethryth was more involved. This may be simply because of the earlier tale of her coming into the picture as an exiled criminal. There are no specifics or evidence that she was inciting executions or assassinations.

It is not unknown, however, that early kings would kill off even relatives in order to make succession clear and avoid attempts at usurpation of civil war. When Offa's and Cynethryth's only son, Ecgfrith, reigned a mere 141 days, the only heir to the throne of Mercia was a very distant relive, Coenwulf, because nearer relatives had been eliminated by Offa. Alcuin himself acknowledged this, writing:

That most noble young man has not died for his sins, but the vengeance for the blood shed by the father has reached the son. For you know how much blood his father shed to secure the kingdom upon his son. ... This was not a strengthening of the kingdom, but its ruin.

The last reference we have to Cynethryth was in 798, when she was present at the Synod of Clovesho in a dispute regarding the monastery at Cookham. I'll explain her connection to that dispute, and talk about the Synods, next time.

An Evil Queen

First, let me say that there was more than one Eadburh. Eadburh was the name of King Alfred the Great's mother-in-law (Alfred's wife was Ealhswitha, daughter of Eadburh (830 - 895) of the Mercian royal family and Æthelred Mucel of Mercia). Then there was Eadburh of Winchester (921 - 951CE), daughter of King Edward the Elder (mentioned here), who became a saint. 

Then there was the Eadburh who was most definitely not a saint.

King Offa of Mercia and Queen Cynethryth had five children: one sone who became king of Mercia after Offa, and four girls. They married their daughter Eadburh (seen to the left) to King Beorhtric of Wessex (reigned 787 - 802) in 789.

According to Asser's Life of King Alfred, Eadburh made many enemies and demanded they be killed or exiled. Possibly jealous of anyone who was too close a confidant of Beorhtric, she (supposedly) attempted to poison one of his favorites, but wound up causing the target and her husband to be killed. Her part in the king's death being discovered, she fled to Francia and appealed for sanctuary from Charlemagne.

Asser goes on to say that Charlemagne brought out one of his young sons and asked her which she would prefer to marry. (In 802 or just after, when this would have taken place, the 55-year-old Charlemagne would have been a widower, his fourth wife Luitgard having died in 800. Still, it's a little hard to swallow.) Eadburh said she'd prefer the son because of his youth, at which Charlemagne replied: "Had you chosen me, you would have had my son; but because you have chosen my son, you will have neither him nor me."

So Charlemagne makes her an abbess in a convent, but after she is caught having a sexual affair with a Saxon, she is expelled from the convent. She dies as a penniless beggar on the streets of Pavia in Lombardy.

Let's look at this from another angle.

Eadburh, daughter of the powerful Offa of Mercia, married Beorhtric of Wessex (seen to the right). This made Wessex and Mercia allies, to the benefit mostly of Wessex. To keep Offa pleased, Beorhtric might well have given Eadburh plenty of authority. In their 13 years of marriage, however, there was no evidence of offspring. Kings need an heir (it's wise to have "an heir and a spare"), and many in Beorhtric's position would have wanted to put Eadburh away and find someone more fertile, which he did not do. We do not know when Beorhtric was born, but it does not seem likely that he died of old age when Eadburh became a widow.

So why is Asser telling this story at the beginning of a Life of King Alfred? He uses the story to explain why Wessex kings do not let their wives use the title "queen," because Eadburh's actions supposedly tainted the practice.

But wait, there's more.

As in the tragedies of Socrates, "look for the earlier crime." The alliance of Offa and Beorhtric created a power strong enough to make some significant changes in the politics of southern Great Britain. One of their acts was to drive Ecgberht (born about 771-775) into exile in the 780s, whereupon he fled to the court of Charlemagne. Who was Ecgberht? Why drive a child out of Wessex? He was the heir to the throne of Wessex, and by driving him out, Beorhtric became king. After Beorhtric's death, Ecgberht returned and ruled Wessex from 802 until 839.

So why was this important in a biography of Alfred? Because Ecgberht's son and heir was Æthelwulf, and Æthelwulf's son and heir was ... (wait for it) ... Alfred. Asser made sure to denigrate the man responsible for preventing Alfred's grandfather from taking the throne, and made a statement about how regressive Wessex was toward women at the time.

Did Eadburh poison and exile her enemies? If she did, where did she learn such behaviors? Well, the hand that rocks the cradle...

Tomorrow I'll tell you about her mother.

The Life of Asser

Most of what we know about King Alfred the Great comes from a single manuscript copy from the Cotton Library, Vita Ælfredi regis Angul Saxonum (Latin: "The Life of Alfred, King of the Anglo-Saxons"). We know it was begun in 893 because Asser mentions how old Alfred was at the time of writing (Alfred died six years later).

John Asser was a Welsh monk at St. David's in Dyfed (southwest Wales). We know little about him until he was recruited by Alfred to join his court for his scholarly abilities.

In the biography, we learn that Alfred decided on St. Martin's Day in 887 (November 11) that he wanted to learn Latin, and asked Asser to be his teacher. Asser asked for six months to consider, since he did not want to leave his position at St. David's. This was granted, but Asser fell ill when he returned to St. David's, and a year later Alfred to ask why the delay. Asser said he would decide when he recovered. The monks at St. David's felt the arrangement could be beneficial to them, and Asser agreed to divide his time between the two obligations.

Asser mentions reading to Alfred in the evenings, meeting Alfred's mother-in-law, and traveling with him. He describes the geography of his travels in England, as if he were writing for an audience unfamiliar with the English countryside: possible for his Welsh countrymen, whose he wished to educate about the king. He also includes some anecdotes that help flesh out information otherwise found in the Anglo-Saxon Chronicle.

The biography does not mention any events after 893, although Alfred lived another six years (and Asser well beyond that). That fact, and the fact that there is a single manuscript, suggests that what we have is merely an early draft that never was finished and sent to be copied and distributed. On the other hand, there are other literary works that show evidence of access to Asser's manuscript. A history written by Byrhtferth of Ramsey in the late 10th century quotes large sections of Asser. An anonymous monk in Flanders seems acquainted with Asser's work in his 1040s-written Encomium Emma (Latin: "Praise of [Queen] Emma"). In the early 12th century, Florence of Worcester quotes Asser in his chronicle. It seems clear that Asser's manuscript either "made the rounds" or lived in a much-visited library; we just don't know where it was in its earliest existence.

We do know that Bishop Matthew Parker (died 1575) possessed it in his library, but it was not included in the catalog when he bequeathed his library to Corpus Christi, Cambridge. Prior to that, it was owned by the antiquary John Leland in the 1540s. He might have acquired it when Henry VIII dissolved the monasteries, salvaging it when their properties and possessions were being sold off.

I seem to have turned a life of Asser into a discussion of his one known piece off writing.

As a reward, and possibly to keep Asser from going back to Wales, Alfred gave him the monastery of Exeter. He was made Bishop of Sherborne sometime between 892 and 900. He may have been a bishop already, at St. David's.

In 1603, the antiquarian William Camden printed an edition of Asser's Life in which he ascribes to Asser the founding of a college at Oxford. This extraordinary and evidence-free claim was repeated, but no modern scholar or historian.

The Annals of Wales (probably kept at St. David's) mention Asser's death in 908. The Anglo-Saxon Chronicle entry for 909 (or 910, in some versions; different chroniclers started the year at different dates) tells us "Asser, who was bishop at Sherborne, departed."

And now for something completely different: one of the anecdotes he tells is about a daughter of King Offa, who married a king of Wessex and became a stereotype of Disney films: an evil queen. Tomorrow I'll tell you about Eadburh.

Alfred the Not So Great?

It is not inappropriate—in fact, it is mandatory for a historian—to question the assumptions that come down to them from the past.* So when someone is called "Great"—the only English monarch to be named so—it is perhaps inevitable that someone will question what earned him that epithet.

Here I had mentioned how Alfred the Great reformed and renovated the defense of southern England by building or re-building 30 strongholds (called burhs in Old English), and increased taxes according to the amount of a landowner's real estate. Real estate was measured in "hides" and so this grand plan was called the Burghal Hidage. In fact, there is a document called the Burghal Hidage (a burned copy was salvaged from the Cotton Library). It is this creation of a strong defensive system, which included creating a standing army of about 27,000, that helped earn him the praise he has received.

Unfortunately for his reputation, the United Kingdom is fascinated by its history and therefore is constantly engaged in archaeological investigation. Forty years of archaeological evidence on the strongholds that comprise the Burghal Hidage has raised eyebrows about Alfred's role.

It turns out that Alfred's plan may not have been entirely Alfred's. Towns that were part of the Burghal Hidage and that claim now that they were founded by Alfred the Great became towns some time after Alfred's reign. Also, many of these burhs were clearly established prior to Alfred's reign and continuously maintained.

Part of developing these strongholds included Alfred being credited with the development of the connected towns and an "Alfredian" efficient street plan. Excavations in Worcester, however, show that the early street plan was in fact established about 100 years after Alfred's death.

So where did we get the original information about Alfred's greatness? Why is he given credit for things that were developed before or after his reign. That would be Asser, a Welsh monk brought to Alfred's court. His life, and his Life of King Alfred, are worth a closer look, for which I hope you'll come back here tomorrow.

*I say "them" and not "us" because I am not properly a historian: I am just a story-teller.

Alfred's Improvements

Alfred the Great (849 - 899) was not an idle king, even when not battling Danish invasions to protect the shores of Great Britain.

Some of his reforms and innovations did involve the military, though. The traditional way to deal with trouble was for each small community to assemble its own men against an attack. The Danes, however, would attack swiftly a small area, conquer it, and fortify it as a new base from which to mount further attacks and to which they could retreat if their further military plan looked like it was failing. They could make steady progress across the country before a large-scale defense could be mounted by a king. After defeating Guthrum at Edington, Alfred used the following respite to plan a standing army, ready to march and strike at the first sign of invaders.

In order to do this, Alfred had to raise taxes. His people had what was called the trinoda necessitas (three-fold tax): obligations for military service, fortress work, and bridge repair. Alfred increased a landholder's taxes based on the productivity of his land. He also created over third fortified places in souther Great Britain from which he could organize resistance to invaders.

He also increased naval power. The Anglo-Saxon Chronicle claims that Alfred's ships were larger and faster than ships of the Danes or Frisians. Alfred wanted to stop invaders before they reached shore, if possible.

He was also responsible for some legal reforms. He gathered together many of the laws from the past, including the code of King Ine of Wessex (689 - 726), rejecting laws that didn't please him, and produced a law code of 120 chapters with a strong biblical influence.

Even while dealing with these many "royal obligations" he was encouraging changes in education and culture. Perhaps inspired by Charlemagne's re-birth of culture, he established a school at court for his children and others. He also arranged for translations into English of Latin works he felt everyone should know. Concerned that the Viking invasions were a sign of God's wrath, he founded monasteries and "imported" monks because he found little local interest in populating the monasteries. He made sure copies of Gregory the Great's Pastoral Care went to his bishops for the better preparation of priests.

Now, calling anyone "the Great" will always raise questions about the accuracy of the epithet, and Alfred is no exception. Tomorrow we'll hear why some modern historians claim he wasn't that Great. See you then.

Alfred versus Danes

After establishing the Danelaw that was supposed to bring peace between the Danes/Vikings and the Anglo-Saxons of the south, Alfred thought that his reign had eliminated major military engagements. With the death of Guthrum, with whom he had negotiated the peace, Vikings apparently did not feel obligated to honor the borders.

A fleet of 330 ships arrived on English shores in 893, including wives and children, indicating their intent to colonize, not just plunder and go. They settled At Appledore and Milton, both in Kent, and Alfred set up men to keep an eye on their movements. Alfred started talks with Hastein, the Viking chieftain in Milton, but while doing so, the group at Appledore started moving northwestward. Alfred's eldest son, Edward, defeated them in Surrey. A siege at Exeter was defeated by Alfred. There were other battles, until by 895 the Danes were running out of food and supplies. They retreated to the Thames, and fortified themselves 20 miles north of London, but they were outmaneuvered by Alfred who blocked the river. In 897 they retreated, some to Northumbria, some to East Anglia, some to their ships and back to Europe.

Alfred lamented the effect of Danish raids on England, especially education:

...learning had declined so thoroughly in England that there were very few men on this side of the Humber who could understand their divine services in English or even translate a single letter from Latin into English: and I suppose that there were not many beyond the Humber either. [Alfred's preface to his translation of Pastoral Care]

Manuscript production also suffered during these years; there was also much destruction of manuscripts when Danes burned churches and monasteries. An 873 document is so poorly made that a historian suggests the scribe did not even know Latin. Alfred had established a school for his own children and others, where they studied both English and Latin. He encouraged learning, especially in English, for everyone who had a mind to apply themselves.

His reign produced many other improvements and changes in the culture, and I'll talk about them tomorrow, before we sk the question: Was Alfred really great?

Alfred the Great

Alfred the Great (848 - 26 October 899) was not the King of England, because at the time there was no unified England. He was king of the West Saxons (Wessex), which covered much of the south of Great Britain.

His father, Æthelwulf, died when Alfred was about 10 years old, and the crown went in turn to three of Alfred's brothers, Æthelbald, Æthelberht and Æthelred, before Alfred was crowned in April 871.

His chief task as king was fighting off invasions by Viking. In 878, after the decisive Battle of Edington against Guthrum, Alfred made an agreement with the Vikings, granting to them northern England, the north-east Midlands, and East Anglia (an area that became known as the Danelaw) in exchange for leaving the rest of Great Britain safe from invasion. Alfred also convinced Guthrum to convert to Christianity, whereupon he was baptized with the name Athelstan.

This attempt at peace did not last. Alfred was forced to deal with more Danish incursions. In 885 there was a raid on Kent, an ally of Alfred in south-east England. The Danes besieged Rochester, whereupon Alfred gathered a large that caused the Danes to abandon Rochester and flee to their ships. A year later, Alfred reoccupied the city of London (which was not as important as it became later), rebuilding the Roman wall and making the city safe for habitation and trade again.

In that same year he was named King of the Anglo-Saxons. Contemporary chronicles claim that all Saxon kingdoms of the time recognized him as ruler. This unification of the Anglo-Saxons did not mean all things were going well. Guthrum-Athelstan passed away in 889, and the uneasy peace that had been brokered between him and Alfred began to dissolve. Alfred's kingdom was about to become embroiled in frequent battle with Vikings again. We'll look at the latter years of his reign tomorrow.

Let's Talk Clocks

What constitutes a "clock"? The Latin horologium could refer to a clock or a timepiece of a sundial or the building or structure designed to support any of those.

Modern horology, the study of the measurement of time, distinguishes clocks which mark time by striking something (the word "clock" comes from French cloche, "bell"), whereas a timepiece does not. So a timepiece can mean a watch, a sundial, a clepsydra, or an hourglass, etc.

The sundial was likely the earliest way to measure time: a shadow on a flat surface displays the progression of the sun.

The clepsydra (Greek κλεψύδρα, literally "water thief"), was used in Babylonb, Persia, and Egypt as far back as the 16th century BCE. The simplest form is a bowl or other vessel with a hole from which the water drains, and markings to match drainage levels with the passage of time. The Greco-Roman world devised an in-flow (rather than out-flow) method which, as water filled a container, would trigger a sound, creating an "alarm clock." Water clocks evolved that used gears and escapement mechanisms to produce greater accuracy.

An escapement is a gear mechanism that ticks forward and back to cause another piece to advance. The illustration shows how this works in a pendulum clock, advancing the hands. The use of the escapement was crucial to the development of mechanical clocks, which started to appear in the 14th century in Europe. (Not in the 10th, built by Gerbert d'Aurillac.)

Let's not neglect candle clocks. A Chinese poem written in 520CE by You Joanfu mentions a clock marked so that it could be used while burning to measure the passage of night time. The Anglo-Saxons credit Alfred the Great with creating the candle clock. He used squat candles (<5" high) marked at 1" intervals to mark time.

The hourglass was also a common method of measuring time, the earliest depiction of which is in a 1338 painting by Ambrogio Lorenzetti.

The earliest mechanical clock, a clock that did not use water or sand or candles, that used a predictable motion due to the escapement and a pendulum, did not appear until the early 1300s. Norwich Cathedral had a tower clock constructed in the early 1320s. The first known municipal clock that struck on the hours was in Milan in 1336. Over the next few decades, mechanical clocks appeared all over: Old St. Paul's Cathedral, Salisbury Cathedral (still has many original parts!), Wells Cathedral (still with its original face), etc. Detailed descriptions of clock designs by Richard of Wallingford (1292 - 1336) and Giovanni de Dondi (c.1330 - 1338) still exist, though the many clocks they built are long gone.

A king who developed his own timepieces made from candles? He sounds like someone worth looking into.

Who Invented the Mechanical Clock?

In researching the previous post, I came across a reference to Pope Sylvester II (formerly Gerbert d'Aurillac, c.946 - 1003) inventing the mechanical clock. The source of this was the William Godwin's final book, Lives of the Necromancers, An Account of the Most Eminent Persons in Successive Ages Who Have Claimed for Themselves, or to Whom Has Been Imputed by Others, The Exercise of Magical Powers [1834]:

This generous adventurer, prompted by an insatiable thirst for information, is said to have secretly withdrawn himself from his monastery of Fleury in Burgundy, and to have spent several years among the Saracens of Cordova. Here be acquired a knowledge of the language and learning of the Arabians, particularly of their astronomy, geometry and arithmetic; and he is understood to have been the first that imparted to the north and west of Europe a knowledge of the Arabic numerals, a science which at first sight might be despised for its simplicity, but which in its consequences is no inconsiderable instrument in subtilising the powers of human intellect. He likewise introduced the use of clocks. He is also represented to have made an extraordinary proficiency in the art of magic; and among other things...

The italics are mine. A little further along, Godwin adds a footnote that tells us his information comes from William of Malmesbury. William (c.1095 - c.1143) was the foremost English historian of the 12th century. Not exactly a contemporary, but maybe near enough that the memories and stories were still fresh? It would be difficult to determine the accuracy of this report, especially in the context of a brief blog post. Fortunately, I don't have to.

As it turns out, Marek Otisk of the University of Ostrava (Czechoslovakia) published an article on this very topic in September 2020, Gerbert of Aurillac (Pope Sylvester II) as a Clockmaker. He examines the reports from William of Malmesbury, the Chronicle of Thietmar of Merseburg (died c.1018), and a much later record (someone who died in 1610). Among his detailed examination of these and other historical records we learn that although William claims Gerbert built a clock in Reims, a friend of Gerbert's (Richest of Reims), writes about Gerbert's stay in Reims in detail and never mentions a clock. Otisk concludes that William's ascribing of the creation of a clock to Gerbert cannot be trusted.

The later report by the Benedictine monk Arnold Wion, who died about 1610, claims Gerbert built a clepsydra, a water clock, in Ravenna. What we know of Gerber's time in Ravenna, however, is that it was very short; again, no contemporary accounts support this story.

Thietmar of Merseburg tells a different story, that Gerbert created a clock in Magdeburg. Thietmar was a bishop and close friend of Holy Roman Emperor Henry II, who succeeded Otto III, credited with making Gerbert into Pope Sylvester II. Thietmar's Chronicle includes a specific detail about Gerbert creating, in Magdeburg, "created clocks (horologium) which he correctly calibrated according to the Polar star (stella, dux nautarum) which he observed through an observation tube (fistula)." [Otisk, p.32] Otisk likes this account because both Thietmar and Gerbert were in Magdeburg in the late 990s, and very likely crossed paths several times.

The use of the word horologium is misleading, however. We use it for the word "clock," but it is more likely that Gerbert was creating a calibrated armillary, or possible even an astrolabe, which he knew about from his exposure to science being done by Islamic philosophers.

So I can't tell you who created the first mechanical clock. But the question of horologium remains: when long-ago writers refer to "clocks," what exactly did they mean? What constituted a clock? There were several ways to measure time without staring at the sun and judging, and I'll talk about those devices tomorrow.

Armillary Spheres

The "wooden terrestrial spheres" mentioned here are what we now call "armillary spheres." An armillary is a spherical arrangement of rings designed to mimic the orbits of the sun and planets around the Earth—or around the Sun, depending on the prevailing theory at the time. If the Earth is the center, it is a Ptolemaic sphere; if the Sun is at the center, it is a Copernican sphere. China and Greece each invented them BCE. Hipparchus credited Eratosthenes (276 - 194BCE) as the inventor.

An early Christian philosopher, John Philoponus, wrote the earliest extant treatise on the armillary sphere and the astrolabe. The oldest example of one we have today dates to the 11th century.

Gerbert d'Aurillac (946 - 1003), who became Pope Sylvester II in 999, had brought the armillary sphere to Western Europe. He was also responsible for introducing Western Europe to the abacus, the Hindu-Arabic numeral system we use today, and (possibly) the mechanical clock.

Sylvester used the armillary sphere and sighting tubes to determine the definitive position of the pole star and to record measurements for the tropics and the equator. His work was improved upon in the Renaissance by Tycho Brahe (1546 - 1601). Public figures would have an armillary sphere incorporated into their portraits to indicate their wisdom and knowledge.

I've written about clocks before, but I don't recall learning that Gerbert d'Aurillac invented it. I want to check that out; I'll let you know what I find.

The Ottonian Renaissance

Although we use the term "renaissance" to refer primarily to a rebirth of art and culture that started in 14th century Italy and spread throughout Europe, the truth is that there were several rebirths of culture between the Fall of Rome and the 14th century. I discussed this a decade ago here. One such rebirth took place during the Ottonians in Germany in the 10th century.

Part of this was not so much a rebirth as an influx of culture from the east: the Byzantine Empire maintained some of what Western Europe "lost" during those centuries. When Otto I married his son, Otto II, to Theophanu, the daughter of the Byzantine Emperor John I Tzimiskes, he opened the door to Byzantine art and increased commerce. Another important figure involved was Gerbert of Aurillac, who became Pope Sylvester II during the reign of Otto III.

Sylvester II introduced the abacus for computation, and wooden terrestrial spheres for the study of the movement of planets and constellations. He composed De rationalis et ratione uti (Of the rational and the use of reason) and dedicated it to Otto III. Promoting reason over faith was an important step in the study of the sciences. Sylvester also promoted the expansion of abbey libraries, particularly at Bobbio Abbey (where St. Columbanus wound up earlier), which had almost 600 works.

Arts and architecture also stand out in an examination of the Ottonian Renaissance. The revival of the Holy Roman Empire brought inspiration to think on a grander scale and create art and buildings that reflected the grandeur to which the Ottonians believed they were heir. Large bronze doors on churches and gilded crosses became more common. Ottonian patronage of monasteries produced grand illuminated manuscripts. One of the most famous scriptoria was Reichenau, which produced Hermann of Reichenau. This is also the period of the literary output of Hrotsvitha of Gandersheim.

A campaign of renovating churches and cathedrals also took place. (The illustration is an ivory plaque showing Otto I on the left, shown smaller than the saints, presenting Magdeburg Cathedral to Christ.) Longer naves and apses were inspired by Roman/Byzantine basilica. Many of these church designs and re-designs came form the hand of Otto I's brother, Bruno the Great. Bruno extended the cathedral in Cologne to rival the size of St. Peter's in Rome (Cologne Cathedral burned down in 1248, alas). He also built a church dedicated to St. Martin of Tours.

Ivory carving and cloisonné enamels were also widely produced in this era. A major workshop for cloisonné enamels was established by Archbishop Egbert of Trier, using a Byzantine technique of "sunken" enamel, where thin gold wire was soldered to a base, and colored glass melted into the spaces, as opposed to the original style of affixing gemstones as an inlay.

I find Ottonian art, though lovely, does not tickle my interest as much as those "wooden terrestrial spheres" of Pope Sylvester, so I'm going to look into those for next time.

The Ottonians

The Ottonians, the Ottonian dynasty, the Ottonian Period in Germany—all these refer to the same topic: a Saxon dynasty of German monarchs (three of whom were named, natürlich, "Otto") that lasted from 919 until 1024CE.

Its founder was not named Otto, however (although his father was); that was Henry the Fowler (876 - 936), son of Otto the Illustrious. He was named primus inter pares (Latin: "first among equals") by the German dukes of Bavaria, Swabia, and Lotharingia during the Hungarian invasions of East Francia, and named Rex Francorum ("King of the Franks") in 919. He was victorious over the Hungarians and amassed sufficient power to be uncontested when he passed his title onto his son, Otto I (912 - 973).

Also known as Otto the Great, one of the chief historical events connected to him is the restoration of the Holy Roman Empire (which, it should be noted, was by any standard definitions neither "holy" nor "Roman" nor an "empire"). Sure, the administrative structure needed to manage the large area (shown in the illustration) was inherited from the Carolingians and Charlemagne, and they got it from the Romans, but it was nowhere near what the Roman Empire had been.

Pope John XXII, however, wanted Otto's help in controlling Rome and the Lombards. Otto was a good choice: he was geographically close to Rome, he had defeated the pagan Magyars in 955, making him look like a hero for Christianity, and he was (in some ways) the successor of a previous Frankish king, Charlemagne, who had been made Holy Roman Emperor in Christmas Day in 800. Otto, whose wife was the Italian Adelaide of Burgundy (931 - 999). stepped in for the pope and conquered the Kingdom of Italy in 961. He was crowned Holy Roman Emperor on 2 February 962.

The "re-creation" of the empire and its expansion to much of central and Southern Europe sparked a bit of a cultural resurgence, the Ottonian Renaissance. This continued under Otto the Great's son, Otto II, partially because of his marriage to Theophanu, the niece of Byzantine emperor John I Tzimiskes. This helped create an influx of Byzantine art into Europe.

Otto II died after only 10 years, aged 28. His son, Otto III, was only 3 years old; his regents were his mother Theophanu, his grandmother Adelaide, and Henry II ("the Quarrelsome"), Duke of Bavaria. When he came of age, among other things he installed his confidants as popes: Pope Gregory V and the science-minded Gerbert of Aurillac, Pope Sylvester II.

When Otto III  died young (aged 21 years), he was succeeded by Henry II, a son of his regent Duke Henry. Henry was crowned emperor by Pope Benedict VIII in 1014. He founded numerous dioceses and intertwined secular and religious administrative power. When he died childless in 1024, the Ottonian dynasty ended. The crown went to Conrad II, a great-grandson of a daughter of Otto I, starting the Salian dynasty.

Before we can move to other topics, however, I want to look more at the results of the Ottonian Renaissance. See you tomorrow.

Medieval Feminism

It is not fair to suggest that there was a "feminist movement" in the Middle Ages, but there were many examples of women who did not conform to what the Modern Age thinks of women in the Middle Ages being forced into "traditional" roles. Hrotsvitha of Gandersheim was one of those examples.

Hrotsvitha was a 10th century nun in the Abbey of Gandersheim who turned her hand to writing poetry, plays, and histories. The illustration, a woodcut by Albrecht Durer, shows her presenting her history of the Ottonian Empire to Otto the Great (he was previously mentioned here and here). As the first to write dramas in the Latin West, as the first female German poet, she became revered as a feminist icon in the 1970s.

Although she writes that any excellence in her work comes from God, not from her, she was not saying that she, as a woman, had no ability to produce excellence. This may have been just a literary convention, or even true humility. In fact, she sees that women taking the veil and taking vows of chastity shows the power of self-determination, rejecting the role of wife and mother that men would put them in.

Encouraged to write plays after reading the Roman playwright Terence, she produced works with female characters very different from his shrews and courtesans. Her female characters are virtuous, courageous, witty, and close to God. Even though she saw women as somehow weaker than men in worldly terms, she considered women more suitable instruments for God to bring about grace and salvation for them and those around them. She saw men as more susceptible to temptation and sin.

Her plays dealt with subjects important to women: marriage, rape, objectification. In Callimach, a man attempts to rape a beautiful woman, who prays for death. This she is granted by God before she can be violated. When the rapist resumes with her corpse, he is bit by a venomous serpent and dies. Dulcitius, aka Passio Sanctarum Virginum Agapis Chioniae Et Hirenae ("The Passion of the Holy Virgins Agape, Chionia, and Irena"), shows how a governor, Dulcitius, is foiled in his passion by three virgins. (You can read the play yourself here. It has fewer than 300 lines!)

Hrotsvitha clearly believed in an ideal of the virginal woman, which some dismiss as merely a Christian construct which prevents women from aspiring to higher goals, but it is argued that she was promoting a model of female integrity that encouraged more positive views of women in 10th century Germany.

Hrotsvitha was alive during the Ottonian Period in Germany, which I have barely touched on all these years. Let's get a better idea of what it was next time.

Hrotsvitha of Gandersheim

A nun, a poet, a playwright— Hrotsvitha of Gandersheim has been called the most remarkable woman of her time, but she was hardly known until a manuscript of her works was discovered in 1494.

From information in her writing we can glean that she was born between 930 and 940CE to a well-to-do Saxon family. We do not know what prompted her to "take the veil" and enter a nunnery, but we know she took vows of chastity and obedience but not poverty, presumable because she did not want to give up comforts and freedoms she had grown up with.

In a preface to her poetical works, she writes of her education at the Abbey of Gandersheim:

I was trained first by our most learned and gentle novice-mistress Rikkarda and others. Later, I owed much to the kind favour and encouragement of a royal personage, Gerberga, under whose abbatial rule I am now living. She, though younger in years than I, was, as might be expected of the niece of an Emperor, far older in learning, and she had the kindness to make me familiar with the works of some of those authors in whose writings she had been instructed by learned men.

Among the works to which she was introduced were those of the Roman playwright Terence, and she decided she wanted to try her hand at that genre, making her the earliest known playwright—female or male—in the Latin West. Where Terence wrote women as shrews and courtesans, Hrotsvitha wrote them as innocents who were exemplars of Christian virtue.

She was the first female poet in Germany, writing several works in dactylic hexameter, including a history of the Ottoman Empire. and a history of Gandersheim Abbey.

She was the first Northern European to write about Islam. In her play Passio Sancti Pelagio ("The Passion of Saint Pelagius"), which she says is derived from an eyewitness to the martyrdom of Pelagius of Cordova, she refers to the character of Abd al-Rahman III, the Emir of Cordova from 929-961. Her plays read as dialogues, which means they are labeled "closet dramas" (a play meant to be read out loud, rather than performed). We know, however, that the Abbey enjoyed her writing, and she was asked to read to the other nuns, so it is possible that her plays were "performed" at Gandersheim.

The discovery and publication (in 1501) of her works made her a subject for study. In the 20th century, she became a feminist icon, which means I'll take a deeper dive into her works tomorrow.

Theophilus the Penitent

Let me tell you about Theophilus the Penitent, a Christian cleric who was the archdeacon of Adana in Cilicia (now Turkey). He was known for being generous to the poor, eloquent when preaching, sympathetic to others, and for his asceticism. When the bishop died, Theophilus was offered the position, and was very strongly urged by all to take it.

Out of humility, he refused the position, presumably with the standard Latin phrase nolo episcopari, "I do not wish to be made bishop." (It is traditional that the candidate say this at least twice when offered a bishopric before finally accepting; if he says it a third time, he really means to refuse the promotion.)

Unfortunately for him, some people decided to malign him, spreading rumors that turned the populace against him and so unnerved him that he started spending all his energy in combatting the four rumors being spread, and attempting to find the sources of the rumors. The current bishop, hearing the rumors against him, fired him from his archdeacon position.

Finally, Theophilus appealed to a necromancer for help, who led him to a crossroads in the dark of the night and conjured up Satan. Satan offered a deal: in exchange for his soul, all calumnies against him would disappear. Theophilus agreed, and signed a contract with his own blood. The next day, he was summoned to the bishop's presence; the bishop had discovered that the rumors were false, Theophilus was a good man after all, and the bishop re-instated him in his position.

But Theophilus had no peace of mind. He paced his room night after night, regretting the foul bargain he had made, and he prayed. He undertook a fast of 40 days, praying every night, all night, until the 40th day when the Virgin Mary appeared to him. She rebuked him for his poor decision, and he asked her to intercede for him. This she agreed to do, and the following night she appeared in his dream and told him that her son had forgiven him. When he woke up the next morning, the static contract was with him.

That day being Sunday, he went to church, threw himself at the feet of the bishop to make his confession, and showed the congregation the contract. They destroyed the contract, Theophilus went home feeling unburdened...and died three days later.

People love a comeback story, and sinners repenting. Theophilus became the subject of poems and plays as well as sermons. The earliest version of the story claims to come from Eutychianus, a disciple of Theophilus who was an eyewitness. (The only Eutychianus who makes it into Christian records is a 3rd-century pope.) Legend tells us that Theophilus died in 538CE. There is a Latin version of the story (the original is Greek) from Paulus Diaconus.

It is in the 11th century that art depicting his story first appears, in carvings, but it really takes off in the 13th century in stained glass windows and illuminations. Above is supposed to be Theophilus building a church in his capacity as archdeacon. The usual portrayal is in four panes: signing the contract, Theophilus repenting, the Virgin recovering the contract from the devil, the Virgin returning the contract to Theophilus. Other than the Theophilus story, all examples of Marian art in churches and cathedrals are Bible stories.

One of the better-known composers of Theophilus-based poetry was Hrotsvitha of Gandersheim, a name that is so familiar to me that I'm shocked to find that I have never mentioned her before in this forum. I aim to correct that defect tomorrow.

Making Stained Glass Windows

Creating sufficiently high temperatures needed to melt silica and fashion glass was difficult, but at some point we discovered that the addition of potash (potassium, from wood ash soaked in water), soda (sodium carbonate, from plant ash), and lead would lower the melting point, making production easier.

Now you have molten glass; how do you shape it?

The oldest stained glass windows were made from "muff" glass: a blob of molten glass, called a "gather," was placed on the end of the blowpipe. Using metal tools and wooden forms soaked in water, the glass was blown into a cylinder. The ends of the cylinder would be cut off, and the cylinder cut open so it could be flattened.

"Crown" glass (see illustration) started similarly with a gather of glass on the blowpipe; after introducing a bubble of air, the pipe would be spun back and forth quickly, causing the glass to spread out into a thin disk. This could also be accomplished by placing the molten glass on a contraption like a potter's wheel. The circle of glass could be cut to fit into square windows, or used round. Crown glass windows are recognizable because of the concentric circles formed during the spinning. They usually also have a "bull's-eye": the thicker blob at the center of the spun circle.

You may hear of "cathedral glass." This is rolled glass: molten glass poured onto a metal table and rolled thin with a metal roller. It was sometimes even put through a pair of rollers. This technique has nothing to do with medieval cathedrals, having been developed in the mid-1830s.

Coloring the glass was done by adding copper oxide (green or bluish green), cobalt (deep blue), or gold (wine red and violet). (Modern glass produces red using copper.)

For stained glass windows to survive wind pressure, it needed to be at least 3mm (1/8") thick. The production of red required a concentration of added material such that a 3mm window had so much coloring that the red was very dark; it could be mistaken for black without a very strong light source. This prompted the development of "flashed glass": adhering a thin pane of red to a thicker pane of clear.

Before we leave the subject of old windows, I want to tackle a common talking point that I have heard many times: "Glass is a liquid that flows very slowly; the proof is that medieval windows are thicker on the bottom than the top!" Sure, maybe. But let's remember Occam's Razor: common sense would tell the architect that a pane of glass that is not of even thickness—not an unexpected outcome considering the imprecise methods of manufacture—would be more stable if you put the heavier end as the base.

Being able to color panes and pieces of glass allowed creators of windows to offer elaborate pictures, such as stories from the Bible or history. Tomorrow I'll share a story of Theophilus, who was a common theme for church windows in the 13th century.

Stained Glass

The art of coloring glass was evident in articles from ancient Egypt and Classical Rome. "Stained glass" can mean any glass that is colored, by either adding particle or chemicals to the glass during production or by painting the glass later, but I am going to talk specifically about windows.

There are some very early (4th- and 5th-century) Christian churches that have, not stained glass, but carefully carved thin slices of alabaster—a precursor to the elaborate stained glass windows of the Middle Ages.

Our earliest references to stained glass for religious purposes in medieval Europe comes from Benedict Biscop, who hired glass workers from France to create windows for his monastery at Monkwearmouth. Here and at his other monastery at Jarrow have been found hundreds of pieces of colored glass and lead (used to hold the glass together). These were constructed in the 7th century. The 10th century saw church windows in Germany, France, and England depicting scenes from the Bible.

I talked about Abbot Suger long ago, who re-built the Abbey of St.-Denis with special attention to the stained glass windows. He wrote down his thoughts and reasoning (and justification for spending an enormous sum of money on the renovations):

All you who seek to honor these doors,
Marvel not at the gold and expense but at the craftsmanship of the work.
The noble work is bright, but, being nobly bright, the work
Should brighten the minds, allowing them to travel through the lights.
To the true light, where Christ is the true door.
The golden door defines how it is imminent in these things.
The dull mind rises to the truth through material things,
And is resurrected from its former submersion when the light is seen.

Suger considered the beautiful windows to have an ennobling effect on the viewer, which was no doubt advantageous for making an impression on the congregation.

Glass-making takes a lot of heat, expertise, and knowledge of rudimentary chemistry to color the glass. What was that about? That is our next topic.

Medieval Paints and Pigments

Where did medieval manuscript illuminators get their colors?

Well, first thing to realize is that they weren't re-inventing the wheel: Romans had colored paints available to them. The Romans used the term minium to refer to pigment from ground cinnabar (brick-red mercury sulfide) or red lead (lead oxide). Some minerals that were dug up and ground included:

red ochre — iron oxide/hematite (rust color)
yellow ochre — silica and clay/iron oxyhydroxides (shades from cream to brown)
umber — iron and manganese oxides (from cream to brown)
lime white — dried lime/chalk (white)
green earth (Verona green) — celadonite/glauconite (green)
azurite — carbonate of copper (blue)
ultramarine — lapis lazuli (blue)

Pigments could also be made from plants. Red could be made from the root of the Eurasian madder plant. The Crozophora plant's seeds produced a violet-blue. Saffron gave yellow. Woad and indigo came from plants that carried the same name. Let's not forget insects, that could be crushed to give the bright-red carmine (from the cochineal or Dactylopius coccus scale insect). 

Preparation of paints was a careful process. The coloring was usually mixed gum arabic or with egg. Egg tempera (from the yolk) or egg glair (from the white) were ways to "fix" the pigment to the surface you were using. Because the egg tempera could crack, it was applied in paintings in thin layers.

Some colors were more special than others. Ultramarine (literally "beyond the sea"), the blue made from grinding lapis lazuli, came from Afghanistan and was very expensive to obtain. This brightest blue, however, was associated with the gown of Mary, the mother of Jesus, so it was greatly desired and worth the price.

Another questio0n regarding color in the Middle Ages comes to mind, however. How did they get the color into glass? That's for next time.

Masters of Marginalia

Marginalia—comments, doodles, annotations, etc., made in the margin of a manuscript or book—came in many forms. Here we talked about the attempts at educating and clarifying by scholiasts.

Today we look at the less serious additions made by monks who were no doubt bored and decided to exercise their sense of humor.

There are so many web pages where you can find more in varying stages of frivolity and obscenity if you simply search "medieval marginalia" the you can send days of diversion that it would be pointless for me to try to give you more than just a bare minimum of representative figures.

These marginalia don't make much sense, in that they don't generally have anything to do with the text they accompany except in the most tenuous way. For instance, the bottom illustration in the collection I have included shows a fox as a bishop preaching to a flock of different birds, which would normally be his prey. Commentary by a monk on what he really thinks about bishops and their attitude toward their congregations? Or just an attempt at an ironic drawing of animals?

Snails actually show up frequently, often involving combat. The top right shows a snail with an animal's head. Below that is a snail fighting a knight. There is conjecture that the shell of the snail, since it resembled a kind of armor, was an appropriate foe for a knight.

Some additions are attractive additions, like the unicorn, although right above it is a curious animal-headed set of tentacles or vines. I would call that simply a doodle.

Then you have pictures that are far more irreverent than a fox preaching to birds, such as the monk sniffing the butt of an ... animal? Demon? Hard to say what it is in that top-left illustration. At least it is very attractively enclosed in the curves and points of its surrounding frame.

We should note that the making of marginalia was not that impulsive; that is, the manuscript copyist did not say to himself "I'll just out a goose playing a lute here." These were added by someone who was sitting with access to multiple colors of ink in front of him. He was the monk tasked with "prettying up" the manuscript in order to make it more valuable and less likely to bore the reader. Hundreds of years later, these colors remain on the vellum, which has got me thinking: where did colored inks/paints come from in the Middle Ages?

I will look into that question, and get back to you. See you tomorrow.

The Scholiasts

Marginalia are marks or notations or illustrations drawn into (obviously) the margin of a document. They have another name: apostils, from the Middle French verb apostiller, meaning "to add marginal notes." This in turn was from Latin postilla, "little post." The origin of postilla might be (we aren't sure) the Latin phrase post illa, which would mean (if Latin used it this way) "after these things."

Scholarly works and the Bible would have marginalia such as numbers to denote divisions of texts, or notes for liturgical use. There may even be scholia, ("comment, interpretation") which are corrections in grammar or translation or comments on the text referencing other works. Errors could creep into the arduous task of copying, and a subsequent copier of the copy could be aware that a mistake had been made, which he would seek to correct with a scholia. The person who added scholia was a scholiast, a word that goes back to the 1st century CE.

Additionally, a monk who had knowledge of a commentary on a document he was copying might decide to add scholia to offer an explanation on the particular passage in front of him. Modern book lovers debate over the propriety of writing in a book; these monks saw fit to "pre-write" into the work for clarification.

This is not to say that all scholia are to be trusted. Mistakes can be made. For example, there is a 1314 manuscript of a 3rd century text, Porphyry’s Homeric Questions (a discussion of problems that arise from reading the works of Homer). There are other manuscript copies of the works of Homer that have scholia that are clearly quoting Porphyry—and they are different. The person adding the scholia has mis-remembered the original; or did he? Maybe the person who made the 1314 copy was being sloppy while looking back and forth from the written to the being-written in front of him.

If I am in the position where I cannot digitally copy and paste, and must read + remember + type a longish passage, I must be extra careful because I know how easily my short-term memory can "smooth over" the original. I cannot imagine a monk would not try to speed up the tedious process of copying by spending less time shifting back and forth.

In the illustration above, a printed copy of Homer's Odyssey (printed in 1535), the printer Johann Herwagen (1497–1559?) has simply included (the narrower column) and additional scholia from other manuscripts, leaving the reader to decide which is preferred.

If the readers of this blog follow any other information about the Middle Ages, however, yesterday's reference to marginalia conjured images of, well, images. The phrase medieval marginalia usually makes people think of pictures, and I'll give you a representative sample of those next time.