Poets and Politics

Christine de Pizan (1364 - c.1430) was considered the first professional woman of letters in Europe, first writing after the death of her husband to support her family, and then becoming so well-known for her poems and ballads that she got commissions from nobility. Her works for others were often more scholarly, such as Le Livre des trois vertus ("The Book of Three Virtues") instructing the wife of Dauphin Louis of France, Margaret of Nevers.

As the Dauphin himself was growing up, Christine dedicated three works to him, advising him on wise and effective government. One of these works, Livre du Corps de policie ("The Book of the Body Politic") described the governments of medieval Europe. In it, she criticized the Italian city-states of her birth that were run by corporations, favoring hereditary monarchies that she felt were better for the common good. Much of this book covered the king's duties as a military leader.

Perhaps it was those chapters that inspired a gift of 200 livres* to her for writing Livre des fais d'armes et de chevalerie ("The Book of Feats of Arms and of Chivalry"). In it, she explains the rationale for a "just war" and quotes classical writers on warfare. She rejected Trial by Combat, discussed proper treatment of noncombatants and prisoners of war, and claimed that only a king can start a war because the king is responsible for the welfare of his people and country. One year after producing this book, nobles were prohibited from raising armies by royal edict.

In 1413, Christine followed this work with Livre de la paix ("The Book of Peace"), her thoughts on good governance. This was a time of civil war in France, and she urged the Dauphin to seek peace, quoting writings of Abelard, St. Benedict, and Cicero.

The Dauphin's mother, Queen Isabeau, requested of Christine her collected works. In 1414, Christine presented the queen with a lavishly illustrated compendium of 30 of her writings. The illustration above is the frontispiece, with Christine presenting the work to Isabeau.

There was a long period away from court when she wrote less. It is assumed she was avoiding the stress of civil war by staying in a Dominican convent, but in 1429 she came out with another work at the end of the civil war. That was a poem, Ditié de Jehanne d'Arc ("The Tale of Joan of Arc"). I'll talk about that, and Joan, tomorrow.

*A unit of currency. Charlemagne established it as equal to 1 pound of silver.

Medieval Vegetarianism?

Modern stereotypes about medieval feasts suggest images of boars with apples in their mouths and giant turkey legs. Without adequate preservation techniques such as modern canning provides, the assumption is that fruits and vegetables would not survive the winter, but animals could be slaughtered at any time for food, and preserved by drying or with salt.

Recent research, however, has challenged the idea that meat was a significant portion of the daily diet. Early Christian thought questioned meat-eating. John Chrysostom, Origen, Jerome, and others were vegetarians. Many hermits renounced meat as part of their asceticism, and of course the Church during Lent forbids eating meat in order to make a personal sacrifice while contemplating the upcoming commemoration of the Crucifixion. The Rule of St. Benedict allowed fish and fowl, but meat from quadrupeds only to aid in illness.

Outside of strict Christian communities such as monasteries, how common was meat-eating? Here's an example: during the reign of Ine of Wessex (688 - 726), there are 11 surviving lists of what was served at feasts. They mention beef, mutton, salmon, poultry, some bread and cheese, along with honey and ale. The absence of vegetables on the lists does not necessarily mean vegetables were not present. As likely an explanation is that vegetables were so commonplace and expected that they were not worth mentioning.

There are few cookbooks from the Middle Ages, but there is a way to determine diet other than written lists of recipes: archaeology, and not just from finding the remains of trash heaps in excavated villages. There are answers in the bones.

If early medieval rulers consumed copious amounts of meat on a regular basis, that would likely be reflected in their remains. But an isotopic analysis of 2,023 skeletons from a variety of socioeconomic backgrounds “found no evidence of people eating anything like this much animal protein,” says co-author Sam Leggett, a bioarchaeologist at the University of Edinburgh, in the statement. “If they were, we would find isotopic evidence of excess protein and signs of diseases like gout from the bones. But we’re just not finding that.” [link]

We are realizing that during centuries when 90-99% of the population was agrarian, the people were not just raising livestock. There must of course have been vegetables grown and used extensively, composing the largest part of the daily diet—the evidence of bones confirms it.

Let's explore a typical medieval vegetable garden next time and see what they were growing for food.

The Synods of Aachen

We are accustomed to a world of laws and regulations. Most social institutions have existed long enough that there are well-known expectations for the members of those institutions. History contains the origins of many new institutions—political, religious, social—that experienced great variety in their functions, leading to attempts to codify their actions.

For religion, this meant calling Synods. "Synod" is from Greek syn ("together"; think "synthesis") and odos (pronounced with an initial "h" sound; "road" or "journey"). A synod meant traveling along together, and was intended to make sure everyone was, let's say, synchronized.

The Synods of Aachen, held at the Carolingian palace complex of Aachen (pictured above), were an attempt to standardize certain practices for those following a religious life, of which there were two kinds: monastic and canonical. For the monastic, Emperor Louis the Pious (who called the synod in 816) gave to Benedict of Aniane the task of applying Benedictine rule (named for St. Benedict, not Benedict of Aniane) uniformly throughout the empire. Aniane had been mentioned here as a mentor of Theodulf.

There were difficulties in this task: the Benedictines had their own liturgical practices, but monasteries were under the rule of the local bishop, and many bishops preferred that everyone in their diocese adhere strictly to the Roman rite instead of the Benedictine variations. Aniane was flexible in allowing some deviations for the sake of good will.

Canons and canonesses lived a lifestyle that was monastic, but they were allowed to keep personal possessions. Chrodegang of Metz (died 766) had, in 755, established rules for the life of canons, known as the Rule of Chrodegang. It was founded on the Rule of St. Benedict, but recognized the different needs of those who lived a communal life but were working in the world to administer to spiritual needs of the faithful, instead of withdrawing from the world.

The Synod of Aachen incorporated much of Chrodegang's work. Canons were to celebrate the liturgy of the hours and general services and maintain a common dormitory and dining hall. Canons were overseen by a provost; canonesses were overseen by an abbess.

Another synod was held at Aachen in 817, building on the decisions of the year before. A further synod in 819 detailed the services owed by monasteries to the crown.

I was thinking a second reference to Benedict of Aniane meant he might need some more details, but Chrodegang had a more interesting life (not being a monk like Aniane, he "got out" more), so I'll tell you more about him tomorrow.

The Need for Reform

When St. Benedict established the Rule of St. Benedict for the proper functioning and practices of monastic life, he could not have anticipated the ways in which his plans would deteriorate in the future.

The dangers were both foreign and domestic. Raids from Vikings were a constant disruption of monastic life: destroying holy relics, burning crops, pillaging goods, impoverishing the abbeys so that they had to turn to nobles for financial support.

Dependence on local nobles—rather than being self-sufficient, which was the original intent—led to awkward circumstances. A lord might exert undue influence over the land used by the abbey, or the abbey itself. A nobleman might expect that a relative would be installed in the privileged position of abbot or abbess. A noble might also assume control over the abbey's revenue.

Daily life could be disrupted by a non-dedicated abbot, or simply by having a nobleman retire there, which was sometimes the case. He might demand a change in the schedule so that Matins, for instance, would not take place in the middle of the night, as it was designed. The strict vegetarian diet might be expanded to include meat, fasting and silence and monks' robes could be foregone for a much more comfortable daily life.

Ironically, given the last paragraph, it was a nobleman who created the situation that would return monastic living to its Benedictine ideal. That was the Duke of Aquitaine, and the founding of Cluny Abbey, which I will tell you about tomorrow.

The First Benedictine Monastery

When St. Benedict decided to create a place where men could quietly contemplate God, removed from the cares of the world, he chose a 1700-foot above sea level cliff top in southeast Rome. From 530 until 547, he developed the Rule of St. Benedict to guide the daily lives of the monks.

There were difficulties in building, according to an account by Pope Gregory II. Satan made a rock too heavy to move by sitting on it until Benedict shooed him away, and collapsed a wall on a young monk whom Benedict had to bring back to life. It was common in hagiographies to relate how the subject overcame pagan or demonic opposition.

Benedict's time at Monte Cassino was not long. He died in 534 and was buried in the oratory of St. John on the site. The monastery itself was sacked by Lombards in 570, and abandoned.

A second monastery was established on the site in 718 by Petronax of Brescia. He was an Italian monk who made a pilgrimage to the tomb of Benedict and found a few hermits living at Monte Cassino. They asked him to lead them; donations from nobles like the Duke of Benevento allowed them to rebuild. St. Willibald and St. Sturm of Fulda were at Monte Cassino under Petronax. Once again, however, the monastery was a target, this time in 883 by Saracens. The monks of Monte Cassino re-located to Teano and then Capua until 949, when Monte Cassino was rebuilt.

Monte Cassino experienced a golden age in the 11th and 12th centuries. It acquired much land in the area, referred to as the Land of Saint Benedict (ultimately reaching 80,000 hectares) which afforded it much material wealth. The abbey had art from Byzantine and Islamic artisans and received patronage from Byzantine emperors. Three popes came from Monte Cassino during this period.

It started to close independence and authority in the 13th century. Emperor Frederick II garrisoned troops there in his war with the pope. An earthquake in 1349 collapsed most of the buildings. Pope Urban V demanded funds from all Benedictine monasteries toward rebuilding Monte Cassino in 1369.

In 1799, Monte Cassino was sacked by the French Revolutionary Army. In 1866 it was declared a national monument with the monks as custodians. In 1944, it was destroyed by American bombers on the mistaken belief that German troops were stationed there. It was rebuilt, currently housing about a dozen monks.

During the time that the monks were "in exile" at Teano and Capua, the original Rule of St. Benedict was influenced by the Cluniac Reforms, sometimes also called the Benedictine Reforms. What were they, and how did they change the lives of monks? We will explore that next time.

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.

Marmoutier Abbey

American author Henry James took a six-week tour of France in 1883, in which he mentions the "chatty nun" who guided him through Marmoutier Abbey. By that time, most of it had been demolished or simple fallen into disrepair, after having been "disestablished" in 1799 during the French Revolution. (You can see an artist's rendition from 1819 to the left.)

St. Martin was made bishop of Tours in 371 CE. The job was too conspicuous for his taste, so he founded an abbey in 372 into which he could withdraw from the press of public life. Martin's contemporary, Sulpicius Severus, in his biography of St. Martin, describes the restrictions Martin placed on those who wished to join him:

No one there had anything which was called his own; all things were possessed in common. It was not allowed either to buy or to sell anything, as is the custom among most monks. No art was practiced there, except that of transcribers, and even this was assigned to the brethren of younger years, while the elders spent their time in prayer. Rarely did any one of them go beyond the cell, unless when they assembled at the place of prayer. They all took their food together, after the hour of fasting was past. No one used wine, except when illness compelled them to do so. Most of them were clothed in garments of camels' hair. Any dress approaching to softness was there deemed criminal, and this must be thought the more remarkable, because many among them were such as are deemed of noble rank.

This was prior to the strict set of rules for monastic living formulated by St. Benedict and adopted by so many abbeys.

The abbey fell on had times when the Normans invaded and damaged it in 853, killing over 100 monks. Abbot Majolus of Cluny (Cluny was mentioned here) restored it in 982; a generation later, it was thriving and becoming one of the richest abbeys in Europe. You can read here how a monk of the abbey attended the Battle of Hastings and suggested to William the Conqueror that an abbey be built on the site. That abbey was "seeded" with monks from Marmoutier, which led Marmoutier to claim control over it, but the idea was rejected.

Now it is a Catholic school, the Institution Marmoutier, whose webpage begins Sur les pas de Saint Martin, symbole universel du partage. "In the footsteps of St. Martin, the universal symbol of sharing."

Time to take a closer look at St. Martin, I think.

Glastonbury Abbey

Glastonbury Abbey in Somerset may be the best-known of English abbeys. Originally founded in 712 with the construction of a stone church, it has been rebuilt and expanded many times. One of the expansions was under Dunstan (mentioned here) when he reformed it, expelled all the monks he considered unfit, and instituted the Rule of St. Benedict. It became an important site: King Edmund I was buried there, and an important charter of King Cnut's was disseminated from there.

Legend claims that an abbey was founded there in the 1st centuryCE by Joseph of Arimathea, the New Testament figure who provided the tomb for Jesus. This legend was described by Robert de Boron, a French poet of the late 12th century. His claim was that Joseph brought to Glastonbury 12 disciples as well as the Holy Grail containing drops of Jesus' blood, collected as he suffered on the cross.

For these and other reasons, Glastonbury became prominent as a pilgrimage site and a political power. A fire in 1184 destroyed the monastic buildings. Not wanting for money, reconstruction began right away, but the building of a large church and many buildings takes time. Pilgrimages—and the donations they bring—declined. In 1191, however, a discovery took place during excavation that would bring attention to Glastonbury once again, and shed light on an age-old legend.

But that's a story for tomorrow.

St. Æthelwold's Miracles

Æthelwold, one of the Three English Holy Hierarchs, saintly figures who spurred the revival of monasticism in England, was a truly saintly man. We know a lot about him from a surviving biography written by Wulfstan the Cantor.

He rebuilt or built many monasteries, including in Milton Abbas in Dorset, Chertsey in Surrey, Peterborough, and Ely. He reformed existing monasteries, driving out undisciplined monks and introducing the Rule of St. Benedict. His severity gives us the first example of miraculous events surrounding him: it is said that some monks who disliked his heavy hand put poison in his food, but he showed no signs of illness whatsoever. Speaking of food, while in Glastonbury, one of the duties he gave himself was cooking. One time, he resolved a scarcity of meat by praying, leading to a miraculous increase in the provisions.

Wulstan reports that he recovered unnaturally quickly from broken ribs after a fall from some scaffolding. Near the end of his life he was gravely ill, but bore his suffering patiently. After his death, on 1 August 984, miracles started taking place near his final resting place, and in response to prayers made to him for aid. A blind man from Wallingford was healed through prayers to St. Æthelwold.

His relics were then taken to the Cathedral in Winchester to signify their (and his) importance. Later, Abingdon Abbey received a finger, some hair, and arm, and his shoulder bone.

There is a single church dedicated to Æthelwold; it is St. Adelwold in Lincolnshire, in what would be fair to call an Elf village. I'll explain that tomorrow.

Canonical Hours

Canonical Hours were fixed times during the day for prayers. The Bible was the source for planning multiple times during the day for prayer. In Exodus, God required sacrifice of animals in the morning and the evening; these sacrifices evolved into set times for prayer. Psalm 119 states (line 164) "Seven times a day I praise you for your righteous laws" and line 62 says "At midnight I rise to praise you."

The prayers for the Canonical Hours were mostly from Psalms, but there were also humans and other Bible verses. Over time, the specific passages became more regulated, requiring a system for keeping them straight and making sure that everyone was following the same script.

Saint Benedict of Nursia founded communities of monks, and produced the Rule of St. Benedict for them to follow. By that time (the Rule was written in 516), the Hours consisted of seven daytime prayers and one nighttime prayer. (Very few people outside of monasteries were determined to get out of bed to pray.) The Breviary (from Latin breviarium, "summary") was created to combine Psalms, the schedule for each day, the hymns needed, etc. Breviaries were copied and shared with other monastic communities.

When Pope Innocent III learned of breviaries, he adopted them for non-monastic priests as well. They and the daily prayers are still adhered to today, although there are now various forms.

I mentioned hymns, and I think it would be interesting to discuss (and listen to) some of the music used as part of the Canonical Hours.

Public Reading

When April, with her showers sweet,
The drought of March has pierced to the roots...

A poster for sale of Chaucer reading

On this day in 1397, Geoffrey Chaucer gave a public reading of his Tales of Canterbury at the court of Richard II. We don't know exactly what he read—it isn't likely that they sat through the hours it would take to read everything, even though the Canterbury Tales are far from complete. The wager the pilgrims make is that each one would tell two tales going to Canterbury and two on the return journey; their host would pick the best one and treat them all to a feast. Given this plan, and the number of pilgrims (which changes along the way), we would expect at least 120 tales.* We only have about 30, with no evidence that there are "lost manuscripts" anywhere containing more work. (Chaucer was a busy public servant, and probably didn't have much time for writing.)

King Richard was a great supporter of poetry, and public readings were not uncommon. In a world without television, radio, movie theaters, or even plays, public entertainment came from song, dance, or the written word. Readings at court of new poetry were a popular affair.

Monasteries favored public reading as well. The Rule of St. Benedict mandated readings during meals, both to discourage idle chatter and to educate monks. Hearing a text read was supposed to be as educational as reading it yourself: the listener was "reading" with his ears and experiencing the same words, and therefore "knew" what was read as well as the person whose eyes were actually on the page. At universities like Oxford and Cambridge, students attended lectures that could last for hours, but they were not supposed to take notes. Listening and thinking was supposed to be sufficient for learning. When books became inexpensive to print and "everyone" could have a copy of the text to study and read, I think this "active listening" skill gradually lost importance.

*I think Chaucer wanted to "beat" Boccaccio's Decameron, with its ten people each telling a new tale each day for ten days.

St. Scholastica, Weather Witch

Today is her feast day, as well as the anniversary of the St. Scholastica's Day Riot in Oxford. She was the twin sister of Saint Benedict, but made quite the name for herself. Like her brother, most of what we know about her came from the Dialogues of Pope Gregory I (mentioned here).

She was born in Italy (c.480 - 10 February 542), and devoted herself to God in her youth. She founded a monastery for women about five miles from Monte Cassino, where her more famous brother had a community.

The communities were "gender-specific," so when the siblings wanted to meet they chose a neutral location. During one of these visits, she wanted her brother to stay overnight, but he was loath to spend a night away from his monastery. Chapter 33 of the Dialogues tells the tale of what happened next:

At that time, the sky was so clear that no cloud was to be seen. The Nun, hearing this denial of her brother, joined her hands together, laid them on the table, bowed her head on her hands, and prayed to almighty God. 

Lifting her head from the table, there fell suddenly such a tempest of lightning and thundering, and such abundance of rain, that neither venerable Benedict, nor his monks that were with him, could put their heads out of doors. The holy Nun, having rested her head on her hands, poured forth such a flood of tears on the table, that she transformed the clear air to a watery sky. 

After the end of her devotions, that storm of rain followed; her prayer and the rain so met together, that as she lifted up her head from the table, the thunder began.  So it was that in one and the very same instant that she lifted up her head, she brought down the rain.

The man of God, seeing that he could not, in the midst of such thunder and lightning and great abundance of rain return to his Abbey, began to be heavy and to complain to his sister, saying: "God forgive you, what have you done?" She answered him, "I desired you to stay, and you would not hear me; I have desired it of our good Lord, and he has granted my petition. Therefore if you can now depart, in God's name return to your monastery, and leave me here alone." [link]

The next day he departed; three days later she died. Benedict had her body brought to Monte Cassino and laid in his own tomb.

Scholastica is the patron saint of nuns, and is invoked during storms.

Saint Benedict

Benedict holding his Rule;
you can see the raven that
saved him from poisoned bread.

In the discussion of time I mentioned Benedict of Nursia, who created a rule for monks to follow. This blog has also mentioned Benedictines frequently. Let us look a little more closely at the man who founded the Benedictines.

Much of our (dubious) information on his early life comes from Pope Gregory I's book Dialogues. If we are to believe Gregory, Benedict was born about 480 in Nursia in Umbria and was sent to Rome at an early age to be educated, where the licentiousness of that city made him flee to a deserted area 40 miles from Rome. There, in Sublacum (Italian Subiaco), he met a monk, Romanus. Romanus gave him a habit, led him to a deep grotto, and introduced him to the life of a hermit.

Benedict lived as a hermit for three years, leaving it when the residents of a local monastery came to him and begged him to take the position of their deceased abbot. This was not a good idea. The monks and Benedict had such divergent opinions on how to conduct their lives that they ultimately decided to kill their new abbot. His prayers before meals foiled their attempts to poison him; in one instance, a raven carried away poisoned bread before Benedict could eat it. He eventually returned to his solitary life in Subiaco, founding 12 monasteries in that area.

In order to ensure harmony among monks and consistency among those observing the religious life, he devised what we call the Rule of St. Benedict. The Rule consists of 73 short chapters covering how to run a monastery, how monks should conduct themselves, and how to maintain discipline. Among other things, the Rule expects that all brothers are called to participate in discussions of subjects that affect the whole community, expects monks to be sparing of speech (although it doesn't expect complete silence), wants monks to sleep in their habits so that they can rise ready to do the day's work, and expects that all monks take turns in the kitchen.

He died 21 March 543.

The Birth of Tick-Tock

A city without bells is like a blind man without a stick. —Rabelais

Rabelais (c.1494-1553) was a little late for this blog, but his statement in Chapter XIX of Gargantua indicates a reliance on time-keeping that the modern world can understand. It was not always thus, however, for the Middle Ages.

I discussed yesterday how early concepts of time by their nature might have made it difficult to think of time as something measurable. I mentioned a mid-1200s definition of time that came from Franco of Cologne, the mathematically-minded music theorist who created what is the basis for modern musical notation. Franco's most diligent biographer places him as chapelmaster at Notre Dame in Paris.

Johannes de Sacrobosco (c.1195-c.1256) taught at the University of Paris, probably contemporaneously with Franco. Johannes was an astronomer who, among other things, declared that there was a flaw in the Julian calendar: it was 10 days off. (That error wouldn't be corrected until long after.) He also wrote of an attempt he knew to construct a wheel that would make a complete rotation in one day. Robertus Anglicus wrote a commentary in 1270 on Sacrobosco's treatise, mentioning the device and further spreading the idea. In that same decade, a clock is described by someone writing in Spain that runs by the flow of mercury from chamber to chamber in a wheel.

It only took a generation for this idea to catch on. By 1300, clocks were becoming widely known (if not widely owned), but the early ones only measured hours—they rang bells, but had no faces with markings around a dial, no minutes or seconds were counted, that we know of.

The device described by Sacrobosco and Anglicus used a weight hanging from a line around a wheel or cylinder. The Middle Ages understood wheels, gears, levers and pulleys, but how could these be used to guarantee a steady revolution of the weighted wheel? Sometime around 1300, or not long after, some early mechanical "Eureka" moment took place. Someone designed what we call the "escapement," which rocked back and forth on a toothed gear, allowing the wheel to turn at a steady, measurable, predictable speed. It also had a side-effect: a steady sound that we have been listening to ever since.

The escapement.

Within a generation after 1300, Dante Alighieri (c.1265-1321) considers his audience familiar enough with clocks and their mechanism to use gears as a metaphor:

As the wheels within a clockwork synchronize
       So that the innermost, when looked at closely
       Seems to be standing, while the outermost flies. (Canto xxiv, Paradiso)

Humans could now mark time in sequences of ticks and tocks. Minutes and seconds could be distinguished. Hours could be regulated. Six hours before noon became the same, whether it were dark in winter or already light in summer. (That's right: the 12 hours from sunrise until sunset used to be extended or shortened depending upon the season.) This was a change from the canonical hours described by the Rule of St. Benedict, for whom prayers at Matins were supposed to end as the sun rose, and therefore had to be started at different times depending on the season. In 1370, Charles V of France installed a clock in his palace, and decreed that all clocks in Paris be set according to his. Punctuality, crucial feature of our modern world, was born.