Æthelstan's Reign, Part 2

Like his grandfather Alfred the Great (and to a lesser extent his father, Edward the Elder), Æthelstan had close ties to the Church.

He not only made bishops out of some of his close friends, but also made friends out of bishops and priests who were welcome at royal feasts and who were invited into the assemblies where he heard disputes and made decrees.

Æthelstan was a great collector of holy relics, and showed great respect to shrines. When he invaded Scotland in 934, he took along 18 bishops. When he reached the market town of Chester-le-Street, he paid his respects to the shrine of St. Cuthbert, presenting gifts including a stole and maniple for use of the priests who maintained the shrine. (This was before Cuthbert's final resting place at Durham Cathedral.)

His interest in relics was described as þæt he mid þam gewytendlicum madmum, þa unateoridenlican madmas begitan sceolde, Old English for "that he should use his ‘transitory treasures’ to obtain ‘everlasting ones'." The idea was that venerating and preserving these holy relics would help him get into Heaven, so he sent men out to find them. Keepers of shrines also sent him some.

He donated to churches, but did not found as many as the later legends suggest. His reputation in this area seems to have exceeded the evidence that some churches were founded during his reign as they believe in their local histories. Æthelstan also made donations to churches outside of England. When a delegation went to the court of Holy Roman Emperor Otto I with two of Æthelstan's half-sisters, so that Otto could pick one as a wife (he chose the 19-year-old Eadgyth over the older Eadgifu), the priest accompanying the delegation continued throughout Germany, visiting monasteries and presenting gifts from Æthelstan. In exchange they were asked to pray for the king.

Unfortunately, Æthelstan's kingship did not last very long after he united England, and I'll go into his final days tomorrow.

Æthelstan's Reign, Part 1

Because of the Battle of Brunanburh, historians hale King Æthelstan as first of the true kings of the English in that the country was united under one ruler. Part of that status is due to bringing northern England under his rule, despite the fact that it was claimed by Olaf Guthfrithson, King of Dublin. (Olaf was defeated at Brunanburh.) Æthelstan even purchased the Amounderness Hundred, one of the six subdivisions of Lancashire in northern England, and gave it as a gift to the Archbishop of York, who managed the region for the king. Let's talk more about the man I once labeled the "Forgotten King."

Needing to manage a much larger realm than his predecessors meant creating an organized central government. Charters of grants of land could formerly be made by those overseeing their corner of the kingdom, but from 928 to 935, all charters came from a single royal scribe referred to as "Æthelstan A." These charters provide more detail as to dates, previous ownership, and lists of witnesses.

Rather than traveling around his kingdom constantly and meeting with officials, Æthelstan instead summoned them to him in Wessex. A large number of lords, bishops, and other officials attended his meetings, which some see as the rudimentary beginning of a Parliament.

He also reformed the law. After focusing on clerical matters, he turned to citizen safety. He decreed the death penalty for anyone over the age of 12 who was caught stealing goods worth more than eight pence. Enforcement was sketchy, and later he observed

I, King Æthelstan, declare that I have learned that the public peace has not been kept to the extent, either of my wishes, or of the provisions laid down at Grateley, and my councillors say that I have suffered this too long.

He changed tactics, declaring amnesty for robbers if they paid back their victims. This produced no results, so he went back to harsh penalties, raising the age to 15 to avoid killing too many young people. He also instituted the idea of "tithing," not the paying of a tenth of one's goods to a church or lord, but a group of ten men who voluntarily swore to keep each other honest and keep the law. This was later called the frankpledge, which you can read about here and see the words of the oath here.

Tomorrow we'll look at his relationship with the Church, with whom he kept very close connections.

The Battle of Brunanburh

We saw yesterday how in 937 an alliance of former enemies came together to attack King Æthelstan, who had in the past proven superior in battle to some of them individually. The final battle of that conflict was decisive, but not in the way the attackers expected.

The antagonists were Olaf Guthfrithson, King of Dublin, Constantine II, King of Scotland, and Owain, King of Strathclyde. Olaf sailed from Dublin in August, and the battle must have taken place before winter, but we don't know exactly when. Nor do we know exactly where Brunanburh was. We know the name "Brunanburh" from the Old English poem about the battle that is found in four of the nine surviving copies of the Anglo-Saxon Chronicle.

The poem, our source of information about the battle, begins by praising Æthelstan and his brother, Edmund:

King Athelstan, the lord of warriors,

Patron of heroes, and his brother too,

Prince Edmund, won themselves eternal glory

In battle with the edges of their swords

Round Brunanburh; they broke the wall of shields,

The sons of Edward with their well-forged swords

Slashed at the linden-shields; such was their nature

From boyhood that in battle they had often

Fought for their land, its treasures and its homes,

Against all enemies. Their foes fell dead,

The Scottish soldiers and the pirate host

Were doomed to perish; and with blood of men

The field was darkened from the time the sun

Rose at the break of day, the glorious star,

God the Eternal Lord's bright candle passed 

Across the land, until this noble creature

Sank to its resting-place. [source]

As the poem says, the battle lasted all day. The invaders broke ranks and fled, and Æthelstan's men pursued them. Olaf sailed back to Dublin and Constantine fled northward to Scotland, but the fate of Owen of Strathclyde is not mentioned.

The battle is corroborated in the Annals of Ulster, recording that several thousands of Norsemen were killed, including five kings and seven earls who accompanied Olaf. Constantine's son was killed. English losses were not zero: the Annals of Clonmacnoise list Æthelstan's cousins among the deceased. Over three dozen medieval texts— Anglo-Saxon, Irish, Welsh, Scottish, Norman, and Norse—mention the battle. The Annales Cambriae simply lists "war at Brune" as its sole 937 entry, but others offer detail that coincides with the Anglo-Saxon poem.

Historians refer to the Battle of Brunanburh and its decisive victory over invaders as the moment when all of the smaller kingdoms in England came together and established their unity as "England." Æthelstan is considered by some to be the first king of a united England. Unfortunately, he did not have long to enjoy this status. I'll explain tomorrow.

Forging a United England

Yesterday's post mentioned Saint Nectan appearing in a vision ages after his death to give advice about the Battle of Brunanburh. The title of today's post may take a couple days to understand, but the events we are about to discuss led perhaps to the first time that the inhabitants of Great Britain considered "England" to be a united country. We start with Æthelstan, whom I once wrote about as the "Forgotten King."

Æthelstan (c.894 - 27 October 939) became king of the Anglo-Saxons in 927, the same year in which he defeated Vikings in York. That battle convinced several other kings— King Constantine II of Scotland, King Hywel Dda of Deheubarth (south Wales), Ealdred I of Bamburgh (in Northumbria), and King Owen I of Strathclyde (southern Scotland and northern England)—to accept Æthelstan as their "high king" or overlord.

Æthelstan invaded Scotland in 934 (according to monk and chronicler John of Worcester writing decades later, Scotland had violated the 927 agreement), traveling unhindered through the land as a show of force. After this, King Constantine apparently decided that an alliance was necessary to put Æthelstan in his place. Constantine, King of Dublin Olaf Guthfrithson, and Owen King of Strathclyde had all been enemies in the recent past, but made an alliance to conquer and carve up the rest of Great Britain. Constantine had married his daughter to Olaf to help forge the alliance. Olaf also claimed part of Northumbria, but Æthelstan had expelled him from it, so Olaf had several reasons to join.

In August 937, Olaf left Dublin to meet up with Owen and Constantine. The first harrowing of their enemy's territory would have started in the north and the northwest. We know no details. We do not even know where the final encounter took place. (The illustration shows several suggested locations based on place names or other suppositions.)

Despite this last detail, it was one of the most significant battles in English history, and the subject of a famous Anglo-Saxon poem. I'll tell you about the battle and the poem tomorrow.

Saint Nectan

Yesterday's post on Saint Endellion alluded to her siblings also being saints. One of them, her brother Nectan (c.468 - 510), had a life at least as interesting as hers.

Nectan was the oldest child of King Brychan of Brycheiniog, a 5th-century king in mid-Wales who had two dozen children by three wives. Inspired by the legend of the first hermit, St. Anthony, Nectan was determined to adopt an ascetic lifestyle. He left Wales and settled first in a forest at Hartland on the Devon coast, and years later in a remote valley where he built a chapel by a well (see illustration). His siblings were also very religious and interested in converting others to Christianity. Legend says the siblings all gathered at Nectan's place every year on New Year's Eve.

He is also linked to St. Nectan's Glen in Cornwall, near Tintagel, where it is claimed he would stand on the coast and ring a bell during stormy weather to warn ships they were getting too near the rocks. He also helped someone who lost their pigs. After helping find the pigs, Nectan was gifted with two cows. When the two cows were stolen from him, he tried to convert the robbers to Christianity.

The robbers were not having this, so they cut off his head. Nectan's body picked up the head and walked back to his own chapel before collapsing. One of the robbers went mad at the sight, but the other repented and buried the body. We are told (in a 12th-century Life of Nectan) that miracles took place at the gravesite.

Long after his martyrdom, Nectan appeared in a vision to a young man. In 937, on the eve of the Battle of Brunanburh, the soldiers were suffering from plague. In the vision, Nectan appeared and healed the young man with a touch. The next day, the man told King Æthelstan about the vision, and urge him to pray to God for victory. Æthelstan did so, and not only did he win the battle, but also the plague passed away.

The Reformation did away with the trappings of the Nectan shrine, but there are still churches dedicated to him. His feast day is 17 June.

If you clicked on the link about King Æthelstan, you would have seen the title "The Forgotten King." I have mentioned him before, but never gone into his crucial victory at the 10th-century Battle of Brunanburh. I'll tell you more tomorrow.

Saint Endellion

In 5th-century southern Wales we find the Kingdom of Brycheiniog (circled red on the map), ruled by King Brychan. Brychan had many children, one of whom was named Cenheidlon, whose Latinized name was Endellion.

At some point in her life she crossed the Bristol Channel to North Cornwall where her siblings were working to convert the local population to Christianity, stopping first at the Isle of Lundy to found a small chapel (the ruins are listed as a "Scheduled Monument"; it was later erroneously named "St. Helen" [link]). She then traveled to stay with her brother before moving on. Although she frequently went back to spend time in Lundy, she settled in Trentinney near what is now the town of St. Endellion.

She lived as a hermit, supposedly subsisting on nothing but the milk of a certain cow and water (there are two wells named for her near the town of Endellion). Her sister, also a saint, lived nearby. Where the two would occasionally meet to spend time together, it is said that the grass where they walked always grew more lush and green afterward. (If you are realizing that we strayed from historical record to legend, hang on: there's more to come.) A chapel where she lived was destroyed during the Reformation; only a bare foundation remains.

Her cow strayed into the herd of the Lord of Trentinney, who killed it. Legend says that her godfather, King Arthur, killed the Lord of Trentinney for killing the cow, but Endellion was so unhappy to have someone killed on her behalf that she restored the man to life.

The Church of St. Endellion in the town of St. Endellion is supposedly the site of her gave. Prior to her death, she asked that her burial site be chosen by putting her body on a sledge pulled by bullocks. The bullocks were to be given free rein, and wherever they stopped was where she should be buried. The bullocks stopped at the top of a hill. She was buried there and the Church of St. Endellion was built on the site.

I mentioned that her sister was also a saint, Saint Dilic. So was her brother. So was...well, the family was quite religious-minded, and I'll tell you more about them tomorrow.

Prebends and Prebendaries

How would you like to be given a stipend based on a job whose duties you would never have to perform? How about receiving the revenue from a place you'd never have to visit? Let us talk about prebends.

Members of secular churches, like monasteries, were supported by the rents paid by those using the land they possessed. A cathedral diocese had many such smaller churches attached to it, and each of those generated revenue from their property. In the 12th century, it became more common for an amount of money from such local revenue to be given as a grant to the local pastor. The Latin for "to grant" was præbere and in English the word prebend referred to this grant. The person receiving this grant was a prebendary.

As it happened, a prebend could be given to an official of the cathedral as a source of revenue, even though he never visited the church from which the revenue came or administered to the parishioners. (The church itself would be allowed what was necessary for administration; profit would go to the distant prebendary.) Bishops and archbishops gave prebends for faithful service.

One person could be granted several prebends, or a prebend even though he already had a position that supported him. Ralph Neville, one-time Chancellor of England, was Dean of Lichfield (head of the chapter of canons there) in the early 1200s, but also had a prebend in the diocese of London.

Prebends were largely abolished in England and Wales after Henry VIII's Reformation. Henry dissolved the collegiate churches in the same Act, but some survived by being associated and "hidden" in the administration of a university. Cornwall, however, managed to hang onto the prebendary system, and even has prebendaries to this day. The picture above is of the installation of three new prebendaries at the Church of Saint Endellion in Cornwall in 2012. [link]

Who was Saint Endellion? She is an entirely new name for this blog, and we haven't spent much time in Cornwall, so let's look at the life of this 5th century saint next time.

Collegiate Churches

In a more detailed discussion of the "origin" of the Shroud of Turin yesterday I mentioned that the place where it was originally displayed was a collegiate church established by Geoffroi de Charny. A collegiate church was not attached to a college, but was called that because of the collegial nature of those who lived there.

Before the Catholic Church set up the system of parishes so that every geographical area had a church with a pastor, some benefactors would set up their own places where priests could live and minister to the surrounding population. Another benefit/motivation was for the priests to pray for the souls of the founder and his family.

This was not the same as a monastery, although they were often referred to in England as "minsters" which derives from the Latin monasterium. The canons were what we would now call parish priests, not monks with a vow of poverty. In fact, each resident canon would receive a salary for their needs.

The financial support for the collegiate church was often an endowment by a wealthy patron, but could also be donations. Charny's no doubt intended to rely on donations from pilgrims who came to see the cloth that wrapped the body of Christ, and the purchase of souvenirs like the pilgrim badge shown yesterday. A collegiate church could also provide a hospital or school which would generate revenue.

Collegiate churches needed a set of rules to maintain order and explain the roles of different members, and they found a template in the works of Bishop Chrodegang of Metz. Chrodegang was chancellor to Charles Martel and instrumental in a spiritual revival in the Kingdom of the Franks. In 755 he wrote a Regula Canonicorum, "Rule for Canons," based on the Rule of St. Benedict, not for a monastic community but for secular clergy. Chrodegang's rule was popular for a time, even appearing in Ireland (a rule attributed to Máel Ruain looks like it was based on Chrodegang's). By the time that Charny was founding his church, Chrodegang's rule was being abandoned in favor of the Augustinian Rule first promoted by Augustine of Hippo.

Individual positions in a collegiate church could also be supported by a prebend, a gift of income from a specific source, such as a piece of property. For a more detailed explanation of prebends, come back tomorrow.

Once More, the Shroud

Geoffroi de Charny would probably be almost completely unknown to modern audiences but for this strange bit of trivia: he gave us the Shroud of Turin.

Geoffroi died in 1356 at the Battle of Poitiers, having spent a life distinguishing himself through his actions (since he was a younger son who stood to inherit nothing). He did so well that, in 1353, he was able to establish a collegiate church in Lirey near Troyes. Bishop of Troyes Henri de Poitiers approved the founding on 28 May 1356, about four months before Charny's death.

In 1390, the then-Bishop of Troyes wrote that a cloth bearing the imprint of Christ's crucified body was being displayed there, and that Henri de Poitiers claimed it was a clever forgery made by a contemporary artist, and Henri had shut down the display. Now we get into a tricky timeline. If the bishop did not approve, why did he make no mention of it in his approval of the church? The document that establishes the church's foundation exists, but contains no mention of such a cloth as one of its assets. So when did the cloth appear? When did Geoffroi obtain it? It is tempting to say he found it on his travels and crusading in the East, but he makes no mention of it in his writings. Why not mention it as a primary asset of the church?

I mention here how it wound up in Turin, Italy. In the 19th century, in Paris, a pilgrim badge had been found that clearly was made for those who viewed the cloth: it bears the phrase ’SVAIRE IhV’(‘Shroud of Jesus’). It also bears the coat of arms of Geoffroi and of his second wife, Jeanne de Vergy, with the Vergy arms in the dominant position, indicating that she was in charge of the operation. Some speculate that this indicated the arms of Geoffroi's son, Geoffroi de Charny II, partnered with his mother. In later depositions, however, both Geoffroi II and granddaughter Marguerite stated that it was Geoffroi senior who acquired it personally, and not that it came to the church later.

An important facet of its story in France turned up in 2009, when a metal detectorist found a casting mold in the town next to Lirey, a mold for making pilgrim badges. It would make a badge nearly identical to the damaged one found in Paris.

It is odd that Geoffroi de Charny came across something so amazing and kept it quiet. Unless, of course, the family legend is just that, a legend, and Henri of Poitiers was right. Perhaps it came into the family's possession while Geoffroi was away at Poitiers and they decided to turn it into a money-making scheme for the cathedral church. Tests of the Shroud of Turin have yielded contradictory results, with various teams of scientists accusing the others of improper techniques or having a particular agenda to establish if it was a 14th-century work of art or a 1st-century miracle. As yet there is no definitive answer that satisfies all sides.

What exactly was a "collegiate church"? How was it different from other churches? Do they still exist? I'll explain next time.

Geoffroi de Charny at War

Yesterday's post introduced Geoffroi de Charny, a third son with no prospects from his family who set out to make a name for himself. He did very well as a soldier, impressing the king of France, Philip VI, and being given at one point the task of getting the town of Calais back from the English during the Hundred Years War.

As mentioned yesterday, he was captured at one point earlier in his career because of an ambush set up by the English. Unfortunately for him, history was about to repeat itself. In 1349, Geoffroi made contact with a Lombard mercenary who had the responsibility of maintaining the gates into Calais. Edward III of England had made this man, Aimery of Pavia, the captain of the city guard.

Aimery said he would sell Calais to Geoffroi for the sum of 20,000 écus, or gold crowns. Someone blabbed, and Edward found out. He summoned Aimery to London and told him to keep the arrangement, take the money, and let Edward's army know when the French forces intended to arrive to take over the town.

On the night of 31 December 1349, Geoffroi arrived with 500 men, paid the money to Aimery, and entered Calais with 12 knights and 100 archers. Edward's forces were waiting, and the attempted takeover of Calais was thwarted. There was some fighting, and Geoffroi was wounded and taken prisoner once again. (The illustration above is of the wounded Geoffroi lying before Edward III is from a 14th century French chronicle.)

Geoffroi spent a year in an English prison. King Philip VI was succeeded by King John II "the Good", who paid Geoffroi's ransom. Once back on the continent, Geoffroi found out where Aimery de Pavia was, caught him in bed with a mistress, dragged him to Geoffroi's home base at Saint-Omer, and had him publicly executed (tortured with hot irons, then quartered with an axe) as an oath-breaker.

In 1356, King John II and Geoffroi met with Edward, the Black Prince, who was raiding towns in southern France. The two sides parlayed. Mindful that a battle between the two armies would likely produce another bloody Crécy, Geoffroi suggested a "Trial by Combat" with hand-picked men instead of full-scale war. According to an account by the English herald John Chandos:

Then said Geoffroi de Charny: 'Lords,' quoth he, 'since so it is that this treaty pleases you no more, I make offer that we fight you, a hundred against a hundred, choosing each one from his own side; and know well, whichever hundred be discomfited, all the others, know for sure, shall quit this field and let the quarrel be. I think that it will be best so, and that God will be gracious to us if the battle be avoided in which so many valiant men will be slain.'

It was French overconfidence that decided against this advice. The result was the Battle of Poitiers, in which the French overconfidence proved misguided. King John was captured. Geoffroi de Charny was killed, an easy target since he upheld the oriflamme. He was given a quick burial at a nearby Franciscan convent, but in 1370 the body was re-interred in a church in Paris.

Although already mentioned a few days ago, I want to return to the subject of the Shroud of Turin that appeared in Geoffroi's possession with a little more detail surrounding the controversy of its origin. That will be tomorrow.

Geoffroi de Charny*

Geoffroi de Charny (c.1306 - 19 September 1356) was an extremely accomplished and well-known French knight. He was a third son, which meant he was not going to inherit the title Lord of Charny from his father, so he set out to distinguish himself in jousts and tournaments. In fact, he was so lacking of property that, on the records of involvement in the Hundred Years War, he is listed as from Pierre-Perthuis, the fief of the family of his first wife, Jeanne de Toucy.

In 1342, during the Battle of Morlaix in Brittany against the English, he fell for an ambush and was captured and taken to Goodrich Castle in England. Because he had no property to speak of for ransom, and because of the "gentlemanly nature" of war-time noble captives, he was released to go back to the continent and raise money for his ransom.

He turned to the Dauphin Humbert II de Viennois, who owed him the revenues of the town of Saint-Marcellin for service rendered earlier, but the Dauphin was always short of money, so the request for payment was futile. Unable to get anything substantial from Humbert, in the summer of 1344 Geoffroi set sail for the East to find fortune. From his adventures he wrote Livre de chevalerie (The Book of Chivalry), which begins:

Because I am minded to examine the various conditions of men-at-arms, both of the past and of the present, I want to give some brief account of them. And it is right to do so for all such matters are honorable, although some are honorable enough, others more honorable on an ascending scale up to the most honorable of all. And always the noblest way rises above all others, and those who have the greatest heart for it go constantly forward to reach and achieve the highest honor, and for this reason we must start by speaking of these...

Although the book deals with the high-minded ideals of chivalry, we still get a very down-to-earth look at the realities of the life of an active knight. Geoffroi describes the dangers of tournaments and the consequences of losing, the homesickness one feels when on a months-long Crusade, and his own injuries like getting a concussion while scaling a tower.

In October of 1344 he was Crusading against the Turk-held fortress of Smyrna, as part of a group of knights who were given a special commendation for bravery by Pope Clement VI. By the spring of 1346, Geoffroi was back in France. With war against the English ongoing, he prevented an invading Flemish army from capturing the town of Béthune around the same time that King Philip VI lost the battle of Crécy and lost the port of Calais.

Philip was so pleased with Geoffroi that he made him the bearer of the oriflamme, the standard of the French army. This was a great honor with a downside: the enemy would try for a symbolic achievement by striking down the oriflamme, so its bearer became an automatic target.

He was given the task of retaking Calais, and was on the verge of succeeding, when he fell for another ambush. But I will get to that tomorrow.

*This is not Geoffroi de Charney, a Templar who died c.1314.

Following the Shroud

I mentioned yesterday how Robert de Clari claimed, in his account of the Fourth Crusade, to be aware of, in the Church of St. Mary in Constantinople, the cloth that wrapped the body of Jesus. This was in 1204 CE. Many believe he was actually describing the Veil of Veronica. The link I just shared tells that Gerald of Wales claimed to have seen the Veil on a trip to Rome in 1199. That would make it very unlikely that Robert saw it in Constantinople just five years later.

On the other hand, desire for objects of veneration was so strong that it certainly led itself to scams. If all the slivers of the "true Cross" were assembled, you could build a boat.* For example, there are six images extant that claim to be the Veil.

In 1354, the knight Geoffroi de Charnay of Lirey in France declared that he possessed the linen cloth in which the body of Jesus was wrapped after being taken from the Cross. This begins the official history of the Shroud of Turin. There is no record of how it came into his possession. It went on exhibit in 1389, whereupon it was denounced by the Bishop of Troyes, who claimed it was painted and claimed the artist who painted it had come forth and confessed.

One would expect that the Church would be glad to have something like this object come to light, but Antipope Clement VII (1378-94) also did not support its authenticity, although he was okay with it being venerated as a representation of the actual burial cloth. de Charnay's granddaughter Marguerite in 1453 gave it to the house of Savoy, who moved it to Turin, Italy in 1578. It stayed in possession of the Savoy dynasty until 1983, when it was given to the Catholic Church after the death of Umberto II, the head of the House of Savoy (and last official King of Italy; his title ended 12 June 1946).

The original is rarely brought out for viewing by the public. Pope John Paul II arranged public viewings in 1998 and 2000; Pope Benedict XVI did the same in 2010. A replica is on display in the Museum of the Shroud in Turin. Tests and examinations over the years have produced different conclusions as to its age. There is a website devoted to shroud news.

But what do we know of Geoffroi de Charnay? Is there anything in his background that would support having such an artifact come into his possession? Let's talk about him tomorrow.

*Yes, this is hyperbole.

The Shroud of Turin?

Robert de Clari, a knight from Picardy, was a member of the Fourth Crusade, and wrote an account [link] of what he saw. Although his knowledge of the motivations of the Crusade's leaders is scant, he offers a "ground level" view of what life was like among the rank and file.

Constantinople was an amazing experience for him, and he writes about several of the marvels he saw there:

And now in yet another part of the city was another marvel. There were two images, cast in copper, in the shape of women, most cunningly wrought and naturally, and exceeding beautiful. And neither of the two was less than twenty feet high. And the one of these images was stretching out her hand toward the West, and there were letters written upon her which said, “From out of the West will come they who shall conquer Constantinople.”

And the other image was stretching out her hand toward an unseemly place and saying, “Thither” (so spoke the image) “shall they be thrust forth again.”

This seems prophetic, since the city was about to be attacked by the Westerners of the Crusade. 

In the northwest part of the city was a suburb called Blachernae. When the Crusaders attacked, they first breached the walls near there and made Blachernae their base. Clari talks about the Church of St. Mary and an object of veneration that was displayed:

But among the rest, there was also another of the minsters, which was called the Church of my Lady Saint Mary of Blachernae, within which was the shroud wherein Our Lord was wrapped. And on every Friday that shroud did raise itself upright, so that the form of Our Lord could clearly be seen. And none knows – neither Greek nor Frank – what became of that shroud when the city was taken.

The italics are mine. Other translations say "was raised upright"; that is, by a human, not elevating itself. Some like to assume that this was the Shroud of Turin, which would make Robert de Clari the only documented witness prior to 1354, when the Shroud was known to be exhibited in a church in Lirey in north-central France. Some historians think it more likely that Clari heard about (he never says that he saw  the weekly raising himself) the sudarium (Latin: "sweat cloth") of Veronica, the cloth she used to wipe Jesus' face as he trudged to Calvary.

Clari wrote in 120 short chapters, and signs off with a very honest statement:

...Robert of Clari, Knight, hath also caused the truth to be put down in writing, how the city was conquered; and albeit he may not have recounted the conquest in as fair a fashion as many a good chronicler would have recounted it, yet hath he at all times recounted the strict truth; and many true things hath he left untold, because, in sooth, he cannot remember them all.

I've never written about the Shroud of Turin. Perhaps I did not want to tackle the question of its "authenticity." At the very least we can look at its journey through history. See you tomorrow.

Placing Blame

Yesterday we looked at Geoffrey de Villehardouin's account of the Fourth Crusade and how he managed to obscure any culpability of his in the major decision-making that took the Crusade in so many wrong directions ethically. Just as he was about to get to the attack of the Crusaders and Venetians on Constantinople, he slows down the pace and reminds the reader of:

...those who sailed from other ports than Venice, and of the ships of Flanders that had sojoumed during the winter at Marseilles, and had all gone over in the summer to the land of Syria; and these were far more in number than the host before Constantinople.

Notice how he lets you know the the group in Constantinople was significantly smaller (so marvel at all they were able to accomplish), and the others group was so much larger (meaning if they had joined up in Venice then the Crusade never would have had the financial difficulties that led to these disasters).

One could argue that the larger group was the Crusade, rather than the smaller group through Venice, since the larger group managed to get to the Holy Land. Geoffrey assures you that their choice was sinful:

...for in that case would Christendom have been for ever exalted. But because of their sins, God would not so have it, for some died of the sickness of the land, and some turned back to their own homes. Nor did they perform any great deeds, or achieve aught of good, in the land overseas.

Geoffrey neglects to mention how many of his own company died from illness or warfare.

And well does this book bear witness, that of those who avoided the host of Venice, there was not one but suffered harm or shame. He therefore must be accounted wise who holds to the better course.

As it turns out, Geoffrey's is not the only account of the Crusade. A knight from Picardy named Robert de Clari was on the Crusade, and his account is understandably different, since he was never part of any high-level meetings and negotiations. He shows no knowledge of (or chooses not to cast blame on) other Crusaders who did not go to Venice. His account is that, upon reaching Venice, they simply did not have enough to pay the Venetians, and the Venetians—who he thought already decided to accompany the Crusade—then decide to ask for the spoils of the adventure to repay the price of the ships.

Robert de Clari also claims that he saw, after the Sack of Constantinople, a cloth that, from his description, sounds like the Shroud of Turin. I want to mention that tomorrow.

Geoffrey's Account

Remember Geoffrey de Villehardouin? He was one of the leaders of the Fourth Crusade who negotiated with Venice to get the Crusaders across the Mediterranean, which turned out to be a bad deal. You could say that it wasn't Geoffrey's fault that a large number of Crusaders took port from Marseilles instead, but let's talk about the other decisions made by Geoffrey and the leaders. Agreeing to attack Zara (for which they were temporarily excommunicated), agreeing to ally themselves with Prince Alexios, agreeing to attack Constantinople—none of these were wise or appropriate for a group who had taken a vow to free the Holy land.

Geoffrey, a literate man who was involved in all the high-level discussions, wrote an account, De la Conquête de Constantinople ("On the Conquest of Constantinople"), in which he shows absolutely no shame for a Crusade attacking a Christian city. He never criticizes the actions of the Crusade leaders. In fact, he stresses that the young Emperor Alexios IV offered them more and wanted them to stay:

Now the term of your departure is nigh, and your fellowship with the Venetians is timed only to last till the feast of St. Michael. And within so short a term I cannot fulfil our covenant. Be it known to you therefore, that, if you abandon me, the Greeks hate me because of you: I shall losemy land, and they will kill me. But now do this thing that I ask of you: remain here till March, and I will entertain your ships for one year from the feast of St. Michael, and bear the cost of the Venetians, and will give you such things as you may stand in need of till Easter. And within that term I shall have placed my land in such case that I cannot lose it again; and your covenant will be fulfilled, for I shall have paid such moneys as are due to you, obtaining them from all mi lands; and I shall be ready also with ships either to go with you myself, or to send others, as I have covenanted; and you will have the summer from end to end in which to carry on the war against the Saracens.

Geoffrey lays the groundwork for the Crusade's delay, and makes Alexios' later ability to pay them a much greater betrayal of their trust in him. When the Crusaders realize that they cannot trust Alexios to make good on his promise, Geoffrey is part of the small embassy that goes to him and demands what is possible, but Geoffrey wants sympathy for his embassy, stressing that they were in danger by speaking to the emperor:

When they got outside the gate, there was not one of them but felt glad at heart; nor is that to be marvelled at, for they had escaped from very great peril, and it held to very little that they were not all killed or taken.

He then breaks off from the narrative about Constantinople to blame others. I'll tell you about that tomorrow.

Constantinople Under Siege

We saw yesterday that hostility between Byzantines and the Fourth Crusade came to a head when the new(est) emperor, Alexios V, ejected all the foreigners from the city and began reinforcing the defenses. The Crusaders of course had brought siege engines with them for use against Saracens in the Holy Land, but they were happy to use them here against a Christian city.

The first assault came on 9 April 1204 on the northwest walls. Unfortunately (for the westerners), the open ground between the shore and the wall left them open to a hail of arrows. That and bad weather made them retreat.

The weather cleared a few days later, so on 12 April the Crusaders attacked again. They managed to knock a few holes in the wall sufficient for knights to crawl through. Meanwhile, Venetians were scaling the walls and encountering the ferocious Varangian Guards. The northwest was the site of the Palace of Blachernae, where the emperors prior to Alexios V had barricaded themselves. The Crusaders used Blachernae as a base. Creating a wall of fire to defend their base got out of hand and started burning down other parts of the city.

Emperor Alexios V fled the city that night. The Crusaders spent three days looting and pillaging. Now we come to the point of the week-long build-up to explain the last paragraph of this post about influences of Italo-Byzantine art. Constantinople was looted of many of its art treasures, which found there way west to reside in and influence Western Europe.

St. Mark's Basilica in Venice became the recipient of a large number of valuable artworks, thanks to Doge Enrico Dandolo commanding them as part of the Crusade's debt to Venice. Bronze horses from the Hippodrome, a sculpture of Four Tetrarchs (confirmed by the broken-off foot being identified in Constantinople), marble reliefs (including of Alexander the Great), and even carved marble pillars taken from Byzantine buildings—these and more found their way to Venice. The Treasury of San Marco (see more here) is full of the spoils of Constantinople.

Icons and other artworks were claimed by Crusaders and became family heirlooms.

Other art was too large to take but had more valuable purposes. Gold, silver, bronze artifacts were melted down for their value in precious metal and to become coins. Contemporary historian Niketas Choniates mentions a bronze statue of a resting Hercules that was so large "it took a cord the size of a man's belt to go round the thumb, and the shin was the size of a man." That and hundreds of bronze statues at the Hippodrome were melted down. So also was a bronze statue of Hera, so large that her head alone needed four oxen to move it. You can see a longer list by Niketas Choniates here.

So what happened afterward to Constantinople? I'm going to turn back to the Western European knight who also wrote a history, Geoffrey de Villehardouin, and talk tomorrow about how history is written by the victors.

Regime Change in Constantinople

We saw yesterday that very early in 1204 Isaac and Alexios were holed up in the Palace of Blachernae against the upset citizenry, who held an election to choose another leader (who did not want anything to do with it, and fled to Hagia Sophia for sanctuary). The two sent a trusted advisor, Alexios Doukas Mourtzouphlos, to seek help from the Crusaders, whom the citizenry were also attacking.

Doukas, who had until recently been imprisoned because he had tried to overthrow Isaac's brother (who had usurped the throne from Isaac in 1195 and blinded and imprisoned Isaac), took on the assignment, but considered a way to satisfy everyone involved—and by everyone, he included himself.

Doukas went to the main palace and approached the Varangian Guards—essentially Vikings who were personal bodyguards for Byzantine Emperors—with bribes. Niketas Choniates wrote that he had help from a eunuch who had access to the treasure, but this was unnecessary, since Doukas after his release from prison was made protovestiarios—"first of the wardrobe"—a position as head of imperial finances.

Doukas made himself Emperor Alexios V. On the night of 27 January, the Varangian Guards arrested Issac and Alexios. Alexios was strangled in prison about a week later, and Isaac, old and feeble already, died around the same time. The previously elected Nicholas Kanabo was brought from Hagia Sophia and offered a position in the new emperor's court, but refused. He fled again to the Hagia Sophia but was dragged from it and killed on its steps. (Having been elected by a majority, he was a "loose thread" that a new emperor could not allow to have a rebellion form around.)

Alexios V met with Doge Enrico Dandolo (the meeting was illustrated by Gustave Doré; see above) to negotiate a resolution to the conflict between the Empire and the Fourth Crusade, but there was no easy solution. The Empire did not have the money even to help itself, never mind pay enormous sums that had been promised by the younger Alexios. The Crusaders insisted that Alexios IV, with whom they had the agreement, be restored to the throne. This demand is probably why Alexios IV was killed, to eliminate any reason for the Crusaders to attempt a coup.

Alexios V confiscated money from the aristocracy (endearing himself to the lower classes but alienating his friends and relatives) in order to begin fortifying the city against the inevitable clash with the Crusading army. The death of Alexios IV was a further sign that Constantinople was not about to deal with the Crusaders in good faith. In March of 1204, all members of the Crusade who had taken up residence in the city were rounded up and expelled. That was the final straw.

The Crusaders drew up battle plans, and then made ready to put them into action. See you next time.

Crusade versus Constantinople

(It would be best to ready yesterday's post to understand where we are.)

So the Fourth Crusade was now in Constantinople, waiting to get support of men and money from Emperor Alexios IV Angelos per their agreement for putting him on the throne (even though they had to coerce his blind emperor father Isaac II to elevate the son).

Emperor Isaac must have been horrified when he discovered the offer made by his son to the Crusade. Isaac knew very well that Constantinople could not provide the 200,000 silver marks on top of 34,000 marks needed to repay a debt to Venice, or the thousands of soldiers promised to join the Crusade. Much of the financial problem was due to Isaac's brother Alexios III, who had usurped the throne in 1195 and fled to Thrace when the Crusaders attacked the city on 18 July 1203. Alexios III had cemented his power after usurpation with lavish bribes, depleting the treasury. When he fled, he took 1000 pounds of gold with him.

Alexios IV scraped together 100,000 silver marks by confiscating church treasures and property of those he considered enemies (supporters of his uncle), and sacking some Thracian towns. By December, however, it was clear that the Crusade was not going to get the support they were promised. Foolishly, Alexios did not even try to placate them further, stating "I will not do any more than I have done."

Meanwhile, the citizens of Constantinople were increasingly annoyed with the overbearing Westerners, and the young emperor who had brought them there and now was proving to be an incompetent ruler. The locals started acting violently toward the Europeans, attacking and killing many. Isaac compounded the problem by spreading rumors that his son kept company with "depraved men." A contemporary historian, Niketas Choniates (c.1155 - 1217) criticized Alexios' childishness, his lavish lifestyle, and his familiarity with the Western outsiders. Alexios, quite foolishly, tried to teach the Crusaders a lesson (and get the citizens on his side) by setting fire to several ships and aiming them at the Venetian fleet. (The illustration is the Venetian fleet at the shore, from a 15th century miniature.)

By January 1204, the citizens of Constantinople had had enough with the Crusaders and with the rulers that were ineffective at dealing with this threat to the city. They wanted a new emperor, and the senate and priests and populace gathered to find one. Anyone who had been paying attention knew the situation was hopeless: the Crusaders would not go away without Alexios' agreement being satisfied, and there was no way to meet their demands. On 27 January 1204 they elected Nicholas Kanabos, a young noble described by Choniates as "gentle by nature, of keen intelligence, and versed in generalship and war". He absolutely refused the authority they wanted to give him and fled to the Hagia Sophia for sanctuary.

Knowing that the citizenry en masse wanted them gone, Isaac and Alexios barricaded themselves in the Palace of Blachernae, one of the imperial residences in the northwestern part of the city. (On the Second Crusade, Louis VII and Eleanor of Aquitaine had been hosted there.) They sent a trusted advisor, Alexios Doukas Mourtzouphlos, to go to the Crusaders and get help. Doukas had tried to overthrow Isaac's usurping uncle and been imprisoned for it. When Isaac was restored, Doukas was released and put in charge of the federal finances. Isaac felt Doukas was a man he could trust.

That was a mistake. Tomorrow the Byzantine intrigue goes on, and includes Vikings!

Going to Constantinople

After attacking Zara at the request of the Doge of Venice, Enrico Dandolo, the members of the Fourth Crusade headed toward Constantinople. Why Constantinople and not the Holy land? After the siege, one of the leaders, Marquis Boniface of Montferrat, had left Zara to visit his cousin, the King of Germany, Philip of Swabia. There he met a Byzantine prince in exile, Alexios Angelos. His father, Isaac II Angelos, had had the throne usurped by Isaac's brother, Alexios III, who had Isaac blinded (rendering him unfit to rule) and imprisoned. Alexios wondered if the Crusaders would help put him on the throne that had been usurped from his father.

Alexios offered 10,000 Byzantine soldiers to join the Crusade if he were made emperor, as well as 500 knights to stay in the Holy land to maintain order. (The sketch above is from the Doge's Palace in Venice, and shows Alexios at Zara requesting aid.) He also offered ships and money to pay off the debt to Venice, as well as having the Greek Orthodox Church accept the pope's authority, and an additional 200,000 silver marks.

This sounded too good to be true...and it was. But at the time it seemed like a deal that could not be passed up. (Not everyone thought this was a good idea: Simon de Montfort, for instance, was opposed. They should have listened to him.)

The Crusader fleet arrived at Constantinople in 1202. The came up to the walls of the city and showed Alexios, telling the people that their rightful ruler had been brought to them. The reaction was less than enthusiastic. The usurper, 50-year-old Alexios III, had ruled well since 1195. The 20-year-old prince Alexios was untried as a ruler. Change for the sake of change did not appeal to the citizens of Constantinople.

The Crusaders were patient, setting up camp and taking their supplies from the countryside, but on 18 July 1203 they lost their patience and attacked Constantinople. Emperor Alexios III, seeing that the invaders were finally serious, fled. When the city gates were opened up the next morning, the Crusaders and Alexios entered to find that the citizens had released Isaac from prison and declared him emperor, even though his blindness disqualified him. They apparently preferred a seasoned politician over the untried youth. The Crusaders, showing a constant disregard for local politics, forced Isaac to declare his son co-emperor, making him Alexios IV Angelos.

So now Alexios had the authority to make good on his promises and reward the Crusaders. That's when the real trouble started.

You may recall that a few days ago I said I would explain one of the sources of Byzantine culture that influenced Italian art, etc. We are getting closer. See you next time.

Attacking Zara

As we saw in yesterday's post, Venice was able to coerce the members of the Fourth Crusade to winter over in Zara (a Dalmatian city now called Zadar and part of Croatia), on the east coast of the Adriatic. Probably unknown to the Crusaders at the time, Venice had an ulterior motive: to lead the Crusaders as an army against Zara. The reason for this requires us to dig into the past.

Zara had asked Venice for help in 998CE; they were being menaced by Narentine pirates, a south Slavic tribe. Venice took advantage of the request by sending a fleet that defeated the pirates and then landed on some of the islands in the Adriatic and took them over. Dalmatia offered little resistance.

The Zaran anti-Venice resistance led to them becoming part of the Byzantine Empire. Meanwhile, the trading power of Venice grew until they became a powerful force in the Adriatic and continued to attack Zara several times during the 1100s. Now, in November 1202, Doge Enrico Dandolo had a large army that owed him a lot of money and accepted his leadership. It was time to strike and subjugate Zara once and for all time.

As Geoffrey de Villehardouin wrote in his account of the Crusade:

On the eve of the feast of Saint Martin, they arrived before Zara in Sclavonia and saw the city fortified with lofty walls and tall towers; you would have sought a finer, stronger, more impressive city in vain. And when the pilgrims saw it they were greatly astounded and said to one another, "How could such a city be taken by force, unless God Himself brought it about?"

The ships landed; siege engines intended to be used against Saracens were unloaded, and Zara was attacked and taken. This was an appalling act: an attack by a Christian Crusading army on a Christian city. It was universally condemned. Pope Innocent III excommunicated all involved and wrote:

Behold your gold has turned into base metal and your silver has almost completely rusted since, departing from the purity of your plan and turning aside from the path onto the impassable road, you have, so to speak, withdrawn your hand from the plough [...] for when [...] you should have hastened to the land flowing with milk and honey, you turned away, going astray in the direction of the desert.

In 1203, however, Innocent undid the excommunication of the non-Venetians in the Crusading army, urging them to complete their mission. Unfortunately, the siege of Zara was simply a foreshadowing of a larger transgression. We will start leading up to that tomorrow.

Controlling the Crusaders

I wrote about Enrico Dandolo, the Doge of Venice, 10 years ago here, but let's look at the man who "imprisoned" the Fourth Crusade. Born c.1107, he was 85 when he was elected Doge. His family was very powerful in Venetian society, and the men seemed to live to ripe old ages. This world to Enrico's disadvantage, because his father (Vitale) controlled all the family business until his death in 1174, the sons didn't have much of a public record until then.

One of his first public roles was when Byzantine Emperor Manuel I Comnenos, intending to reclaim Italy as a possession, befriended the Pisa's and Genoese living on Constantinople. Pisa and Genoa were currently enemies of Venice, and the Venetians in Constantinople attacked the Genoese. Manuel responded by having thousands of Venetians in the Empire imprisoned and their goods confiscated. Enrico was part of the retaliatory expedition that failed due to plague. (The enmity between Venice and Constantine would come into play during the Fourth Crusade.)

As Doge, he was involved in the negotiations to have ships ready to ferry the Fourth Crusade from Europe to the Holy Land, as I mentioned yesterday. When only part of the army showed up without all the men and financial resources that hd been arranged, Venice was in a bind: how to recoup the expense of the ship-building they had incurred. based on the promise of payment? The solution was also the solution to another issue: where to house an influx of thousands of people and their equipment.

The temporary housing was resolved by ferrying them all to the island of Lido, a long thin barrier island in the Venetian Lagoon. (The Venice Film Festival takes place there annually in late summer.) Once there, the Crusaders were stuck with no way to leave. Dandolo demanded 85,000 marks in payment. The Crusaders pooled what they had, and came up with 51,000 marks.

Dandolo made an additional offer. Venice would lend the remaining 34,000 marks to the Crusade, so long as it could be paid back by the spoils of the venture. At this point it was late summer, and Enrico had two further suggestions/offers. One was to spend the winter at Zara, cross the Adriatic, and resume the Crusade to the Holy land in the spring weather. This was agreed to, since they relied on the ships and good will of Venice to get to their destination anyway.

The second offer was that Enrico Dandolo, Doge of Venice, aged as he was, would take up the Cross and join them, bring the support of the people of Venice. The offer was made and accepted in a grand ceremony, and in the early days of October 1202, the Crusade departed Venice for the city of Zara to spend the harsher winter months.

The problem on the horizon? Zara was not controlled by Venice. It was a Croatia-Hungary city. Dandolo wanted it subjugated so Venice would have total control over the northern Adriatic, and now he had an army of thousands whom he could coerce to do his bidding. This will turn into the second (but not the last) disaster of the Fourth Crusade. See you tomorrow.

Geoffrey de Villehardouin

The influence of Byzantine art and culture on Italy (especially in the 13th century) was discussed yesterday, and I referred obliquely to a reason for it. The reason for it was the Fourth Crusade. Before we dig further into why the Fourth Crusade produced those influences, however, I want to mention a chief historical source of what happened on that crusade.

His name was Geoffrey de Villehardouin (his seal is to the left), and he lived from about 1150 until c.1213, not too many years after the Fourth Crusade ended. He was a literate French knight, who was made Marshal of Champagne in 1185. In 1199 the Crusade had been called by Pope Innocent III. On 28 November, Count Thibaud III of Champagne called a tournament for his nobles. Also present was Fulk of Neuilly, a preacher who fervently supported the Fourth Crusade.

Thibaud urged all present to "take up the Cross" and join Innocent's Crusade. They did, and chose Thibaud to lead their contingent. Thibaud died in 1201, a few years before the Crusade started; before he died, however, he had appointed Geoffrey and some others to go to Venice and make arrangements for ships to ferry the armies of Western Europe to the Holy Land.

In Venice, Geoffrey and the other envoys made arrangements for hundreds of ships, and predicted when (a few years hence) the armies would arrive over the Alps and reach Venice. He had to deal with the Doge of Venice, Enrico Dandolo, who at the time was well into his 80s but still a shrewd leader. Dandolo was eager for the revenue that would come from the armies of France, etc., bringing their money to pay for their passage.

What Geoffrey could not have known, however, is that all the different groups of armed men and supporters would not follow the same plan. Instead of meeting up in Venice, some chose a different approach. Several of the collected groups that chose to join this Crusade went to Marseilles and commissioned ships there. When The French group of which Geoffrey was a part arrived in Venice, there were too few Crusaders to be able to pay for the three years of ship-building costs incurred by the Venetians.

For Venice and the Crusaders, this seemed like a disaster. For Dandolo, however, it was an opportunity, and he knew just how to exploit it. Step one was to effectively incarcerate the entire army of thousands, and he had a way to do that.

Tomorrow we'll see how the well-intentioned Fourth Crusade went "off the rails."

The Italo-Byzantine style

Yesterday I introduced the Florentine artist Coppo di Marcovaldo (c. 1225 – c. 1276), who painted in the Italo-Byzantine style, which became the major style of Italian painters in the 13th century, continuing for some painters into the 15th century. (Cimabue and Giotto started developing their own styles, helping to usher in the Italian Renaissance.) The illustration here is of a 13th-century Italian triptych in the Italo-Byzantine style.

The original Italo-Byantine artworks were religious icons, primarily of the Madonna and Child; small framed works, often with a golden background. The term is also applied to some architecture, and is apparent in a few very old structures, such as San Marco in Venice.

Whence came this influence? You may remember recently this post that discussed the presence of Byzantines in parts of Italy. Emperor Constans II had moved his headquarters to Sicily in the 7th century, and although the following emperors remained in Constantinople, there was still a lot of Greek culture and cultural influences in the middle part of the Mediterranean.

Although the 7th century influx of Byzantine influence in Sicily and southern Italy may have hung around until the 13th century, there was a later event that brought a larger influx of Byzantine artistic influence to the West. I'm talking about the Fourth Crusade and the events of 1204.

Called by Pope Innocent III, it did not attract as much excitement as he would have liked. Saladin had reconquered Jerusalem, and the Third Crusade had barely finished, so enthusiasm for the Crusades was waning. One result was a lack of donations to finance the venture. One must plan ahead, however, and so six envoys were sent to Venice to discuss arrangements for ships to transfer thousands of men, their horses, and supplies across the sea to the Holy Land. What these envoys did not know, of course, was how much (few) the donations were back in England and France.

It is fortunate for us that one of the envoys was a literate man who wrote a detailed account of the negotiations (after the fact, so we have to question how faithful he was to his own part in everything, once he knew how badly things had gone). He, and why the Fourth Crusade was crucial to bringing Byzantine art to Western Europe, will be a subject worthy of a few entries, starting tomorrow.

A Known Artist

One of the things that makes Coppo di Marcovaldo (c. 1225 – c. 1276) interesting is that he is one of the earliest artists from Florence whose work can be reliably attributed. His most famous work, the Madonna del Bordone ("The Madonna of the Pilgrim's Staff") was signed and dated, and came about under sightly unusual circumstances.

It is a large (7.5 x 4 feet) tempera painting (seen here) in a basilica in Siena, produced in the year 1261. What makes it particularly interesting is that one of the first records including Coppo's name is a list of Florentine soldiers in the war with Siena that ended in 1260, which the Sienese won.

The assumption of some historians is that Coppo may have been taken prisoner in Siena, and that his reputation as a painter must have been so well-established that he was asked (required) to produce the Madonna del Bordone, perhaps as a condition of his release. Otherwise, perhaps he was not a prisoner and was commissioned as part of ongoing peace-keeping attempts between the two city-states.

Many depictions of Madonna and Christ Child up to this point focused on the abstract nature of divinity, and the child and mother are displayed looking straight at the viewer, sometimes sitting in a very symmetrical pose facing outward. Coppo's painting shows the child looking tenderly at his mother, while she has her head turned slightly towards him but with her eyes looking toward and engaging the viewer.

Although the clothing of the two figures is indicative of northern Italy, the poses of the two figures are similar to the way Byzantine art at the time was representing Madonna-Child art. This Italo-Byzantine style is well-known to art historians, and we'll look at some further examples (and the reason for them) tomorrow.

Medieval Hell(s)

The concept was simple: be good and go to Heaven, be bad and go to Hell. Each of these outcomes was eternal: you either had bliss or torment forever. Eternal bliss was a fairly straightforward concept, but eternal torment opened the gates for imagination.

We've recently seen some version of Hell specifically for Judas Iscariot in posts here and here. Dante Alighieri of course offers his version of Hell in the Divine Comedy. The Gospel of Luke tells of the rich man and the beggar Lazarus; when they die, Lazarus is carried to Heaven, from which he can look down on the rich man (called Dives), tormented in flame so badly that he wants Lazarus to be sent by Abraham with just the water from the tip of his finger to cool the rich man's tongue. 

Modern theology has abandoned this imagery, and describes Hell is being as far distant from God as it is possible to be. Medieval theologians, however, preferred to make Hell such a ghastly outcome that avoiding sin in this world was preferable.

Some individuals had visions of Hell that were shared to help others avoid that fate. The Vision of Tnugdalus shows what an evil life can lead to, and saves the man from continuing in his wicked ways. Even the non-wicked had visions: Hildegard of Bingen in her 1171 Liber Vitae Meritorum ("The Book of the Rewards of Life") relates a vision she had (which surely wasn't needed to turn her away from a sinful life):

I saw a great swamp. A black cloud of smoke hung over it and a mass of little worms swarmed all over it. In the swamp were the souls of those who had enjoyed foolish fun when they were alive. And I saw a great fire, black, red and white, and in it horrible fiery vipers spitting flame; the vipers tortured the souls of those who had been nasty to others. And I saw a great fire burning in the blackness, and there were dragons in it. Nearby was an icy river. The liars were punished here. To escape the heat, they went into the river. Then, because of the cold, they returned to the fire, and the dragons tormented them. And I saw the thickest darkness. In it were those people who had not obeyed their bishop. They lay on a fiery pavement and were bitten by sharp-toothed worms. And I saw high in the air a hail of ice and fire falling ... and I saw demons with fiery whips beating here and there.

Common aspects of Hell for the Middle Ages were heat/flames, often including brimstone (sulphur), being immersed in blood or boiling water, demons conducting torture, different punishments for different sins, and a subterranean nature (as in the Greek hades), with an opening somewhere on the surface of the Earth that would resemble a gaping maw.

The torturing being conducted in the illustration above is an example of how artists tried to capture the horrific nature of the afterlife for the damned. This particular illustration was by a 13th century Florentine painter by the name of Coppo di Marcovaldo. I think four posts in four days about sin and Hell are sufficient, and it's time to move to something a little more wholesome, like Italian art by Marcovaldo. I'll see you tomorrow.

Other Versions of Judas

The character of Judas in the New Testament fascinated the Middle Ages, even so far as creating more stories about him that take place after his death. One of the common places to find him is the various versions of the voyage of Brendan. Whether there is an original, authentic version of this tale is unknown; what is true is that 1) almost every version of the tale (and there are about 100) includes the encounter with Judas, and 2) the accounts do not all match. Different authors produced different versions of the meeting.

Judas is found on a rock in the ocean. One version does not tell of the encounter in "real time," but has Brendan mention it afterward to his companions. His companions, set with the cold and hail they've been enduring, complain that the warmth of Hell would not be worse. Brendan says:

We have seen Judas, the betrayer of our Lord, in a dreadful sea, on the Lord’s day, wailing and lamenting, seated on a rugged and slimy rock, which was now submerged by the waves and again emerged from them somewhat. Against the rock there rushed a fiery wave from the east, and a wave of coldness from the west alternatively, which drenched Judas in a frightful manner; and yet this grievous punishment seemed to him a relief from pain, for thus the mercy of God granted this place to him on the Sundays as some ease amidst his torments. What, therefore, must be the torments suffered in hell itself?

Some think that, because this is such a simple way to describe it, that this is an earlier version that gave later writers the motivation to expand with more detail. The author might have wanted to skip over (if he knew them) some of the details of the version we saw yesterday, since they have had theological implications that would be unorthodox and unwelcome.

Another version describes a devil that appears on the ship, visible only to Brendan, who questions why he is present. The devil explains that he is being tortured in the deep dark sea, and shows Brendan a vision of Hell. There Brendan sees various torments, and, at the very bottom of Hell, hears weeping. There he sees Judas on a rock in the sea (but this is in Hell), being buffeted by fire at the front and ice from behind. Judas looks up and explains that this will continue until Judgment Day. There are no mollifying circumstances because of any good deeds he may have performed in his lifetime, as we saw yesterday.

(Interesting that Dante also puts Judas at the very bottom and that ice is involved.)

An Anglo-Norman version has him clinging to the rock himself lest he be washed away, and he tells Brendan his whole story, claiming that his punishment is because he despaired of Christ's mercy and killed himself instead of asking forgiveness. This Judas lists two Hells, and that he is the only soul tortured by both: one is a hot mountaintop, one is a cold and odorous valley, with a sea in between. Six days of the week he is tortured in a different way in the alternate Hells, and on Sunday he gets to cling for life to this rock in the middle sea.

Scholars have tried to match details of Brendan's voyage with geography, linking the voyage to the Canary Islands, the Azores, Faroes, or even as far as Greenland or North America. One person thinks the rock on which Judas is found is Rockall, a granite islet of <8500 square feet (see illustration).

But away from geography and back to literature. There is a lot of variety in Judas' suffering because of his status as (probably) Hell's most famous citizen. Writers felt comfortable outing various methods of suffering. So what was the medieval concept of Hell? Was there a uniform, agreed-upon version of what Hell was for, who went there, and how souls were treated? Let's take a very un-Dante-esque trip starting tomorrow.