الخميس، 16 مايو 2024

Download PDF | J. A. Everard - Brittany and angevins. Province & Empire 1158-1203-Cambridge University Press (2000).

Download PDF | J. A. Everard - Brittany and angevins. Province & Empire 1158-1203-Cambridge University Press (2000).

265 Pages







The rule of the Angevins in Brittany is characterised usually as opening an isolated ‘Celtic’ society to a wider world and imposing new and alien institutions. This study, the first on the subject of Brittany under the Angevins, demonstrates that the opposite is true: that before the advent of Henry II in 1158, the Bretons were already active participants in Anglo-Norman and French society. Indeed those Bretons with landholdings in England, Normandy and Anjou were already accustomed to Angevin rule.


















The book examines in detail the means by which Henry II gained sovereignty over Brittany, and how it was governed subsequently by the Angevin kings of England from 1158 to 1203. In particular, it examines the extent to which the Angevins ruled Brittany directly, or delegated authority either to native dukes or royal ministers, and shows that in this respect the nature of Angevin rule changed and evolved over the period.


JUDITH EVERARD is co-editor (with Michael Jones) of The Charters of Constance, Duchess of Brittany, and her Family (1171-1221) (1999).















PREFACE


By [the twelfth-century], Brittany was a central player in the feudal politics of the Anglo-Norman world, partaking of the cosmopolitan Latin culture of the day and economically transformed by the growth of towns. It was no longer a peripheral society ... Distinctive still in cultural and linguistic terms, Brittany was nevertheless taking its place among the territorial principalities which clustered under the mantle of the Capetian monarchy.!





































Thus, in the epilogue of Province and Empire: Carolingian Brittany, Dr Julia Smith elegantly summarised Brittany in the hundred years or so preceding the advent of Angevin rule.





















The aim of this study is to examine Brittany as a province of the Angevin empire from the perspective of the duchy as a participant in the contemporary culture and politics of western France and the AngloNorman realm. I hope to dispel the notion that twelfth-century Brittany was ‘Celtic’ and different, backward and atypical, and therefore not relevant to any discussion of Capetian France or of Anglo-Norman society. This notion has fostered the view that Angevin rule in Brittany, between 1158 and 1203, involved the autocratic imposition of AngloNorman or Angevin institutions which were alien to the Bretons. Since, on closer inspection, these institutions prove to be anything but alien to Brittany by the mid-twelfth century, a thorough reconsideration of Angevin rule in Brittany is called for.



















This study provides such a reconsideration, examining in detail both Brittany’s place within the Angevin empire, and the mechanisms of Angevin rule in Brittany. ‘Angevin rule’, it will be stressed, was not a monolithic phenomenon, unchanging over a period of nearly half a century. On the contrary, one can trace the changes in the nature of Angevin rule in Brittany under the succession of Angevin rulers down to King John.


This book is derived from my doctoral thesis, completed in 1995 under the supervision of Professor Sir James Holt. My primary debt of gratitude is to Professor Holt, whose patient supervision and good advice were responsible for the production of the thesis. Professor R. B. Dobson has been and I hope will continue to be a valued mentor, whether official or unofficial, and has shown great forbearance in his capacity (until his retirement very shortly before publication) as the Advisory Editor to the ‘Cambridge Studies in Medieval Life and Thought’ series charged with overseeing production of this book. I would also like to take this opportunity to express my gratitude to Professor Michael Jones, Professor Rosamond McKitterick, M. Hubert Guillotel, Dr Elisabeth van Houts, Dr Katharine Keats-Rohan, Dr Daniel Power and Dr Karen Jankulak for their advice and encouragement.


My research trips to France would have been far less productive without the assistance of the staff of the various libraries and archives I visited. I am particularly indebted to those of the salle des manuscrits at the Bibliothéque nationale and of the Archives départementales of Ille-et-Vilaine (Rennes), Cotes-d’Armor (Saint-Brieuc) and LoireAtlantique (Nantes).


















Completion of my doctoral thesis was made possible by generous financial assistance from the Coles-Myer Scholarship, the Cambridge Commonwealth Trust, the Committee of Vice-Chancellors and Principals’ Overseas Students Research Awards scheme and the Principal and Fellows of Newnham College, Cambridge. Completion of the book was undertaken as a British Academy post-doctoral fellow, and in this capacity I have greatly benefited from the hospitality of the Master and Fellows of Fitzwilliam College, Cambridge.


Finally, I wish to thank my husband, Nicholas Syms, for first tolerating the absences of his new wife, then taking a prolonged sabbatical from his own work to care for the two sons who arrived while this work was in progress.























INTRODUCTION


It is well-known that Henry I], king of England, duke of Normandy and Aquitaine and count of Anjou, added the duchy of Brittany to the ‘Angevin empire’ and granted it to his third son, Geoffrey. As the necessary background to the conflict between the young Arthur of Brittany, Geoffrey’s posthumous son, and his uncle King John over the succession to Richard the Lionheart, this is about as much as British historians have felt they needed to know about Brittany in the twelfth century.


The history of the Angevin regime in Brittany has received only scant attention from historians. This neglect has two causes; firstly, the relative scarcity of contemporary sources, which makes the history of Brittany in this period quite obscure, and secondly, the sentiments of historians. Both British and French historians tend to overlook Brittany as peripheral, backward, and, because of its Celtic history, different and atypical. Whether the subject is the Anglo-Norman realm, the Angevin empire or the Capetian monarchy, Brittany appears marginal, both geographically and culturally.


Breton historians, for their part, have tended to avoid the period of Angevin rule, passing over it as a shameful episode of foreign, and worse, ‘English’, domination best overlooked. When the topic cannot be avoided, they have tended to emphasise baronial rebellion against Henry II, characterising it as the heroic resistance of Breton patriots.' In the otherwise excellent A. Chédeville and N.-Y. Tonnerre, La Bretagne feodale, xte-xute siecle (Rennes, 1987) the subject of ‘La mainmise progressive d’Henri II sur la Bretagne’ is dealt with in two pages (pp. 86-8), while five pages are devoted to baronial resistance (‘Un pouvoir difficilement accepté’, pp. 88-93). Although these attitudes are understandable, the central argument of this book is that they are unjustified.


Furthermore, the effect of Brittany’s near-absence from the historiography on the Angevin empire has been positively misleading. The politics of Henry I] and his sons cannot be understood without regard to the time and resources they invested in acquiring and maintaining lordship over Brittany. In particular, the political career of Henry II’s son Geoffrey is incomprehensible, an apparently irrational series of plots and betrayals, if one ignores his career as duke of Brittany. Without an understanding of the institutions of Breton government before Angevin rule, it is impossible to judge whether Henry II and Geoffrey deliberately introduced Anglo-Norman or Angevin institutions in Brittany.


In contrast with the dearth of material on Brittany under the Angevins, the historiography of Brittany in the earlier middle ages, even up to the late eleventh century, is thriving. Two monographs have recently appeared on Carolingian Brittany.” At the same time, several Breton historians have focused their research on Brittany in the tenth and eleventh centuries, and especially on the subject of the formation of the nobility. The result of this work is to emphasise continuity in Breton society through the ninth and tenth centuries.


The twelfth century represents something of a lacuna in the historiography of Brittany. There is no monograph on the subject of Brittany in the eleventh and twelfth centuries, and few published articles. Recent scholarship resumes at the end of the Angevin period, with two articles on the life and reign of Duchess Constance.*


This lacuna can be explained, at least in part, because the twelfth century falls in between two periods. It is too late for the period of the formation of the post-Carolingian feudal society, which so interests the current school of Breton medieval historians, and too early for the golden age’ of ducal Brittany. This book aims to go some way towards bridging the gap. Although there has been some work on Brittany and the Angevins, no work has appeared on Angevin rule in Brittany in its own right, rather than for the purposes of comparison with other provinces or periods.®


Primary sources for Brittany in the twelfth century are scarce. The scarcity is particularly conspicuous in literary sources. In contrast with the eleventh-century ‘chronicles’ of Nantes and Dol, no Breton chronicles written in the twelfth century have survived, only monastic annals.° Breton historiography was revived in the late middle ages, but the late ‘chronicles’ or ‘histories’ of Pierre Le Baud, Alain Bouchard and the ‘anonymous of Saint-Brieuc’ obviously are not reliable as primary sources for the twelfth century.’ Yet it has recently been argued that these authors were serious scholars, albeit politically motivated, and, more importantly, they had privileged access to ducal and baronial archives and drew on documentary sources which are no longer extant.® In this study, especially in Chapter 6, I have used Le Baud’s ‘Histoire de Bretagne’ (1505) and ‘Chroniques de Vitré’ selectively, citing Le Baud where it is probable that his account is based upon a documentary source, and adding corroborative evidence as far as possible.


Contemporary literary evidence, therefore, derives solely from sources written outside Brittany. The limitations of this are obvious; a writer residing elsewhere and having only a passing interest in Brittany could not be expected to describe Breton current affairs accurately or in detail. This is illustrated by the work of William the Breton, who wrote his Gesta Philippi Augusti around 1214. In a brief digression from his royal subject-matter, William records an important event in the history of Brittany: the end of the succession contest which followed the death of Duke Conan II, with Conan IV’s triumph over Eudo de Porhoét in 1156. William relates this in a way which would interest his French audience, describing Eudo’s period of exile at the court of Louis VII. This chronicle is the only source for some of the matters it records, and there is no reason to doubt William’s veracity. The lack of Breton chronicle material is illustrated by the fact that this material was included by William in his chronicle merely as ‘incidentia’.'° It is ironic that we are obliged to rely upon ‘incidentia’ in a chronicle written for other purposes as an important contemporary source for Brittany.


William was writing many years after the events occurred, and from Paris, but at least he was a native of Brittany, and possibly an eyewitness to some of the events he describes. The well-known British chroniclers of Henry II and Richard also make some references to Breton affairs, but only insofar as they concern the Angevin royal family, mainly Henry II’s and Geoffrey’s visits and military campaigns there. The most detail is provided by Roger of Howden, and it is unfortunate that his chronicles do not begin until 1169 (coincidentally, with Henry II’s Christmas court at Nantes).


The most valuable chronicle is that of Robert de Torigni, who knew Henry II personally and enjoyed royal favour. As abbot of Mont SaintMichel, Torigni was in an excellent position to record events in northeastern Brittany. In contrast, he does not seem to have been well informed about events in southern Brittany. This is well illustrated in his account of the 1173 revolt. Torigni gives a detailed account of the siege of Dol, the cathedral town just across the bay from Mont SaintMichel, but as to rebellion around the borders of Nantes and Anjou, Torigni’s account is sketchy and garbled.''


Other literary sources provide evidence of Breton affairs. Henry II’s military campaigns in 1167 and 1168 are mentioned in Stephen of Rouen’s epic poem, ‘Draco Normannicus’, and in the vita of Hamo of Savigny.'* The siege of Dol in 1173 is described in Jordan Fantosme’s verse ‘chronicle’.'? An especially valuable source is a narrative account of the theft and recovery of the relics of Saint Petroc which occurred in 1177.'4 Written soon after the events it describes, this remarkable narrative contains much material about the workings of Henry II’s chancery, about life in Brittany, and not least about the administration of Brittany (or at least north-eastern Brittany) under Henry II at this date.


The literary sources are valuable for the politics of Henry II and Geoffrey regarding Brittany. Being concerned with events like births, deaths and marriages, warfare and treaties, they are, however, a poor source for anything routine and generally contain little evidence for the administration of Brittany. I have given them so much emphasis, however, because the diplomatic sources are so limited.


In the use of written records, the government of Brittany resembled that of the neighbouring counties of Anjou and Poitou much more than that of England and Normandy. There were no routine records of financial accounting or justice, equivalent to pipe rolls or plea rolls, created and preserved by an office of royal/ducal government.'? The principal sources for the administration of Brittany are charters and notices recording property transactions. Some of these were created by royal/ducal officials in the conduct of their duties; more indicate the participation of a ducal officer, usually as a witness. There are also ducal acta, including a small number of charters of Henry II and Geoffrey concerning Brittany.


The common characteristic of all this diplomatic material is that its subject-matter concerns ecclesiastical institutions, or lands which ultimately came into their possession. The church remained solely responsible for the preservation, if not the creation, of legal documents in Brittany even in the last quarter of the twelfth century.


Given that all the administrative records which have survived, whether produced by officials or by the ecclesiastical beneficiaries of their actions, were preserved by the latter, the survival of episcopal and monastic archives is of paramount importance to the study of the administration of Brittany in the twelfth century. Here, unfortunately, we are not well served. Most of the extant cartularies containing Breton material were those of the great Benedictine houses: Redon and Quimperlé in Brittany, Mont Saint-Michel, Marmoutier, Saint-Florent de Saumur and the great abbeys of Angers outside. By the late twelfth century, patronage of Benedictine monasteries had become unfashion-able and the Benedictine abbeys and priories of Brittany were in decline, or at least had ceased to expand. The cartularies of Redon, Quimperlé and Mont Saint-Michel are principally eleventh-century works. Twelfth-century charters which were not included in the cartularies have not all survived. There are thus relatively few charters relevant to this study in Benedictine cartularies.


By the mid-twelfth century, patronage of the new religious orders was much more fashionable, in Brittany as elsewhere.'® For these, though, the survival of documents is even less reliable. How much material is missing or lost is illustrated by comparison with the few extant twelfth-century cartularies. For instance, the cartulary of Savigny contained three charters of Duke Geoffrey. The Cistercian abbey of Buzay did not produce a cartulary but preserved its original charters, including two of Duke Geoffrey. Another Cistercian abbey, La Vieuville, preserved the written record of a dispute determined on the orders of Henry II around 1167 (in La Vieuville’s favour, of course), and a confirmation charter of Duke Geoffrey. The twelfth-century cartularies or archives which have survived, even if only as copies, contain not only ducal charters but documents providing valuable evidence for the administration of Brittany under the Angevins, such as charters for Buzay and Fontevraud made by Henry II’s seneschals of Nantes, or a charter made for Savigny recording that Ralph de Fougéres, as ‘Seneschal of Brittany’, presided over the ducal curia at Rennes.'”


Other Breton monasteries which Henry II and Geoffrey are known, or are likely, to have patronised, such as Begard, Langonnet, SaintMaurice de Carnoét, La Blanche Couronne and Melleray (all Cistercian), had all suffered almost total loss of their archives before the eighteenth century. Cathedral archives have also suffered serious losses, for instance, the archives of the cathedral of Dol were destroyed when the cathedral was attacked by King John in 1203.'% The scarcity of documents from the monasteries, which were in their heyday in the second half of the twelfth century, and from the cathedrals is particularly unfortunate.


Apart from ducal acta, the only official records of the Angevin administration are charters of the ducal seneschals recording proceedings in the ducal curia. Even these were produced ad hoc, at the request of the parties, and not as a matter of routine.















Transactions between laymen were not customarily recorded in writing in Brittany before the mid-twelfth century. The extant charters and notices from before this date were all produced to record transactions in which a religious institution had an interest. The practice of recording transactions between laymen first appears during the reign of Duke Conan IV (1156—66).'° It is likely that this material is significantly under-represented in the historical record, in comparison with written records of transactions involving churches. The relative rarity of extant written records of transactions between laymen is probably explained by failure of preservation. It is significant that some of the earliest documents made on behalf of laymen pertain to the greatest baronial families, principally Fougéres and Vitre, who were the leaders, among the barons, in beginning both to produce and to preserve documents themselves.?°


The main diplomatic sources for this study, then, are the acta of Henry II and Duke Geoffrey pertaining to Brittany, the acta of royal/ ducal officers produced in the exercise of their duties, and documents produced by religious institutions who were the beneficiaries of the exercise of these duties.


The remainder of this introductory chapter will pursue the theme of Brittany’s integration in the wider Frankish and Anglo-Norman world. This issue would not arise in a study of any of the neighbouring regions, such as Maine or Anjou, and the reason why it arises in respect of Brittany is the conventional characterisation of Brittany as a Celtic region. As a preliminary matter, then, I would emphasise that medieval Brittany was not culturally homogeneous. The immigrants from the British Isles who began to colonise Brittany in the fifth century joined a population similar to that in other parts of the former Roman Gaul, combining Gallo-Romans and more recent Germanic arrivals in the east. The Bretons, naturally, did not colonise Brittany uniformly, rather they were concentrated in the west, on the Armorican peninsula, and along the littoral. Although later military success would extend the hegemony of the peninsular Bretons eastwards beyond even the boundaries of the medieval duchy of Brittany, this proved ephemeral, both politically and culturally, even in the future counties of Rennes and Nantes. By the twelfth century, Frankish cultural influence predominated east of a zone running north-south, corresponding, very approximately, with the courses of the Rance and the Vilaine.?! Hence there is no question about the integration of at least the eastern part of Brittany with the neighbouring regions of Francia. They belonged to the same cultural and political world.


One would expect to find a distinction between the east and the west of Brittany in this regard, and indeed, around 1100, contemporaries might describe men of Cornouaille as “Britones’, as distinct from men of Nantes.?* Yet the sources do not yield any visible cultural difference between east and west, at least among the clergy and the aristocracy. The exclusive use of Latin for writing, and its monopoly by the clergy, certainly disguises such differences, but this in itself is a manifestation of how ecclesiastical institutions were a force for integration between east and west, Frankish and Breton.


Cultural influences may be seen as working in both directions. The aristocracy of eastern Brittany, while integrated in Frankish society, as is demonstrated for example by their personal names (Radulfus, Gaufridus, Willelmus), were evidently conscious of, and proud of, their separate Celtic cultural and literary heritage.*? The aristocracy of western Brittany, although they ruled over a society that was geographically isolated and where the vernacular language was Breton,”* were perfectly capable of participating in Frankish and Anglo-Norman affairs when they chose to, as the examples discussed below demonstrate.


The second matter to be emphasised is that, prior to the advent of Henry II, Brittany was not an autonomous region. Since the Merovingian period, rulers of Brittany had been subject, at least in theory, to the rulers of Francia.*° After the collapse of Carolingian authority, the dukes and counts of Brittany from time to time came under the political influence of the counts of Blois-Chartres, Maine and Anjou and of the dukes of Normandy.*° Thus, when Henry II asserted his lordship over all of Brittany, he was not exercising some new and unheard of rapacity, but was following the example of his Norman and Angevin ancestors. In exercising direct lordship over Brittany, he was merely fulfilling their ambitions. The fact that the counts and dukes of Brittany had been effectively independent of external lordship since the end of the Carolingian era was not a manifestation of some ancient autonomy; it was rather due to the fragmentation of political authority which was occurring throughout Francia at the time.


The incidence of Frankish institutions in eleventh-century and early twelfth-century Brittany may be traced to two causes. The first was Brittany’s relationship with the Carolingian empire, which necessarily involved the importation of Frankish institutions west of the Breton march. Even the westernmost regions were incorporated in the ninthcentury province of Brittany, which was unified under Carolingian authority.*’ The demise of the Carolingian empire did not extinguish these institutions. As elsewhere in Francia, they evolved and mutated in the course of the tenth and eleventh centuries.


A second phase of importation of Frankish institutions occurred in the tenth and eleventh centuries.** During the Viking attacks on Brittany in the first half of the tenth century, many leaders, lay and ecclesiastical, went into exile in the French hinterland. Inevitably they were influenced by the society they encountered there, and these influences were felt when they returned to Brittany. This is exemplified by the drive to revive and reform Benedictine monasticism which took place in Brittany from the late tenth century. New abbeys were founded, and the few that had survived from the Carolingian period were reformed. In all cases, this involved the introduction of an abbot and monks from an established monastery outside Brittany.?? As well as reforming ideals, the monks brought with them Frankish institutions for the administration of the monastic estates. These, in turn, influenced the estate-management practices of their lay neighbours. Arguably, this is the origin of the offices of senescallus, prepositus and vicarius character-istic of the administration of both lay and ecclesiastical estates in the eleventh and twelfth centuries. Significantly, in Cornouaille, where Breton was the vernacular language, a Frankish term was employed for the office of seneschal, presumably because the institution itself was a Frankish importation °°


There were thus two separate currents of Frankish influence operating throughout Brittany in the eleventh and early twelfth centuries. One derived from the survival of Carolingian institutions, the other from the importation from Francia of post-Carolingian institutions in the tenth and eleventh centuries.


It would be satisfying to list all the manifestations of Brittany’s integration with the politics and culture of neighbouring regions. This would, however, involve a lengthy description of all aspects of contemporary politics and culture. Instead, I have selected some specific topics by way of illustration. These are marital alliances with neighbouring regions, relations with England, crusading, coinage and the church.


Prior to the mid-eleventh century, the comital family of Rennes had formed marriage alliances with the dukes of Normandy (Geoffrey I (992—1008) and Richard II, duke of Normandy, had each married the other’s sister) and the counts of Blois (Alan HI (1008-40) married Bertha, daughter of Eudo II, count of Blois). From the late eleventh century, the dukes of the newly forged ducal dynasty always married brides from outside the duchy. Duke Alan IV (1084-1112) married Constance, daughter of William the Conqueror, in 1087.°' After her early death, Alan married Ermengard, the daughter of Pulk IV of Anjou. Ermengard provided a son and heir, Conan III, and survived her husband by many years. She was a formidable influence throughout most of Conan’s reign, and especially ensured that the counties of Nantes and Rennes enjoyed close relations with Anjou.** Conan III himself married an illegitimate daughter of King Henry I. These marriages indicate that the dukes of Brittany had sufficient prestige to enter into marriage alliances with the counts, dukes and even kings of neighbouring regions, but the marriages are also significant for the familial connections they created. The marriage of a daughter of Duke Alan IV to Baldwin VII, count of Flanders, around 1101, was dissolved by papal decree on the grounds of consanguinity, the parties being within the prohibited degrees of relationship on at least two counts.°°


Although it was unusual for the Breton nobility to marry outside Brittany, the occasions when they did also indicate involvement in French and Anglo-Norman politics at a high level. In the mid-eleventh century, Rivallon, the first lord of Combour, married Aremburga du Puiset.°* Harvey, lord of Léon, married an illegitimate daughter of Stephen of Blois at a time when the latter seemed secure on the throne of England.*? In 1151, Henry, lord of Tréguier, married Matilda, daughter of John, count of Vendome.*°


Links between the Armorican peninsula and the south-west of Britain were of course fundamental to the creation of Breton society in the early middle ages. I will begin this discussion, though, with contacts in the tenth century. While Breton monks notoriously sought refuge from Viking attacks in more easterly parts of France, at least some of the Breton nobility went into exile in southern England. It was from England that Alan ‘Barbetorte’ launched his campaign to reunite Brittany under his authority. Thus the Breton aristocracy also experienced Anglo-Saxon culture and institutions.*” In contrast with the Carolingian influence, there is now little evidence for Anglo-Saxon influence on Breton society, although the identification of Anglo-Saxon motifs in the ornament of the tenth-century crypt of the church of Lanmeur (Finistére) is tantalising.*®


These contacts did not cease in the eleventh century. Bretons were among the foreigners received in England by Edward the Confessor.°” Recent research has revealed the extent to which Bretons participated in the Norman conquest of England, and subsequently held crosschannel estates as tenants-in-chief of the English crown.*° Two different contingents of Breton settlers have been identified. The most conspicuous was from the north-west of Brittany, under the leadership of the sons of Eudo comes Britannorum, younger brother of Duke Alan II and autonomous lord of Penthiévre. At least two of Eudo’s younger sons, Brian and Alan Rufus, took part in the 1066 expedition. Alan was rewarded with large estates in eastern England. With additional grants of land stretching from northern Yorkshire to Essex and Hertfordshire, these formed the honour of Richmond, retained by Eudo’s descendants into the thirteenth century. Numerous Bretons, principally from the lands controlled by the Penthiévre family, settled on these estates. The other contingent lacked the unity of the Richmond tenants. These were Bretons from the north-east of the duchy who received grants of land in the midlands, the south-west and the Welsh Marches, mainly from Henry I.


It is self-evident that these Bretons, who were so involved in AngloNorman and Angevin society through landholding and marriage, cannot have been monolingual in Breton or in any way insular in their culture and politics. It is surely significant that in establishing the caput of his honour near Gilling (North Yorks.), Alan Rufus gave it the Romance name of Richmond, rather than a name derived from Brittany or the Breton language.


In addition to their participation in the Norman conquest of England, Bretons joined in the other contemporary Frankish movement of the First Crusade. A Breton contingent, led by Duke Alan IV, fought alongside the Normans.*! One source (albeit probably a partisan one) accords Alan IV a prominent role, describing him as the first lay magnate to take the cross at Clermont in 1095, and as leading the Frankish delegation to meet the emperor at Byzantium.*? In joining the first crusade, Bretons shared an experience common to other contemporary French nobles and knights. After 1099, Bretons continued to make pilgrimages, armed and unarmed, to Jerusalem.”


As to coinage, Brittany followed the pattern common to western Francia following the breakdown of Carolingian royal authority. The royal prerogative of minting coins devolved to the level of the dukes but no further. The only coins minted in Brittany other than at ducal mints were those of the lords of Penthiévre, a cadet branch of the ducal dynasty which did not acknowledge ducal authority. Breton coinage was consistent with that of neighbouring regions in terms of its design and value.**


There is some evidence for the circulation of ‘foreign’ coinage in Brittany before the mid-twelfth century. A coin-hoard from the 1080s deposited at Bain is predominantly composed of Breton ducal coinage, but also contains some coins minted by the counts of Anjou and one specimen of French royal coinage minted at Mantes. There is more evidence for Breton coins circulating outside Brittany in this period, mainly in Normandy. Among these are specimens of the coinage of Penthiévre, minted at Guingamp by Stephen, lord of Penthiévre (r098—c. 1136), if not before.*° Deniers of Guingamp were common currency within the continental domains of the Angevin empire. As such, they were included in an Angevin royal ordonnance on exchange rates, which indicates that deniers of Guingamp were of approximately the same value as those of Angers and Tours.*°


On the subject of the integration of Brittany into the Frankish world, one cannot overestimate the role of the church. All nine dioceses of Brittany were within the ecclesiastical province of Tours, which, through provincial councils and archiepiscopal acts, ensured a degree of co-ordination between the Breton dioceses and the other, Frankish, dioceses of the province (Tours, Angers and Le Mans).


The dispute with Tours over the claims of the archbishop of Dol to metropolitan status, pursued from the mid-eleventh century and throughout the twelfth, is deceptive because it suggests that the Breton church had a national identity and that it sought independence from the ‘French’ archbishop of Tours.*” Not all of the dioceses of Brittany recognised Dol’s metropolitan status, however. In fact the dukes do not seem to have supported Dol, and the dioceses which were in comital/ ducal hands (Rennes, Nantes, Vannes and Cornouaille) were not suffragans of Dol in this period. From 1122 until its final demise in 1199, the archbishopric of Dol in fact had only two suffragans, the bishops of Saint-Brieuc and Tréguier, with the remaining six dioceses of Brittany accepting the supremacy of Tours. The dioceses of Saint-Brieuc and Tréguier were controlled by the lords of Penthiévre, who, throughout the period of the Dol dispute, maintained a policy of independence from the dukes of Brittany. The decision of their bishops to support the archbishop of Dol, contrary to ducal policy, was a manifestation of their dependence upon the lords of Penthiévre.


Gregorian reform was at first stubbornly resisted in Brittany, where the counts and other magnates treated the bishoprics within their territories as family property.** By the twelfth century, though, the reform movement began to take effect. Bishops from outside Brittany were appointed, such as the Angevin Marbod, bishop of Rennes (1093-1123), and Baldric of Bourgeuil, archbishop of Dol (1107-30). Native Breton bishops shared the education and values of their brother bishops, no doubt due to the fact that the Breton clergy moved freely between Brittany and Francia. Peter Abelard, for instance, was born at Le Pallet in the county of Nantes. After the downfall of his scholastic career, Abelard was elected abbot of the ancient Breton abbey of SaintGildas de Rhuys. Bernard de Moélan was chancellor of the cathedral of Chartres before returning to his native Cornouaille as bishop of Quimper (1159-67). Bernard d’Escoublac was a monk at Clairvaux before becoming bishop of Nantes (c. 1148—70). Josce, bishop of SaintBrieuc (1150-1157), became archbishop of Tours (1157-74). William the Breton was educated at Mantes, returned to his native diocese of Saint-Pol de Léon, then entered the service of Philip Augustus. Breton clerics enjoyed a high reputation as scholars. *”


As to the regular clergy, no Breton monastery survived unscathed the Viking attacks of the early tenth century. All the Breton monasteries of the eleventh century were, therefore, refounded, or were new foundations, initially with monks from outside Brittany. Similarly, at this time many smaller monasteries were founded or refounded as priories directly dependent upon these ‘foreign’ abbeys.*”


From the turn of the twelfth century, Brittany was at the forefront in the growth of the new religious orders. Initially, the forests which formed the marches of Brittany, Normandy and Maine attracted hermits and ascetic communities. The abbey of Savigny was founded there under the patronage of the lords of Fougéres. Ralph I de Fougéres also offered property to Bernard, the founder of Tiron, but apparently there was not room in the forest for both holy men, and Bernard and his followers moved on.°! Robert of Arbrissel, the founder of Fontevraud, originated in this area. One of his followers, Ralph de la Fustaye, founded the abbey of Saint-Sulpice-la-Forét, north-east of Rennes, modelled on Fontevraud.°* The Cistercian order enjoyed early and rapid success, under the patronage of both the ducal family and the lords of Penthiévre.°? The Angevin Ermengard, especially as dowager-duchess, seems to have played an important role in religious reform in Brittany. She was in correspondence not only with Marbod, the reformist bishop of Rennes, but also Gerard of Angouléme, Robert of Arbrissel, Bernard of Clairvaux and Geoffrey of Vendéme.** All were, no doubt, eager to benefit from Ermengard’s patronage and her influence with her son, Duke Conan III, to implement their reforming ideals in the duchy. Apart from liturgies containing some obscure Celtic saints,°° by the mid-twelfth century there was nothing to distinguish the church in Brittany from that of the neighbouring provinces.


Finally, as an example of integration, I would cite the seignorial family of Léon. While most of the evidence of relationships between the Breton aristocracy and that of neighbouring provinces derives from the eastern parts of Brittany, the case of the lords of Léon, from the extreme north-west, proves that geographical situation was not a conclusive factor. The populace of the barony of Léon was culturally Breton and spoke the Breton language. The lords themselves continued to use Breton personal names.°° In the eleventh and twelfth centuries, institutions of Carolingian origin were present in Léon. The lords of Léon themselves seem to have been descendants of the Carolingian vicecomes of that pagus, who usurped the public authority of their office. Their baronial administration had Carolingian aspects and they employed typically Frankish household officers such as a seneschal.°’


In terms of external relations, the lords of Léon seem to have followed a policy of splendid isolation. Effectively independent of the dukes of Brittany, they eschewed participation in the Norman conquest of England, and Harvey de Léon was said to have declined an invitation to the court of Henry I. Making it very clear that he did so only of his own free will, he later crossed to England in support of King Stephen.>* Stephen rewarded Harvey with marriage to his illegitimate daughter and endowed him with the earldom of Wiltshire and the honour of Eye, around 1139. Harvey showed his interest in the long-term future of his English estates in his attempt to make Eye priory an abbey, ending its dependence on the Norman abbey of Bernay.°? If a lord of Léon was involved to this extent with Anglo-Norman affairs, it is safe to say that no part of Brittany was isolated from the currents of English and French politics and culture.


Angevin rule did not introduce completely new and alien institutions into Breton society. It is misconceived to attempt to understand Breton/Angevin relations in terms of Celtic versus Frankish culture. Rather, the Angevin government of Brittany was another phase in the long history of close political and cultural relations between Brittany and its neighbours, especially Normandy and Anjou. To understand the Angevin regime in Brittany, and in particular the extent to which it was innovative, it is necessary to consider the politics and government of the duchy immediately before it came under Angevin rule, and that is the subject of chapter one.











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Download PDF | Hans J. Hummer - Politics and Power in Early Medieval Europe_ Alsace and the Frankish Realm, 600-1000-Cambridge University Press (2006).

Download PDF | Hans J. Hummer - Politics and Power in Early Medieval Europe_ Alsace and the Frankish Realm, 600-1000-Cambridge University Press (2006).

320 Pages





POLITICS AND POWER IN EARLY MEDIEVAL EUROPE

How exactly did political power operate in early medieval Europe? Taking Alsace as his focus, Hans Hummer offers an intriguing new case study on localized and centralized power and the relationship between the two from c. 600 to 1000. Providing a panoramic survey of the sources from the region, which include charters, notarial formulas, royal instruments and Old High German literature, he untangles the networks of monasteries and kin-groups which made up the political landscape of Alsace and shows the significance of monastic control in shaping that landscape. He also investigates this local structure in light of comparative evidence from other regions. He tracks the emergence of the distinctive local order during the seventh century to its eventual decline in the late tenth century in the face of radical monastic reform. Highly original and well balanced, this work is of interest to all students of medieval political structures.

















HANS J. HUMMER is Assistant Professor of History, Wayne State University. He has published articles in a number of journals, including Early Medieval Europe, Francia and Deutsches Archiv.



















PREFACE AND ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

This book examines the operation of political power in early medieval Europe, with Alsace as a focus. It explores the networks of monasteries and kin-groups that formed the basis of the local political order, and the connections between local power and the political centre between approximately 600 and 1000. The study draws upon a variety of sources primarily from Alsace, namely charters, notarial formulas, royal instruments, hagiography and Old High German literature, but also upon comparative evidence from other regions, to show how this distinctive local order took shape during the seventh century and came to an end in the late tenth century with the emergence of radical monastic reform. These basic local networks provide the backdrop for interpreting the progress of Carolingian consolidation in the eighth and ninth centuries, the processes of political fragmentation in the latter half of the ninth century and the transformation of aristocratic power during the Ottonian period.




















Academic studies are never exclusively the result of one’s own effort, and this book is no exception. As is perhaps fitting for a study that deals with issues of kinship, associative alliances and institutions, this one rests on the kind support of a wide network of family, friends and funding agencies. I owe the deepest gratitude to my spouse, Sara, and two children, Genevieve and Peter. It goes without saying that I asked for much, and they willingly gave, although importantly not without insisting that the personal relationships that invest study, work and career with meaning continue to develop and grow. I thank the members of my family of origin, who contributed to who I am: my parents, Lloyd and Mardeane Hummer, my late mother, Dorothy Hummer, and my four sisters and two brothers, and their families. I am also grateful for the encouragement and understanding of my wife’s parents, Bill and JoAnn Drews, and her five sisters and their families. Then there is the family of Pat and Mary Geary, who have become like extended relatives to us.



















The research in this book has benefited foremost from the comments, criticisms and scholarly example of my graduate advisor, Patrick Geary. Without his steadfast support, encouragement and belief, this project would not have been seen through to its completion. Carol Lansing and the late Robert L. Benson contributed importantly to my intellectual development; as did Christopher Stevens, who was an expert guide in matters of Old German. I am grateful to John McCulloh, my undergraduate advisor, who early on instilled high scholarly standards. I express my thanks to those who read versions of this study in its entirety and offered fruitful criticisms: Thomas Head, Piotr Gorecki, John McCulloh, Paolo Squatriti and an anonymous reviewer for Cambridge University Press; and to those who read and criticized portions of it: Catherine Bogosian, Warren Brown, David Foote, Jason Glenn and Eric Goldberg. I owe special debts of gratitude to Barbara Rosenwein and Rosamond McKitterick, both of whom read the manuscript twice and offered lengthy criticisms and suggestions. Their intervention has made this study better and richer than it otherwise would have been. I also would like to acknowledge those scholars now deceased, some long before I was born, whose work has been inspirational and become so familiar that I feel as though they might as well be old acquaintances: Albert Bruckner, Heinrich Buttner, Eugen Ewig, Karl Glockner, Bruno Krusch, Christian Pfister, Karl Schmid and Gerd Tellenbach. Needless to say, any shortcomings are entirely my own, and for any mistakes that might persist in these pages — to borrow the plea of Herodotus — ‘may gods and heroes forgive me!’ Finally, I wish to thank the faculty of the history department at Wayne State University, in particular my supportive chairperson, Marc Kruman. They have been, and are, everything that one could want in daily colleagues.





















Research abroad for this study was supported by a grant from the German Academic Exchange Service. I wish to express deepest appreciation to my German Doktorvater, Dieter Geuenich and Thomas Zotz, who arranged an Arbeitsplatz for me in the Institut fiir Landesgeschichte at the Universitat Freiburg. Both offered valuable advice at an early stage of this project and warmly received me, my wife and our daughter, who arrived during a memorable year of research in Germany. This study also benefited from the stimulation of Professor Zotz’s seminar and from interaction with the Mitarbeiter of the Institut, especially Karl Weber. A separate research excursion to Alsace was made possible by the outstanding support of the Barber Fund for Interdisciplinary Legal Research, Center for Legal Studies, Wayne State University. In addition, this project was supported at various stages by a dissertation fellowship from the University of California at Los Angeles, two particularly humane teaching fellowships at UCLA and at the California Institute of Technology, and generous grants from the College of Liberal Arts at Wayne State University.






















Finally, I would like to thank Simon Whitmore and the production team at Cambridge University Press, which displayed impressive diligence, expertise and professionalism. In particular, I wish to extend my appreciation to Alison Powell, who kept the production on a brisk and organized schedule, and Chris Jackson, who livened up the otherwise tedious process of copy-editing with a deft wit.























INTRODUCTION


In 1049 the great reform pope, Leo IX (1049-54), embarked on an ambitious itinerary north of the Alps to root out simony and clerical corruption. In the midst of a pressing schedule of councils, this former bishop of Toul paid a visit to his homeland, to ‘sweet Alsace’ as his biographer called it. There, Alsace’s famous son dispensed blessings, relics and papal privileges to a number of reformed monasteries throughout the region, among them Altdorf, Hesse and Woftenheim which, as Leo proudly recalled, had been founded by his own kin, the so-called lords of Dabo and Eguisheim.’ In his grants to two other monasteries, Lure and Hohenburg, the pope was strangely oblivious to even deeper ancestral ties. For if Leo had emerged from the line of Dabo and Eguisheim, he and his near ancestors also were the direct descendants of a more ancient kingroup, the Etichonids, who had arisen in the seventh century, produced an illustrious line of dukes in the eighth century and been the patrons of Lure, Hohenburg and at least nine other Alsatian monasteries, but who had been transformed around the millennium into a new family, the lords of Dabo and Eguisheim.


Eclipsing Leo’s view of his recent Etichonid heritage was a profound revision in his ancestors’ lordship in the late tenth century, a revision which marked the transformation of a distinctive political order in early medieval Alsace stretching back to the seventh century. As kin-groups such as the Etichonids founded and patronized monasteries, whose unique burden it was to replicate the permanence of the divine order on earth, they had encouraged the growth of institutions whose proprietary endowments formed the material basis of stable and enduring networks of lordship. Indeed, the kin-groups that rose to prominence during the early medieval period, whether their dominance was realized on the local, regional or supra-regional levels, were those that successfully cultivated a local basis of power in this way. With the advent of radical monastic reform in the tenth century, the Etichonids’ identity, which was closely bound up with their patronage of monasteries, was swept away.


As the pope’s activities might indicate, the cultivation of lordly power in early medieval Alsace also was integrally connected to the larger story of power in early medieval Europe. Alsatian monks and lords never operated in a vacuum; their rights and privileges were inextricably tied to the legitimizing authority of popes, kings and emperors. These representatives of the political centre in turn sprang from families whose power and influence was based on the kinds of associative networks pervasive in Alsace, so that the extension of broader political authority was predicated on the possibilities inherent in monastery-based lordship. Thus, if the formation of the lineage of Dabo and Eguisheim was tied to the emergence of reformed cloisters, and if the fate of the Etichonids had been bound to an archipelago of earlier foundations in Alsace, the prestige of these ecclesiastical institutions likewise was dependent upon the grants dispensed by popes and kings, both of whom in 1049, it turns out, were kinsmen to one another and had arisen from families deeply implicated in the patronage of local monasteries.


Needless to say, the problem of power has long occupied the attention of early medieval historians. Some have devoted themselves to elucidating the formal political, military, judicial, legal and ecclesiastical structures through which Frankish officials, especially those of the Carolingian Empire, the most ambitious and successful political unit of the early middle ages, attempted to rule.” Others have found this view incomplete, even unsatisfying. The notion of a system of governance directed from the political centre, they caution, can give off the impression that early medieval kings simply delegated authority to subordinates and exercised power through discrete public institutions. Attention to actual practice, as opposed to prescriptive exhortations, appears to reveal that early medieval kingdoms lacked the salient feature of a state: a routine administration coordinated by a ruler and his representatives. Thus, a countervailing tradition has long called attention to the limitations of early medieval ‘sovernment’.”


Skepticism about maximalist views of governmental organization and the attractions of social history have combined to generate an alternative vision of the past that has emphasized less formal conduits of power. Over the last couple of decades, some historians have shifted the focus away from the agency of kings to the primacy of local context, from formal institutional and political history to custom, kinship, gift-exchange and compromise justice. Influential has been the work of the so-called Bucknell group in Britain’ and of a group of American social historians dubbed with some exaggeration by French medievalists as the ‘new school of American medieval history’.’ According to this view, power was exercised most regularly at the local level, and it is there, social historians have argued, that we must look if we wish to grasp the essential stability of medieval society.


While this fruitful work has succeeded in evoking the vitality of medieval organization independent of formal politics, it in turn has raised additional issues for scrutiny. The close examination of the local social context has brought historians face to face with local institutions, local power brokers, their ties to one another and the relevance of royal authority for the perpetuation of political order. Consequently, the formal elements that social historians have been tempted to set aside as epiphenomenal have reasserted themselves as integral to the formulation of power. Governance in early medieval Europe might have been less abstract by comparison with bureaucratically ordered societies, but its political landscape included formal institutions (especially ecclesiastical ones), political offices and law codes; and its kingdoms possessed a central focus in the person of the king and his court. The authority wielded by kings might appear at times to have been weak and uneven, but it was active, it was both feared and revered, and it was exercised often enough with jarring ruthlessness to ensure a measure of compliance.


It is now less evident that social analysis of non-prescriptive sources, the so-called ‘documents-of-practice’, can recover the hard, as opposed to propagandistic, reality of medieval society. In these postmodern times not only have such sources turned out to be as rhetorically charged as prescriptive texts,° albeit in a different way, but when we examine the circumstances surrounding their production, we often discover that they appear to be the debris left over from struggles for power at the highest levels of early medieval society. This does not mean that documents of practice cannot be used to do traditional social history, but it is to say that the circumstances that provoked documentation often provide clues to the contact points between high politics and local affairs.


The accumulation of research emanating from Germany has made it eminently clear that royal power cannot simply be marginalized as a contaminating artefact. Long preoccupied with issues of political constitution, German medievalists have investigated with ever greater subtlety the relationship between the long dominance of the aristocracy and the evolving manifestation of royal power. As a part of the effort to work out the composition of the aristocracy, they have developed the prosopographical methods and source-critical techniques that have made it possible to work out the connections that run from the highest levels of authority to the lowest.’ This sophisticated work has established the crucial place of kingship in the maintenance of aristocratic power at all levels.





















Over the last decade some investigators have begun to confront anew the problem of political order in the Frankish world by integrating the rich work of social historians on kinship, property-holding and dispute resolution with the scholarship on the aristocracy.” In essence, these historians argue that the crux of the matter is in the details: because an abstract government did not exist, insights into the operation of politics in the early middle ages must be won from close analysis of local contexts. These studies demonstrate that the investigation of a particular locality can never simply be constituted as the study of a discrete region, disconnected from wider politics, but necessarily entails the investigation of power ecumenically. This approach has essentially revealed that the flow of royal power was both enabled and regulated by local networks of power.


I shall draw pragmatically from the wisdom of statists and processualists to delineate the outlines of political order in early medieval Europe, with Alsace as my focus. Although the Carolingian era looms large in the following pages, the study is not limited to that period.’ The weight of scholarship has established the seventh and eleventh centuries as the proper termini for the early medieval era, both of which pre- and postdate the Carolingian period proper. The prodigious research on late antiquity has made it abundantly clear, implicitly or explicitly, that Henri Pirenne was right, if for the wrong reasons: the seventh century rather than the fifth marked the end of antiquity.’ I will begin then not with a Roman order that had ceased to exist, but with a close treatment of the late Merovingian period when a fundamentally different order based on networks of monasteries and kin-groups coalesced.


This early medieval order held sway until the eleventh century, when it underwent profound transformation. The literature here is enormous and sharply debated, but suffice it to say for the moment that although historians disagree on the extent of change, a range of studies written from a variety of perspectives has established that Europe experienced deep and abiding change between Carolingian times and the emergence of the high medieval monarchies and an autonomous Church by the twelfth century.'’ It is important to stress that, although these changes may not have been unconnected to the transformation of the Carolingian world in the tenth century (at least in some areas), '~ they fit only uneasily with the narrative of the collapse of the Carolingian Empire in others.'* In many areas, such as Alsace, the posited transformations noticeably postdated the end of the Carolingian era.


If the seventh and the eleventh centuries mark off the early middle ages as a distinct epoch, then we should be able to account for its coherence with positive evidence. That is, the early medieval period should not simply present a convenient space to trace out the vestiges of a dying Roman order or the emergence of monarchical government in the twelfth century, as is often the case with those working on either side of the period, and even by some working within it. The rulers, prelates and aristocrats of the early middle ages created and perpetuated a coherent political order which — whether they realized it or not, but which we, who have the advantage of hindsight, can nonetheless see — was neither merely a survival of late classical forms nor a prelude to bureaucratization in the high middle ages. In early medieval Alsace, this order flowed from a distinctive symbiosis of familial, ecclesiastical and royal interests.


Aspects of early medieval society that we might conceive of as sociological— custom, networks of kinship and friendship and gift-exchange — are crucial for understanding the formulation of this political order. Nonetheless, it is important to emphasize that these ‘informal’ processes were not necessarily more fundamental than other factors, because the networks that bound people to one another, so far as we can access them, were often mediated by formally constituted institutions. Any treatment of associative networks should blend what we retrospectively distinguish as formal and informal modes of organization. Although I shall use such terms as ‘local’ and ‘central’, ‘political’ and ‘social’, and ‘family’ and ‘monastery’, I do not use them to represent oppositions whose dialectical interaction somehow can be seen to drive historical change. They are merely analytical, meaningful for differentiating the larger Frankish polity from its constituent parts and for identifying patterns of activity in terms that we as outside observers might recognize. Indeed, they are useful for helping us to understand that the distinctions we reflexively draw between local and central power, social and political history, and formal and informal processes are difficult to sustain in an early medieval context. Under the pressure of analysis, general and local order often turn out to be two sides of a coin, political and social life are often indistinguishable, and the relationships between families and the monasteries they patronized were extraordinarily fluid and in any case mutually reinforcing.


I also will de-emphasize the distinction between lay and ecclesiastical interests, as many early medievalists have been doing more systemically. '* Scholars long have pointed out that almost all the sources that survive from the period were preserved by ecclesiastical institutions and so reflect ‘church’ interests. A typical strategy for overcoming this bias has been to abstract from the sources the (lay) society that must have existed beyond the monastery.'> While there is some justification for trying to fill out the wider world encoded in the sources, at least for understanding the contingencies of power, it is by no means clear that one can understand the long continuity of aristocratic power without moving ecclesiastical institutions, which were responsible for our sources, into the centre of the story, not simply as objects of aristocratic activity but as something integral to the structuring of power. In the early middle ages, lay and ecclesiastical spheres were coordinating, rather than subordinating, entities, populated by the same class of aristocrats linked together by networks of friendship and kinship. Monasteries were founded by families who sent their sons and daughters to staff their foundations as monks and nuns and even to administer them as abbots and abbesses, so that the webs of kinship that formed the matrix of this society encompassed both religious and lay persons. Monasteries never simply advanced their own interests; they remained wealthy and vibrant only so long as they attended the interests of their lay and royal patrons. '°


Finally, because a central bureaucracy did not exist in the early medieval period, any investigation of political order needs to be approached from the local context. This strategy is not to be confused with the regional monographs pioneered by Georges Duby in France or by the practitioners of Landesgeschichte in Germany, many of whom have pursued detailed analysis quite consciously at the expense of broader political history.'’ The popularity of both types of regional history may have its origins in anxieties about political centralization in the modern period, in the search for intimacy and belonging in an increasingly impersonal and bureaucratized world.'* Nor is it to be confused with centre-periphery studies. These can be useful for investigating the relationship between the Frankish empire and its marches'” but are less helpful for understanding a system of internal order mediated by local frameworks. Rather, the local arena is simply the place where one is best able to view the interplay of Frankish politics at all levels.













ALSACE AND THE VOSGES


The unique political geography of Alsace lends itself to a fruitful analysis of the issues of centre and locality posed in this book. The region was advantageously located in the middle of Frankish Europe and open to influence from the surrounding centres of power: to the north lay the Frankish heartlands of the mid-Rhine and Ardennes regions, to the east, the powerful dukedom of Alemannia, to the southwest, the Merovingian kingdom of Burgundy, and to the west the Meuse-Moselle basin, which formed the heart of the ninth-century kingdom of Lotharingia (see map 1). Consequently, the Alsatian territories stood at the nexus of several critical frontiers within early medieval Europe whose frequent ruptures have exposed the inner workings of the Frankish order to the inquiring eyes of investigators.” We shall examine these divisions more closely as they present themselves but, briefly, during the seventh century they ran along the frontier between the Merovingian kingdoms of Austrasia and Burgundy, and along the upper-Rhine frontier between Austrasia and Alemannia, a subordinate but frequently rebellious dukedom. In the Carolingian period, Alsace hosted the revolt of Charlemagne’s grandsons against their father Louis the Pious (814-40) and subsequently became a bone of contention along the frontier between the eastern and western Frankish kingdoms. On the other hand, Alsace was at various stages either left largely to its own devices, as was the case during the late Merovingian period; free from disturbance and fully integrated into the Carolingian Empire, as was the situation during the long reign of Charlemagne (768-814); or open to direct royal control, as happened during the late Carolingian and Ottonian periods. In sum, the area is ideal for investigating the interactivity of local networks, royal power and episodic centralization throughout the early medieval period from a variety of perspectives.


The pagus Alsatiae, the ‘district of Alsace’, first emerged in the immediate post-Roman period, probably in the sixth century. The term ‘Alsace’ derives, as best as philologists can decipher, from an old Germanic phrase, ali-land-sat-ja, which meant ‘one who sits in another land’.”’ It presumably referred to the Alemanni who lived on the left bank of the Rhine, but the term appears first only in the seventh century, Fredegar’s chronicle.















The pagus extended from just south of Weissenburg in the north to the Burgundian Gate in the south, and encompassed the plain between the upper Rhine to the east and the Vosges mountains to the west. Frankish Alsace was slightly smaller than its modern equivalent, and only in the tenth century was it subdivided into two districts, the Nordgau and the Sundgau. The pagus probably descended in some way from the old Roman administration of the area, which by the third century ap had divided the territories west of the upper Rhine into several civitates.-’ Although the antique city-based administration had largely disappeared by the seventh century, the Roman imprint remained deeply etched into the region. The dioceses of Strasburg and Basle, which were patterned after the civitates, provided the ecclesiastical administration of northern and southern Alsace, respectively. Frankish Alsace also had inherited from its Roman past an impressive system of roads which ran the length of the Rhine and linked the area to the mid-Rhine region, the former Danube provinces and the Alpine passes beyond. To the west, the roads cut through the Burgundian Gate, penetrated the Vosges at the Saverne gap, and thereby linked Alsace to Besancon and the Sad6ne-Rh6ne corridor, and to Metz and the Moselle basin, respectively. Late Roman emperors, many of whom spent whole careers defending the Rhine frontier, developed an extensive network of imperial residences and fiscal lands which formed the foundations of the Frankish royal estates. In Alsace, these royal lands were concentrated in the north around the old civitas of Brumath and the Roman fortress at Seltz, in the central regions around Strasburg and the palace at Marlenheim, and in the south near Colmar and Basle. The infrastructure of roads, estates and palaces provided an attractive framework for the organization of Frankish lordships and royal power in Alsace.


Although Alsace was open to influences from beyond, its geographical coherence and its peripheral status with respect to the neighbouring centres of power meant that it also possessed a strong local character. The lands immediately east of the Rhine, between the river and the Black Forest, were not so well developed. The centre of Alemannic power lay farther east, between the Danube and Lake Constance, and only in the eleventh century was the Black Forest settled on any scale. The Frankish kings maintained a higher profile in the two poles of Frankish power, the Paris basin and the mid-Rhine territories, although in the early seventh century, and again after the mid-ninth century, the royal presence in Alsace was quite pronounced. The highly developed infrastructure, the relative isolation from political turbulence and the richness of the local agricultural economy probably help to explain the impressive resilience of Alsatian lordships.


The promising ecology of early medieval Alsace — ripe for exploitation by virtue of its well-developed infrastructure — offered much to sustain an emerging lordship or monastery. The fertile loess soils of the plain yielded abundant harvests of cereal crops, the rolling hills beyond nurtured a promising viticulture, and the Vosges mountains provided the rivers and streams that watered the hill country and the alluvial flats. The broader plain north of Strasburg is scored by a number of short, west-to-eastrunning rivers that flowed into the Rhine: from the north, these were the Lauter, the Sauer, the Moder, the Zorn and the Brusch. Southern Alsace is drained principally by the Ill, which flows southwest to northeast, from the Burgundian Gate to Strasburg. The Vosges did not isolate Alsace from the lands immediately to the west; rather its broad and accessible valleys attracted intensive settlement, especially during the seventh century, when an impressive array of monasteries was founded by enterprising aristocrats and Irish holy men. * The exploitation of the vast mountain forests and constant communication among the monasteries drew the surrounding populations into an interdependence which was manifest in the close connections that bound the powerful kin-groups on either side of the massif to one another. >


Since Neolithic times, settlements have accumulated in the foothill regions and plains surrounding the Vosges near rivers and streams.” The Roman period witnessed a busy phase of settlement, especially during late antiquity when the military build-up attracted Roman provincials and barbarians from beyond the Rhine. Place names reveal the Alemannic and Frankish dominance of the area in the post-Roman period, although this most likely was wrought by the implantation of Frankish lordships, rather than the large-scale relocation of population.’ Miracles of modern civil engineering now allow towns to crowd the river banks with impunity, but in pre-modern times villages were more commonly situated on higher ground near minor, rather than major, rivers, safely removed from the violence of floods. The inhabitants of these villages tilled rich fields of wheat, rye and barley, cultivated small orchards and vineyards, grazed cattle, sheep and pigs, raised chickens and gardened vegetables; and they turned this agricultural produce into bread, meat, lard, eggs, cheese and apples to eat, beer and wine to drink, and leather and wool to wear. While the crops grew and the animals grazed, the inhabitants fished the waters and hunted wild game.


They also exploited the thick forests for other valued resources.”* The Vosges are flanked by mixed deciduous and coniferous woods and crowned with conifers, except in the highest elevations of the southern Vosges, where the sandstone has eroded to expose the granite core of the massif.’ These bald mountain tops are well suited to shepherding; the broad Vosges valleys, to agriculture and animal husbandry. The vast forest of the highlands and surrounding plains provided pasturage for pigs; they were gleaned for firewood, nuts, mushrooms, herbs, and wild apples and berries, exploited for timber, their animals trapped for furs, and their bee hives plundered for honey and wax. Yet for all its wealth, the forest was a place of dread: its treasures were not free for the taking, but were guarded by ill-tempered bears, wolves, foxes and wild boars. The battle between humans and the environment, and the effort to tame the forest sometimes structured the dramas in early medieval hagiography. The Life of Columbanus, for example, celebrated the adventures of the eponymous heroic Irish saint who, while taming the wild forests of the southwestern Vosges, ordered marauding bears from their dens, repelled the attacks of terrorizing wolves, scolded thieving birds and affectionately played with squirrels.°” The power of God was not the only weapon against these ferocious and cunning beasts; the spear worked well too: the Vosges forests also were home to some of the favourite hunting preserves of Frankish kings.”


The Vosges linked Alsace to the rich agricultural zones beyond: the cool and wet cereal-producing areas of the Moselle basin to the west and northwest, and the comparatively more temperate, cereal and vine-growing regions of the Sadne basin to the southwest.’” The upperMoselle territories west and northwest of the Vosges lack the starker geological features of Alsace; they form, rather, a transitional zone that links the scarp lands of the Paris basin to the block-mountain systems, such as the Vosges, that form the ramparts of the Rhine valley. Here the transition from mountains to lowlands is less drastic: the Vosges dwindles into forested hills and vales, scarp-edged plateaux and broad valleys that gradually melt into a higher elevation plain. The plain is bounded and drained by two major rivers: on its western edge by the Moselle, which arises in the southern Vosges; and on its eastern edge by the Saar, which flows out of the central Vosges just south of the Saverne Gap, runs north along the hill country abutting the Vosges and eventually empties into the Moselle near Trier. The Moselle and the Rhine, which meet at Koblenz, form a waterway that nearly encircles the Vosges. The weather, the hills and the plain of the upper-Moselle basin combine to yield rich and productive lands for the cultivation of cereals, and lush meadows and pasturage for the grazing of cattle. In modern times, the area has become famous for its rich deposits of coal and iron; in the early middle ages it was exploited rather for another important mineral, salt, which is entombed in the plains and accessible at the surface in shallow pans and basins.


The Burgundian Gate separates the Vosges from the Alpine Jura mountains to the south and forms a gap that joins the upper Rhine basin to the Sa6ne-Doubs watershed to the southwest. The exposed granite core of the southern Vosges falls steeply to the foothills of the Gate, the Jura gradually by a series of descending plateaux. As the Sadne flows south, the lands on either side become increasingly more productive and broaden into the Burgundian Plain, where it receives the waters of the Doubs just south of Dijon. The Doubs arises in the Jura and winds its way north through forested mountain valleys to the Gate. In geological ages past, it flowed thence to the Rhine, but today turns abruptly southwest, rounds the Jura massif, winds its way through pastoral plateau country to Besangon, and then on to the Burgundian Plain. The Sadne continues south to Lyons, where it meets the Rhéne. Together, the Sadne and Rhone valleys form a north-south corridor that extends uninterrupted from the southern Vosges to Provence.


Similar to the upper-Rhine region, these territories had been organized in Roman times into administrative civitates. As one moves clockwise around the Vosges massif, these cities were, from the north: Mainz, Worms, Speyer, Brumath (near Strasburg), Augusta Rauricorum (near Basle), Besancon, Langres, Toul, Metz and Trier. With the Christianization of the Roman Empire in the fourth century, these cities — with the exceptions of Brumath and Augusta Rauricorum, which were superseded in importance by Strasburg and Basle, respectively — became the seats of ecclesiastical dioceses (see map 2). All were connected by a network of roads which looped the Vosges and bisected it with a route that ran through the Saverne Gap and connected Metz to Strasburg. Similar to Alsace, the transVosges regions were organized into rural districts sometime during, or immediately following, the late Roman period. From the north, the nine districts that encompassed the Vosges region were the Bliesgau, the Speyergau, Alsace, the Alsegau, the Portois, the Chaumontois, the Albegau, the Saulnois and the Saargau (see map 3). These districts, or several of them together, at times seem to have been coextensive with the authority of a count, although they were by no means primarily administrative in character.’ They commonly served as neutral, geographical designations in comital, royal or monastic documents to identify the location of property. Most took their names from topographical features, e.g. the pagus Saroinsis, the ‘Saar district’, which encompassed the Saar river basin; or from the names of secondary towns, e.g. the pagus Albinsis, which was derived from the town Alba, or as it is known today, Blamont. As with Alsace, these districts first came to light in the seventh century, when their existence is illuminated by monastic charters.


THE SOURCES


Perhaps because of its favourable geography and fruitful ecology, Alsace has left — by the standards of the period at any rate — an abundance of sources, in particular monastic charters which record the property transactions between patrons and monasteries that allow us to investigate the elaboration of social and political networks.’ The extant documentation is unevenly distributed, so that most of the monasteries, especially those on the western flank of the Vosges, are poorly documented and remain beyond the reach of examination. While the weight of evidence is centred on Alsace, the sources do offer some coverage of southern Lotharingia, northeastern Burgundy, the midRhine region and, now and again, Alemannia east of the Rhine. Thus, the Vosges massif and its impinging areas form the regional core of this study.


Although it has been fashionable to use charters either to infer a family’s private holdings or to demonstrate that aristocrats patronized monasteries to forge connections to patron saints and thus enhance their prestige, I am going to emphasize the institutional basis that monasteries provided for early medieval lordships. I have found very few charters — from the Vosges region at any rate — that show people giving property to a saint. Even in these few cases, the charters do not really say the donor was giving property to a saint, but rather to the ‘party of saint so-and-so’, i.e. to a chapter of monks. What I find in the overwhelming majority of charters is something like this: “I so-and-so in the name of God and for the love of Jesus Christ and the remission of my sins give, donate and confirm to the monastery such-and-such, which was built in the district such-and-such near the river such-and-such in honour of saint(s) so-and-so and where the venerable bishop/abbot so-and-so presides.’ While I do not wish to deny that an act of saintly veneration lurks somewhere in all of this, I do wish to draw attention to something so obvious in these property contracts that many have overlooked it: these people were bargaining with the representatives of formal institutions, the presence of which exerted a powerful influence on the shape and fate of kin-groups.


Alsace, it should be said, probably was not unique in this respect. Donations to the church of Freising in Bavaria, for example, also were made to the institution — to the ‘church of St Mary’. Although patrons to St Emmeram in Bavaria, Gorze in Lotharingia and Fulda in Franconia were likely to donate their property to the ‘holy martyr who resides at the monastery’, this was not always the case, and they might also donate to the institution. The variation between giving to an institution or a saint probably is not a reflection of widely divergent practices, but rather to the presence of a local martyr, as at St Emmeram, Gorze and Fulda, or the absence of one, as at Weissenburg, Murbach and Freising.


The greatest concentration of extant charters from Alsace comes from the monastery at Weissenburg, whose Kopialbuch provides the most extensive collection.*> This cartulary, or codex of charters, contains copies of 272 property transactions in Alsace and southern Lotharingia which range in date from 661 to 864. With the exception of one document, which was forged in the twelfth century,” the charters appear to be straightforward copies of earlier records. The cartulary also includes three charters, nos. 273-5, which were copied in during the eleventh century.’ Two of these record later transactions, although one, no. 273, reproduces a ninth-century transaction and will be considered with the main body of charters. Many of the peculiarities of this source will be treated in the following chapters but, briefly, the volume represents one of the earliest cartularies in two important respects. The volume is one of the oldest extant cartularies: whereas the codices that survive from most other monasteries were put together in the high or late middle ages, the cartulary of Weissenburg was assembled around 860. The unspoken principles that guided the selection and organization of its contents are, therefore, genuinely early medieval and a valuable source for illuminating the views and uses of property in the mid-ninth century. Secondly, many of the charters copied into the cartulary are impressively early. Charters in the other major early medieval collections date to after 740 or 750, which is roughly coincident with the consolidation of Carolingian authority.*” The cartulary of Weissenburg contains a steady flow of charters from 693 on and thus, in contrast with charters from other regions, allows us to take the measure of the local situation before the extension of Carolingian power into the area.


Noteworthy is a particular subset of charters — precarial transactions and conditional gifts, the principal mechanisms by which early medieval families were able to retain control over the property they donated to monasteries.*’ By definition, a precaria was a request for usufruct of property. Its legal origins remain unclear, but the early medieval precaria probably developed out of the freely revocable Roman precarium, vulgar pone contractual practices, and various types of heritable property cession.*” The mark of a precarial document is the request clause in which a suppliant makes a petition (petitio/postulatio) or asks (preco/ suplico) that the beseeched party grant (praestaretis) or permit them to hold (tenere permitteretis) specified property in usufruct. The beseeched party was expected to accede to the request, since documents often indicate that they ‘should grant’ (prestare debuistis) the requested properties.*' In some precarial charters an explicit petition is missing. In these cases, the precarial nature of the transaction is revealed by the humility of the suppliant who acknowledges, in several variations — ‘because of your clemency you have granted those properties in usufruct’ or ‘your piety brought it about that you grant those things to me under usufruct’ — the freedom of the grantor to dispense the property.”


The overwhelming number of surviving precarial formulas and charters involve requests for use of ecclesiastical property. Usually this property had just been given to a monastery or a church by a patron, who then made a petition for lifetime use. Some precarial grants might contain a clause that stipulated a renewal of the lease, most commonly every five years, but these are quite rare.*’ After the death of the petitioner, the property reverted by agreement to the grantor, although some charters and formulas might stipulate continued use for closely related kin, such as spouses, children, nephews or grandchildren.


Precarial grants have misled more than a few researchers who have taken the documents at face value and concluded that when the stipulated heirs expired, the property reverted to the monastery and was lost to the family. However, these provisions worked like a roll-over clause, so that when, say, the grandchildren received the grant, their precaria would have included stipulations for their children and grandchildren to take up the grant, and so on ad infinitum. Anecdotal evidence suggests as much and, besides, medieval values would have compelled monasteries to share their largess far beyond the second or third generation." To hoard wealth was to be greedy; it was to be like the dragon in Beowulf: alone, despised and friendless. Dragons might be able to get away with their outrageous unwillingness to share, but monks could not fly and breathe fire, so they had to continue to share out the property given to them if they ever hoped to enjoy support and command protection in this bellicose society. In other words, monks would well have understood that precarial transactions were constrained by the interests of their lay patrons for generations, so long as close kin were still around to claim the properties.



















This is why most surviving transactions involve precarists making requests for property either they or their kin had donated, although it was possible to petition for use of additional ecclesiastical property to which there was no prior family connection.


According to notarial formulas, a precaria was followed by a prestaria,*” ora grant, sometimes called a commendaticia,*” in which the grantor agreed to the request, granted the property ‘in benefice’ or ‘in precaria’ and then repeated the conditions of the tenure listed in the precaria. The terms of the prestaria mirror those of the precaria, the only difference being that a precaria might sometimes contain stipulations which prevented the grantor from interfering with the property while the precarist was using it. Very few pure prestarial charters have survived, but if notarial formulas are a fair guide, the prestarial grant was the third part of a three-step process of gift-exchange: a party gave property to an ecclesiastical institution in return for prayers, and then petitioned the monastery to grant usufructuary rights for life. The monastery agreed to the request, promused to pray for the donor and then repeated the conditions of the lease. Ideally, the transaction would have generated a copy of three documents for each party — a donation charter, a precarial charter and a prestarial charter.‘’ Precariae and prestariae might stipulate payment of a yearly census, or rent, in kind or coin, though this was not always the case. (The reasons for this variation will be taken up in chapters 3 and 4.)


Similar to the precaria was the conditional gift.” In these donation charters, a party made a gift ‘on the condition that’ (in ea ratione ut) the recipient allow the giver to use the property in benefice until death, at which point the grant was to revert to the receiving party. Like the precaria, the conditional gift might include provisions for heirs to assume the benefice, require a yearly payment for right of use or include a request to use property previously given by a third party.*” Conditional gifts were not followed by a prestaria, since continued use of the donation was a condition of the gift, not a request which required a separate grant of permission. It is impossible to delineate any functional difference between the conditional gift and the donation-precaria-prestaria. Both appear in formula collections and both are used in actual charters. The choice of form may have been a matter of preference on the part of the donor, the recipient or the notary. The Weissenburg charters, for example, include instances of the same individual using both forms.°*” The lack ofa functional difference might explain the eventual collapse of the conditional gift and precaria into one form. In the Alsatian and Alemannic formulas of the late ninth century, the tripartite donation-precaria-prestaria and the uni-documentary conditional gift disappeared and were replaced by a conditional gift and a ‘precaria’, which recorded a grant, not a request.°' That is, for whatever reason, the precaria disappeared, the conditional gift required an assenting grant for continued use, and this grant was now called a precaria rather than a prestaria.


In addition to charters, the patronage activities of early medieval Alsatians are vividly depicted in the biographies of saints, many of whom arose from the same kin-groups that endowed the hagiographers’ monasteries. These texts provide insight into the stories, ambitions and ideals of families, monks and nuns, and more broadly into the culture of piety that infused property transactions. These lively sources can be exploited either for basic narrative material or at a more general level for values and assumptions, or both.°” Those written long after the events they purport to describe usually are limited in their usefulness to the latter capacity. Others, in particular Merovingian productions, many of which form the documentary residues of factional politics, have long been a staple of historical reconstructions of that era. The hagiographer’s didacticism and taste for miracles do pose obvious challenges even in ‘historical’ Lives, but most often these are problems of interpretation rather than outright fabrication. So long as we keep in mind the tension between the historian’s search for human motives and the hagiographer’s deference to divine agency, these ‘problems’ can be controlled easily enough.















The history of early medieval Alsace also can be filled out with royal instruments, narrative sources, law codes and a smattering of Old High German literature. Royal instruments include capitularies, i.e. ad hoc edicts and directives, as well as diplomas, which established grants of immunity from secular jurisdiction, privileges, protection or donations of property to monasteries. Once viewed as evidence of the erosion of public authority in the early middle ages, these grants, especially immunities, actually testify to the continuing relevance of royal authority in local affairs.’ Together with the narrative sources, they can be used to work out connections between local power brokers and the royal court, and between Alsace and the wider Frankish realm. Law codes are used sparingly mainly because those that impinge on Alsace, Frankish Salic law and Alemannic law unfortunately have little to say about the donation of property to churches and monasteries. They do shed light on the rules governing partible inheritance and exchanges of property upon marriage, both of which form an important context for interpreting some of the motives behind ecclesiastical gifts. I shall make extensive use of other normative sources, the charter formulas, which were arranged into collections, or formularies, that provided monastic scribes with a range of notarial paradigms. The generic form of these documents allows one to compensate to some extent for the discontinuities in the charter evidence. Vernacular compositions are almost exclusively limited to glosses, versifications of the Bible and translations of basic Christian prayers. Nonetheless, Alsatian monasteries made major contributions to a budding Old High German literature in the ninth century. The patterns of the emergence, cultivation and uses of these vernacular texts shed light on programmes mobilized in Alsace and Lotharingia during Charlemagne’s reign and during the division of the Carolingian Empire in the second third of the ninth century.


From these sources, one can make out a distinctive political order based on networks of monasteries and kin-groups which took shape in the seventh century and persisted until the early eleventh century. Throughout the early middle ages, families and monks existed in close, symbiotic relationships, linked together by bonds of friendship, kinship, aristocratic solidarity and shared property rights. The laity supported monasteries with gifts of property, and the monks reciprocated with counter grants and prayers that sanctified lay lordships. In this way, families cooperated with monks to tap the archival memory of monasteries to claim property donated by ancestors, or to hand down property to their descendants and thus establish intergenerational continuity. In short, monasteries — and the precarial property entrusted to the oversight of monks — provided the material and institutional props that account for the impressive persistence of early medieval lordships.


While monasteries and families cooperated to cultivate a local order, their relationship underwent substantial readjustment in the eighth century, when the Carolingians extended their power. The Carolingian family, itself having constructed a base of local power around a series of monastic foundations and eager to consolidate its authority, was careful to integrate monasteries into its royal lordship with privileges, grants of immunity from lordly control and the confirmation of property rights. As the Carolingians extended liberties and protections to monasteries, they earned in return the gratitude of a talented and educated class of monks willing to copy and promulgate royal edicts, to create art, literature and other useful propaganda, and even to allow their royal protectors to grant out ecclesiastical properties to supporters. As they tied monasteries to themselves with royal favour, Carolingian kings co-opted not merely an ecclesiastical elite, but also the clusters of families tied to the monks by kinship, friendship and property. In this way, the protections extended to monastic communities reinforced the existing local order, simultaneously safeguarded the property rights of patrons and helped families to consolidate their lordships. By these means, Carolingian rulers were able to project their authority into localities with as little disruption of local sensibilities as possible.


The projection of royal power into local affairs transformed the relationship between monasteries and their patrons. With the support of powerful kings, abbots attempted to assert the superiority of their rights over those of the donating kin-groups. As part of an effort to subordinate lay to ecclesiastical rights, monasteries attempted to assess rents more regularly on precarial property granted out to lay patrons and thus transformed an essentially equal relationship into one which was relatively more hierarchical and fiscal. By the mid-ninth century, Carolingian dynasts were able to use these sophisticated instruments of lordship to consolidate and mobilize support as they advanced their territorial ambitions.


Although the Carolingian dynasty lost power in the early tenth century in east Francia, the basic political order remained intact. The Ottonian kings quickly revived a strong kingship and, in Alsace in particular, exerted a powerful influence over local affairs. Although the families that had been prominent before and during Carolingian rule continued to patronize many of the same monasteries and retain their local prominence, the local situation had been significantly reconfigured: dominant families constructed more tightly focused comital lordships around monasteries and personally lorded over these foundations as heritable family possessions well into the tenth century. This distinctive local order of monks and patrons was profoundly transformed in the late tenth century under the pressure of both monastic reform, which questioned the rights of lay aristocrats over monastic institutions, and an assertive Ottonian kingship, which sought to revise the aristocratic order in Alsace. The arrangements that subsequently emerged in the course of the eleventh century sharply distinguished secular from ecclesiastical rights: monasteries established the right to internal self-governance, the old families disappeared and new families reconstituted themselves as lords of castles.






















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