Canterbury: A Medieval City 1443825522, 9781443825528

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Canterbury

Canterbury: A Medieval City

Edited by

Catherine Royer-Hemet

Canterbury: A Medieval City, Edited by Catherine Royer-Hemet This book first published 2010 Cambridge Scholars Publishing 12 Back Chapman Street, Newcastle upon Tyne, NE6 2XX, UK British Library Cataloguing in Publication Data A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library Copyright © 2010 by Catherine Royer-Hemet and contributors All rights for this book reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the prior permission of the copyright owner. ISBN (10): 1-4438-2552-2, ISBN (13): 978-1-4438-2552-8

TABLE OF CONTENTS

Introduction ............................................................................................... vii Catherine Royer-Hemet Canterbury: A Medieval Ecclesiastical City................................................ 1 Myriam Méar-Coulstock Monks among Barbarians: Augustine of Canterbury and His Successors in Bede’s Account of the Roman and Monastic Origins of the English Church ....................................................................................................... 23 Leo Carruthers Dunstan: From Glastonbury to Canterbuy................................................. 43 Marthe Mensah Canterbury: The Becket Effect .................................................................. 67 Anne Duggan The Citizens of Canterbury and the Cult of St Thomas Becket................. 93 Marie-Pierre Gelin Canterbury: The Cathedral Chaucer’s Pilgrims Never Reached – or, did they? ............................................................................................. 119 Arlette Sancery Just Why Did They Go to Canterbury? ................................................... 127 Gloria Cigman Reading History in Enamel: the Journey of Thomas Becket’s Experience from Canterbury to Limoges ................................................................... 137 Martine Yvernault Saintly Virtue, Clerical Vice: John of Salisbury and St. Edmund Rich in Sermon 3 of William Herebert ............................................................ 161 Lauren Moreau

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Table of Contents

The European Connection – Aspects of Canterbury Cathedral Priory’s Temporalities Overseas ........................................................................... 177 John O. Moon Henry Eastry : An Eminence Grise at the Priory of Christ Church, Canterbury ............................................................................................... 195 Catherine Royer-Hemet Reading Space: The Narrative Representation of Medieval Canterbury of C. L. Grace’s A Shrine of Murders...................................................... 211 Manuel Jobert Contributors............................................................................................. 227

INTRODUCTION CATHERINE ROYER-HEMET

From the settlement of the Kentish tribe, the Cantiaci, to the crowds that throng the streets of twenty-first-century Canterbury, the cathedral city has never ceased to exert unparralleled influence of worldwide dimension. Its two-millenium evolution probably reached its peak during the Middle Ages. The present volume is a collection of articles, each one of which emphasizes a particular aspect or figure bearing witness to that chain of events that led history from the beginnings to our present time. The different chapters will take the reader on a voyage that will start with the arrival of St Augustine, sent by Pope Gregory the Great in A. D. 597, to propagate the Roman faith on the island of the Angles he had allegedly seen as slaves on a market ; it will end with the repercussions of medieval Canterbury in present-day literature. Such famous episodes were essential for the laying of Canterbury’s foundations as the religious see of the island and they are of paramount importance if we want to grasp the enduring aura of the city. Myriam Méar-Coulton will start the voyage by giving us a tour round the streets of Canterbury. Her article is teeming with place-names that are a reminder of past events and historical figures and as chronology unwinds, we begin to see how the layout of the city has established itself in accordance with history. With Bede’s Historia Ecclesiastica Genstis Anglorum as the first narrative of the arrival of the Roman monk Augustine and his missionaries on the island, Leo Carruthers proceeds to demonstrate how Bede’s account gives an insight into the deeply theological questions which the first Archbishop of Canterbury was faced with. He shows how the Roman monks led by Augustine managed to carry out their mission and how Bede, who is regarded as the first English historian, succeeded in rendering a faithful account of their dealings.

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Introduction

Marthe Mensah provides us with a thorough insight of Archbishop Dunstan’s life. She recounts the story of another journey, that which took the saintly man from Glastonbury, his birthplace, to Canterbury, the place where he completed his progress. We are made familiar with the various tribulations of his eventful life, from his being privy to royal power to being an exile and, finally, accessing the highest ecclesiastical dignity of the country. We come to appreciate the overwhelming influence of Dunstan in his contemporary political environment as well as in the rules defining monastic life. Anne Duggan unveils for us the immediate aftermath of Thomas Becket’s murder in the Cathedral. She shows how the cult of the martyr began to develop literally a few hours after his death, then to spread worldwide. Anne Duggan’s article underlines the far-reaching consequences –both immediate and further- of Becket’s murder on the townsfolk, the city itself together with the whole of Latin Christendom. Those consequences were multi-faceted and Marie-Pierre Gelin thoroughly examines one of their aspects: the short and long-term ramifications of the murder on the local population. She sheds interesting light on the attitude of the inhabitants of Canterbury as well as on their interaction with the monastery. Chaucer’s Canterbury Tales are one, if not the most famous, of the literary representations of Canterbury. All the vivid, if sometimes crude, personifications of the Tales give life to the concept of medieval pilgrimage. Gloria Cigman poses a thought-provoking question: just why did they go to Canterbury? She examines a number of possible answers through the study of the various characters and eventually comes out with the fact that their reasons for going to Canterbury may have been different from what they were expected to be. Arlette Sancery takes us on a journey through time and space alongside Chaucer’s pilgrims. She endeavours to make us understand the pattern of their pilgrimage, its architecture which she links to that of their destination, Canterbury. From Canterbury to Limousin in France, the implications of Becket’s murder turned out to be tremendously far-reaching and Martine Yvernault’s article expounds the emergence of different means of representing the saint’s martyrdom. From textual portrayal to artistic illustration such as the

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Champlevé enamel chasses crafted in the Limousin workshops, she highlights all the details of Becket’s passion as they are depicted. St Edmund of Abingdon was archbishop of Canterbury from 1233 to 1240 ; Lauren Moreau’s paper explores the Canterbury connections between John of Salisbury and St Edmund and establishes a precedent for the reuse of the works of John of Salisbury in materials relating to St. Edmund. The paper focuses on William Herebert's sermon 3 that was delivered on the feast of the translation of St. Edmund's bones in the early fourteenth century. The paper offers a detailed lexical analysis of Herebert's reuse of John's Policraticus and how the text is used to express Edmund's virtues in apposition to the 'bad practice' of contemporary clerics. Contacts and exchanges of all sorts existed on a regular and commercial basis between France and England from a very early time. John O Moon examines in detail the different charters and grants established by successive sovereigns from the eleventh to the thirteenth centuries. He shows how those primary sources constitute a valuable testimony to the economic activity, with many other ramifications into the spiritual as well as administrative areas and how they bear witness to the aura of Canterbury. Throughout the history of Canterbury, some figures stood out more prominently than others. Among them, the priors of Christchurch, Canterbury’s monastery, certainly had a leading role. Henry Eastry, who was in office for forty-six years and left an enduring mark on the priory was one of them.. Catherine Royer-Hemet’s article draws attention to the part he played as the hidden advisor of Archbishop Walter Reynolds, particularly during the troubled period of the deposition of King Edward II. The prior’s letters addressed to the highest prelate of England give us the opportunity to eavesdrop on cautious exchanges between the two men at a time when political chaos was not far. To put an end to this volume devoted to medieval Canterbury, Manuel Jobert delves into the depths of C. L. Grace’s novel, A Shrine of Murders, and deals with the writer’s tactics when weaving his plot and connecting it and the characters with the city; he also manages to show how those protagonists relate to historical figures. His article provides us with evidence of Canterbury’s mystique, from medieval times to present day, The reader will hopefully enjoy this variegated and thought-provoking journey into medieval Canterbury.

CANTERBURY: A MEDIEVAL ECCLESIASTICAL CITY MYRIAM MÉAR-COULSTOCK, UNIVERSITY OF PARIS IV

Studying the street names of a town or city can sometimes reveal what part of its history the inhabitants remember or have remembered over the years. Some streets have kept the same name for centuries, only the spelling having been affected, while others have been replaced numerous times, sometimes even having two or three names at once. In the Middle Ages, the name sometimes indicated the function of a given street or who lived there. Nowadays, the choice of keeping or changing a street name falls to the people who live in that particular town or city, or to the promoter in the case of a new housing estate, often choosing names according to a theme, such as counties, trees, birds, etc. The choice of names given to already existing individual streets (rather than newly developed areas) shows which events or people appear to be most important in the eyes of the local inhabitants at the time the street is named. The course of British history has not been one continuous evolution, as a series of exterior influences have affected the course of its development. Canterbury is no exception to these influences and has been affected in some way by invasions, raids, wars and rebellions, the construction of its City Walls, the plague and even the Blitz bombings during the Second World War. However, one specific event forged the destiny of Canterbury more than any other: the arrival of St Augustine from Rome in A. D. 597 to the Kingdom of Kent.1 The subsequent result was the conversion of the whole “country” to Christianity, even though other kingdoms had already been converted by the early Celtic Christians.

1

Judith McClure and Roger Collins, BEDE, The Ecclesiastical History of the English People, Oxford World’s Classics, Oxford: University Press, 1999 (original translation from 1969). Book I, chapter 23. (Hereafter: Bede.)

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Canterbury: A Medieval Ecclesiastical City

Throughout the Middle Ages, a series of consequences ensued from this one event, such as power struggles between leaders of State and Church, martyrs and pilgrims, the arrival of various religious orders, etc., making Canterbury a prominent city in the ecclesiastical history of Great Britain. Canterbury became the first Episcopal See in Britain under St Augustine and maintained that position of power throughout the Middle Ages as the Province of Canterbury (sometimes sharing with York, other times above it).2 It remained head of the Church of England at the Reformation and still is the Mother Church to this day.3 This ecclesiastical role of Canterbury dating as far back as the conversion of Kent to Christianity is written all over the streets. Indeed, studying the modern street-names of Canterbury, we can clearly see that medieval and ecclesiastical are very closely linked. In order to find which parts of Canterbury’s history have been remembered in its modern street names, the history of the city needs to be considered from its origins.

1. The origins: from early settlement to the Romans The location of Canterbury has been a key factor to its particular evolution. The first settlement found in the area of present-day Canterbury dates back to the Iron Age.4 It was built along a ford on the River Stour, between a flood plain further south-west and the Stour estuary further north-east, on the Eastern edge of the Blean Forest. The ford made it an obvious place for a settlement which inevitably grew on both sides of the river. The inhabitants of this first settlement were from the Belgic tribe which populated East Kent at the time, known as the Cantiaci. When the Romans arrived at this Celtic settlement, they probably found the location ideal. With easy access to the sea (on three sides) on the edge of a forest, it was also situated between the continent and the rest of the island, in 2 Through the Accord of Winchester in 1072 bearing the Conqueror’s mark, witnessed by Lanfranc and his fellow bishops, in which the Archbishop of York conceded the Archbishop of Canterbury’s right to be Primate of all England, as he still is today. 3 Marjorie Lyle, Canterbury, London: B. T. Batsford / English Heritage, 1994. Chapter I, 11-25. (Marjorie LYLE hereafter.) See also the Canterbury Cathedral official website: http://www.canterbury-cathedral.org/. 4 The Archaeological Trust of Canterbury has created a website with illustrations and information for school children and their teachers, recreating what Canterbury would have looked like in the late Iron Age, and later on in Roman times and Anglo-Saxon times. The information is freely available to all on their website in the galleries section: http://www.canterburytrust.co.uk/schools/galindex.htm.

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particular London which was a thriving market town and port. The Romans built roads5 from the coastal forts of Regulbium (Reculver), Rutupiae (Richborough), Portus Dubris (Dover) and Portus Lemanis (Lympne), which naturally connected together at the ford, almost at equal distance to each of those places, before continuing westwards across the river Stour towards London, via Durobrivae (Rochester). During the Roman times, Canterbury was a small town. It was promoted to the rank of civitas capital rather than Rochester, its “rival” city in Kent, probably owing to its geographical position in Kent. The street pattern, redefined around A. D. 100, was discovered after some excavations in the twentieth century and does not match the modern streetplan, even though the city wall was originally built by the Romans the following century and still stands on the same place now. A Roman theatre was discovered6 partly under Castle Street (between Hawks Lane and Hospital Lane, the middle being at the end of Beer Cart Lane) and the buildings around it. Those early periods have only been remembered in the name of Canterbury itself, rather than in its street names. The Romano-British name of Canterbury was Durovernum Cantiacorum ‘Durovernum of the Cantiaci’.7 The name comes from British *duro- + *‫ړ‬erno- ‘alder fort, walled town by the alder swamp’ a name which survived in early English official usage as found in various Old English charters and chronicles: (civitas) Dorobernie –uernie –uernis, Civitas Doruuernis, Doruuernensis, Dorwitceaster,8 Dorubernia.9

5

Marjorie Lyle, chapter II, 26-42. Marjorie Lyle, chapter II, 29; plus see maps 24-25 and 39. See also: TattonBrown, Tim, Canterbury, History and Guide, Stroud, Gloucestershire: Alan Sutton Publishing Limited, 1994, 5. (Hereafter: Tim TATTON-BROWN.) 7 Paul Cullen, The Place-Names of the Lathes of St Augustine and Shipway, University of Sussex: unpublished thesis, 1997, 557 (hereafter: Paul Cullen); Wallenberg J. K., Kent Place-Names, Uppsala: Appelbergs Boktryckeriaktieldag, 1931; Wallenberg, J. K., The Place-Names of Kent, Uppsala: Appelbergs Boktryckeriaktieldag, 1934 (hereafter: J. K. Wallenberg, 1934); Ekwall, Eilert, The Concise Oxford Dictionary of English Place-Names, Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1936 (1st ed.), 1960 (4th ed.), 1966 (hereafter: Eilert Ekwall); and Watts, Victor ed., The Cambridge Dictionary of English Place-Names, Cambridge: University Press, 2004 (hereafter: Victor Watts). 8 Paul Cullen suggests in his thesis that Dorwitceaster could be an error for Dorwicceaster. 9 Respectively in: [7th-8th] 13th Charters IV passim, [c.731] 8th Bede Historia Ecclesiastica, c. 1122 in the Anglo Saxon Chronicle (E) under the year 604, c. 894 6

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Canterbury: A Medieval Ecclesiastical City

Several forms of the Romano-British name can be found in various manuscripts10: for instance, ǻĮȡȩȣİȡȣȠȣ (Darovernum) can be found in a thirteenth-century manuscript of Ptolemy’s work, who presumably wrote around A. D. 150; also Duroruerno, Duraruen(n)o in an eighth-century copy of the Antonine Itinerary probably copying an earlier manuscript dating back to the fourth century; and Duro Averno Cantiacorum in a thirteenth-century manuscript of the Ravenna Cosmography dating back to around 700. The Medieval Latin form civitas Cantuaria (around 1086) is the source of the abbreviation Cantuar used by the archbishops of Canterbury. Campbell explains in his article ‘Bede’s Words for Places’11 that the form in ceaster could be a translation problem owing to the fact that Canterbury had a special status. The Venerable Bede,12 in his Ecclesiastical History of the English People, which he wrote in Latin around the year 731, only used two words to denote big settlements, usually fortified: civitas and urbs. Generally, a town or city containing civitas in the Latin version written by Bede was translated caestir in the Old English version written about a century later by Anglo-Saxon scribes, and a town or city containing urbs was translated burg. He only ever applied the one or the other to specific towns. The two words were synonymous in Latin as well as in English, but certain nuances seemed to make them be used to mean either a “fortified town” in the case of urbs / burg or a “Roman fortified town” in the case of civitas / caestir. There are Asser. For more details, see: Paul Cullen, J. K. Wallenberg, Eilert Ekwall , Victor Watts. 10 Somner records in his Antiquities, “What time the Roman Empire extended it self hither, it was of them called Durovernum ; haply from the British, Durwhern, rendered by my Author (e), a swift River, such as our Stoure is: or else (as one (f) will) from Thorowbourne, because of the River’s running through the City. With very little variation from which Roman name ; you may find that our elder Historians, Bede, and others called it Dorovernia, and Dorobernia : and that you see before, in the Year Dcccx. was called (g) the Old Name ; and yet long afterwards continued it in use, even until that of Cantuaria, better answering to the English-Saxon, Cantwarabyrig; and from about the Norman Conquest hitherward, more frequently than the other ; and in time altogether taken up and used, made it give her place.” (e = Cambden; f = Twyne. De. Reg. Albion C. I. p. 113; g = Antiquum Vocabulum) Somner, William, The Antiquities of Canterbury, originally printed for R. Knaplock, 1703, republished by EP Publishing Limited with an introduction by William Urry, in 1977, 1-2. 11 Campbell, James, Essays in Anglo-Saxon History, ‘Bede’s Words for Places’, London: The Hambledon Press, 1986. 12 Bede, Book 1, chapter 23.

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two exceptions: the only other town which appears to be denoted as often as Canterbury by either burg or caestir is London, although Bede refers to both more frequently as civitas than as urbs, which may account for the odd form in ceaster occasionally found for Canterbury. It is therefore interesting to note that the name of the old “rival” town, Rochester, is derived from Bede’s caestir, whereas Canterbury is derived from the other word: burg, since it was Canterbury which was promoted to civitas capital and not Rochester. The modern name has evolved over the past millennia. Originally a descriptive name, the modern form subsequently replaced the RomanoBritish name of the city. It comes from Old English Cantware ‘the people of Kent’, in the genitive plural form Cantwara, + byriƥ, the dative singular of burh ‘the town’, so the meaning of Canterbury is ‘the town of the people of Kent’. Variants can be found in the Anglo-Saxon Chronicle13 and in Old English Bede, from the ninth century onwards, until Canterburie in 1086, where its modern form is recognisable, and Chaucer in the fourteenth century uses a similar form Caunterbury: Cant wara burg, Cont wara burg, (to) Cantuare beri, (into) Cantware byri, Cantware –a burh, Cantwara –beri. The city walls were first built by the Romans between 270 and 290,14 excluding the western part of the original settlement, but including part of a cemetery to the south.15 Seven gates were built along the walls,16 giving access to the town from the various Roman roads converging there. Today we can still find street names from those gates (Burgate Lane, Ridingate Place, Worthgate Place, from Old English names, not Roman), even though only one gate has survived (Westgate, picture 2). This early history from the Celts to the Romans is barely remembered in Canterbury. There is a “Roman road”, located west of Harbledown leading away from the city towards London, which corresponds to a part 13

References for the examples, found in respectively: 9th century Anglo-Saxon Chronicle (A) under year 754, [c.890] c.1000 Old English Bede, 9th ASC(A) under year 851, [c.890] c.1000 OEBede, 9th ASC(a) under year 870, c. 1050 ASC(D) under year 1023, c. 1120 ASC(E) under years 851, 1011, byrig c. 1120 ASC(E) (7x), 12th ASC(E) under year 1140. For further reference, see Paul Cullen, J. K. Wallenberg, Eilert Ekwall and Victor Watts. 14 William Somner, chapter IX Topography, 185-6 and 189. 15 Marjorie Lyle, chapter II, p. 38-42. Tim Tatton-Brown, 6-7. 16 William Urry, Canterbury under the Angevin Kings, University of London Historical Studies XIX, London: The Athlone Press, 1967, 195-6. (Hereafter: Urry, 1967.)

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Canterbury: A Medieval Ecclesiastical City

of the old Roman road called Watling Street which used to go from Richborough to Chester, through Canterbury, going through Upper Harbledown just north of the A2050 junction with the A2. The A2 essentially follows the course of the old Roman road up to Faversham, only bypassing villages such as Upper Harbledown or Boughton Street. Only one street name reminds us of the Roman era: Durovernum Courts, (Picture 3) which is a fairly new housing estate south of the city in a culde-sac off Old Dover Road, as still on the Ordnance Survey map of 1907,17 this area was occupied by fields. The only token of early Christianity found in Canterbury comes from a hoard of silver discovered in 1962 by workmen constructing a bridge carrying Rheims Way over the River Stour. A couple of items bear Chi-Rho monograms to attest to Roman Christianity here.18 So Watling Street and the other Roman roads leading to the Roman forts, the present location of the city wall, a silver hoard and a street name are the only visible reminders of Canterbury’s Roman past.19

2. Canterbury remembers its medieval past After a rather typical start as a Roman walled town, the Saxon period reveals a much more agitated and uncommon role for Canterbury than the other small Roman walled towns, which continued far beyond the Norman Conquest and even after Henry VIII’s dissolution of the monasteries, into our present century. The events and people Canterbury remembers of its medieval past can be divided into two periods: the first covering the period from the Early Saxons to the Vikings, and the second starting with the Norman invasion.

Anglo-Saxon times: Early Saxon period The ideal location of Canterbury exploited by the Romans, was also very useful for commerce during the Middle Ages, as people took advantage of the straight roads the Romans had built from the coast. During the early stages of the Middle Ages, the various Saxon kingdoms enjoyed supremacy over the others through their stronger kings known under the title of Bretwalda. One such king ruled in Kent in the late sixth 17

Ordnance Survey Map, 3rd edition, 1907, sheets LVI.3 and .7 for Canterbury in the Kent sheets. Reprinted and published by Old Town Maps & Books in 2008. 18 Marjorie Lyle, chapter II, p. 35. Tim TATTON-BROWN, 8-9. 19 The non-visible reminders but present none-the-same are the Archaeological Trust and the Roman Museum.

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century, having earned his title through monopoly of trade with the Franks,20 owing to the location of his Kingdom between the continent and the rest of the island. His Queen herself was a Frankish Princess. Their fame comes from the role they played in the conversion of Kent, and subsequently of the whole of Britain, by helping St Augustine sent on a mission by Pope Gregory to convert the Angles and Saxons to Christianity, in 597. Indeed, the names of King Ethelbert and Queen Bertha have descended through the centuries, and a very large number of Ethelbert or Bertha Roads, Avenues, Lanes, Streets, Courts, and schools, pubs, etc. can be found across Kent. In Canterbury, King Ethelbert is remembered in Ethelbert Road, which is located off Old Dover Road, leading to South Canterbury Road, some distance south of the City walls. In Canterbury itself, Bertha’s name does not appear directly in any street name. The only place which refers to her is Queningate, from Old English cwƝn (genitive singular cwƝne) and geat ‘Queen’s gate’. It is believed that Queen Bertha used this gate on her way to church.21 The –inmay be merely analogical, reminding of other gates, such as Newingate near St George and Ridingate near St Mary Bredin.22 However, her influence can still be felt around St Martin’s Priory, one of the oldest Saxon churches still in use in Britain, east of St Augustine’s Abbey. King Ethelbert gave that old Roman building to his Queen and her chaplain Luidhart to restore, so they could worship there, before St Augustine’s arrival. Bertha was originally from Tours – whose patron saint is St Martin since he was bishop there from 371 to 397 – and her devotion to him was marked also at the Abbey where she was buried. The north tower of the Saxon Cathedral was also dedicated to him. The streets of Canterbury are like a maze, especially around that area: St Martin’s Priory is located on St Martin’s Hill, which leads to St Martin’s Terrace. Those two streets cross St Martin’s Avenue, which itself leads to St Martin’s Place, Close and House just north of the Priory. Five streets run parallel to St Martin’s Avenue, to the west, all leading off North Holmes Road: Pretoria Road, St Martin’s Road, College Road, Edgar Road and St Gregory’s Road (so Pope Gregory is also remembered in Canterbury). With a Road, an Avenue, a Terrace, a Hill, a House, a Close, a Place and a Priory, St Martin is well remembered in Canterbury. (Picture 4)

20

Marjorie Lyle, chapter III, 43. Martin I. Taylor, The Cradle of English Christianity, The coming of St Augustine and St Martin’s Church Canterbury, published by St Martin’s and St Paul’s PCC, 1997, 2. 22 Paul Cullen, 564. 21

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Canterbury: A Medieval Ecclesiastical City

St Augustine’s Abbey was built by the monks who came with Augustine from Italy, between 597 and 613. For nearly ten centuries, the monks of St Augustine’s Abbey rivalled in power with the monks of Christchurch Priory, who run the Cathedral.23 It was shown in the previous paragraph that the streets of Canterbury are a maze. Just to confuse visitors a little more, St Augustine’s Road does not lead to the Abbey as one would expect. Instead, it links New Dover Road to Pilgrim’s Way, along the railroad south-east of the city. In 1988, Christchurch Cathedral, St. Augustine’s Abbey and St. Martin’s Church24 in Canterbury were listed as World Heritage Sites by UNESCO.25 The Management Plan26 compiled by the Management Plan Coordinating Committee in 2002, explains the reasons for the attribution of World Heritage Site status. These include point 1.5.3: “Together, Canterbury Cathedral, St Augustine’s Abbey and St Martin’s Church provide the visual record of the reintroduction of Christianity to Southern England in the late 6th century and the development of Canterbury over 1400 years as one of the principal centres of Christianity worldwide.” Point 1.5.4: “King Ethelbert not only gave Augustine sites for his cathedral and monastery, but also substantial lands to maintain them. The headquarters of the English church and the first English school were established in the city. From Canterbury the conversion of the English people was launched and, some eighty years later, successfully concluded.”

The Viking Raids The growing wealth of the British Isles under the influence of the Anglo-Saxon conversion to Roman Christianity and revived Celtic Christianity brought a new wave of invaders. However, those new invaders were not interested in settling there at first. They came in search of gold. The easy attraction and first victims were the monasteries, then the minting towns. From 766, Canterbury officially minted Offa’s silver pennies and by 930 it had seven mints while London had eight, four belonged to the crown, two to the archbishop and one to St Augustine’s Abbey. Unfortunately for them, these riches were very attractive to the 23

Marjorie Lyle, chapter III, 50-53. St Martin’s Church is also known as St Martin’s Priory. 25 See the official UNESCO webpage: http://whc.unesco.org/en/list/496. 26 Canterbury World Heritage Site Management Plan Coordinating Committee, Canterbury World Heritage Site Management Plan, Design and Layout: Ariss Design, Printing: Multiplex Medway, April 2002. 24

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Danish Vikings. Canterbury was particularly affected by two waves of Viking attacks on Kent: one between 835 and 855 and another of almost annual raids between 991 and 1012. Coastal minsters were sacked, from Hoo to Folkestone, the surviving nuns and monks taking refuge in Canterbury. The combined minsters had owned a quarter of Kent’s wealth, but by 1066, most had fallen to Christchurch in Canterbury or to the crown, only Dover and St Augustine’s Abbey still managing their own estates. In between those two periods, Archbishop Dunstan repaired the original and sole surviving East Kent abbey, in 978, adding St Augustine’s name to its dedication. He also instituted the rules of the Benedictines at Canterbury Cathedral. Thus Benedictine monks were in charge of the Cathedral after Dunstan. He was canonised in 1029, not for being a martyr but from his good deeds,27 and is remembered in Canterbury through St Dunstan’s Close, St Dunstan’s Terrace and St Dunstan’s Street, north-west just outside Westgate, between Canterbury West train station and Rheims Way. He was the most popular Saint in England for two centuries, until another Canterbury Saint took his place. Towards the end of the second wave of invasions, Canterbury was ransacked in a memorable event. In 1009, Kent paid £3.000 to the Viking Thorkell. However, it seems it was not enough, as he came back two years later with his brother Hemming, demanding that Archbishop Alphege28 surrender the Cathedral’s treasures.29 Canterbury was under siege for almost a month, until the Danes set fire to the city, killed clergy, ransomed or enslaved the people and captured Archbishop Alphege along with other dignitaries. He forbade his people to raise additional ransom, and legend has it that he was bludgeoned to death with ox-bones which the Vikings threw at him in a drunken orgy in Greenwich. He thereby became a martyr. In 1023, King Cnut solemnly returned the remains of St Alphege with his full court to a shrine as important as St Dunstan’s in the Cathedral, as well as gifts and land grants. St Alphege Lane lies inside the City Walls, north-west of the Cathedral, linking King Street to Palace Street. Cnut also allowed St Augutine’s Abbey to retrieve St Mildred’s remains from Minster-in-Thanet and a church was built or rededicated to her within Canterbury’s walls near Worthgate. St Mildred’s church is now the only pre-Conquest church left within the city. Mildred was Ethelbert’s

27

Another article in this publication is dedicated to St Dunstan, so no further details about his life will be discussed here. 28 Alphege also found as Alphage, is a transcription from his original Old English name: Ælphæge. 29 Marjorie Lyle, 49.

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Canterbury: A Medieval Ecclesiastical City

great-grand-daughter, and had been Abbess of the nunnery at Minster-inThanet. Edward the Confessor had a meadow north of Canterbury in St Stephen’s parish, where his horses could feed as well as his messengers’ horses when they came to the City. This field was known as the King’s Meadow. Nowadays, we can find Kingsmead Road, linking St Stephen’s Road to Northgate by a bridge over the River Stour. As it has been noted previously, the Viking period did not leave traces of the Vikings themselves upon the street names, there is no “King Cnut Street” for instance. They left traces of the resistance to them and of the leaders who emerged during those times, in the form of martyrs or otherwise sainted, like Alphege. The difference between Saints names before and after the Norman Conquest has to be addressed here. Indeed, the consecration made to churches or chapels before the Norman Conquest usually refer to actual people who had lived in Canterbury or related to Kent – such as St Augustine, St Dunstan, St Alphege or St Mildred – except St Martin’s church, which was dedicated before St Augustine arrived at Ethelbert’s court, or to Mary like St Mary Bredman for instance, while the Normans dedicated their churches to early martyrs (St George, St Michael) who did not have any particular connection with Canterbury.

The Norman period Soon after the battle of Hastings in October 1066, Canterbury surrendered to William the Conqueror, who established a fortification there.30 The Normans built a castle on the south-western side of the city. William started the building process, but it was likely finished during the reign of his son William Rufus. Traditionally the site of this first wooden fortification was considered to be the ‘Dane John’ mound, and archaeological excavations have uncovered sections of the bailey ditch both inside and outside the walls.31 The first keeper of the motte-andbailey castle was Hamo, son of Vitalis – a Norman knight who appears on the Bayeux Tapestry. The site of the ruins of the stone-built castle is further north from the Dane John, where Castle Street can be found leading from it and Castle Row in between the castle and the Dane John. The name “Dane John” is quite intriguing. Could it be that one of the Danes stayed on after a raid? But then “John” is not a particularly Danish 30

Audrey Bateman, Hail Mother of England! A Social History of Canterbury, Rochester Press, 1984, chap. II, 5. (Hereafter: Audrey Bateman.) 31 For more details about excavations, see the website of the Canterbury Archaeological Trust.

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name. A house on Castle Row facing the Dane John is called ‘Don Jon’, which sounds more Spanish than Danish. However, studying the history of this name more closely reveals that this name is not Danish or Spanish but French! Indeed, “Dane John” or “Don Jon” was previously recorded as “Le Dungeon” in Assize Rolls of 1254 and is a corruption of the French “donjon”32 the equivalent of the English motte-and-bailey, a “donjon” being a keep. (Picture 7) Historically, there were four parishes in Rochester33: St Nicholas, St Margaret’s, St Mary’s and St Clements. Nowadays, there are two main parishes – St Nicholas, St Margaret’s – and also a St Nicholas in Stroud. There is some evidence to show that St Mary’s church was in use around 850, built on the eastern side outside the City Wall. It seems to have disappeared. St Clements was in the western part of the City near the Rochester Bridge34 and merged with the parish of St Nicholas in 1549. The parish of St Nicholas did not originally have a church of its own, but met in the Cathedral, in a part known as “the Parochial Altar of St Nicholas”. Their church was consecrated in 1423. St Margaret’s church was built around 1824 on the site of an older church built in the fifteenth century, of which the tower remains. Compared to Rochester, the number of parishes and churches or chapels in Canterbury is very high. In his history of medieval Canterbury,35 William Urry gives a list of the parish churches in use around 1200: All Saints, St Alphege, St Andrew, St Dunstan, St Edmund Ridingate, St George, St Helen, Holy Cross, St John Baptist, St Margaret, St Martin, St Mary Breadman, St Mary Bredin, St Mary de Castro, St Mary Magdalen, St Mary Northgate, St Mary Queningate, St Michael Burgate, St Mildred, St Paul, St Peter and St Sepulchre (plus St Pancras). The difference is striking! Several parishes merged or disappeared as they did in Rochester, but there were so many to start with that there are still quite a few left nowadays. There was a tradition of gate churches, which were little chapels built on top of some of the gates in the city wall, as some of the names imply. Indeed, St Mary Northgate, St Michael Burgate and St Edmund Ridingate were chapels originally built on top of Northgate, Burgate and Ridingate 32

J. K. Wallenberg, 1934, 606. Frederick Francis Smith, A History of Rochester, Rochester: John Hallewell Publications, 1928, limited reprint in 1976. 34 There was a chapel next to the Bridge (called the Bridge Chapel), which used to belong to St Clements’. For more details, see: BECKER M. Janet, Rochester Bridge: 1387-1856, A History of its Early Years, London: Constable & Co Ltd, 1930. 35 Urry, 1967, 210-1. 33

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respectively and Holy Cross on top of Westgate. Some of those chapels were later rebuilt next to the walls, and most of them have now disappeared. St Edmund Ridingate was established by the Norman Knight Vitalis36 or his son Hamo in the late eleventh century. Hamo founded St Mary Bredin in the early twelfth century, and as it names indicates, it was first built of wood, as “bredin” comes from the Old English word for “boards”. As we can see, that Norman family was quite involved with Canterbury, but their names are not remembered in the streets of the City. A year after the Norman Conquest, a great fire destroyed the Cathedral. In 1070,37 William appointed an Italian Abbot, Lanfranc. His task was to rebuild the Cathedral and he did so by bringing shipments of stone from Caen in Normandy. The cathedral was finished in 1077. By 1085, Lanfranc had turned to charity and built St Nicholas’ Leper Hospital on his estate at Harbledown outside of the city. He also dedicated a hospital for thirty men and thirty women to St John the Baptist. However, today he is only remembered in Harbledown, where Lanfranc Gardens can be found just south of the A2050, east of St Nicholas Hospital and Chantry. When William the Conqueror died in 1087, his son William Rufus succeeded him.38 However, he was anti-religious and did not get on with Lanfranc, so when the archbishop died in 1089, William II did not replace him for four years. But when he fell ill and believed he was going to die, he then thought it might be a good idea to appoint another archbishop. He had heard of Anselm, another Italian, and student of Lanfranc. Anselm did not want to be archbishop of Canterbury, but was forced into it in 1093. Unfortunately, the relations rapidly went sour. Rufus finally granted Anselm his wish to go to Rome, when he saw that he could benefit from it, and promptly confiscated Canterbury Cathedral as soon as Anselm had left the country. He stayed in Rome for three years. Rufus died in 1100 and was succeeded by his brother, Henry Beauclerc, who asked Anselm to come back. Sadly, they did not get on either and after more disagreements Anselm returned to Rome and was once more in exile. When Henry I called him back again, Anselm was a frail old man. He came back and died shortly afterwards in Canterbury in April 1109. Anselm and Lanfranc both have dedicated chapels inside the Cathedral. After Henry Beauclerc died in 1135, the crown should have gone to his daughter Mathilda, but his nephew Stephen was crowned instead, at Canterbury by Archbishop Theobald. Civil war rapidly seized the country. 36

Marjorie Lyle, 67-8. Audrey Bateman, 7. 38 Audrey Bateman, 8-13. 37

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Stephen was taken prisoner and demanded a ransom from Canterbury. In exchange, he offered to sell his mill (the King’s Mill) on the river Stour, to Hugh the Abbot of St Augustine’s. So the deal was: “in compensation for a Bond of an hundred Marks, the Mill near Eastbridge and the whole water course of Water belonging to the said Mill”.39 Archbishop Theobald had a young clerk working for him at the Archdeaconry40: Thomas Becket. When Stephen died, he was replaced by his nephew, Mathilda’s son, Henry II. Thomas was sent to him as a representative of the Archdeaconry and they became close friends. Thomas Becket rose through the ranks of the Church until Henry asked him to become the Archbishop in 1162 and their relationship rapidly degraded after that. What follows is the famous story of an enormous power struggle between church and state, leading to the murder of Archbishop Becket in the Cathedral in 117041 (Picture 5) In 1224, the Fransiscan order of the Grey Friars42 arrived in Canterbury via Fécamp, with letters from Rome. They were a begging order, but were given a place to stay and Greyfriar cottage can still be seen today in the south-west of the city. They were soon joined by the Black Friars, a Dominican order, who settled in the north of the city43. Many years later, they were joined by the Carmelites: the White Friars. Their convent was located in the south of the city, near Watling Street. The whole area has been modernised recently, from Watling Street along St George’s Lane to St George’s Street changing Whitefriars into a shopping area and St George’s Terrace into a bus terminal. On the other side, Burgate Lane links St George’s Street to Burgate, which was the main entrance into the city from Sandwich and Richborough. This excess of monks, pilgrims and pilgrimages was immortalised in Chaucer’s Canterbury Tales, which can be seen, heard and smelt at the “Canterbury Tales” at St Margaret’s Church in St Margaret’s Street44. 39

Ibid., 13-14. Ibid., 14. 41 The whole story – from causes to consequences – is described in great detail in several of the following articles in this publication and so will not be discussed further here. 42 Charles Cotton, The Grey Friars of Canterbury 1224 to 1538, A contribution to the 700th Anniversary of their Arrival in England, British Society of Franciscan Studies, Extra Series volume II, Manchester: University Press, 1924. See also: DOYLE Eric, Canterbury and the Franciscans, 1224-1974, A Commemorative Essay, Canterbury, 1974. 43 Audrey Bateman, 32. 44 For more details, see the website: http://www.canterburytales.org.uk/ (at St Margaret’s Church). 40

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Streets of a whole area of Harbledown owe their names to Chaucer’s literary work. Indeed, strolling around the neighbourhood, one can walk down Prioress Road, Miller Avenue, Knight Avenue, Shipman Avenue, Squire Avenue, Franklyn Road, Pardoner Close, Merchants Way, Priest Avenue and Wife of Bath Hill. It seems that Chaucer has reached the imagination of developers much more than the Romans or the Normans. Once again, as for the Romans, there is not much direct evidence of the conquering people in Canterbury: a Norman Road runs across Nunnery Fields and Nunnery Road, west of Old Dover Road south of the wall and the remains of the castles built by the Normans are still visible (from the Dane John Mound to the stone castle). But apart from that, no street name bears any connection to the Normans.

3. From the Renaissance to post-war reconstruction On 30th July 1538 St Augustine’s Abbey was handed over to the King’s Commissioners and the monks were evicted. Some of the buildings were demolished; others converted into a royal Palace. In 1541, once the palace was constructed, the rest of the buildings were demolished. The royal palace was not used much by the royal family and so was leased to various noblemen. In 1612 the site was occupied by Lord and Lady Wotton, remembered in Canterbury in Lady Wotton’s Green, off Broad Street near Queningate. However, by the eighteenth century the palace was abandoned. The Abbey is now in ruins. Some parts have been recovered and excavated. However, some buildings are still standing on other parts, making it impossible to dig. (Picture 6) In Canterbury, kings and archbishops have been linked from the very beginning: from Ethelbert and St Augustine, down to Henry II and Thomas Becket, through William and his sons waging power battles with Lanfranc and Anselm. Canterbury, through its archbishops has always been very closely linked to the English royalty, often finding itself in the midst of their power struggles, up until the reign of Henry VIII. The street names show that through all this turmoil, Canterbury was clearly on the side of religion, rather than royalty. In that respect, it would be interesting to compare the street names of Rochester to those of Canterbury. It would probably reveal the counterpart royal and ecclesiastical roles these two important cities have played. In Rochester, there are saints’ names, of course and a cathedral, some names are identical from Castle Hill, to St Margaret’s Street, St Peter’s Street or King’s Street. However, the balance of royal and ecclesiastical names is probably reversed in the two cities. For

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one thing, there are at least fifty streets named after Saints in Canterbury. And we have seen that not many Kings are remembered. Apart from some Saxon Kings like Ethelbert, Athelstan, Alfred and Edgar, there is an Albert Road and a Tudor Road, plus an Orange Road west of the Cathedral, named after the Dutch Prince William of Orange.45 The Black Prince had a special link with Canterbury, he is buried in the Cathedral and there is an Edward Road, but with no guarantee this road refers to that particular Edward. Henry IV and his wife Joan are buried there too, but no street name commemorates them. It has to be said that without the 1942 Second World War bombings the archaeology in Canterbury would not possess such advanced details about the lower levels of the city. However horrible the acts of bombing were, one major benefit was drawn from them: the destruction of the modern layer of buildings made it possible to dig and excavate the foundations of more ancient layers at various depth levels. The Iron Age settlement is buried deep under Roman Durovernum and Saxon Cantwaraburg. A lot has been discovered about the earlier periods of Canterbury since the War. Another benefit for archaeology is the modernisation of the town. Although some things have been lost, like most of the gates when they were demolished to enlarge the streets and access to the city during the nineteenth century and some of the churches like St George where only the clock tower remains, others have been found, like the Roman Theatre or some Jute round huts.46 It appears through archaeological observations,47 that at least a part of Canterbury was deserted after the Romans left and before the early AngloSaxons started inhabiting Canterbury. Excavations show that a thick layer of humus separates the two levels and also that the position of the sixth and seventh century Saxon huts do not coincide with the Roman street pattern. So although the original location of the Roman walls and city gates remain in the same position to this day, the street plan inside the city was completely lost. However, the medieval street pattern has remained mostly the same to this day. The size of the city was also dependent on the number of inhabitants, which varied throughout its history. At the time of the plague, the city was thriving. But after the plague hit, from early 1348 onwards, Canterbury lost half of its population. The number of inhabitants seems to have been higher before the plague hit in the Middle Ages, than 45

Princess Mary (daughter of King Charles II) and William of Orange reigned conjointly as Queen Mary II and King William III, in the seventeenth century. 46 For more details, see the Canterbury Archaeological Trust’s website. 47 Nicholas Brooks, The Early History of the Church of Canterbury, Leicester: University Press, 1984.

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in the seventeenth and eighteenth century, before the start of the industrial revolution. With an expanding and decreasing population, the churches adapted by either increasing the size of the churches, or merging together. There were some changes in the nineteenth century when some of the gates were pulled down to facilitate access to the town and several churches merged, such as St Mary Magdalene and St George’s, where all that is left of St Mary Magdalene is it’s tower and a monument to Sir Whitfield. After the Second World War, most of the south-eastern part of the City was bombed and a few streets and churches were lost, from St George’s area to St Mary Bredin and the Langton Schools in the Whitefriars area. St Mary Bredin was then rebuilt further south, outside the walls, on the corner of Old Dover Road and Nunnery Fields and all that is left of St George’s is the clock tower. The post-war reconstruction plans also included a ring road around Canterbury, linking Sturry Road to Whitstable Road via the southern part. It was built in the early 1960s, from Military Road to Rheims Way along the wall to the south, changing the fields at Rhodaus Town and Pin Hill into a busy road. A twinning with a foreign city can sometimes be commemorated by a street name dedicated to that place. Thus the existence of a Rheims Way suggests a twinning of these two historically important cities, and indeed, Rheims and Canterbury have been twinned since May 13th, 1962.48

Conclusion After this virtual tour of modern Canterbury, looking for traces of its past, a few conclusions can be drawn. The names of ecclesiastical figures remembered in the street names are mostly medieval and the topographical names usually refer to features which have been there for centuries. Here are a few examples: Palace Street named after the Ecclesiastical Palace of the Archbishop, Castle Street from the Norman Castle, Watling Street from the Roman times, although the course is slightly altered within the walls, Burgate or Queningate from the old city gates, Pound Lane from the old pound where the animals which had not been retrieved by their owners after the given time would have to spend the night. As we have seen, the relations between the Norman Kings and the Archbishops of Canterbury have mostly been strained, even quite heated at times, from Lanfranc and Anselm, until Thomas Becket’s murder. 48 See the website from the City of Rheims: http://www.ville-reims.fr/index.php?id=999.

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Following his martyrdom and sainthood (which only took 3 years to obtain), the City became a famous place of pilgrimage, and thousands upon thousands of pilgrims were attracted to Canterbury. However, Canterbury did not become an ecclesiastical city because of this particular event; the City only used the infrastructure it already had at this point, from the dozen parish churches and chapels to the numerous taverns and inns inside and outside the walls, and ultimately, the Cathedral itself. It did not become a major centre, it merely adapted to meet expectations. I would like to finish on this plea from William Urry in an article he wrote on the street names of Canterbury,49 in 1948: “Finally a plea might be addressed to those who provide names for new streets. The past fifty years or so have given us some well meant but not very imaginative names such as Ethelbert Road, Edgar Road and other titles embodying AngloSaxon royal names, with the ruthlessly dynastic names along Wincheap such as York Road and the rest of the historical group. Surely Canterbury has enough history of her own without drawing our national sources? When new ground is cut up into housing estates the obvious thing is to preserve the old series of field names, most of which are exceedingly picturesque. Fortunately ‘Forty Acres’ was retained when that estate was laid out some thirty years back. And why not revive some of the old lost street names from the centre of the city, like Sunwin’s Lane? There are plenty to draw from.”

49

William Urry, “Street Names of Old Canterbury”, Canterbury Local History Pamphlet No.2, Kent County Council Arts & Libraries, originally published in Good Books quarterly magazine, issue No.6, Autumn 1948.

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Picture 1. The River Stour from the bridge in The Friars first facing south towards the centre of town: the back of the houses between Best Lane and All Saint’s Lane, second facing north: the Dominican Priory behind the Marlowe Theatre.

Picture 2. Westgate from St Peter’s Street straight through to St Dunstan’s Street over the River Stour

Myriam Méar-Coulstock

Picture 3. Durovernum Court off Old Dover Road

Picture 7. Dane John Mound

Picture 4. St Martin's Church

Picture 5. The place where Archbishop Becket was murdered

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Picture 6. The Abbey is in ruins

Picture 7. Canterbury Cathedral

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Bibliography Bateman, Audrey. Hail Mother of England! A Social History of Canterbury. Rochester Press, 1984. Brooks, Nicholas. The Early History of the Church of Canterbury. Leicester: University Press, 1984. Campbell, James. Essays in Anglo-Saxon History, ‘Bede’s Words for Places’. London: The Hambledon Press, 1986. Canterbury World Heritage Site Management Plan Coordinating Committee, Canterbury World Heritage Site Management Plan, Design and Layout: Ariss Design, Printing: Multiplex Medway, April 2002. Cotton, Charles. The Grey Friars of Canterbury 1224 to 1538, A contribution to the 700th Anniversary of their Arrival in England, British Society of Franciscan Studies, Extra Series volume II, Manchester: University Press, 1924. Cullen, Paul. The Place-Names of the Lathes of St Augustine and Shipway. University of Sussex: unpublished thesis, 1997. Doyle, Eric. Canterbury and the Franciscans, 1224-1974, A Commemorative Essay. Canterbury, 1974. Ekwall, Eilert. The Concise Oxford Dictionary of English Place-Names. Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1936 (1st ed.), 1960 (4th ed.), 1966. Lyle, Marjorie. Canterbury, London: B. T. Batsford / English Heritage, 1994. —. Canterbury, 2000 years of history. Stroud: Tempus, Revised edition 2002, Reprinted 2008. McClure, Judith and Collins, Roger, ed. Bede The Ecclesiastical History of the English People. Oxford World’s Classics, Oxford: University Press, 1999 (original translation from 1969). Book I, chapter 23. Ordnance Survey Map, 3rd edition, 1907, sheets LVI.3 and .7 for Canterbury in the Kent sheets. Reprinted and published by Old Town Maps & Books in 2008. Smith, Frederick Francis. A History of Rochester. Rochester: John Hallewell Publications, 1928, limited reprint in 1976. Somner, William. The Antiquities of Canterbury, with an introduction by William Urry, originally printed for R. Knaplock, 1703, republished by EP Publishing Limited in 1977. Tatton-Brown, Tim. Canterbury, History and Guide. Stroud, Gloucestershire: Alan Sutton Publishing Limited, 1994.

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Taylor, Martin I. The Cradle of English Christianity, The coming of St Augustine and St Martin’s Church Canterbury, published by St Martin’s and St Paul’s PCC, 1997, p. 2. Urry, William. Canterbury Under the Angevin Kings, University of London Historical Studies XIX, London: University Press, 1967, p. 210-1. —. “Street Names of Old Canterbury”, Canterbury Local History Pamphlet No.2, Kent County Council Arts & Libraries, originally published in Good Books quarterly magazine, issue No.6, Autumn 1948. Wallenberg, J. K. Kent Place-Names. Uppsala: Appelbergs Boktryckeriaktieldag, 1931. —. The Place-Names of Kent, Uppsala: Appelbergs Boktryckeriaktieldag, 1934. Watts, Victor ed. The Cambridge Dictionary of English Place-Names. Cambridge: University Press, 2004.

Websites consulted http://www.canterburytrust.co.uk/schools/gallery/gall1535.htm (map of Roman Canterbury) http://whc.unesco.org/en/list/496 http://www.ville-reims.fr/index.php?id=999 http://www.canterburytales.org.uk/ (at St Margaret’s Church)



MONKS AMONG BARBARIANS: AUGUSTINE OF CANTERBURY AND HIS SUCCESSORS IN BEDE'S ACCOUNT OF THE ROMAN AND MONASTIC ORIGINS OF THE ENGLISH CHURCH LEO CARRUTHERS UNIVERSITY OF PARIS-SORBONNE (PARIS 4)

Canterbury, a Roman city founded near the end of the first century on an ancient Celtic site, has preserved only meagre remains of its imperial past. The Romans called it Durovernum Cantiacorum, literally ‘fortress of the Cantiaci’, i.e. of the Kentish, or people of Kent.1 While it is therefore undeniable that Canterbury was an important place long before the AngloSaxon period, it is equally certain that the arrival of St Augustine in the year 597 AD was to prove a key moment in the city’s history. Indeed, before it became the ecclesiastical see of Christian England, Canterbury was just a small regional capital – one among many. True, it was the principal town of an Anglo-Saxon realm; but such kingdoms were numerous, and the kings of Kent were not, on the whole, any stronger than the rulers of neighbouring territories. It could hardly be guessed that one day their capital was destined to outshine all others, that its fame would outstrip even that of the great Roman emporium, London – at least in one particular domain. For its European reputation was a direct result of Augustine’s religious foundation, much more so than any ephemeral temporal power. The kingdom of Kent would, indeed, soon fall under the domination of others, first of the Mercians, then of the West Saxons. But long after the loss of its political independence, Canterbury, home to the



1 See Roger J.A. Wilson, A Guide to the Roman Remains in Britain (London: Constable, 1975), 39-42 for Canterbury (Durovernum Cantiacorum). The name Durovernum is a Latin form of Durovernon, a British Celtic word for an oppidum or stronghold. On the etymology, see the article by Myriam Méar in the present volume.



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primatial see of the English Church, would maintain its place among the important religious centres of Europe. For our knowledge of how this came to pass – the establishment of St Augustine in the town – we are indebted to an invaluable source, the first history-book to be composed by an Anglo-Saxon: he was St Bede the Venerable (ca 673-735), author in 731 of the Historia ecclesiastica gentis anglorum. It is not perhaps surprising that later in Anglo-Saxon history there was a tendency among the English to ‘naturalise’ their first archbishop – in other words, to see him as one of their own rather than as a missionary coming from foreign parts. Augustine is, in fact, so closely associated with Canterbury that even at the present day it can be hard to think of him as anything other than English. But this kind of ‘adoption’ must be common in the history of the spread of Christianity. It is parallel to the way that St Patrick is generally presumed (by non-specialists) to have been Irish; one easily forgets that Ireland’s patron saint was a late Roman Briton – in other words, to use the name invented much later by the English, a Welshman. In the same way it is all too easy to forget that Augustine was an Italian monk, a Roman, sent by the pope to convert the Anglo-Saxons. As for the pope in question, he was the famous St Gregory the Great, a native of Rome who was particularly interested in the Anglo-Saxons and who, when younger (before becoming pope), had thought of going in person to carry out the mission that he would finally entrust to his friend and fellow-monk Augustine. In fact it is impossible to understand what happened in 597 without examining the lives of these two exceptional individuals – lives which also need to be seen from the perspective of international politics, of late Roman culture and of the post-Roman Empire in the West. Just as Bede lays considerable emphasis on the monastic aspect of Augustine’s life and mission, it is also important to remember that Gregory, too, was a monk. The fact that Gregory and Augustine were both monks explains the markedly monastic character of the Anglo-Saxon Church throughout its history and of the early English bishops in particular.

1. St Augustine in Bede’s account: mission and correspondence Since Bede’s account of Augustine’s arrival is well known, it is unnecessary to repeat everything he says; it is enough to recall a few important details. There was already a religious presence in Kent, small but influential in a quiet way, at the royal court. King Æthelberht was married to a Frankish princess, Bertha (ca 539-ca 612), daughter of



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Charibert I, king of Paris (ca 517-567).2 Like any good Christian father, Charibert had accepted the marriage of his daughter with a pagan ruler on condition that she would not be hindered in the practice of her religion; and for this purpose a Frankish priest, Liudhard, accompanied Bertha as her private chaplain and restored for their use an old chapel dedicated to St Martin. This was an ancient structure dating from the late Roman period, where Liudhard celebrated Mass for Queen Bertha, which was also to become the first centre of worship for Augustine after his establishment in Canterbury. It appears, from Bede’s account, to have already been dedicated to St Martin long before the arrival of Bertha and Liudhard, which is not impossible. St Martin of Tours (316-397) was highly venerated by the Frankish kings but his cult was also popular in Britain in the fifth century, before the Anglo-Saxon settlement. While the pagan Anglo-Saxons who would occupy Canterbury in the course of that century may be supposed to have had no interest in any Christian saint, it is likely that the existence there of a chapel dedicated to St Martin was known to Frankish monks and bishops. Such memories could have been preserved and transmitted by visitors like St Germanus who came to Britain at least once (429), and perhaps again in 443, at the invitation of local bishops. It is thus quite likely that Liudhard, though arriving in pagan Canterbury more than a century after Germanus (the year of Bertha’s marriage to Æthelberht is uncertain), knew where to look for a chapel that he and the queen could use. On the other hand, even if the name had been forgotten and if the dedication of the chapel were left to Liudhard, no Frankish saint would be more suitable than Martin.3 One way or the other, Liudhard appears to have remained very discreet. As the queen’s chaplain it was his duty to look after her spiritual needs, not to seek to convert her husband or his retainers. Nevertheless the permanent presence of a Christian queen and her confessor may have contributed, over time, to an alteration in Æthelberht’s views and to a general climate of tolerance, at least in court, which was ultimately to prove favourable to Augustine.

 2

Not only Queen Bertha and her Frankish chaplain Liudhard (both died ca 603), but also her husband Æthelberht (560-616), the first Christian ruler of any of the Anglo-Saxon kingdoms, are listed among the saints of England. See David Farmer, The Oxford Dictionary of Saints (Oxford: OUP [1978], 5th ed. 2003), under the relevant names. 3 Though rebuilt and greatly altered over time, the present St Martin’s parish church in Canterbury, to the east of St Augustine’s Abbey, is believed to occupy the same site as Liudhard’s chapel; it does contain some traces of Roman masonry and brickwork.



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For any understanding of the events of this period Bede’s account is of course essential, since it is the major written source. Nevertheless the amount of space available to Bede was necessarily limited, even for an important saint like Augustine, and details can be skimpy on matters which we would like to know much more about. The Historia ecclesisatica covers a very long period of almost eight centuries, from Julius Caesar’s first invasion of Britain in 55 BC down to 731 which was just a few years before Bede’s death. It is divided into five books numbered I to V, and 140 chapters whose length can vary from a few lines (e.g. III.20) to several pages (e.g. IV.3).4 The section dealing with St Augustine is found at the end of Book I, ch. 23 to ch. 33, and the beginning of Book II, ch. 1 to ch. 3. Since the division of the two books at this particular point is completely arbitrary, it may be said that the Augustinian mission takes up fourteen consecutive chapters, not counting the last chapter of Book I which deals with a different matter.5 There is another brief allusion to Augustine in Book IV, ch. 25 (or 27 depending on the manuscript used), to which I shall return. The extensive section dealing with the Roman mission to Kent covers 56 pages in the edition cited, coming to an end with the death of the first

 4

The edition cited in this article is that published in the Sources chrétiennes series which gives the Latin text of the St Petersburg manuscript with a French translation. Bède le Vénérable, Histoire ecclésiastique du people anglais (Historia ecclesiastica gentis Anglorum). Introduction and notes by André Crépin; critical text by Michael Lapidge; translation by Pierre Monat and Philippe Robin. Coll. Sources chrétiennes no. 489 (Paris: Le Cerf, 2005). Citations in English by the present writer are based on this edition. Page numbers begin at 1 in each of the three volumes. In what follows, references are given by book and chapter, but since the chapter divisions are not always identical in all manuscripts, and hence may differ from one edition to another, the page number is also included in many cases. As an example of the difference, a note in vol. 2, 356, says that ch. 25 here was ch. 27 in previous editions of the Latin text and ch. 28 in the Old English version. 5 At the very end of Book I Bede inserts a short chapter (I.34, 262) which interrupts the account of Augustine’s mission. Getting away from Kent he reverts to the annalist’s habit of giving events in chronological order, by year rather than by theme. He is thus led to mention the victory in 603 of Æthelfrith, King of Northumbria, against the Scottish king, Ædan of Dalriada, which gave the AngloSaxon kingdom protection on its north flank from the danger of invasion by ‘Scotti’. The latter were a Celtic people of Irish origin who had founded the kingdom of Dalriada, thus spreading the Gaelic language in the north-west of Britain, as earlier mentioned by Bede when discussing the island’s four nations and five languages (see I.1, 114).



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archbishop (vol. I, p. 192-302).6 The time sequence is nevertheless quite brief, only nine or ten years, from 596 when Pope Gregory dispatches Augustine on his mission, to the latter’s death in 604 or 605 (Augustine died on 26 May, but the text is not clear about the precise year).7 How old Augustine was at the time is not known either, but it seems likely that he was about the same age as his friend Pope Gregory, who was born ca 540. The Sovereign Pontiff died on 12 March 604, as Bede mentions at the beginning of Book II.1 (p. 268).8 In view of Bede’s general exactitude in matters of chronology, the lack of precision with regard to the year of Augustine’s death must be due to the fact that he was unable to verify this in any of his sources; and since Bede himself is the principal source for Augustine’s life and work, historians have not been able to throw any further light on the matter. Bede’s nice sense of logic, as well as his admiration for the two saints, might have led him to suggest that they died in the same year, but he does not explicitly say so. In placing Augustine’s demise ca 604 (rather than 605), David Farmer seems to be attracted by the idea of the nearness in time of the two deaths.9 In fact, what is important is that 604/605 marks a turning point: whether or not they died in exactly the same year, the two men responsible for the Roman mission to England did not long survive each other. If one were to apply a simple rule of thumb to these nine years and 56 pages, one might have expected the author to treat each year equally, thus allowing an average of six pages for each year of Augustine’s mission. The reality is very different. Almost exactly half of the text is devoted to reproducing letters, mainly an extensive correspondence between the pope and the missionary, with the addition of some other letters sent by Gregory to certain dignitaries in order to request their help for Augustine. These



6 That is to say, 56 pages of the Latin text which, in the Sources chrétiennes edition, is on the left-hand page (even numbers), with a further 56 pages of French translation on the opposite page (uneven numbers). Book I ch. 23 begins at 192-3, and Augustine’s epitaph occurs in Book II ch. 3, 302-303. Note that where a volume number is given it refers to the three-volume edition, not to Bede’s division of his work into five books. 7 See I.3, 303, note 3 by André Crépin. 8 J.N.D. Kelly, The Oxford Dictionary of Popes (Oxford: OUP, 1986), confirms the date. 9 David Farmer, The Oxford Dictionary of Saints (Oxford: OUP [1978], 5th ed. 2003), 35. Curiously enough, Bede was to die (in 735) on the same day of the month as St Augustine (26 May). In order to avoid conflict between two of its major figures, the English Church separated their feast days, keeping 26 May for St Augustine and celebrating St Bede on either the 25th or the 27th (Farmer, 48).



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documents take up a total of six chapters, from I.27 to I.32 (p. 206-259).10 Indeed, Augustine had written to Gregory to ask his advice about certain matters: the organisation of the English Church, the duties of a bishop, his own role as pastor and leader, as well as particular problems relating to the moral guidance of the laity entrusted to his care. In a lengthy ch. 27 (p. 206-240), Bede gives both Augustine’s questions and the pope’s answers.11 The following chapters, 28 to 32, give a series of letters all sent by Gregory during the summer of 601. Two of them are addressed to Augustine himself (ch. 29 on the subject of the pallium, the episcopal symbol, and ch. 31 on the attitude to adopt towards miracles), but the others go to three leading personalities: Virgil (Virgilius), Bishop of Arles, requested to welcome and to help Augustine (ch. 28); abbot Mellitus,12 leader of the second group of Roman monks who had been sent out to assist Augustine on the English mission (ch. 30); and Æthelberht, King of Kent, to whom the pope sends compliments, advice and gifts (ch. 32). The next chapter then resumes the chronological account of the mission’s progress (I.33, p. 261), describing how Augustine set about rebuilding an ancient church in Canterbury which he made into his home – thus remaining near the queen’s chapel of St Martin’s, but separate from it and closer to the centre of town.13 At the same time he founded a monastery, in between his own church and St Martin’s, which was to serve as a burial place not only



10 The page numbers refer to the Latin and French texts which are printed on facing pages, so the number of pages for one or the other needs to be halved; in this case, there are 54 pages from 206 to 259, meaning 27 pages for the Latin alone. This gives a better idea of the relative length of the document. 11 This series of questions and answers is known to have been in independent circulation in a document written by Pope Gregory called the Libellus responsionum, found in the papal registry. It is printed as Appendix XI of the Registre des Lettres, edited and translated by Pierre Minard (Paris: Le Cerf, 19911992, Coll. Sources chrétiennes no. 370-371). 12 St Mellitus was to be consecrated first Bishop of London by Augustine himself in 604. Mellitus would later become third Archbishop of Canterbury (619-624), after St Laurence (ca 604-619), Augustine’s immediate successor and a member of the first Roman group which arrived in 597. 13 This was Christ Church, the first cathedral in Canterbury, which would be rebuilt and extended many times in the course of the centuries. Its foundations lie under the nave of the present building. Following a fire in 1067, it was rebuilt by the Norman Archbishop Lanfranc, and again in the late 12th, late 14th and late 15th centuries, not reaching completion until 1505 – its present appearance, discounting later repairs and restoration work.



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for Augustine himself and his successors in the episcopacy, but also for Æthelberht and the later kings of Kent.14 In Book II, ch. 1 to ch. 3, Bede goes on with the threads of Augustine’s story, taking it as far as the archbishop’s death. It nevertheless remains true that only half of the space which Bede allows for the Roman mission is taken up with narrative, i.e. to an account of events in progress, since the other half is devoted to correspondence. The terms of great respect and dignity with which Pope Gregory addresses the missionary are noticeable (‘Thy Fraternity’ and ‘Thy Holiness’ are the forms commonly used). But while the questions asked by Augustine do give us some insight into the daily problems faced by a conscientious pastor, one has to admit that Bede really says very little about Augustine the man despite his great historical significance. It might seem surprising that Bede should give so much space to Pope Gregory’s letters. But Bede, like any true historian, was deeply attached to written documents and was anxious to make the best use of them; he tells us in the epilogue how he collected information from various sources, both written and oral (see Book V ch. 24). It must therefore be admitted that Bede’s account attributes as much importance to the pope, who never set foot in England, as to Augustine, the monk who carried out papal orders. It was, indeed, thanks to Gregory that the conversion of the Anglo-Saxons was begun, since it was he – unable to make the journey himself, which Bede says he would like to have done – who first had the idea of sending missionaries. From the point of view of the Northumbrian historian, Gregory was as much the hero of the story as Augustine, with whom he shares all the honours, if not more so in places. In the preface, for example, Bede does not even give Augustine’s name, whereas he twice refers to ‘the blessed Pope Gregory’ whose ‘disciples’ were sent to Kent (I, Preface, p. 97, 99). The Roman missionaries are thus firmly put in their place, under the pope’s authority. This by no means implies any desire on Bede’s part to denigrate Augustine, for whom he had the greatest admiration, but merely to highlight the superior and universal character of the Roman Church, a matter of considerable importance to the writer. In many passages of the work Bede’s priorities are evident, as in his account of the conflict which was resolved at the Synod of Whitby in 664: the author’s sympathies clearly lie with the defenders of Roman customs against the Irish or ‘Celtic’ party who had previously held sway in the northern English Church (see the long ch. 25 in Book III, p. 142-160).



14 This is the origin of St Augustine’s Abbey (now ruined) which Augustine himself initially dedicated to Saints Pancras, Peter and Paul.



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One may well wonder how Bede could not merely have known about the letters exchanged between Augustine and Gregory (this could simply be a tradition he had been told of), but could have reproduced them so diligently.15 The historian takes pains, however, to explain the origin of his sources, whether written (as in the present case) or oral (Preface, p. 94102). In fact, he tells us, he used copies of the original letters which had been brought to him from Rome by an English colleague named Nothhelm, a priest from London who had obtained permission to work in the papal archives in Rome and who had made the copies himself (p. 96). The modernity of this mode of operation might surprise some who are in the habit of thinking of the ‘Dark Ages’ as a period of difficult communications and lack of written evidence. In fact the clerks and archivists of the Roman Church had been accustomed, from an early date, to preserve copies of all papal correspondence, copies which could be made available to international ‘researchers’ – the term hardly seems anachronistic since it correctly describes Nothhelm’s activity. Where they have survived the ravages of time, which is again surprisingly often, these documents are usually available today in modern editions.16 It cannot be doubted that Nothhelm was, like his friend Bede, a dedicated enthusiast, passionately interested in historical accuracy, whose work as a copyist is to be trusted. Just a few months after Bede’s death in 735, Nothhelm was elected Archbishop of Canterbury and held the post until his death four years later. Side by side with Nothhelm Bede also pays tribute to the man who was responsible for sending Nothhelm to visit him – the man, moreover, who was the main living source of information on the subject of ‘the disciples of the blessed Pope Gregory’ (p. 97). This was Albinus, abbot of the monastery of Sts Peter and Paul in Canterbury, who was head of the community from 710 to 734 (Preface, p. 96, note 2).17 According to Bede,

 15

Bede does not appear to have been a great traveller, seemingly never having strayed far from his monastery since he was a boy of seven. Though his movements remain uncertain, he is known to have visited his former pupil Egbert, Bishop of York, in 733; but it seems unlikely that he ever left the kingdom of Northumbria. On the other hand he was in touch with many correspondents, particularly in the southern monasteries – less so in Mercia, a kingdom about which he gives little information. 16 For Gregory the Great, see Minard’s edition of the Registre des Lettres as referred to in note 11 above. See further the bibliography of the Historia ecclesiastica, edition cited, 84. 17 The monastery founded by Augustine in 597, to the east of Canterbury, was at first dedicated to Sts Pancras, Peter and Paul. By Bede’s time this appears to have been shortened to ‘Sts Peter and Paul’, not to be confused with Bede’s own



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Albinus was an expert on all matters concerning the history of St Augustine’s mission and his foundations in Kent, whether oral or written; oral, because Albinus was the recipient of traditions which had been handed down by successive archbishops and abbots; and written, because his position as abbot gave him access to all documents held in the abbey’s library from the beginning. This fount of information communicated with Bede through Nothhelm, sending the London priest to visit Jarrow firstly with personal information and later with copies of the letters which Nothhelm had made in Rome. Bede thus had the pleasure of getting a firsthand account of conditions of work in the Roman archives. Nothhelm paid Bede at least two visits: the historian says that the priest, with whom he had already conversed in person (p. 97), came back to see him on the advice of Albinus after Nothhelm’s return from Rome. This is an impressive example of scholarly cooperation and mutual support among specialists. Instead of keeping the information to themselves, or indeed of writing up their own historical account as Albinus and Nothhelm might have chosen to do, they responded generously to Bede’s appeal for help. When Bede started researching the subject he was already well-known as an intellectual, a theologian and a biblical scholar – at the end of the Historia ecclesiastica he adds a list of his earlier works, many of which were in wide circulation. His colleagues clearly respected his reputation and felt an obligation to support him, seeing in him the man most qualified to give a full account of the history of the English Church.

2. The importance of monasticism and its Gregorian origin Having dealt with the death of St Augustine and the accession of his successor Laurence, Bede would have almost no further occasion to mention him. He does nevertheless make a brief allusion to him much later, in Book IV ch. 25 (or ch. 27 in some manuscripts), not indeed to give any further information but simply to insist on the archbishop’s monastic vocation. This occurs in a passage dealing with the life of St Cuthbert (ca 634-687), one of Bede’s heroes, who in 685 was transferred from Melrose Abbey to the post of Bishop of Lindisfarne, thus giving Bede an opportunity to comment on the importance of monasticism in the

 monastery in Jarrow which had the same name. In 978 when it was rebuilt by St Dunstan, Archbishop of Canterbury, it was rededicated to Sts Peter, Paul and Augustine; but it was the founder’s name which became the common, if not the only, designation for ‘St Augustine’s Abbey’ from then on.



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English Church from its earliest foundations down to his own day. For, he explains, just as Cuthbert was a monk, and before him, the great St Aidan who had been the first Bishop of Lindisfarne (in 635), so too Augustine had never ceased to follow the monastic rule after becoming a bishop and then archbishop. This was in conformity with the personal recommendation which Pope Gregory had given him and which Bede quotes (IV.25, p. 362). Bede himself was a monk and he spent all his life, from the age of seven on, in the community at Jarrow – he mentions this, as said earlier, in a short biographical notice at the end of Book V.18 It is not perhaps surprising that a monk should take note of the doings of other monks. However, his work displays no special interest in the monastic life as such, nor does he make any effort to examine the spread of monasticism; his purpose is simply to describe the foundation and development of the English Church, of which monasticism happened to be an aspect. A closer examination of events reveals that the monastic element was not a mere accident but that it was fundamental in every sense of the word to the success of the mission; without it, no Roman missionary (the Irish are a different case) would probably have ever dared to risk his life in a barbarian land. One must therefore insist rather more than Bede himself does, on the importance of the fact that not only were all the members of the Augustinian mission trained monks who came from the same monastery, but that the pope who sent them, St Gregory, was also a brother monk – that he indeed chose members of his own monastic foundation in Rome for this important mission. Gregory the Great was the first pope to be a monk. Born in Rome ca 540 into a wealthy and influential family, he counted a pope among his ancestors: one of his great-great-grandfathers was Felix III (526-530). The family villa was on the Caelian Hill (Collis Caelius) facing the Circus Maximus. During his childhood the Emperor in Constantinople succeeded in wresting the city of Rome from Gothic control, but the political situation remained unstable throughout the century and would be a constant factor in Gregory’s life. When a young man he entered public service and rose to the post of Prefect of Rome. It was during this period of his career that one day, according to the traditional story, he noticed some English captives on sale in the slave market; greatly struck by the fairness of their skin and hair, of a lightness rarely seen in Rome, he made enquiries about their pagan origin and is then supposed to have formed the

 18

Book V ch. 24. It was the monastery of Sts Peter and Paul at Wearmouth and Jarrow – two physical sites but a single foundation – in the kingdom of Northumbria. See volume 3, 186-188.



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plan of evangelising their distant isle.19 Upon his father’s death Gregory inherited the family home, which in 573 he turned into a monastery, dedicating it to St Andrew the Apostle; the following year he gave up his public office in order to join the community as a monk. But the powersthat-be were not willing to lose a gifted civil servant so easily. In 579 the new pope, Pelagius II, sent him to Constantinople as apocrisarius, or ambassador, with the brief of gaining the Emperor’s military assistance in combating the Lombards in Italy; he was to spend six years there. In 585 as soon as he returned to Rome he was chosen to be abbot of St Andrew’s, a post he held until his election as Sovereign Pontiff in 590.20 Gregory was already therefore, before becoming pope, an experienced diplomat, well aware of the political situation all over Europe. But if left to himself he would have preferred not to be pope; his earlier choice of the monastic life had been made because of his personal taste for study and contemplation.21 Nothing was more natural in 596, when he decided to send a mission to Britain to convert the Angles and Saxons, than to turn to his own community: from St Andrew’s, the monastery he had himself founded, he therefore chose Augustine and forty other monks. This was the group which would arrive in Kent a year later, after some hesitant wanderings in Gaul which Bede tells us about. And a few years later in

 19

The other part of this story includes the famous pun on Angli and angeli (‘Not Angles but angels’) which Gregory is supposed to have made on seeing the beautiful slaves. Bede repeats this story out of respect for the tradition which he had received, though clearly not placing much faith in it himself; he does not present it as a true fact, but merely as a pious anecdote (see II.1, paragraph 12, 286 in the edition cited). 20 The monastery, his former home which still exists, is now called San Gregorio Magno in Celio and is entered from the Via di San Gregorio. The site was renamed in the twelfth century when a new abbey church was dedicated in honour of the great pope. 21 It is unnecessary to say much more about Gregory’s remarkable career as administrator, diplomat, writer, liturgist and preacher (see Kelly, 1986); suffice it to say that he is one of the rare popes in history to be called ‘the Great’, a term applied, before his time, only to Leo I (440-461). Partly using his private inheritance Gregory placed Church finances on a solid basis, necessary in his view to maintain the independence of the Bishop of Rome in the face of secular authority. He also insisted on the primacy of the See of Peter over the Patriarch of Constantinople, though the term ‘pope’ was not yet employed in the modern sense. The word obviously comes from papas, Greek for ‘father’; but when exactly it became customary to call the Pontifex Maximus ‘the pope’, with the implication of head of the whole Christian Church, is a matter of historical debate into whose quicksand I will not step here.



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601, when Augustine wrote requesting reinforcements, it was almost certainly in the same monastery that the pope found them, since Mellitus, leader of the second group, is referred to in the papal register as ‘abbot’ – presumably of St Andrew’s. Gregory took advantage of the occasion to entrust Mellitus with the pallium, the symbol by which Augustine, already a bishop (he had been consecrated by Virgil in Arles), was elevated to the dignity of archbishop. One of the first acts of the new Archbishop of Canterbury was to consecrate Mellitus as bishop of the East Angles, which in effect made him the first Bishop of London. Mellitus would, in turn, become third Archbishop of Canterbury in 619, after the death of the second archbishop – Laurence, a member of the missionary group who had arrived with Augustine from Rome in 597. This pattern would be repeated over many years: all of the early bishops and archbishops working among the Anglo-Saxons were monks who had come from Rome in either 597 or 601. One may well ask what kind of monks they were – what sort of monasticism was practised in Canterbury, and indeed before that on the Cælian Hill?22 St Andrew’s being one of the first monasteries in Rome, what was the model which inspired its founder? Put simply, it was Benedictine, that is to say one following the Rule of St Benedict of Nursia (ca 480-ca 550). But to keep a correct historical perspective on this, it must be borne in mind that Benedictine-type communities were all independent of each other, far from being organised into a ‘religious order’, a legal concept which did not exist in canon law at the time. True, Benedict is often called the father of Western monasticism, but this is due to the success of his Rule and its adoption by other houses, not to any kind of central authority. In ca 500 Benedict had retired to a cave near Subiaco where a community grew around him, leading him in ca 529 to found the famous monastery of Monte Cassino.23 It was there that he composed the

 22

Christian monasticism began in fourth-century Egypt with St Antony (ca 251356) and St Pachomius (ca 292-348). Brought to Europe in the fifth century by St John Cassian (ca 360-433), it would flower in Ireland in the fifth and sixth centuries; in the seventh century the Rule of St Columban (ca 543-615) was widely followed in Irish missionary foundations in Britain and Gaul. But the Irish model had little influence in Rome and eventually it was replaced, all over Europe, by the Benedictine Rule. See F.L. Cross and E.A. Livingstone, The Oxford Dictionary of the Christian Church (Oxford: OUP, 1957, 3rd ed. 1997), 1102, ‘Monasticism’. 23 Subiaco, the site of the first, simple hermitages occupied by Benedict and his sister Scholastica (ca 480-ca 543), is a town in the province of Rome, lying southwest of the imperial city. Monte Cassino is 130 km from Rome, also to the southwest, half way between the capital and Naples.



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Rule in ca 540 (about the same time that the future Pope Gregory was born) and there that he died in ca 550. But in 585 the Lombards destroyed the monastery and the monks took refuge in Rome, in the Lateran basilica, not to return to Monte Cassino for another 130 years.24 In that very year, 585, Gregory came home from Constantinople and became abbot of St Andrew’s, the house he had founded twelve years earlier. In 573 Benedict’s Rule was already well known and was the most likely model to be adopted in Rome – or to be pursued in 585. While Gregory may well have encountered other forms of monastic life during his long sojourn in Constantinople, there was little chance that he might have been attracted to, or influenced by, Greek customs; he did not much care for them (no doubt for political reasons), and though residing at the imperial court for six years had not even taken the trouble to learn the language. There is no doubt whatsoever, on the other hand, that Gregory was interested in Benedict and the monastic type that he represented. In 593 he wrote the Dialogues, a series of lives of the Italian saints, in which it is clear that Benedict of Nursia was one of his heroes. Nothing other than the Benedictine Rule was therefore likely to have been adopted in St Andrew’s and consequently exported to Canterbury when Augustine’s time came to go there.

3. Monks among barbarians To what extent is it justified to call the Germanic tribes who settled in Britain in the fifth century – Angles, Saxons, Jutes and others not even mentioned in Bede’s list – barbarians, at least before their conversion to the religion of Rome? For in the eyes of Greece and Rome they were indeed barbarians before their assimilation. The etymology of the word ‘barbarian’ throws light on Greek and Roman attitudes to the peoples unable to speak the literate tongues. Essentially it boils down to a very basic, not to say primitive, self-referential distinction, an exclusive ‘them and us’ approach, which supposes that ‘we’ are normal and our mother tongue is correct, while ‘they’ are ignorant and their language is incoherent. The Greek word barbaros, which the Romans adopted as barbarus, simply meant, at first, ‘unintelligible’, hence ‘foreign’.25 The word comes from an Indo-European root, baba-, which also gives rise to Modern

 24

Monte Cassino would not be rebuilt until ca 717, by Abbot Petronax. See The Oxford Dictionary of English Etymology, ed., C. T. Onions, G.W.S. Friedrichsen and R.W. Burchfield (Oxford: Clarendon, 1966). 25



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English baby and babble, to speak unintelligibly or like an infant.26 It is a common human failing to equate unintelligibility with ignorance and stupidity; those who do not speak one’s own language are dismissed with contempt. When such an attitude is combined with military conquest, it is an easy step to equate victory with superiority in all aspects of culture. It was precisely because the peoples outside the Roman Empire – Celts and Germans – were unable to communicate in either Latin or Greek that the Romans called them barbari, foreigners.27 But as these uncivilised outsiders were also judged – not without some reason, if we are to believe the early commentators – to be uncouth, rough, unrefined, brutal, and harsh, a semantic shift took place which gave rise to all the negative associations which have been retained by the English words barbarian, barbarous, and their equivalents in other languages. These adjectives are indeed pejorative, but we have to wait for the decline of the Empire, when Germanic tribes destroyed whole cities, before we see the sense ‘cruel, savage’ attached forever to the word ‘barbarian’.28 Whether we look at the Irish of the fifth century or the Anglo-Saxons from 597 onwards, the same phenomenon may be observed, i.e. a desire for cultural assimilation to Rome through its religion. Interestingly, this ‘Romanising’ was not political and never could have been. At the time of St Patrick’s mission in Ireland, the Roman Empire in the West was in the

 26

See Calvert Watkins, ‘Indo-European Appendix’ in The American Heritage Dictionary of the English Language, ed. William Morris (Boston: Houghton Mifflin [1969], 9th ed. 1980), 1496-1550. The equivalent words in many other languages are similar, e.g. French bébé and babiller. 27 To the degree to which the Celts of Gaul and Britain were assimilated into Roman culture and used Latin instead of the vernacular, their inhabitants ceased to be ‘barbarians’, becoming instead ‘Romans’. This process started earlier in Gaul, under Julius Caesar, and was carried out more thoroughly than in Britain where the native language – ancestor of modern Welsh – survived imperial colonisation. In Gaul, on the other hand, the Celtic population gave up speaking Gaulish and instead adopted Latin – a language which, making allowances for some borrowing of Germanic vocabulary from the Franks, would evolve into Old French by the ninth century. 28 This does not mean that the Romans considered all aspects of barbarian culture to be despicable and unworthy of imitation. Tacitus, on the contrary, praises the Germanic tribes of his day (first century AD) for virtues such as courage, loyalty and morality which, he seems to imply, had decayed among the Romans (‘Good morality is more effective in Germany than good laws are elsewhere’) – perhaps the first example in European literature of the ‘noble savage’ theme. TACITUS. The Agricola and the Germania, trans. H. Mattingley [1948], rev. S.A. Handford (Harmondsworth: Penguin Classics, 1970), 118 (in ch. 19 of Germania).



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final stages of disintegration; just a few years after the traditional date of Patrick’s death, the last emperor was forced to abdicate and the administration of Rome was taken over by the Visigothic kings (476).29 Another 120 years would pass before the beginning of Augustine’s mission in Kent, at a time when the Empire in the West was no more than a distant memory – ancient history, in fact. Clearly the distinction between East and West is crucial in this respect, more than ever after the fatal year 476, since there was still in Constantinople a ‘Roman Emperor’, an office which would remain all through the Middle Ages, down to 1453. This was the emperor to whom Gregory, as we have seen, was sent as ambassador by the pope; but despite his title, this ruler had no effective power in the city of Rome or in any of the Germanic kingdoms which succeeded the Empire in the West. By the time of Gregory and Augustine, the Germanic royal families who ruled in Italy, in Spain and in Gaul were ‘barbarian’ only in name. Entirely assimilated to Roman ways, they admired the culture, the literature, the arts and architecture of the former Empire. While some of them preserved their vernacular dialects – as late as 800 Charles, King of the Franks and first ‘Holy Roman and Germanic Emperor’, spoke Frankish as his native language – they used Latin as the medium of education and religion. And whatever their religious opinions – the Goths long held onto their Arianism – they were all Christians. After 476 all of these peoples wished to present themselves as the worthy inheritors of the former Roman Empire and they never usurped the imperial title which they were content to leave in Constantinople. This striking situation goes a long way to explain why many peoples of the North, and especially the AngloSaxons, were desirous to follow the same path. When St Augustine arrived in Kent in 597 he was not entering wild, uncharted, savage territory. He was welcomed by a king who was, indeed, barbarian in the strict sense of the word (not knowing Latin and not sharing Roman values), but one who no longer wished to be outside the sophisticated current of European civilization. Anglo-Saxon kings, in other words, had reached a psychological threshold which made them ready for the religious leap, a leap which allowed them to become ‘Roman’ and ‘mainstream’ without any political danger. This is surely the reason why the Roman mission of

 29

While the precise chronology of St Patrick’s life remains in doubt, there is scholarly agreement on the middle of the fifth century; the traditional dates of his mission in Ireland are from 432 to 461.



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597 was so well received, and why the whole of England would be converted to Christianity before another century had passed.30

4. The episcopal succession: Romans and Anglo-Saxons Despite the fairly rapid success of the Augustinian mission among the Anglo-Saxons, one observes a persistent reluctance, for several generations, to ‘go native’ in terms of the episcopal succession, i.e. to take any steps to consecrate English bishops. As we have seen, the early Archbishops of Canterbury were all chosen from among the Roman missionaries of 597 and 601. As Bede remains the principal source of information about them it is unnecessary to repeat all the details he gives but simply to draw some conclusions from his presentation. Here, then, are the names of the first six archbishops: St Augustine (597-ca 604), St Laurence (ca 604-19), St Mellitus (619-24), St Justus (624-7), St Honorius (627-53), and finally, after a two-year vacancy, St Deusdedit (655-64). A full fifty years thus elapsed after Augustine’s death before an Englishman succeeded to this key post. In the event it was a West Saxon who was chosen, whose Germanic name was Frithona – for ‘Deusdedit’ was the Latin name he took only on the occasion of his episcopal consecration. After his death there was a vacancy of two years due to plague, and the second Englishman, Wighard, a native of Kent, unfortunately did not last long (666-668), which perhaps explains why he never attained the dignity of sainthood (all the other archbishops in the above list were canonised by popular acclaim). The celebrated Theodore of Tarsus had a long and significant reign (668-690) which was of importance in the development of the English Church, since the conversion of all England was completed in his day. But St Theodore was to be the last foreign archbishop for nearly four centuries, until the nomination of a Norman, Robert of Jumièges, in 1051.31 A similar situation may be observed in relation to all of the other early English dioceses, whether in Rochester, London or York. The first bishop consecrated by Augustine was Justus, one of his companions from the

 30

The successful implantation of the new religion in the Isle of Wight in 686 marks the end, according to Bede, of the conversion period in England. For the date see Book IV ch. 14 (or ch. 16 in some editions, depending on the manuscripts) – this is volume 2, 278 of the edition cited. 31 Although this took place many years before the Norman Conquest, the choice of Robert is explained by his friendship with the English king, Edward the Confessor (1042-1066), who had spent a large part of his childhood in Normandy at the ducal court of his uncle and cousin.



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initial group of 597, who was placed at the head of the small diocese of Rochester (Kent) in 604.32 Justus would stay there for twenty years until he succeeded Mellitus in Canterbury (624). Before leaving Rochester, he consecrated Romanus – another of the monks from the initial group, who was probably of an advanced age by that stage – but Romanus lived only a year longer. He was therefore replaced, in 625, by St Paulinus (ca 584644), a younger member of the Roman ‘reinforcements’ who arrived in 601. Paulinus is an early example of plurality, since he was also, in 627, the first bishop sent to the Northumbrians – becoming in effect Bishop of York, though the title was apparently not yet in use – among whom he worked for several years before returning to Rochester in 633. There would be no further bishop in Northumbria until 664, a long gap. In Kent Paulinus was succeeded by St Ithamar (644-656), second Bishop of Rochester, who thus became the first Anglo-Saxon bishop to be appointed to any English diocese – though it was not Canterbury. As for London, which was not in Kent but in East Saxon territory, the success of the early mission soon ran aground in a political quagmire. In 604 Augustine consecrated Mellitus, lately arrived from Rome with the pallium, as first bishop of the East Saxons.33 Mellitus baptized Sæberht, the East Saxon king who also happened to be a nephew of Æthelberht of Kent, and it was Æthelberht who arranged for the building of the first St Paul’s cathedral in London ca 607. Despite the family connection this was a somewhat curious step for a ruler to take outside his own kingdom and it may indicate more than a friendly interest on Æthelberht’s part. This seems indeed to be confirmed by the negative reaction of Sæberht’s sons when they took over in 616. Unlike their father they had not accepted baptism and they drove Bishop Mellitus out of London. Bede sees this as hostility to the new religion, but it is more likely to be a sign of their wish to defend the East Saxons against political interference from a powerful neighbour. In Kent, too, 616 was a significant year because Æthelberht

 32

The dedication of Rochester cathedral to St Andrew may well be a nostalgic reminder of the monastery which, for Augustine and his monks, was their home base in Rome. 33 There had been bishops, even archbishops, in Roman Londinium, in the Christian period of the late Empire (4th and 5th centuries). When Gregory sent Augustine to Britain in 596 it was his wish that the two most important British cities of the imperial period, London and York, should be restored to their ancient ecclesiastical dignity. But Augustine discovered a very different political situation in the Anglo-Saxon kingdoms, leading to a considerable alteration of this plan: London never became an archbishopric (replaced instead by Canterbury), and York did not do so until 735.



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was succeeded by his and Bertha’s son, Eadbald, who, despite his parents’ example, did not accept the Christian religion until many years later. Rather than go to Kent, therefore, Mellitus took refuge in Gaul and did not return until 619 when he was elected as third Archbishop of Canterbury after the death of St Laurence. The see of London was still vacant, and remained so from 616 until 654, when St Cedd (ca 620-664), a Northumbrian monk who laboured long for the reconversion of the East Saxons, became its second bishop. Cedd is rather an exception in the south of England; not only was he a Northumbrian but he was also a monk trained in the Celtic tradition by St Aidan of Lindisfarne. Cedd died soon after the Synod of Whitby (664) and his influence did not long survive him. St Cedd of London was an older brother of St Chad of Northumbria (ca 630-672), who was also a bishop though in the non-territorial manner of the Irish. Bede obtained information about these two from the monastery at Lastingham (Yorkshire). Chad began his missionary work in the region of York but he was not specifically bishop of that city, a title first obtained in 664 by St Wilfrid (634-709). After Wilfrid’s appointment Chad left Northumbria to labour for the conversion of the Mercians, while his brother Cedd was engaged in a separate – and eventually successful – mission to the East Saxons. Bede describes the important role played by Wilfrid at the famous Synod of Whitby, where he defended Roman rituals (including the monastic Rule of St Benedict) in opposition to those Celtic traditions which had been practised up to then by Christians in the north under Irish influence. In 666 Wilfrid, himself a monk, went to Gaul for his episcopal consecration as Bishop of York, which took place at Compiègne; this journey was made necessary by the vacancy in Canterbury caused by the plague. Although Pope Gregory had initially planned, in 596, to have two archbishops in England – one in London, the other in York – the latter did not attain this status until 735, thanks to the energy of its bishop Egbert, Bede’s friend and former pupil. Bishop of York in 732, he became its first archbishop in 735 and reigned for another thirty years and more before dying in 766. The history of the Church in England will not here be pursued beyond this point; but this examination of the mission carried out by St Augustine and his immediate successors, in Canterbury and other early episcopal sees, will make it clear why southern Anglo-Saxon Christians were attached both to Rome and to monasticism. The early missionaries and bishops, as we have seen, were all Roman monks following the Rule of St Benedict. The welcome they received in Kent was doubtless due in part to the influence of the Christian Queen Bertha and her chaplain Liudhard, as



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well as to Æthelberht’s desire for greater contact with mainstream European culture, both Frankish and Roman. If these factors had not operated, Canterbury would never have become the headquarters of the English Church, an honour which ought naturally to have fallen, in Pope Gregory’s estimation, to London, formerly the chief city of the Roman province of Britannia.

Bibliography Bède le Vénérable, Histoire ecclésiastique du people anglais (Historia ecclesiastica gentis Anglorum). Introduction and notes, André Crépin; Latin critical text, Michael Lapidge; French translation, Pierre Monat and Philippe Robin (Paris: Le Cerf, 2005, Coll. Sources chrétiennes no. 489, 3 volumes). Cross, F.L. and E.A. Livingstone. The Oxford Dictionary of the Christian Church. Oxford: OUP [1957], 3rd ed. 1997. Farmer, David. The Oxford Dictionary of Saints. Oxford: OUP [1978], 5th ed. 2003. Kelly, J.N.D. The Oxford Dictionary of Popes. Oxford: OUP, 1986. Lapidge, Michael, John Blair, Simon Keynes, and Donald Scragg (eds.). The Blackwell Encyclopaedia of Anglo-Saxon England. Oxford: Blackwell, 1999. Wilson, Roger J.A. A Guide to the Roman Remains in Britain. London: Constable, 1975.



DUNSTAN: FROM GLASTONBURY TO CANTERBURY MARTHE MENSAH UNIVERSITY OF RHEIMS

In the religious history of Canterbury, Dunstan - tenth century - stands halfway between Saint Augustine sent to Britain by Pope Gregory to convert the pagans at the end of the fifth century, and Archbishop Thomas Becket who was murdered in the cathedral of Canterbury as a consequence of his opposition to King Henry II on religious matters in the twelfth century. As an active participant in the monastic revival, Dunstan also has his place between Augustine, the initiator of catholicism and converter of the pagans in Britain, and Thomas Becket, the ardent defender of the rights and privileges of the Church. All three were archbishops of Canterbury. There remain almost no documents written by Dunstan, apart from a few charters bearing his name, a few poems and his famous Classbook in which there can be found a drawing with some writings, possibly in his hand.1 The drawing shows Christ standing and holding in his right hand a long sceptre ending with three points: does this signify that the sceptre has grown and developed, as an image of Christ’s Church, or that it has turned into a rod to point towards the true path, or perhaps to chastise, as the verses of the psalms figuring on the sceptre might suggest. This sceptre is also a symbol of divine wisdom, signifying that Christ is both God’s wisdom and true king, as well as being the symbol of royalty. Following the example of Christ, the king is both servant and lord, expected to rule his people with wisdom and justice, hence these verses of the psalms written in Anglo-Saxon square minuscule: Uirga recta est and uirga regni tui The sceptre of thy kingdom is a right sceptre

1



Early Manuscripts at Oxford University, MS Auct. F.4. 32.

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Dunstan: From Glastonbury to Canterbury (Psalms 44:7 or 45:6).

In his left hand, Christ is holding a book or a tablet bearing the words: Uenite filii audite me timorem domini docebo eos Come, ye children, listen to me: I will teach you the fear of the Lord (Psalm 33:12)

We notice in these lines a juxtaposition of equity and education, two principles dear to Dunstan which he defended throughout his entire lifetime. In the position of a fetus, the embodiment of fragility and lack of constraint, a tiny monk is bowing low at Christ’s feet, representing Dunstan, God-fearing, full of humility and devotion, an elusive picture of a multi-faceted person. Above the monk are two verses in Caroline minuscule, a script newly introduced into Britain: Dunstanum memet clemens rogo Christe tuere Taenarias2 me non sinas sorbsisse procellas I beg you, merciful Christ, to watch over me, Dunstan Do not permit that I be swallowed up in the storms of Hell

At the top of the page, we find another inscription in a later Gothic script, dating perhaps from the fifteenth century: Pictura et scriptura huius pagine subtus visa est de propria manu Sancti Dunstani The drawing and the writing seen below on this page are in the very hand of Saint Dunstan himself.

Although very few documents survive in his own hand, we possess several Vitae of Dunstan: * Sancti Dunstani Vita Auctore B. written around the year 1000, and dedicated to Aelfric, archbishop of Canterbury from 996 to 1006. B., a certain Byrhthelm, is said to have belonged to Dunstan’s personal retinue and he therefore knew Dunstan personally. Although he makes no mention of Dunstan’s life in Canterbury, he remains one of the major authorities on Dunstan’s life in Glastonbury. In his Vita, he develops and emphasizes a great deal all that can prove Dunstan’s sanctity, particularly the miracles that he performed in his lifetime and that B. considers it is his duty to report. His Vita has an abundance of personal recollections. 2



Taenaria (porta) = the entrance to Hell.

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* Vita Sancti Dunstani Auctore Adelardo. Adelard was a monk of Ghent. He composed readings based on Dunstan’s life and intended for monasteries; these readings were intended to be read on the day of Saint Dunstan’s feast and must have been written before 1011, since this Vita is dedicated to Alphege, archbishop from 1006 to 1012. He uses elements found in B. His Vita is not a biography of Dunstan strictly speaking, it simply recounts selected events of his life for the edification of his listeners who were most probably monks. * Vita Sancti Dunstani Auctore Osberno. Osbern was a monk of Christ Church, Canterbury. He wrote his Vita towards 1080, before Anselm became archbishop; it is a compound of the two previous versions to which Osbern interposed preoccupations of his own time every now and again. The Vita contains a book about Dunstan’s miracles. * Vita Sancti Dunstani Auctore Eadmero, written about 1109. Like Osbern, Eadmer was a monk of Christ Church, Canterbury. He wrote his Vita to correct the errors made by Osbern and to clarify some minor points. * Vita Sancti Dunstani by William of Malmesbury. It was written after 1120 for the monks of Glastonbury at their request, and also to correct the errors made by Osbern. It is the most historical of all. * Vita et Miracula Dunstani a Johanne Capgravio conscripta, written in the early fifteenth century. Stubbs says it is of no great interest, either historical or literary. * Dunstanus Saga, Icelandic Life of Saint Dunstan, Rolls Series, Icelandic Sagas, vol. II, fifteenth century. The saga was composed by a Benedictine monk who concentrated on the miraculous and spiritual aspects of Dunstan’s life to the detriment of the historic element which is absent from this work. Although their authors wrote with different objectives in mind, these Vitae allow us to get some insight into Dunstan’s life and personality. One question remains however: did these writers have access to reliable biographic information or did they invent it in order to give the audiences they were writing for what they expected to find there? Dunstan’s life gravitated between two places, the first one, Glastonbury, being the prelude, the starting point of his career in many domains, the



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other, Canterbury, was the peak, the crowning achievement of his life. These two extremes were separated by an intermediate period of development and growing maturity that was not without clashes and conflicts.

1. Glastonbury: the prelude, the starting point First contacts with the human world: Dunstan was born in Glastonbury, more precisely in Baltonsborough, in the vicinity of Glastonbury, in Wessex, a marshy area. He was born around 909 – 910, some ten years after King Alfred’s death. His first biographer, B., tells us that Dunstan « oritur » in the reign of Athelstan, king of the English from 924 to 939. This is also what the Anglo-Saxon Chronicle reports. The item referring to the year 924 reads: … here King Edward passed away, and Athelstan, his son, succeeded to the kingdom,… and Saint Dunstan was born… 3

William of Malmesbury confirms this. … annus igitur Ethelstani primus produxit in mundum puerum Dunstanum… 4 …so the first year of king Ethelstan brought into the world the child Dunstan…

However, if we refer to the meaning of the Latin word "oritur" which can mean "to be born", we also find the sense « to rise, to start », that is "to emerge from one’s obscurity", which is precisely what happened with Dunstan at the court of King Athelstan where we find him a few years later. On the other hand, we know that Dunstan was ordained priest in 939 and that one had to be thirty to be ordained, which speaks in favour of the date of 909. How is it then that the Anglo-Saxon Chronicle mentions the date of 924? A scribal error? Or a lack of information or coordination? It remains an open question. Glastonbury, this "royal island", is considered to be the most ancient and the most venerated monastery in Britain, dating back to the fifth or sixth century or even earlier. At that time, Glastonbury is said to have been a place of hermitic life, where those who wanted to devote their lives to 3

Michael Swanton, The Anglo-Saxon Chronicle, The Winchester Manuscript, London, J.M. Dent, 1996, 104. 4 M. Winterbottom & R.M. Thomson, William of Malmesbury, Saints’ Lives, Life of Saint Dunstan, Oxford Medieval Texts, Clarendon Press, 2002, 170.



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meditation and the search for God isolated themselves, far from evil spirits. It is usually admitted that King Ine (688-726) built the monastery, but in reality, a chapel made of wattle existed before his time. In Dunstan’s lifetime, Glastonbury was no more than a little church with a few clerics. While there was no actual monastery, Glastonbury could boast of a school famous for its teaching run by priests living a community life, but at the same time keeping their own property. As for spiritual life, it hardly existed. According to William of Malmesbury, no monks had been living there since King Alfred and the Danish invasions. Nevertheless, Glastonbury had remained a place of worship served by a few priests and primarily a place where young people from a good background who intended to devote themselves to the Church - and some who did not were sent to receive an education. On the other hand, Glastonbury owned very little land and property. Land that had remained fallow for lack of hands or because monastic life had died out had returned into the king’s hands. In spite of everything, Glastonbury remained a place of pilgrimage, in particular for Irish people, because Saint Patrick was said to have founded the first monastery there and to be buried on this spot. This, then, is the environment in which Dunstan was born. First contacts with Glastonbury: Dunstan’s intellectual and spiritual education began at Glastonbury. It was there that his intellectual and artistic skills developed, there that he could benefit from the knowledge of Irish pilgrims and the books which they brought with them, there that he discovered community life. First contacts with court life: In 923, his uncle Athelm, then archbishop of Canterbury, took Dunstan first to Canterbury, then to the court of King Athelstan so that he might complete his education there. These first contacts with the court were enriching, all the more so as the court welcomed many foreigners among whom were many young princes from other countries such as Louis d’Outremer and Haakon of Norway. Indeed, contacts with the continent had become more and more numerous, and embassies were being created. There was an intense cultural life at the court of Athelstan who, people claimed, was the only person who could compare with King Alfred, his grandfather. He was reputed for his devotion, his intellectual curiosity and for his great humaneness. Although he lived at court, Dunstan was not cut off from Glastonbury as the court frequently changed places and was often in Cheddar, not very far from Glastonbury. At the court of Athelstan, Dunstan proved to be a young man full of promise, eager to learn and to develop his artistic skills such as



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poetry and music, which led to him being accused by those who envied him of witchcraft and magic as well as of practising occult science. For this reason he was dismissed from the court, after which he returned to Glastonbury. First contacts with religious life: Within the Church, some people had heard of the reforms taking place on the continent reported by visitors at the court of Athelstan, and were dreaming of changing the lives of the monks in their own country. A certain Alphege, a priest and monk of Glastonbury, and a relative of Dunstan, was yearning to see the rule of Saint Benedict flourish again in monasteries, particularly at Glastonbury, the holy place par excellence. At that time, the rules governing monastic life were flouted, monks of noble birth behaved more like courtiers than religious people and lived in luxury and extravagance. Asceticism was no longer accepted and very few men led a truly monastic life. There was an increasingly urgent need to recreate a community of genuine monks, according to Alphege’s wish, in order to restore the true identity and integrity of the Church, a Church that was far too often ruled by society from which it hardly differed morally and spiritually. Yet a long period of laxity and destructions could not be wiped out overnight and Alphege thought this should be the task of Dunstan who, at this time, was finding nothing attractive in monastic life, "for the young man had by now been infected by the germ of pleasure, and the last idea in his head was to become a monk".5 But Dunstan was struck down by a severe illness and it was then that he made up his mind and decided to be a monk. As for Alphege, he was hailed as the initiator and the father of English Benedictine monasticism. First contacts with the governance of an abbey: After Athelstan’s death, Dunstan was called back to the court by Edmund, the late king’s halfbrother, and he became a court cleric in the king’s immediate entourage, his major counsellor and a prominent member of his court. From then on, he was to insist on the importance of justice - already emphasized in the Classbook - and see to it that delinquents were punished proportionally to their crime for the good of the kingdom at a time when justice was threatened and wavering. It was then that Dunstan began his career in the art of governing, a career that was to reach its peak in the reign of Edgar. But the nobility resented his influence and rejected his principles, seeing in him someone who would abolish their privileges. Once again, Dunstan 5



M Winterbottom & R.M. Thomson, William of Malmesbury, 185

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was dismissed after having been exposed to the slander of the courtiers. He was preparing to leave the country when Edmund came within a hair’s breadth of death during a shooting party, recognized his error and made Dunstan abbot of Glastonbury. This took place in 943. By elevating Dunstan, the king had not only secured for himself the prayers and the support of a man whose life had already shown him destined to be a holy man of distinction, he had also rid the court of someone who had proved a disruptive influence.6

The reader will remember that Glastonbury had only a few estates left. Dunstan’s appointment brought new endowments from the king, members of the court and other important benefactors. The king had given him Glastonbury and he had promised to support and help him: Be thou of this seat the lord and potent occupant, and whatsoever from thine own means shall be lacking for the increase of divine service, or for the completeness of the sacred rule, that I will supply devoutly by my royal bounty. 7

Dunstan was now able to found a monastery in keeping with his own principles, to gather disciples and to convince them to adopt a rule inspired from Saint Benedict. He did not send away the clerics but called monks to join them; he tried to restore a more ascetic and monastic way of life, and he also restored a proper monastic enclosure. He proved himself an educator who insisted on the importance and the development of knowledge, an approach stemming from the tradition of Glastonbury, and his own liking for the things of the mind but also from the needs of his own time. The instruction received at Glastonbury was both religious and secular grammar and literature, history, geography, sciences and mathematics. Adelard could write in his Vita that Glastonbury was a school of monastic life from which came the bishops and the abbots who defended the monastic revival. At Glastonbury, Dunstan proved to be a builder both literally and figuratively. He greatly developed the monastery, enlarged the church, had a new chapel built, as well as a cloister, outbuildings for manual activities reflecting his belief that a monk should not be idle.

6

Nicholas Brooks, "The Career of Saint Dunstan" in N. Ramsay & M. Sparks & T. Tatton Brown, St Dunstan, His Life, Times and Cult, Woodbridge, The Boydell Press, 1992, 11. 7 William Stubbs, Memorials of Saint Dusntan, Kraus Reprint 1965, ixxxiv.



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In short, as Douglas Dales points out8, under Dunstan, Glastonbury was a centre of education, a centre of learning and above all, a place where a genuine monastic life according to the teaching of saint Benedict was lived. Glastonbury remained above all a spiritual model, based on a long tradition to which Dunstan gave a new life by his example, his own beliefs and his teaching. This "athlete of God" put really into practice what he taught, which explains his profound influence on those around him. He was a man of prayer, a soldier of Christ, and he derived his strength from his faith. B. was right when he considered Dunstan as "the first abbot of the English nation" by which one must understand that he was an abbot of paramount importance. The monastery developed inside and outside, spiritually with the monks’ new way of life and new devotion as well as materially with the increasing amount of property. Thereafter that monastery increased both inside and out as much in holy monastic piety as in abundant possession of wortdly goods…9

It was this period, 939-940, which marked a turning point in the history of English monasticism and the beginning of a reform which was to develop to its fullest a few years later.

2. Intermediate phase This was a time of maturing, of public life but also of suffering. Edmund was stabbed to death in 946 during a scuffle while trying to rescue one of his men. His brother, Eadred, succeeded him and ruled over Britain for 9 years. Physically ill, he entrusted Dunstan with the task of ruling the kingdom and wanted to appoint him bishop - of Winchester according to Adelard, of Crediton according to B. But Dunstan refused because he did not want to leave his king to whom he was attached but also because he had remained abbot of Glastonbury and felt responsible for the monastery. This was the beginning of Dunstan’s great political period. He was the king’s close friend and cousellor and had a considerable political influence. Under Eadred, the royal treasure was in his keeping and he acted more or less as chancellor. Again he insisted on justice in the

8

Douglas Dales, Dunstan, Saint and Statesman, Cambridge, Lutterworth Press, 1988, 31 9 Andrew Turner & Bernard J. Muir, eds., Eadmer of Canterbury, Lives and Miracles of Saints Oda, Dunstan and Oswald., Oxford University Press, 2006, 81.



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kingdom, he "placed before the eyes of all first the judgment of God and second the rigour of the law".10 In fact he was a kind of prime minister. Following the advice of Dunstan, who trusted Ethelstan, a monk of Glastonbury and his friend and who he knew was able of great achievements, Eadred gave the latter the old monastery of Abingdon, a dilapidated and abandoned place, whose estates were in the king’s hands. Ethelwold renovated it, brought a few monks there and established a way of life in keeping with the rule of Saint Benedict. Other monasteries in which there still remained a semblance of monastic life soon followed suit, particularly Saint Augustine’s in Canterbury. It was a first step towards the monastic reform. Then Eadwig or Edwy, Edmund’s eldest son, was chosen to succeed his uncle and became king in 955. He was totally indifferent to the affairs of the State, and to the revival of monasticism. He was only interested in his friends and in his own dissolute life, "losing the shrewd and wise who disapproved of his folly and eagerly annexing ignorant men of his own kind".11 He seized the property of his subjects and despoiled them, he dismissed those who dared counter his excesses and threw the country into total disarray by his behaviour and his persecutions. He showed deep hostility towards Dunstan who, he complained, interfered too much with his private life and rose up against his immorality. Let us just recall the episode of Edwy’s coronation during which the king left the banquet organised in his honour to go back to two courtesans. Dunstan had the unhappy privilege of trying to find him and of reminding him of his duties. He found the king in the company of these two women, his crown lying on the floor. Dunstan immediately took him back to the banquet hall without further ado. Dunstan always showed authority and yielded to nobody’s wishes, not even the king’s. In this respect, he reminds us of Thomas Becket. Like him, he incurred the king’s wrath and was obliged to go into exile. Like him, Dunstan was subjected to the hostility of the bishops and the clergy who sensed more discipline coming in their bishoprics and the monasteries should he be maintained in his position. Like Becket also, Dunstan was deprived of his land, of Glastonbury and of all his privileges, and with him Eadwig’s grandmother who had cooperated with him to promote the Church, with him also those who had put him up and were now accused, banned, eliminated. According to Eadmer, when Dunstan saw that those who had helped him and comforted him were deprived of their rights and 10 11



M. Winterbottom & R.M. Thomson, William of Malmesbury, 217 Vie de saint Dunstan : dunstanus.blogspot.com

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possessions, were exiled and condemned, he was convinced that he had better yield and leave the country. But when he saw those people who had comforted him in their homes or shown him some act of human kindness greatly afflicted, plundered, proscribed, and condemned, he thought it would be better to yield to the malice of man than that such innocent people should be vexed by undeserved punishments on his account…. He went to the coast, boarded a vessel… and arrived at Flanders… 12

William of Malmesbury says the same. Once more, Becket comes to mind. We are in 956, when Dunstan went into exile in Flanders and became the protegé of a certain Count Arnulf, a relative of Athelstan, who owned the two abbeys of Ghent, Saint Bavo and Saint Peter. Gerard of Brogne13 had arrived some time earlier to replace gradually the lack of discipline among the monks by the rule of Saint Benedict. The count had just renovated Saint Peter’s monastery on Mount Blandinium which had been reformed by Gerard of Brogne and where Dunstan was to reside. Although this exile was difficult to bear in many respects, it was also a profitable period in Dunstan’s life during which he could explore more deeply his beliefs, witness the monastic reforms already carried out on the continent, compare, work out a strategy that would bring about a reform of monasteries in his own country. Three major elements played an important role in this reform: the beginning of a reform at Glastonbury; the spiritual influence of Fleury-sur-Loire in Normandy and also in England with the return of Oswald who had spent some time and been ordained at Fleury, and finally the influence of John of Gorze in Lotharingia. Dunstan drew his inspiration from what he had seen in Ghent, from the work of Gerard of Brogne and of John of Gorze14 and from the monastic revival in Lotharingia, characterised by a monasticism which was much more severe and ascetic than that of Fleury.

12

A. Turner & J. Muir, Eadmer of Canterbury, p101. Gerard of Brogne fought the laxity of clerics, reformed monasteries in Flanders and Lotharingia. He was famed for his strict observance of the Benedictine Rule. 14 John of Gorze reformed the decayed monastery of Gorze which became a model for the reform of all the monasteries in the diocese. Like Gerard of Brogne, he revived and enforced Benedictine discipline 13



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3. Canterbury This was the apogee of Dunstan’s career, the crowning achievement of his life. Secular achievement: in 957, Mercia and Northumbria rebelled against Edwy. Accusing him of leading the kingdom to its ruin, they rejected his authority and chose Edgar, his younger brother, for their king. From then on Edwy reigned only south of the Thames. He nevertheless remained "king of the English" as mentioned in the charters he promulgated. As for Edgar he was "king of the Mercians". The coins minted during this period continued to bear Eadwig’s effigy until his death, in 959, when Edgar became the king of all England and the last bretwalda. As early as 957, Edgar had called Dunstan back from exile and made him his immediate adviser. Indeed, Edgar considered that with Dunstan "wisdom went hand in hand with piety, talent with virtue in the governance of many offices".15 Dunstan could now be appointed bishop "in order that he might constantly be at hand to aid the King with his sage and foresighted counsels", a bishop at large, « free at any moment for Edgar‘s call".16 Not for long. By 957 he was made bishop of Worcester, and in 959, bishop of London, holding the two functions at the same time, running counter to canon law which stipulated that a bishop was not to have more than one bishopric. But nobody raised any objection! What mattered was the monastic reform and, in such a case, "the laws of men have to retreat when those of God are proclaimed".17 Little by little, the movement of monastic reform was gaining ground and more and more episcopal sees were filled by monks. Contacts with reformed monasteries on the continent were also on the increase. Religious achievement: Dunstan was consecrated archbishop of Canterbury and primate of England on October 21, 960, at Christ Church, Canterbury, 20 years after he had been made abbot of Glastonbury and started his reform of the monasteries. He was now in a position to see this reform totally through with the help of Ethelwold and Oswald. At the request of Dunstan, Ethelwold was made bishop of Winchester, the most important episcopal see after Canterbury. With Dunstan, he embodied the movement of monastic reform going on within the Church. 15

M. Winterbottom & R.M. Thomson, William of Malmesbury, 245 Eleanor Shipley Duckett, Saint Dunstan od Canterbury, A Study of Monastic Reform in the Tenth Century, New York, Norton and Co, 1955, 81. 17 M. Winterbottom & R.M. Thomson, William of Malmesbury, 245. 16



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Dunstan: From Glastonbury to Canterbury

The appointment of Ethelwold to the see of Winchester in 963 marked the beginning of the complete reform of monasteries. It was an actual political step on Dunstan’s part which was to change the life of the Church. On arriving in Winchester, Ethelwold had to face proud, soft ecclesiastics, some of them married with a dissolute life, men of noble birth, learned, powerful in the political field, leading a merry life. Aelfric, the grammarian, wrote in his Vita Aethelwoldi that in Winchester: There were at that time in the Old Minster, the seat of its bishop, clerics of evil habits, so lost in pride, arrogance and indulgence that some of them refused to celebrate mass in their order. Wives they had taken unlawfully, and these they cast off to take others. Constantly they gave themselves to gluttony and drunkenness.18

Ethelwold required them to choose between becoming monks and leaving the community, and he did this with the king’s support. Only three of them remained, the others were replaced by monks. Such was Ethelwold’s method which reflected clearly the king’s wishes and his active support. But behind this move there loomed Dunstan’s determination and authority, though his methods were more lenient. In contrast, Oswald, the third reformer, ordained monk at Fleury, first, bishop of Worcester, then archbishop of York, considered that abrupt changes were to be avoided and was in favour of slow, progressive alterations without resorting to strength. Once he had been consecrated archbishop of Cantorbury, Dunstan continued to lead the ascetic life to which he was used when he was abbot of Glastonbury. Nothing, no power, no threat could deter him from his duty, He was like a pillar that no one could move and his very name symbolizes this steadfastness: in Old English dun is a mountain, a rock and stan means stone. He was in countenance like an angel, like a pillar that cannot be moved, outstanding in alms, learning, and action, strong in prophecy.19

He attempted to settle disputes in the parishes, a task that normally was the duty of priests; but these priests were incompetent or led a life hardly compatible with their ministry, and therefore enjoyed little credibility. Dunstan went to great lengths to improve their standards, both intellectual and moral.20 He was fully conversant with the law and thought that the 18

, J. Stevenson, ed., Chronicon monasterii de Abingdon, London, 1858, II, 260. M. Winterbottom & R.M. Thomson, William of Malmesbury, 255. 20 E. Duckett, Saint Dunstan od Canterbury, 94. 19



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common law was also God’s law. The following example will illustrate this: a count had contracted an illegitimate marriage. Dunstan reminded him several times of his duty, but in vain. Then the archbishop forbade him to come to church. The count begged the king to intercede for him, but Dunstan remained unyielding, and went so far as to excommunicate the count who went to Rome to plead his cause. The Pope asked Dunstan to give in, but to no avail. When I see that man … undertake penance for his sin, I will willingly obey the commands of the lord pope…. God forbid that I should set aside the law which that same lord of mine, Christ, the Son of God, determined should be preserved in his Church, for the sake of any mortal man or to preserve my safety.21

Dunstan wanted the same justice for all, whatever their position in society and their acquaintances. Another example deals with three minters caught with counterfeit money: it had been decided that their sentence would be postponed on account of the feast of Pentecost, Dunstan opposed the decision and refused to say mass as long as they had not been punished. … I will not proceed today with making sacrifice to God unless those who have been arrested first undergo the penalty which they deserve for misleading all the people. For if I fail to please God in avenging such a great evil when it is my business to do so, how can I hope that he will receive a sacrifice from my hands?22

As head of the Church and adviser to the king, Dunstan was expected to play a leading role in the witan, and he had his say about the working out and drawing up of laws, whether secular or religious; with the king and his cousellors he attended to the good management of public funds, and coinage; he was involved in the drafting of documents, of international diplomatic correspondence. The wording of the documents issued by the king testifies to this close cooperation: "I and the Arshbishop bid you that … ".23 Edgar’s laws reflect the strong interpenetration of Church and State; the first part of his Code is purely ecclesiastical, and confirms the well established rights and the financing of the Church. At other places, the Code insists on the impartiality of justice and states that everybody is equal in the eyes of the law. According to the Promissio 21

Turner & Muir, Eadmer, Life of StDunstan, op. cit., 117. Turner & Muir, Eadmer, Life of St Dunstan, op. cit., 127. 23 E. Duckett, Saint Dunstan od Canterbury, 96 22



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Dunstan: From Glastonbury to Canterbury

Regis that Dunstan required of Edgar on his coronation day, in 973, in Bath, the king promised to defend the impartiality of the law, insisting on the same law for everybody, and the spirit that inspires Edgar’s code of law is clear in this Promissio: In the name of the Holy trinity, I promise three things to the Christian people and my subjects: first, that God’s Church and all Christian people of my dominions hold true peace; second, that I forbid robbery and all unrighteous things to all orders of men; third, I promise and enjoin in all decrees justice and mercy, that the gracious and merciful God of his everlasting mercy may forgive us all.24

As head of the Church and adviser to the king, Dunstan was behind the appointment of bishops who, in practice, were chosen by the king, but the archbishop’s advice was vital to tip the scales. The bishops were chosen among the monks - the large majority of all the bishops were monks, most of them coming from Dunstan’s and Ethelwold’s monasteries, i.e. Glastonbury, Abingdon and Winchester; between 988 and 1038 the six archbishops of Canterbury were monks of Glastonbury. The monastic revival could be carried out successfully, only because competent and deeply involved people were at the head of the major sees in the country and because they were supported by the king. This was precisely what people feared when Dunstan was made archbishop of Canterbury… As Dales says, there existed a real symbiosis between Church and State, a mutual understanding of the action, the role and the interest of the king and the Church; "the Church was not subservient to the king, nor was the king subservient to the Church". To be successful, this cooperation between the two powers required "a steadfast archbishop and an amenable king". And behind all this there was an ideology, the ideology of "a kingship by divine election and sacred anointing".25 The king was the Lord’s anointed and his representative in the eyes of the Church and the State. Dunstan never wavered; he always showed the same steadfastness, determination, and diplomacy, without which such reform could not have succeeded. He made possible the deep changes that were necessary in the prevailing customs and the system of land tenure, at a time when endowments to churches and monasteries were increasing. From then on, these endowments could no longer be made to individuals, but to monasteries as a whole, which meant that lay people no longer retained 24 25



D. Dales, Dunstan, Saint and Statesman, 91 D. Dales, Dunstan, Saint and Statesman, 97.

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their former stranglehold on these monasteries. It was Dunstan’s task to win the king over to these changes and to have the policy of the Church adopted by the nobility. For, says Dales, the Church could not develop without a strong cooperation between the mighty, the king and the bishops, led by Dunstan, and the revival of the monasteries was the prime element of this reform of the Church and its influence on the political and national life of England. The Reform: Following the example of Pope Gregory, Dunstan thought that things must not be rushed, he believed in the power of example. He was convinced that one had to sow seeds that would grow if one had enough patience to wait long enough and that one should not transplant a plant in full growth.26 Being a politician and having an important function in the realm, he also believed that any policy that might be considered as a form of persecution should be avoided. At Glastonbury, he had insisted on celibacy and the observance of the rule of St Benedict, on community life and the importance of prayer. All this was what the other monasteries came to adopt little by little. The Regularis Concordia: Once the monasteries were on the right track again, a second problem arose. While the monks followed the instructions of Benedict of Nursia, in practice, customs differed greatly from one monastery to the other, with each trying to outdo the other and to introduce special devotions borrowed from the continent. Therefore it became necessary to devise a sound rule regarding order and discipline, a uniform model based on the teaching of Benedict of Nursia dating from the sixth century, but a model which would also take into account the specificities of the present time and of the country. And this new rule would be the norm in all English monasteries. Dunstan, Ethelwold and Oswald applied themselves to the task, but not without securing the help and the authority of the king who, at Dunstan’s request, summoned a council in Winchester gathering the bishops and the abbots of the realm together with representatives of Fleury and Ghent, the two orders with whom the reformers were in contact and who embodied the main aspects of the reform on the continent. They were to testify to the customs of their respective convents, especially those of Ghent which Dunstan knew personally.

26



E. Duckett, Saint Dunstan od Canterbury, 89.

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Dunstan: From Glastonbury to Canterbury

Their work resulted in the Regularis Concordia Anglicae Nationis Monachorum Sanctimonialiumque, in other words, the Monastic Rule for Monks and Nuns of the English Nation. It was a formal agreement between the monks, on the one hand, and between them and their society and the Church on the other hand, drawn up in keeping with the Rule of Benedict, of national importance for the English nation as a whole, the most important surviving document dealing with the monastic revival, "a first rate political document, reflecting a real art of governing", inspired by Dunstan who had foreseen the danger which might arise from ill-accepted rivalries between the different monasteries…… "The words of warning are said to come from the letter of the king; but the king’s speech is the speech of his chief ecclesiastical minister"....27 The prologue and the epilogue emphasize its political and ecclesiastical significance. They show the balance of powers that accompanied this reform which could not have been achieved without the support of the king and without political initiatives on a national scale. The prologue states that the king and the archbishop fear that the new enthusiasm for monastic life might lead to excesses. They believe, the Prologue continues - and Dales stresses this point - that a strong and dynamic Church is the key to the prosperity of the realm and find themselves forced to dismiss the dissolute clergy and to replace them with monks. From now on, the king takes the monasteries under his protection, which excludes the nobility.28 It is the king who requires the monks to draw up a uniform rule in order to avoid dissensions and diversity.29 This rule is to be a formal agreement based on the rule of Saint Benedict, but also drawing its inspiration from the customs of the continent, particularly those of Fleury and Ghent. As archbishop of Canterbury, it was up to Dunstan to see to the smooth running of the reform from a political, legal and diplomatic point of view. According to Dales, the rule was a national covenant which specified the life and the role of the monasteries within a larger structure, i.e. the Church and society, an act of diplomacy and authority on the part of Dunstan.30 This was the result of Dunstan’s patience, diplomacy and art of governing. The king who embodied loyalty, temporal unity and authority guaranteed this covenant. 27 J. Armitage Robinson, The Times of Sain Dunstan, Oxford, Clarendon Press, 1969, 155 28 D.J. Dales, Dunstan, Saint and Statesman, 82 29 D.J. Dales, The Spirit of the Regularis Concordia and the Hand of St Dunstan, in N. Ramsay & M. Sarks & T. Tatton Brown, St Dunstan, His Life, Times and Cult, Woodbridge, The Boydell Press, 1992, 48. 30 D.J. Dales, The Spirit of the Regularis Concordia, 50.



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The Rule stipulated that abbots would be elected following the king’s advice, with his agreement, and according to the rule of their order. It formalized what was apparently an ancient custom dating from the constitution worked out by Pope Gregory the Great and laid down in his letter to Augustine. The rule placed the election of abbots on a par with the appointment of bishops and involved them both in the spiritual and temporal affairs of the realm within the witan. Thus the monks became an important element in the life of the kingdom which counted more and more monk-bishops who generally did not change their way of life and remained monks at heart. This proved Dunstan’s great influence and Edgar’s approval of this programme, Dales concludes. The Prologue also put an end to the domination of the laity over monasteries and their endowments. Monasteries could no longer be subject to the authority of lay people, which in the past had sometimes caused their ruin. This meant that the king alone had power to protect monasteries and their property. In other words, the nobility who wanted to endow a monastery could not do so without the agreement of the king in Council and only by means of a royal charter. Endowments were no longer personal but institutional.31 In the new Rule, a monk’s day was regulated with great precision, most of his time was devoted to prayer from the time he got up at 2 a.m. until he went to bed, towards 6.30 p.m. When the clock struck the time to go to bed, our monk had prayed about seven times for the king and his family, after spending eight hours of his day in prayer and the rest of his time in manual or intellectual tasks, all without uttering a word, except in case of absolute necessity. Discipline was mitigated by benevolence and simplicity; it was founded on English traditions. The Rule insisted on compassion for the poor - every day, following Chris’s example, the monks washed the feet of 3 poor people, after which they were served a meal, a habit of Dunstan’s who insisted very much on this point. In winter, there was to be a fire in a room of the monastery and the monks were allowed to work inside and not in the cloister when the weather was bad. Another English specificity: during the Christmas season the bells were to be rung before mass, the night office and vespers. The Regularis Concordia specified: "And we have decided by no means to cast away the honourable tradition of this country of ours, but everywhere to confirm it".32 This is not without reminding one of Pope Gregory who recommended 31

D. Dales, Dunstan, Saint and Statesman, 81- 86. Thomas Symons, The monastic agreement of the monks and nuns of the English nation-Regularis Concordia Anglicae Nationis monachorum sanctimonialiumque, London, 1953, Prologue. 32



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Dunstan: From Glastonbury to Canterbury

to Augustine to take into account the habits prevailing in the country - in this case England, where it was his mission to convert the pagans to catholicism - and not to change everything overnight. Further English customs: processions were to be organized outside the monastery on Candlemass and other feasts; people attended mass in the monastery on Sundays and feastdays; confession and daily communion were highly recommended. Dales concludes that the Rule did not claim novelty, it referred to tradition and experience. In fact, it was a mixture of Benedictine traditions inspired from the continent and eminently English usages considered of particular importance.33 Who wrote the Regularis Concordia? The three great reformers played a part in its drafting. Dunstan was no doubt preoccupied by the differences he noticed between monasteries. He had seen some changes taking place and memorized some ideas while he was in Flanders. As primate of England he certainly conducted the debate. But it is generally admitted that the Regularis Concordia was written by Ethelwold and Aelfric confirmed it in the preface to his abridged vernacular version of this Rule.34 Yet, if Dunstan had not existed, Ethelwold, who was his friend at Glastonbury, might have taken a different path. If Dunstan did not write the Rule himself, the revival of monasticism in the tenth century was nonetheless his work. He was the first abbot who brought into use again Saint Benedict’s discipline in his monastery of Glastonbury and it was thanks to his efforts that this discipline spread to other monasteries. It was during his forced exile in Flanders that he became fully acquainted with the revival going on on the continent and understood that he could help English monasteries to benefit from it after he had convinced the kings of its utility. As archbishop of Canterbury, he supported and defended this new form of monastic life which spread gradually; he knew how to choose the right men and to appoint them to positions of responsibilitiy so that they might propagate this new life style. "If Dunstan was the mind that inspired the Regularis Concordia, Ethelwold was the hand that drew it up".35 As Dales says, it was Dunstan who made this reform possible politically and diplomatically within the leading circles of the country. He was the one who secured the support of the pope and who "knitted the

33

D. J. Dales, Dunstan, Saint and Statesman, 84. Chrisopher A. Jones, Aelfric’s Letter to the Monks of Eynsham, Cambridge, 2007. 35 A. Robinson, The Times of Saint Dunstan, 154. 34



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whole enterprise into the wider life within the Church and society ".36 He alone could achieve this as primate of England and pioneer of this reform at Glastonbury. It was his own authority and his experience that were expressed through the king’s words.

4. Mission accomplished: retirement and death With Edgar’s death, the peace England had enjoyed during his reign came to an end. The country knew a period of political unrest. Problems of succession arose, two factions emerged, each supporting one of Edgar’s sons: on the one hand, Edward, from Edgar’s first marriage with Aethelfled, on the other hand, Ethelred, from his second marriage with Aelfthryth. Dunstan, who played a prominent political role, was in favour of Edward, the elder. The nobles clashed with each other and supported one or the other pretender. Another problem cropped up: Edgar had put all his energy into advancing the reform of monasticism. After his death a rebellion developed, arising from the hostility of many nobles deprived of their inheritance bequeathed to monasteries; these monasteries became more and more powerful and threatened to overshadow the laity and the priests dispossessed in favour of the monks. As for the clerics, they demanded softer measures and they too were in rebellion. Dunstan succeeded in putting an end to the succession crisis by declaring himself in favour of Edward whom he crowned king in 975. But Edward was killed in 978, by his stepmother according to Osbern. That same year, a comet appeared in the sky, a bad omen it was said, heralding constitutional changes or the plague. Ethelred was king; Dunstan had predicted his baseness and had threatened him with portentous curses brought about by the circumstances of his accession to the throne. Because you exploited your brother’s death in striving for the throne, hear the word of the Lord: The sin of your shameful mother, and the sin of the men who took part in her wicked plan, will not be expunged without much bloodshed for this unfortunate land. And there will come on the race of the English ills such as it has not suffered ever since it came to England … There will swiftly come upon you the evils of which the Lord has spoken; but not during my lifetime, because the Lord has said that too.37

36 37



D. J. Dales, The Spirit of the Regularis Concordia, 55. M. Winterbottom & R.M. Thomson, William of Malmesbury, 275

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Dunstan: From Glastonbury to Canterbury

Dunstan had withdrawn from politics and the realm lacked good cousellors. He died on May 17, 988. As he had predicted, after his death the country suffered new invasions which became more and more severe as the invaders could be driven away only after they had obtained heavier and heavier ransoms. Canterbury was set on fire, Archbishop Aelfheah was "hauled off to captivity". Then said Malmesbury, "… the king contrived that his successors should lose all England, by marrying Emma, daughter of Richard duke of Normandy, the result being that in after years the Normans were able to claim England as of right and bring it under their control…”38

For more than three decades, the history of England coincided more or less with that of Dunstan. He actually managed the affairs of the realm under three successive kings. The majority of all public documents issued during his lifetime bear his signature. "His action was twofold. It primarily concerned the Church: Dunstan reformed it by regulating the clergy and subjecting the monks to the Rule of Saint Benedict". He was accused of having resorted to violence to reach his aim; but we have seen that he was rather convinced of the beneficial effects of non-violence, contrary to Ethelworld. "His action extended to the political domain; thanks to him, some justice and order found their way into the society of his contemporaries".39 A man of great faith and great moral principles, a man of peace, a spiritual leader, the friend of the poor and the weak, a creative genius, an advisor to kings, a mystic and a statesman "one of the makers of a united England",40 Dunstan knew how to prove his authority in the management of the realm by the side of the king, but also how to combine authority, patience and wisdom to carry through to a successful conclusion a monastic reform that was to change the face of the English Church. His cult continued for a long time and was only overshadowed by that of Thomas Becket in the twelfth century.

38

Ibid., 297 www.encyclopedie-universelle.com.saints 40 Dom David Knowles, The Monastic Order in England, CUP, 1963, 54. 39



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King Edward between Etlewold and Dunstan

Lives of Saint Dunstan: Sancti Dunstani Vita Auctore B, Vita Sancti Dunstani Auctore Adelardo, Vita Sancti Dunstani Auctore Osberno, Vita Sancti Dunstani Auctore Eadmer, Vita Sancti Dunstani Auctore William of Malmesbury, in William Stubbs, Memorials of saint Dunstan, Archbishop of Canterbury, Kraus Reprint Ltd, 1965. Kings who reigned in Dunstan’s time: Ethelstan: 924 – 939, son of Edward the Elder. Edmond: 939 – 946, son of Edward the Elder, Ethelstan’s half-brother. Eadred: 946 – 955, son of Edward the Elder, Edmund’s brother. Edwin ou Eadwig: 955 – 959, Son of King Edmund, succeeds his uncle Eadred. Edgar the Peaceful: 959 – 975, Edmund’s son and Edwin’s brother. Edward the Martyr: 975 – 978, Edgar’s son. Ethelred the Unready: 978 – 1016, Edgar’s son, half-brother of Edward the Martyr. Anglo-Saxon Chronicle: Winchester Manuscript 924: here King Edward passed away, and Athelstan, his son, succeeded to the kingdom, and St Dunstan was born. 942: here King Edmund entrusted Glastonbury to st Dunstan, where he afterwards became first abbot.



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Dunstan: From Glastonbury to Canterbury

955: Eadwig, the son of King Edmund, succeeded to the kingdom 956: and put St Dunstan to flight out of the country. 959: here he [Edgar] sent for st Dunstan and gave him the bishopric in Worcester, and after that the bishopric in London. Abingdon Manuscript 961: here Archbishop Oda departed and st Dunstan succeeded to the archbishopric. 963: in this same year Abbot Æthelwold succeeded to the bishopric for Winchester. 964: here King Edgar drove out the priests in the city from the Old Minster and from the New Minster… and set monks in them. 988: here Archbishop Dunstan died, and Bishop Æthelgar succeeded to the arch-seat after him. Portrait of Dunstan The sympathetic, receptive nature which in his early manhood made him the friend and guide of so many varied characters, the unshakable strength of his later years which made him to the end the master even of Ethewold, the wisdom and statesmanship which enabled him to be the counsellor and friend of successive kings and one of the creators of a united England, the gift of artistic creation of the highest order which is perhaps the most remarkable of all his gifts, and finally, the mature sanctity which in his later years transcended and superseded his other activities and characteristics – all these make of Dunstan a figure of singular attractiveness, whose final and lasting impression is one, not of brilliance and fire, but of calm and mellow light.41

Bibliography Early Manuscripts at Oxford University, MS Auct. F.4. 32. Brooks, Nicholas. "The Career of Saint Dunstan." N. Ramsay & M. Sparks & T. Tatton Brown, St Dunstan, His Life, Times and Cult. Woodbridge, The Boydell Press, 1992. Dales, Douglas. Dunstan, Saint and Statesman. Cambridge, Lutterworth Press, 1988. —. The Spirit of the Regularis Concordia and the Hand of St Dunstan, in N. Ramsay & M. Sarks & T. Tatton Brown, St Dunstan, His Life, Times and Cult. Woodbridge, The Boydell Press, 1992. 41



Dom David Knowles, The Monastic Order in England, CUP, 1963, 54.

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Duckett, Eleanor Shipley. Saint Dunstan od Canterbury, A Study of Monastic Reform in the Tenth Century. New York, Norton and Co, 1955. Jones, Chrisopher A. Aelfric’s Letter to the Monks of Eynsham. Cambridge, 2007. Knowles, Dom David. The Monastic Order in England. CUP, 1963. Robinson, J. Armitage. The Times of Sain Dunstan. Oxford, Clarendon Press, 1969. Stevenson, J., ed., Chronicon monasterii de Abingdon. London, 1858, II. Stubbs, William. Memorials of Saint Dusntan. Kraus Reprint 1965. Swanton, Michael. The Anglo-Saxon Chronicle. The Winchester Manuscript, London, J.M. Dent, 1996, 104. Symons, Thomas. The monastic agreement of the monks and nuns of the English nation-Regularis Concordia Anglicae Nationis monachorum sanctimonialiumque. London, 1953, Prologue. Turner, Andrew & Bernard J. Muir, eds. Eadmer of Canterbury, Lives and Miracles of Saints Oda, Dunstan and Oswald. Oxford University Press, 2006. Winterbottom, M. & R.M. Thomson. William of Malmesbury, Saints’ Lives. Life of Saint Dunstan, Oxford Medieval Texts, Clarendon Press, 2002. www.encyclopedie-universelle.com.saints Vie de saint Dunstan : dunstanus.blogspot.com



CANTERBURY: THE BECKET EFFECT ANNE J. DUGGAN KING'S COLLEGE, LONDON

Less than twenty years after Becket’s murder, when Gerald de Barri (Giraldus Cambrensis, of Wales) wrote his account (1189) of the AngloNorman conquest of Ireland, he put these prophetic words into the mouth of a ‘Merlin Celidonius’, whom he said was an ancient Welsh soothsayer:1 Venient oratores ab oriente, et terrarum tam principes quam primates in occiduis oceani finibus novi vestigia martyris adorabunt. (Pilgrims from the East shall come, and on the western margins of the great sea, the princes and primates of the earth shall reverence the relics of a new martyr). (trans. AJD)

Even if the Welsh seer was no more than a product of Gerald’s creative imagination, this description was not far from the truth. Murdered in December 1170, Thomas of Canterbury had been canonized in February 1173 in one of the swiftest processes of the Middle Ages. Described by Alexander III as ‘the glorious Martyr Thomas, formerly archbishop of Canterbury, who struggled unto death for God’s justice and the Church’s [liberty]’, he was declared not merely a local but a universal saint and martyr, whose festival was to be celebrated by the archbishops and bishops of England and France and also by those in other regions, and by



1 Expugnatio Hibernica. The Conquest of Ireland, ed. and trans. A. Brian Scott and Francis Xavier Martin (Dublin: Royal Irish Academy, 1978), 74–5, 222–5, attributed to a Merlin Celidonius or Merlin Silvestris (not the Merlin Ambrosius of Geoffrey of Monmouth), whose prophecies Giraldus claimed to have translated and intended to add as a Vaticinalis Liber: ibid., lxiv–lxviii. Scott and Martin translate oratores in its classical sense of ‘orators’; but the medieval ‘pilgrims’ seems more apt.

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the Christian faithful.2 Yet this papal mandate, one of many sent out in February and March 1173, simply validated and universalized a cult which had already taken firm root. At the heart of the phenomenon stands the drama that unfolded in a mere five or ten minutes in the north transept of Canterbury cathedral on the evening of December 29, 1170, a drama fixed for ever in the great liturgy devised by the monk Benedict, later abbot of Peterborough, for the first celebration of the feast in 1173:3 On the fifth day of the Lord’s Nativity there came to Canterbury four men of the court, men certainly distinguished by birth, but notorious for their misdeeds. […] The devil’s henchmen, in mail, pursued him from behind with drawn swords. […] The ravening wolves threw themselves upon the pious pastor, degenerate sons against their own father, most pitiless executioners against the Lord’s anointed: they cut off the consecrated crown of his head with their bloody swords, and, casting the Lord’s anointed onto the ground, they most callously scattered his brains and blood upon the pavement—a thing most terrible, even to say. Thus did the chaff overwhelm the grain of corn, thus was slain the vine-keeper in the

 2

‘Gloriossisimum martyrem Thomam quondam Cantuariensis archiepiscopi, qui pro justitia Dei et ecclesiae libertate decertavit usque ad mortem…venerari debemus…nec non et per archiepiscopos et episcopos, tam in Anglia quam in Gallia, nec non et in aliis regionibus constitutos, praecipimus devotissime celebrari…et a parochianis tuis praecipias celebrari’: Materials for the History of Thomas Becket, Archbishop of Canterbury [= MTB], ed. James Craigie Robertson and J. Brigstocke Sheppard, RS 67, 7 vols (London: Longmans and Co., 1875–85), vii, 549–50 no. 786 (Qui vice beati Petri), to the bishop of Aversa (province of Naples); cf. the slightly different formulation in Redolet Anglia, sent to the clergy and people of England (MTB, vii, 547–8 no. 785) and Archbishop William of Sens and his suffragans (Petri abbatis Cellensis…epistolarum libri ix, ed. Jacques Sirmond (Paris: Nivelliana, 1613), 475–6 no. 54 (Redolet Anglia), and probably many others. 3 The Canterbury Office has not been preserved in its original form, but much of it was adopted in the shortened ‘secular’ version (that is, adapted for a church served by canons not monks) celebrated at Salisbury: Breviarium ad usum insignis ecclesiae Sarum, ed. Francis Proctor and Christopher Wordsworth, 3 vols (Cambridge: Alma Mater Academia, 1879–86, derived from the Paris imprint of 1531), i (1882), ccxlv–cclx. For the transmission of the Canterbury Office to Continental Europe, see Anne J. Duggan, ‘A Becket Office at Stavelot: London, British Library, Additional MS 16964’, in Omnia disce. Medieval Studies in Memory of Leonard Boyle, O.P., ed. Anne J. Duggan, Joan Greatrex and Brenda Bolton (Aldershot: Ashgate, 2005), 161–82; cf. Sherry Reames. ‘Liturgical Offices for the Cult of St. Thomas Becket’, in Medieval Hagiography. An Anthology, ed. Thomas [F.] Head (New York/London: Garland, 2000), 561–93, at 565–78.

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vineyard, the leader in the camp, the shepherd in the fold, the labourer on the threshing-floor; thus the just man, murdered by the unjust, exchanged a house of clay for a heavenly palace (trans. AJD).

And the same image, redolent with biblical echoes, was used in the fifth Responsory of the same office:4 Jacet granum oppressum palea, Justus cesus pravorum framea: Celum domo commutans lutea. Cadit custos in vinea, Dux in castris, Cultor in area: Celum domo commutans lutea.

The grain of corn lies crushed by the chaff, The just man slain by the swords of the wicked: Exchanging his earthly home for heaven. The vine-keeper falls in the vineyard, The leader in the camp, The labourer on the threshingfloor: Exchanging his earthly home for heaven. (trans. AJD)

Becket’s murder was no ordinary piece of violence. All who knew him or knew of him were stunned at the outrage which combined numerous elements, any one of which was enough to ensure maximum impact: the sacrilegious murder of an archbishop; the pollution of a cathedral by blood; the breaking of a solemn peace; the defilement of the Christmas feast. Thomas was murdered in a holy place during the season sanctified by Christ’s own birth. In such circumstances, it was not difficult to portray Becket’s death as a providential event in the wider perspective of Salvation history, so that the new St Thomas took his pre-ordained place with the other martyrs of the Christmas season: with Stephen on the twenty-sixth, the Holy Innocents on the twenty-eighth, and Pope Silvester on the thirty-firstt December. Indeed, one biographer, Edward Grim, the newly-ordained priest who had stood beside Thomas throughout the ordeal and had had an arm almost severed by one of the fierce blows, described Thomas as another John the Baptist, ‘chosen in Christ before the making

 4

Breviarium Sarum, ii, p. ccxlv: at Salisbury, it was sung during the procession to St Thomas’s altar at Vespers on the eve of the feast.

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of the world' (Electus igitur ante mundi constitutionem in Christo).5 For the people of Canterbury, his violent murder was a martyrdom, not just of any saint, but of their saint, and one that had taken place in their own cathedral in the heart of their city. Even before John of Salisbury penned the dramatic account of the murder which underlay Benedict’s liturgical adaptation quoted above, before Pope Alexander heard the news at Tusculum (Frascati) just before Easter 1171,6 the good people of the cathedral city began treating Becket’s blood and tattered clothing as relics—sacred objects which could bring healing to the devout. On the very night of the murder, for example, a Canterbury layman who had been present in the cathedral at the fateful hour, dipped his shirt in the congealed blood on the pavement and brought it to his paralyzed wife,7 and others obtained fragments of the clothing discarded when the body was prepared for its hasty burial in the crypt. Almost immediately cures—from blindness, from lameness, from fever— were being reported, and as rumours ran through the city more and more people sought access to the sacred site.8 Since it had been polluted by the spilling of blood, the main cathedral church was closed, and it did not reopen until the feast of St Thomas the Apostle, coincidentally Becket’s birthday, on December 21, 1171; but the demands for admission to the tomb became so insistent that the monks had to allow public access to the

 5

To press the image even further, Becket’s parents (Gilbert and Matilda) were likened to John the Baptist’s parents, Zachariah and Elizabeth: MTB, ii, 356 (PL, cxc, 3). 6 Brought by two of Becket’ clerks (Alexander Wallensis and Master Gunther of Winchester), carrying letters of denunciation from Archbishop William of Sens and other French notables: Inter scribendum haec (MTB, vii, 429–33 no. 735), Ab humanae pietatis and Vestrae placuit majestati (MTB, vii, 428–9 and 433–5 nos. 734 and 736). The role of religious networks in the expansion of Becket’s cult will be explored more fully in a forthcoming study: Anne J. Duggan, ‘Religious Networks in Action: the European expansion of the cult of St Thomas of Canterbury’, in International Religious Networks, ed. Jeremy Gregory and Hugh McLeod, Studies in Church History, Subsidia, 14 (Woodbridge: Boydell). 7 William Fitztephen, MTB, iii, 150. 8 E.g., Benedict of Peterborough, Miracula S. Thomae Cantuariensis, auctore Benedicto, abbate Petriburgensi (= BP, Miracula), MTB, ii, 21–281 at 41–3, 54: 1. 11 (Brithiva of Canterbury), 1. 12 (priest of London), 1. 21 (daughter of Ralph of Bourne), 1. 22 (Etheldrida of Canterbury); at 57–9, 60–1: Miracula, 2. 1 (Samson of Oxfordshire), 2. 2 (Geldwin of Canterbury), 2. 3 (Canterbury children revived), 2. 5 (Emeline of Canterbury), 2. 7 (Edilda of Canterbury). Cf. Frank Barlow, Thomas Becket (London: Weidenfeld and Nicolson, 1986), 265–7.

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crypt from Easter 1171;9 and from the same time they deputed the monk Benedict (who composed the liturgy), later assisted by his colleague, William, to record the cures attributed to the martyr’s intercession;10 and they also made available tiny portions of blood mixed with water to those seeking healing. Very soon the blood and water gave way to water drawn from a well, later called St Thomas’s well, within the abbey precincts.11 Benedict’s great Book of Miracles (more than 250 pages of modern print), compiled in stages and completed in 1177 x 1179, records how the cult fanned out: first Canterbury, then Kent, then London, and then much further afield.12 From Canterbury came Etheldreda, who suffered from malaria. Coming to the crypt, she was given a tincture of blood and water,

 9

BP, Miracula, 35, 60–1. For Benedict’s Miracula, see above, n. 8. For William’s even longer book, which contained some of the same miracles, rearranged and with numerous additions, see Miracula S. Thomae Cantuariensis, auctore Willelmo, monacho Cantuariensis, MTB, i, 137–546. 11 For the remote effectiveness of the Canterbury water, see the account of the cure from plague of the son and twenty members of the household of the knight, Jordan FitzEisulf, following the administration of the Martyr’s water (martyris aqua): BP, Miracula, 4. 64 (ii, 229–34). The whole sequence of events is recorded in one of the miracle windows (Trinity n.II, 25–33): Madeline Harrison Caviness, The Early Stained Glass of Canterbury Cathedral circa 1175–1220 (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1977), pll. 197 and 197a–c; Michael A. Michael, Stained Glass of Canterbury Cathedral (London: Scala, 2004), 154–61. For administration at Canterbury, see, for example, the cures of Etheldreda and Juliana, below, at nn. 13 and 15. For the numeration of the miracle windows (which is followed here), and their written sources, see Caviness, Early Stained Glass of Canterbury, 164–6, Appendix Figure 6; for fine colour plates, see Michael, Stained Glass of Canterbury, 102–161. 12 The best analysis of the miracles remains Raymonde Foreville, ‘Les “Miracula S. Thomae Cantuariensis”’, in Actes du 97e Congrès National des Sociétés Savants, Nantes 1972, Section de Philologie et d’histoire jusqua’à 1610 (Paris, 1979), 443–68; cf. Howard Loxton, Pilgrimage to Canterbury (Newton Abbot/London/Vancouver: David and Charles, 1978). For the broader picture, see Ronald C. Finucane, Miracles and Pilgrims: Popular Beliefs in Medieval England (London: Dent, 1977; repr. New York, 1995); Diana Webb, Pilgrimage in Medieval England (London: Hambledon, 2000); eadem, Pilgrims and Pilgrimage in the Medieval West (London/New York: I. B. Tauris, 1999; repr. 2001); P.-A. Sigal, ‘Reliques, pélerinage et miracles dans l’église médiévale (XIe–XIIIe siècles)’, Revue de l’Eglise de France, 76 (1990), 193–211; Benedicta Ward, Miracles and the Medieval mind: theory, record, and event, 1100–1215 (London: Scolar, 1982); Jonathan Sumption, Pilgrimage: An Image of Medieval Religion (London: Faber, 1975). 10

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which almost made her physically sick—but she recovered her health;13 from Fordwich came the demented Henry, bound and protesting: he, too, received relief;14 from Rochester the young Juliana, suffering from an ailment which sealed her eyelids so that she was blind, was brought by her father. A monk bathed her eyes with Canterbury water, to no avail; but when she had returned home, she found that her eyes were opened and her sight restored.15 Young Robert, also from Rochester, fell into the River Medway as he was playing along the bank with his friends, and apparently drowned; the invocation of St Thomas by his distraught mother produced the desired result. Little Robert was fished out, the water expelled from his lungs, and he was restored amidst general rejoicing.16 From Essex came the lady Juliana, wife of Sir Robert Puintel, to give thanks for the cure which had already been effected in response to her invocation of the Blessed Thomas. She had eaten bad fish which had caused her abdomen to swell and her life was despaired of.17 From Oxford came Master Robert of Cricklade, prior of the Augustinian convent of St Frideswide, suffering from a leg infection which caused such excruciating ulceration and swelling that he was forced to preach sitting down. He, too, found healing, but not immediately Only on the return journey, as he applied the holy water that he had obtained in the cathedral, did he find that the swelling and pain gradually reduced, and he was completely cured, save for superficial discolouration, by the time he had returned to Oxford.18 From

 13

BP, Miracula, 1. 22 (MTB, ii, 54); Canterbury, Trinity n.IV (15 and 16): Caviness, Early Stained Glass of Canterbury, pl. 159. 14 BP, Miracula, 2. 13 (MTB, ii, 66); Canterbury, Trinity n.IV (13 and 14): Michael, Stained Glass of Canterbury, 112–14. 15 BP, Miracula, 4. 30 (MTB, ii, 204); Canterbury, Trinity n:II (1–3): Caviness, Early Stained Glass of Canterbury, pl. 208; Michael, Stained Glass of Canterbury, 142–3. 16 BP, Miracula, 4. 62 (MTB, ii, 226–7); Canterbury, Trinity n.II ([13]–15): Caviness, Early Stained Glass of Canterbury, pl. 199. Michael, Stained Glass of Canterbury, 148–9. In this sequence of three scenes, the first of which depicts the stoning of frogs by another boy (William Scot of Warwickshire) and his friends (BP, Miracula, 4. 66; MTB, iv, 238–9), two different ‘revival’ miracles may have become confused during restoration work. 17 BP, Miracula, 2. 45 (MTB, ii, 92–3); Canterbury, Trinity n.IV (11–12): Michael, Stained Glass of Canterbury, 115. 18 BP, Miracula, ii. 52 (MTB, ii, 97–101), possibly recorded in Canterbury, Trinity n.IV (9–10): Caviness, Early Stained Glass of Canterbury, pll. 2601; Michael, Stained Glass of Canterbury, 16, 110–11. This identification is uncertain, however, since the subject seems to be depicted without the clerical tonsure, and Master Robert was an Augustinian canon regular, who died in 1174. Apart from his

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Gloucestershire came a young herdsman, Richard Suneive, who had been a leper for eight years. He was cured; and he came, together with his mother and his employer to give thanks at the tomb.19 Most astonishing of all was the case of Ailward, a countryman from Westoning, in Bedfordshire, who had been blinded and castrated in a terrifying abuse of justice by a royal judge. In his distress, he prayed earnestly to the recentlycanonized St Thomas, and, as reported to the Canterbury monks, he was restored to full vigour over a period of months, and the burgesses of Bedford confirmed his claim in writing.20 It was events like these, and many more besides, recorded by Benedict and William, that established the national and international reputation of Canterbury’s new martyr; and in due time provided most of the materials for the array of eight miracle windows, which Benedict planned,21 set just above eye level in the ambulatory around the shrine, where they can still be seen.22

 appearance in Benedict’s Book, he is well known as the author of a lost Life of St Thomas which, after transmission to Iceland, became one of the sources of the Thómas Saga Erkibyskups (below, n. 20): Margaret Orme, ‘A reconstruction of Robert of Cricklade’s Vita et Miracula S. Thomae’, Analecta Bollandiana, 84 (1966), 379–98. 19 BP, Miracula, 4. 76 (MTB, ii, 245–6) Canterbury, Trinity n.II (4–9): Caviness, Early Stained Glass of Canterbury, pl. 205; Michael, Stained Glass of Canterbury, 144–7. 20 BP, Miracula, 4.2 (MTB, ii, 173–82; ii, 26); cf. WC, Miracula, MTB, i, 156–8. The Thómas Saga Erkibyskups, ed. Eiríkr Magnusson, 2 vols., RS 65 (London: Longman and Co., 1875–84), ii, 103–9, reports that Robert of Cricklade heard this story while he was in Canterbury, although its report confuses Bedford with Detford, and locates the event in the diocese of Hugh of Durham! Hugh of Durham does feature in the story, for he heard about the event when he was in London. Ailward’s story was also commemorated in a splendid sequence of panels: Canterbury, Trinity n.III (14–16): Caviness, Early Stained Glass of Canterbury, pl. 167; Michael, Stained Glass of Canterbury, 134–7. 21 Although they were not constructed until the end of the century: Caviness, Early Stained Glass of Canterbury, 27, 147. Benedict’s Miracula was the primary source. Of the 34 miracles identified by Caviness (ibid,. 164–6), only six appear to have been derived from William of Canterbury: Petronella of Polesworth, Godwin of Boxgrove, Oda and Matilda of Artois,William of Kellet, Adam the Forester, and the infant Warin. 22 Trinity chapel, n.II–V and VII, s.II, VI, VII: Caviness, Early Stained Glass of Canterbury, 164–6. There had also been two narrative windows depicting the saint’s life and martyrdom, from which one medallion (showing Thomas receiving a messenger) and some small decorative fragments have survived: the medallion, from Trinity n.VI (Caviness, Early Stained Glass of Canterbury, coloured pl. IV and pl.115), is in the Fogg Art Museum in Harvard. The scene shows the

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From further afield came the afflicted Matilda from Cologne, so wild that she had to be restrained. After spending a night before the tomb, however, her troubled mind was eased and she was restored to sanity.23 And she was not the only one to come from German lands. In the year immediately following St Thomas’s canonization (1173–4) came Ida and Ludolf of Deudesfeld, probably to pray or give thanks for children; but they brought back a relic with them and installed it in a church, around which grew up a strong local cult with its own miracles. Even more: the account of Ailward’s cure transmitted by Ida and Ludolf produced a parallel event in the monastery of Himmerod where the monk Sefrid was restored after praying before the Deudesfeld relic. All this was duly notified in writing to Canterbury with letters sealed by three Cistercian abbots and recorded in William’s book; and a Cistercian nunnery, St Thomas an der Kyll, grew up around the reliquary church.24

 archbishop receiving a messenger. A related fragment of the decorative border is in the Victoria and Albert Museum, London: ibid., pl. 116. The content of Canterbury’s narrative windows is likely to have been similar to that of the early thirteenth-century window in Sens cathedral, which may itself have been one of a pair, and which shares many stylistic characteristics with the Canterbury glass: Caviness, Early Stained Glass of Canterbury, 84–96, and pll. 185–6, comparing Trinity Chapel s:II and Sens; see also Catherine Brisac, ‘Thomas Becket dans le vitrail français’, in Thomas Becket: Actes du Colloque International de Sédières, ed. Raymonde Foreville (Paris: Beauchesne, 1975), 221–31, at 224–6 and pl. 1 (a), whose dating ‘pas avant 1220–1225’ should now be revised to ca. 1207–13: see Alyce A. Jordan, ‘Rhetoric and Reform: the St Thomas Becket window of Sens Cathedral’, in The Four Modes of Seeing. Approaches to Medieval Imagery in Honor of Madeline Caviness, ed. Evelyn Staudinger Lane, Elizabeth Carson Postan, and Ellen M. Shortell (Farnham: Ashgate, 2009), 547–64, at 549–50. Jordan’s statement that the Canterbury windows ‘depict the many healing miracles which Becket’s relics had already effected in the fifty years following his death’ (p. 548) misleads on two counts. Strictly speaking, it was Becket’s intercession that secured the miracle, and none of the identifiable miracles can be dated later than 1175 x 1177. One may also question her use of the term ‘mythology’ to describe the basis of the Sens narrative (p. 549), since everything in it, with the exception of the reconciliation scene (at which Louis VII was not present), has a solid evidentiary base, and Brisac who is cited in the accompanying n. 12, wrote ‘il s’agit presque d’un reportage au sens moderne du terme’, especially since she calls the Sens window ‘an accurate synopsis’ on the following page. 23 BP, Miracula, 4. 37 (MTB, ii, 208–9); Canterbury, Trinity n:II (19–21): Caviness, Early Stained Glass of Canterbury, pll. 209–11; Michael, Stained Glass of Canterbury, 17, 150–3. 24 WC, Miracula, 517–20. Stefan K. Langenbahn, ‘Die wiederentdeckten Himmeroder Miracula S. Thomae Cantuariensis (1175). Zugänge zur frühesten narrativen

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Such events formed the sub-text to the grander story to which Gerald of Wales alluded in 1189. ‘The princes and primates of the earth’ did indeed come to Canterbury ‘to reverence the relics of a new martyr’. In 1174, King Henry II did penance at the tomb in reparation for the part his incautious words had played in the murder, the first of many visits to Canterbury; Count Philip of Flanders made the first of three visits in 1177 (he was there again in 1184 with Archbishop Philip of Cologne and Henry II’s son-in-law, Henry the Lion, former duke of Saxony);25 and in 1179, no less a person than King Louis VII of France made a pilgrimage to pray for the health of his only son and the heir, Philip (Philip II, 1180–1223). His prayer was heard, for Philip recovered from his pneumonia to become one of the greatest kings of France (and the nemesis of King John of England), and Louis gave a gold cup, the royal ring of France and an annual shipment of French wine.26 The great ruby (or sapphire)27 became one of the sights pointed out to pilgrims when it was affixed to the new shrine after 1220; and the hundred measures of wine were duly dispatched for the next three centuries, or so.28 Six years later (1185), Heraclius, patriarch of Jerusalem, accompanied by Roger de Moulin, Grand Master of the Hospitallers, visited the tomb on his way to try to persuade Henry II to embark on an immediate crusade to protect the beleaguered city from the

 Quelle zur Geschichte von St. Thomas/Eifel’, Kurtrierisches Jahrbuch, 41 (Trier, 2001), 121–64, esp. 149–52; idem, ‘Von Begegnung zur Verehrung. Thomas von Canterbury–Bernard von Clairvaux–Himmerod–St. Thomas Sondierungen zur Vorgeschichte der Verehrung des “Zisterzienserheiligen” in der Südeifel’, Cistercienser Chronik, 110 (2003), 409–30; B. Caspar, ‘Thomas Becket und das Kloster St. Thomas an der Kyll’, Kurtrierisches Jahrbuch, 2 (1962), 74–81. 25 Gervase, i, 311, 313. Count Philip hoped to engineer a reconciliation between Henry and the archbishop in order to facilitate Henry’s repatriation to Germany. 26 Roger of Howden: Chronica magistri Rogeri de Houedene, ed. W. Stubbs, 4 vols, RS 51 (London: Longman, 1868–71), ii, 192–3; Eyton, 228. For Louis’ pilgrimages to Jerusalem, Constantinople, and Compostela, see A. Graboïs, ‘Louis VII pèlerin’, Revue d’Histoire de l’église de France’, 74 (1988), 5–22 at 17–20. 27 Andrew of Marchiennes, MTB, iv. 265, called it a sapphire. Later affixed to the shrine (from 1220), this important gemstone was singled out in depictions of the shrine on some pilgrim badges, which show a figure pointing to the gem with a long rod: Brian Spencer, Pilgrim Souvenirs and Secular Badges, Medieval Finds from Excavations in London, 7 (London: Stationery Office, 1998), 98 figg. 73, 73b–c, 74b; 99, 101; cf. John Gough Nichols, Pilgrimages to Saint Mary of Walsingham and Saint Thomas of Canterbury, by Desiderius Erasmus, 2nd edn (London, 1875), 190: ‘At [one side was a stone, with] an angell of gold poyntyng thereunto, offered there by a kinge of France.’ 28 Cf. article John Moon in this volume, 173-189.

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threat of the Seljuk Turks led by the formidable Saladin. Heraclius hoped that the invocation of Becket’s name, combined with the offer of the keys of the Holy Sepulchre, would induce the king to undertake the mission.29 One can only guess at the impact such a succession of princely visitors had on the city. From being an ancient but provincial centre, it became for a time the focus of national and international attention; and when the third crusade was launched in 1189, St Thomas became a patron of English crusaders, who carried the martyr’s cult across the Mediterranean. King Richard I went to Canterbury to invoke the Martyr’s blessing before he left England; Archbishop Baldwin of Canterbury, who died before the walls of Acre in 1190,30 led a troop of soldiers under a banner of St Thomas; so did Bishop Hubert Walter of Salisbury, later royal chancellor and archbishop of Canterbury.31 London crusaders placed themselves under his protection; and William, a clerk of the Dean of St Paul’s, vowed that he would found a chapel and cemetery in honour of St Thomas if he were safely delivered across the sea. He was and he did; and from his small foundation there sprang the military order of St Thomas of Acon (1220s). Its fortunes were not distinguished; but it survived until the mid-fourteenth century. More importantly, however, it maintained a presence at the heart of the city of London. The church of St Thomas of Acon, and a hospital, were founded in the 1230s on the site of Becket’s birthplace in Cheapside. Thereafter the church played a role in the ceremonial life of the city. Every year, following his election in the Guildhall, the new lord mayor processed with the aldermen along West Cheap, from St Thomas’s church to St Paul’s Cathedral, where they visited the tomb of Thomas’s parents, returning by torchlight to make offerings at St Thomas of Acon. Similar celebrations took place on All Saints (November 1) and other major festivals, and especially on St Thomas’s Day itself (December 29), when the Mayor and aldermen attended services in the chapel.32

 29

Gervase of Canterbury, i, 325. For (H)eraclius, see B. Z. Kadar, ‘The Patriarch Eraclius’, in Outremer: studies in the history of the crusading kingdom of Jerusalem presented to Joshua Prawer, edd. B. Z. Kedar, Hans Eberhard Mayer and Raymond Charles Smail (Jerusalem: Yad Izhak Ben-Zvi Institute, 1982), 177– 204. 30 19 Nov. 1190. 31 Christopher Robert Cheney, Hubert Walter (London: Nelson, 1967), 35. 32 A. J. Forey, ‘The Military Order of St Thomas of Acre’, EHR, 92 (1977), 481– 503, esp. 481, 487, 489, 502–3. The London site was acquired for £969 by the Mercer’s Company, which, alone of all the city companies, maintains a chapel to this day—the chapel of St Thomas of Canterbury.

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Simultaneously, the formal cult of St Thomas the Martyr was being introduced across the length and breadth of Latin Christendom, from the frozen seas of the north Atlantic to the balmy waters of the Mediterranean.33 Two striking examples may be cited from northern lands. The thirteenth-century Hrafns Saga Sveinbjarnarsonar tells how, following a vow, the Icelandic nobleman Hrafn brought the gift of walrus ivory to Canterbury, probably in Spring 1194;34 and the cathedral of Linköping (Sweden), sent a small monetary offering to Canterbury every year from c. 1200, until 1271.35 From the south, one may cite the examples of Portugal, where the Templars had an important relic at Tomar, and three religious houses (S. Mamede of Lorvão (OSB); S. Cruz of Coimbra (OSA), and Alcobaça (O.Cist.) which had copies of Benedict’s Miracula before the end of the twelfth century;36 and Sicily, where St Thomas was depicted beside St Silvester in the array of saints in the great mosaic behind the high altar in Monreale. Churches, monasteries, chapels, and hospitals were dedicated to him; altars were raised in his honour; reliquaries were displayed and stained glass windows installed; wall-

 33

For an overview, see Anne J. Duggan, ‘The Cult of St Thomas Becket in the Thirteenth Century’, in St Thomas Cantilupe, ed. Meryl Jancey (Hereford: Friends of Hereford Cathedral, 1982), 21–44; repr. with the same pagination in eadem, Thomas Becket: friends, networks, texts, and cult (Aldershot: Ashgate, 2007), no. IX; eadem, ‘Religious Networks in Action’ (above, n. 6). See also Medard Barth, ‘Zum Kult des hl. Thomas Becket in deutschen Sprachgebiet, in Skandinavien und Italien’, Freiburger Diözesan-Archiv, 80 (1960), 97–166. 34 Hrafns Saga Sveinbjarnarsonar, ed. Gudrún P. Helgadóttir (Oxford: Clarendon, 1987), 3, lines 6–39. For such trophies, see Marie Stoklund and Else Roesdahl, ‘En dekoreret hvalrosskalle med tænder og runer i Le Mans—og om runeindskrifter på hvalros—og narhvaltand’, Aarbrøger for Nordisk Oldkyndighed og Historie (2002) (Copenhagen: Det Kongelinge Nordiske Oldskriftselkam, 2005), 163–84 (I am very grateful to Professor Michael Belting of the Danish National Archives for this reference). 35 Andreas Lindblom, Björsätersmålningarna: The Legends of St. Thomas Becket and of the Holy Cross painted in a Swedish Church, Arkeologiska monografier, 38 (Stockholm, 1953), 28–55 (English summary, 77–9), at 52–3 and 78–9. Equally impressive is the carved font in the church of Lyngsjö, which features a particularly dramatic scene of Becket’s murder: Tancred Borenius, St Thomas Becket in Art (London: Methuen, 1932), pl. xxx no. 2, and esp. Colin Stuart Drake, Romanesque Fonts of Northern Europe and Scandinavia (Woodbridge: Boydell, 2002), 146 and pl. 316, who attributes the Lyngsjö font to Master Tove, ca. 1191. 36 Anne J. Duggan, ‘Aspects of Anglo-Portuguese Relations in the Twelfth Century. Manuscripts, relics, decretals, and the cult of St Thomas Becket at Lorvão, Alcobaça, and Tomar’, Portuguese Studies, 14 (1998), 1–19: repr. with the same pagination in eadem, Thomas Becket: friends…cult, no X.

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paintings, mosaics, and sculptures celebrated his martyrdom, accounts of his ‘passion’ were widely circulated, and his feast day, December 29, was celebrated across the whole of Latin Christendom from the mid-1170s, and, following the spectacular translation of his relics to the great shrine in the Trinity chapel of Canterbury cathedral on July 7, 1220, another feast was added to the calendar. More importantly for Canterbury, the new saint was inextricably linked to the cathedral, and pilgrims were drawn in their many thousands to the place of his martyrdom. The result was an explosion of pilgrimage on a scale never seen before in England, and one which was destined, with some vicissitudes, to last until the end of the Middle Ages. The consequences for the cathedral and the city remain to be considered.

The Cathedral Although it was the seat of an archbishop, who presided over thirteen English and four Welsh bishops,37 his primacy was disputed by the archbishop of York, and the cathedral’s eminence38 was challenged by the great monastery of St Augustine, just beyond the city walls to the East, which boasted the tomb of the bringer of Christianity to the people of Kent in 597 and a splendid abbey church which would have outshone Christ Church in the panorama that greeted pilgrims approaching the city from London. Christ Church was not without its major relics; but although it enshrined the bodies of its own saintly archbishops, Dunstan (959–88)39 and the martyr Alphege/Ælfheah (1006–1012), slain by the Danes in 1012,40 and that of St Wilfrid (alternately of York and Hexham, with some

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Province of Canterbury: Bath and Wells, Chichester, Coventry-LichfieldChester, Ely, Exeter, Hereford, Lincoln, London, Norwich, Rochester, Salisbury, Winchester, Worcester (13), plus the four Welsh sees: Bangor, Llandaff, St Asaph, St Davids. Province of York: Durham, Carlisle (vacant for much of the period). 38 It claimed to be the first see in Britain. Its second seal, designed 1155 x 1161, proclaimed: SIGILLUM ECCL[ESI]E XPI [CHRISTI] CANTUARIE PRIME SEDIS BRITANNIE: Urry, Canterbury, 384. 39 Michael Lapidge, ‘Dunstan [St Dunstan] (d. 988)’, Oxford Dictionary of National Biography, Oxford University Press, 2004 [http://www.oxforddnb.com/view/article/8288, accessed 22 Feb 2009]. For his popular cult at Canterbury, see Alan Thacker, ‘Cults at Canterbury: Relics and Reform undr Dunstan and his Successors’, in St Dunstan. His Life, Times and Cult, ed. Nigel Ramsay, Margaret Sparks and Tim Tatton-Brown (Woodbridge: Boydell, 1992), 221–45. 40 Henrietta Leyser, ‘Ælfheah (d. 1012)’, Oxford Dictionary of National Biography, Oxford University Press, Sept 2004; online edn, Oct 2006:

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intermissions: 664–709/10)41 which had been brought by Archbishop Oda (941–58),42 and an array of other relics, including those of St Ouen (of Rouen, 639–83)43 and the ever popular St Blaise,44 it was outranked by Winchester, the cult of whose St Swithun already extended to France and Scandinavian lands, by Bury St Edmunds, with the shrine of Edmund, king of the East Angles (?855–869), who died fighting against the ‘Vikings’ in 869, and by St Albans, which promoted the veneration of the English proto-martyr Alban, and not only in England. That was all to change in the aftermath of Becket’s murder. During the four years 1171 to 1174 the explosion of the cult of the new St Thomas transformed Canterbury into a major centre of European pilgrimage, which outstripped all its existing English rivals.

The City Canterbury, a small civitas of between four and five thousand inhabitants,45 which would rise to almost double that by 1300, was a thriving city occupying the site of a Roman town (Durovernum), encircled by wellbuilt walls erected on Roman foundations, and pierced by six main gates.46 In addition to its two Benedictine monasteries, it boasted the Augustinian

 [http://www.oxforddnb.com/view/article/181, accessed 22 Feb 2009]. Dunstan and Alphege joined Thomas on the third seal of the cathedral priory in 1232: Age of Chivalry. Art in Plantagenet England 1200–1400, Royal Academy of Arts Exhibition Catalogue, ed. Jomathan Alexander and Paul Binski (London: Royal Academy of Arts, 1987), 399–400 no. 461. 41 Alan Thacker, ‘Wilfrid [St Wilfrid] (c.634–709/10)’, Oxford Dictionary of National Biography, Oxford University Press, 2004 [http://www.oxforddnb.com/view/article/29409, accessed 22 Feb 2009]. 42 Catherine Cubitt and Marios Costambeys, ‘Oda (d. 958)’, Oxford Dictionary of National Biography, Oxford University Press, 2004 [http://www.oxforddnb.com/view/ article/20541, accessed 22 Feb 2009]. But there are two mutually contradictory traditions, one placing him at Ripon and the other having his relics translated to Canterbury by Archbishop Oda: Thacker, ‘Wilfrid [St Wilfrid] (c.634–709/10)’, Oxford Dictionary of National Biography, Oxford University Press, 2004 [http://www.oxforddnb.com/view/ article/29409, accessed 22 Feb 2009]. 43 Also acquired by Archbishop Oda. 44 Spencer, Pilgrim Souvenirs, 178. 45 The best study is still William Urry, Canterbury under the Angevin Kings (London: Athlone Press, 1967). 46 Urry, Canterbury, 163, 195. The principal gates were Westgate, Northgate, Burgate, Newingate, Ridingate, and Worthgate.

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priory of St Gregory, the hospital of St John, and twenty-two churches;47 and it had a small, but affluent Jewish community, with its synagogue, situated in the heart of the city, across the road from the royal exchange (cambium regis).48 Based on its tax-paying liability, Canterbury can be ranked eleventh (out of thirty-five) in the league table of English boroughs, behind London, York, Norwich, Lincoln, Northampton, Dunwich, Exeter, Winchester, Gloucester, and Oxford. By 1234 it had at least two hundred shops, ranging from ‘holes in the wall’ to more substantial edifices, of which over a hundred owed rent to Christ Church. There was a full range of markets—cattle, butter, fish, timber, oats, salt, and perhaps wine—some of which have left traces in the present-day topography (Wincheap, Oaten Hill, Salt Hill) and the various trades and professions necessary to service the monastic communities within and without the city walls as well as the citizens: butchers, bakers, brewers, mercers (who gave their name to Mercery Lane), saddlers, wool merchants, weavers, plumbers, masons, glaziers, and carpenters.49 The north side of Burgate Street had thirtyseven shops that paid rent to Christ Church in the twelfth century, and that number had grown to eighty by 1307.50 More importantly, William Urry recovered the names of twelve goldsmiths for the second half of the twelfth century, all of whom were men of wealth and status, and one of whom, Terric, acted also as a financier and conducted business on behalf of the king.51 Possibly even more lucrative was the making of new coin. Canterbury boasted one of the oldest mints in England, where Offa (757–96) of Mercia’s silver penny was struck. By the Conquest, there were seven moneyers in the city (London had eight), four appointed by the king, two by the archbishop, and one by the abbot of St Augustine’s and their output usually equalled that of London, and sometimes exceeded it.52 This fortunate state of

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Urry, Canterbury, 210–11. Urry, Canterbury, 119–20. On the basis of its contribution to Richard I’s ransom in 1193, it has been ranked third in the kingdom, after the communities in London and Lincoln. They contributed £239, against the London Jewry’s £486 and Lincoln’s £287. 49 Urry, Canterbury, 106–09; 120–22. This ranking is based on the royal taxes (aids and tallages) levied on the town. In 23 Henry II, (1176-77) for example, Canterbury paid a tallage of 100 marks, in common with Bedford, Exeter, Oxford, Norwich, and Gloucester, whereas London paid 1, 000 marks, Northampton, 300m., York, 200m., and Dunwich, Winchester, and Lincoln, 150 marks each. 50 Ibid., 107. 51 Ibid., 112–13. 52 Ibid., 113–14. Something of the profits to be made from this profession may be gauged from the enormous amercements recorded for Canterbury moneyers in 48

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affairs did not survive the reign of Henry II, however, for, in company with eleven other locations, Canterbury was deprived of all its mints in 1180, although the ecclesiastical mints were restored by King Richard.53 Urry’s researches into the rental books which survive from the twelfth century show an unequal relationship between the city and the cathedral. On the one hand, Christ Church owned between a third and a half of the houses and commercial premises in the city, from which it drew rent; on the other, about ten percent of the population depended on the cathedral for its employment: but the income accruing to the monks from such rents was surprisingly small. Statistics based on records from ca. 1180 show that the income from rents was only a very small proportion, about 5%, of the total income from its rural properties. The £37 3s. 9d produced by more than four hundred properties in Canterbury compared very unfavourably with the yield of £44 3s. 9d from twenty-five dwellings in London.54 There seems to be little doubt that the city gained much more from the cathedral than did the cathedral from the city. And that imbalance would be accentuated rather than diminished by the explosion of the Becket cult.

The Impact The men and women who flocked to Canterbury in their thousands required tangible symbols, readily identifiable badges and pious mementoes of their attendance at the shrine. Compostela had its cockle shells and Jerusalem its palms, but Canterbury outdid both in the number and variety of the ampullae, badges, and small figurines in pewter or lead or tin, which the pilgrim could suspend round his neck or attach to his clothing.55 Most distinctive in the first hundred and fifty years or so, were

 1176–7: Ralph of Rye and his wife paid 1000 marks, Solomon and Richard Deudune paid 600m., while Richard Corbeill owed 500m., and John son of Robert owed 400m.: Urry, Canterbury, 116; cf. Martin Allen, ‘Henry II and the English Coinage’, in Henry II. New Interpretations, ed. Christopher Harper-Bill and Nicholas Vincent (Woodbridge: Boydell, 2007), 257–77, at 267–8. Their unspecified but serious misdemeanours may have contributed to the closure of the mints in 1180: see below, n. 53. 53 Allen, ‘Henry II and the English Coinage’, 262–3 and 276–7. 54 Urry, Canterbury, 23–39, at 23, 34–5. For the edited Rentals, compiled between 1153 x 1167 (Rental A) and ca. 1206 (Rental G), see ibid., 219–382. The archbishop’s estates were wholly separate, of course. On their incomes and administration, see Francis Robin Houssemayne du Boulay, The Lordship of Canterbury (London: Nelson, 1966). 55 Spencer, Pilgrim Souvenirs, 37–133, with numerous illustrations; Brian W. Spencer, ‘Medieval Pilgrim Badges’, in Rotterdam Papers. A Contribution to

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the ampullae, fashioned like little perfume bottles to contain the Canterbury water,56 some of which bore the inscription, ‘Thomas is the best healer of the virtuous sick (O[P]TIMVS EGREGORVM MEDICVS FIT TOMA BONOR[VM])’, others, more simply, ‘St Thomas, pray for us (+ ORA PRO NOBIS BEAT[E] THOM[A])’.57 These inscriptions proclaimed the intercessory power of the Blessed Martyr, while the various images with which they were adorned—the murder,58 St Thomas blessing,59 even, in two instances, a miracle window60—recalled the martyrdom, the martyr, and the locations in Canterbury itself. In addition to the ampullae, however, there was a thriving trade in pilgrim badges of many shapes and sizes, of which at least ten different

 Medieval Archaeology, ed. J. G. N. Renaud (Rotterdam: Renaud, 1968), 137–53, esp. 139, 140–1, 143, 144, Figg. 1d, 3b–c, 5, and Plates V and VI. See also Nilson, Cathedral Shrines, 111–13 56 Spencer, Pilgrim Souvenirs, 38–72; P. A. Sigal, ‘Naissance et premier développement d’un vinage exceptionnel: l’eau de saint Thomas’, Cahiers de Civilisation Mediévale, 44 (2001), 35–44. 57 Ibid., 47–59, esp. figg. 9 and 15. 58 Ibid., 40 figg. 1, 1a–b, 2b; 42 fig. 3a; 46 figg. 4b–c; 48 figg. 5, 6b; 50 figg. 6c, 7, 7a; 52 fig. 9; 54–6 figg. 12, 14, 15; 58 figg. 16c, 17; 60 figg. 17a–c; 62 figg. 18b; 64 figg. 19, 19a; 67–70 figg. 20, 20a–c; 20e–g, 20i, 20k, 21, 22, 22a, 23. 59 Often on the obverse of ampullae showing the murder: above n. 58; see also 58 figg. 15a, 16a and 16c. No. 16a is remarkable for its (not very syntactical) inscription: + REGENALDVS FILIVS HVRS THOMAS MARTIRIVM FECE[T] F[IE]R[I]—‘Reginald FitzUrse caused the martyrdom of Thomas’. This Canterbury tradition rightly identifies Reginald FitzUrse as the ring-leader of the nefarious four, and it was he who used his sword to flick Becket’s cap off his head in a gesture of intimidation and contempt, but it is not certain who struck the first blow. The narrative accounts are contradictory. Edward Grim and Anonymous I (Roger of Pontigny) (MTB, ii, 436–7 and iv, 77) name FitzUrse; William of Canterbury (MTB, i, 132), WF (MTB, iii, 141), Guernes de Pont-Sainte-Maxence, vv. 5581–91, and Herbert of Bosham (MTB, iii, 498), name William de Tracy. William (MTB, i, 134) and Guernes, vv. 5596–6000 (trans. Shirley, 148), said that de Tracy boasted at Saltwood that he had cut off John of Salisbury’s arm; Herbert wrote in his Liber Melorum (Book of Melodies), MTB, iii, 537, that de Tracy confessed that he had struck the first blow. For the identification of the murderers (Reginald FitzUrse, William de Tracy, Hugh de Morville, and Richard Brito) and their subsequent fates, see Nicholas Vincent, ‘The Murderers of Thomas Becket’, in Bischofsmord im Mittelalter. Murder of Bishops, ed. Natalie Fryde and Dirk Reitz (Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 2003), 211–72. 60 University of Bergen, Historical Museum, no. 95070: Sarah Blick, ‘Comparing Pilgrim Souvenirs and Trinity Chapel Windows at Canterbury Cathedral. An Exploration of the Context, Copying, and Recovery of Lost Stained Glass’, Mirator Syyskuu (September, 2001), 1–27.

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designs have been found, catering for diverse tastes and reminding the pilgrim of the various focal points of the pilgrim circuit in the cathedral. For the first twenty years, or so, there were two stations, stopping points on the Becket trail: the Martyrdom, with the altar of the broken sword, upon which was displayed the blood-stained tip of Richard Brito’s sword, which had broken off as he had delivered the final devastating blow to the head of the archbishop, already prone upon the ground, almost severing the top of Becket’s skull, and with it the clerical tonsure61 and the tomb in the crypt, surmounted by the protective superstructure depicted in many of the miracle windows,62 and also in the burial scene in the great Sens window, which closely resembles that shown in the Etheldreda scenes.63 At some date before 1195 x 1198, a third station was added, that of the corona or caput sancti Thome. This was the crown of Becket’s skull cut off during the attack, which was enshrined in a separate reliquary surmounted by a bust of the saint, and displayed in the specially designed corona chapel at the mid-point of the ambulatory, now occupied by the ‘chair of St Augustine’.64 After 1220, when the principal relic had been

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On the significance of this detail, see Martin Aurell, ‘Le meurtre de Thomas Becket’, in Bischofsmord im Mittelalter, 200–10. Brian Spencer (Pilgrim Souvenirs, 53) speculates that the frequent depiction of Becket’s murder taking place while he was kneeling in front of an altar resulted from the positioning of the altar of the sword-point close to the place of the martyrdom. 62 E.g. the windows recording the cures of Jordan FitzEisulf’s family, Etheldreda of Canterbury, Henry of Fordwich, Juliana of Rochester, Juliana Puintel. Richard Suneive, and Matilda of Cologne: above, at nn. 11, 13–15, 17–19, and 23. 63 Caviness, Early Stained Glass of Canterbury, pl. 160; cf. pl. 159 (Etheldreda of Canterbury); Michael, Stained Glass of Canterbury, 116–17. 64 There has been much confusion about the nature and the location of this important relic. William Archibald Scott Robertson, The Crypt of Canterbury Cathedral: its architecture, its history and its frescoes (London: Kent Archaeological Society, 1880), 48–54, followed by Raymonde Foreville, Le jubilé de saint Thomas Becket. Du XIIIe au XVe siècle (1220–1470). Études et documents, Bibliothèque générale de l’École pratique des hautes-études, VIe section (Paris: S.E.V.P.E.N, 1958), 13, thought that it was displayed in the crypt until the early fourteenth century; Loxton, Pilgrimage to Canterbury, 178, thought that there were two ‘crown’ relics, one in the crypt and another in the corona chapel. The problem is complicated by the ambiguity of the terminology. ‘Corona’ and ‘caput’ seem to have been used interchangeably for the same relic: and it is probable that a single object is intended: see Arthur James Mason, What Became of the Bones of St Thomas? A Contribution to his Fifteenth Jubilee (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1920), 96–107, ‘Caput and Corona’. Mason (ibid., 106) explains the record of offerings at both the corona and the caput sancti Thome by Edward III in 1337 (10 Edward III) as a simple clerical error, in which tumbam was mistakenly written

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translated to its new home in the Trinity Chapel, a fourth station, the shrine, was added.65 The sword, the martyrdom, the caput Thome, and the shrine were each commemorated by a pilgrim badge.66 But there were other emblems too. As well as small free-standing figurines of the fully robed primate, with pallium and cross, some of which were certainly intended to be attached to the end of a staff,67 there was an extraordinary variety of symbolic emblems: Canterbury bells, Canterbury stars, the letter ‘T’ for Thomas, Thomas’s gloves, little images of the saint holding his primatial cross in his left hand, with his right hand raised in blessing,68 and even scenes of Thomas’s return from exile, either travelling in his ship or riding in procession to his cathedral. These latter seem to have been designed for the special feast of ‘St Thomas’s Return’, celebrated at Canterbury on December 2nd.69 The ampullae and the array of badges and figurines were produced in large quantities for a mass market; but one exceptional example survives of a much more precious object, made for Queen Margaret of Sicily and sent to her when Henry II’s daughter (Joanna) married her son William II in 1177. Fashioned in gold, the tiny reliquary pendant presents an image of the donor (Reginald of Bath) and the recipient (Queen Margaret) incised on the reverse, with the helpful inscription, ISTUD REGINE

 as coronam. Benedict IX’s indulgence (1395) for the ‘capella in qua certa pars capitis ipsius beati Thome que corona dicitur conservatur’ (cited in Foreville, Jubilé, 173–4 no. 18, 174) seems to establish that the chapel which housed the fragment of St Thomas’s head was called the corona. The Treasurer’s accounts, which list the offerings from the various sites, begin only in 1198, by which time the three stations (tomb, martyrdom, and corona) were in evidence: Ben Nilson, Cathedral Shrines of Medieval England (Woodbridge: Boydell and Brewer, 1998), 148. 65 Spencer, Pilgrim Souvenirs, 98 figg. 73–74b. Loxton’s suggestion that there were three stations before 1220 and five after (Pilgrimage to Canterbury, 177–8), is based on the conviction that the high altar, before which Becket’s body was laid before burial in the crypt, constituted a separate ‘Becket’ station. 66 Ibid., 93–9 figg. 64a, 64c, 66, 68–72c (sword); 88–93 figg. 55, 56a, 61, 61a, 62a–c, 63a, 64 and 64a (martyrdom); 102–19 figg. 76a–c, 77, 81–4, 85a 87, 88a–b, 89, 90a–b, 97, 98, 100, 100a–b, 101–06a, 108a, 109–10a, 111b–16 (head); 98 figg. 73–74b (shrine). 67 Ibid., 72–6 figg. 26a–e; cf. figg. 27, 27a, 28a, 30 and 30a, similarly hollow-cast, where the saint stands on the back of a peacock, which is displaying its tail feathers, a symbol of immortality. 68 Spencer, Pilgrim Souvenirs, 122–5 figg. 126–9, 130–1, 131a–b (bells); 109–11 figg. 90b, 96–7 (stars); 121–3 figg. 121–124a (T); 119–21 figg. 120–120b (gloves); 117–20 figg. 119 and 119a–c (figurines). 69 Spencer, Pilgrim Souvenirs, 79–89 figg. 34–36, 36a (ship); figg. 37–54a.

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MARGARETE SICVLOR[VM] TRA[N]SMITTIT PRESVL REINAUD [VS] BATONIOR[VM] (Bishop Reginald of Bath sends this to Margaret, queen of the Sicilians), while the obverse has a list of the relics which were once enclosed under the now lost rock crystal inset on the face of the pendant: DE SANGUINE S[AN]C[T]I THOME M[ARTY]RIS, DE VESTIBU[S] SUIS SANGUINE SUO TINCTUS. DE PELLICIA DE CILITIO. DE CUCULLA. DE CALCIAMENTO. ET CAMISIA (From the blood and bloodstained garments of St Thomas the Martyr. From his hair shirt (goatskin), cowl, shoes, and shirt).70 Ampullae, pilgrim badges, and figurines functioned as prophylactics, as memorials of the pilgrim’s experience, and as visible and portable propaganda for the holy places connected with the martyr of Canterbury, to each of which the pilgrim could attach his or her oral testimony of the wonders seen or experienced at the shrine, thus generating further pilgrimage. But for Canterbury’s artisans, they constituted a thriving trade. It is far from easy to calculate the numbers involved in this commerce. The two books of miracles between them provide details of about seven hundred miracles, mostly concentrated in the period 1171 to 1177 x 1179. All of these would have necessitated visits either by the subject of the miracle or the transmission of a written report, or both. Moreover, pilgrims rarely travelled alone. Henry of Fordwich was brought by his friends; the blind Juliana was brought by her father; the Lady Juliana was accompanied by her husband and nurse, and such a knightly family would not have travelled from Essex without an escort. Mad Matilda was accompanied by at least two attendants; Ida and Ludolf would have had servants, and so on. For every recipient of favours, then, one must allow at least one or two companions, and sometimes more. The Suneive miracle, for example, resulted in a thanksgiving pilgrimage by the boy himself, his mother, and the whole household of his lord, and Jordan FitzEisulf was accompanied by his wife and son. 71 Canterbury was a magnet for the afflicted in mind and body; but its saint could be invoked any time anywhere, for the health of a child, for safe childbirth, for safe passage across the sea, for the recovery of lost objects, and those whose prayer was answered went to Canterbury, or sent due thanks in kind. Candles, of course, were popular votive objects, especially those which in some way matched the dimensions of the person. Long wicks, corresponding to the height and girth of the donor, could be

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Now in New York’s Metropolitan Museum of Art: Peter A. Newton, ‘Some New Material for the Study of the Iconography of St Thomas Becket’, in Thomas Becket, Actes du colloque international de Sédières, 255–63. 71 Above, n. 11.

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made into candles or fashioned into tapers which could be coiled round and round to form trindles,72 or even twisted round a drum, as in the case of the extraordinary candela in rota, which Dover sent to Canterbury every year, ‘whose length will comprise the circumference or circuit of the said town’.73 But any symbolic object could be offered either in prospect of or in thanksgiving for a favour or cure—models of ships for a safe seacrossing; images of people or of diseased limbs—fashioned from silver or from wax. There are no statistics for Canterbury, but it is unlikely that Thomas’s shrine attracted any fewer votive offerings than that of Thomas Cantilupe at Hereford, where an inventory drawn up in 1307 (well before his papal canonization in 1320) counted 170 silver and 41 wax ships, as well as 129 silver images of people or limbs, and a colossal 1,424 figurines in wax, innumerable waxen eyes, breasts, and ears, and much else besides.74 All such items required workmanship, more or less skilled, and it is likely that they, like the candles, were commissioned, or bought ready-made, from craftsmen in Canterbury’s Mercery Lane. In addition to an endless supply of votive and memorial objects, pilgrims needed lodging for a night or two, and food and ale or wine, much of which was provided for a fee by the citizens of Canterbury. Christ Church offered some free lodging to the very poor, and, of course, was expected to entertain the great, but the majority had to fend for themselves in the numerous inns and ale-houses within and without the city walls. It is highly likely that the influx of pilgrims contributed significantly to the commercial development along Burgate Street in the thirteenth century, which is evidenced in the Canterbury rentals.75 It is difficult, if not impossible, to estimate the economic value of this trade, but it must have been considerable. Despite their inconsistencies and lacunae, the surviving accounts provide ample evidence of the financial benefits which the pilgrims brought to the cathedral. The average income from all offerings in Christ Church in the ten years from 1198 to 1207, for example, was £426, of



72 Nilson, Cathedral Shrines, 103. These objects are clearly visible, for example, in the windows recording the cures of Henry of Fordwich and Juliana Puintel: above, at nn. 14 and 17. 73 Ibid., 103, n. 75: ‘Cuius longitudo continebit ambitum siue circuitum dicte ville’; compare Nilson’s translation: ‘which contained in its length the circuit of the border of the said city’. 74 Cf. Nilson, Cathedral Shrines, 101. Silver ships are clearly visible on the depictions of Becket’s shrine on the pilgrim badges illustrated in Spencer, Pilgrim Souvenirs, 98 figg. 73, 73a–c. 75 Above, at n. 49.

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which Becket’s tomb provided £309, the Martyrdom £27, and the Corona £40. Between 1213 and 1220, the offerings at the tomb fluctuated between £300 in 1213/14 and £65 13s. 9d. in 1215/16, the low point being accounted for by the French invasion. After the translation in 1220, the great shrine became and remained the main focus of attention: in 1219/20, it received £702 in offerings, a figure no doubt inflated by the celebrations associated with the elevation of the martyr’s body. Receipts thereafter fluctuated, often in response to economic or political events,76 but Ben Nilson has concluded that the shrine was still attracting £600 per annum at the end of the fourteenth century, and that the decline in its popularity in the fifteenth century was much less marked than hitherto assumed, because changes in the accounting system obscured the true level of the amounts received.77 How far one can extrapolate from these figures to the incomes accruing to the city is difficult to say; but it is likely that the visitors spent at least as much on necessary purchases as they expended in offerings at the stations in the cathedral, and perhaps very much more. It cost the Hospital of St Thomas the Martyr founded by Hubert Walter (1193–1205) 4d per day to accommodate one poor pilgrim,78 for example, and it is unlikely that the commercial premises could operate at less than that. Certainly, the loss to the city from the closure of monasteries in the sixteenth century was such that one exchequer official recommended in 1538 that a mill which had formerly belonged to St Augustine’s Abbey should be assigned to the city as compensation for the loss suffered by innkeepers and victuallers from the cessation of the pilgrim trade.79 Actual numbers are equally difficult to assess. Nilson reckoned that the normal proffer was 1d. sterling.80 Since there were 240 pennies to the pound, the average income of £376 per annum recorded for the Becket stations between 1198 and 1207 suggests that an average of 90,000

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E.g. the crisis of the 1250s and 1260s, which included the baronial rebellion 1258–65. For the detailed accounts of receipts at the various stations down to 1384/5, see Nilson, Cathedral Shrines, 211–15. 77 In earlier times, the shrine-keepers were required to transfer the incomes to the treasurer or prior; in the fifteenth century, they were increasingly made responsible for disbursing considerable sums in stipends and other expenses, including the purchase of wax: Nilson, Cathedral Shrines, 148–53. 78 Nilson, Cathedral Shrines, 184. 79 Ibid., 184–5, citing Geoffrey Baskerville, English Monks and the Suppression of the Monasteries (London: Jonathan Cape, 1937), 23; John Sherren Brewer, et al., Letters and Papers Foreign and Domestic of Henry VIII, 22 vols in 38 (London: Longman, et al., 1862–1932), xiii/2, 475 no. 1142. 80 Ibid., 114.

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pilgrims passed through the city each year. On this estimate, the £702 received at the shrine in 1219/20, the year of the Translation, would have required numbers in excess of 168,000. These figures are truly astonishing, but they are perhaps corroborated by the citizens’ own claim that 100,000 had come in the jubilee year of 1420,81 for which the total income recorded at the Becket stations was £570.82 On the basis of Lincoln evidence, Nilson reckoned that an annual income of £5 required 1,200 pilgrims, ‘while £100 was produced by 24,000’.83 If Nilson’s estimate of £600 per annum for the end of the fourteenth century is accurate, then Canterbury was still attracting an annual 144,000 visitors even after the Black Death (1381). These very large figures are predicated on an average proffer of 1d.; but if a significant number of pilgrims gave more than the basic 1d., then the numbers would have been correspondingly reduced. If even a quarter gave 2d. each, for example, then the figures would be reduced by 25%—as indeed suggested by the 1420 figures, where the estimated 100,000 pilgrims donated £57084—and the higher the status, the larger the proffer may have been. In the late 1170s Jordan FitzEisulf gave four silver pennies at the tomb, two for himself and his wife and two for his resuscitated son,85 and the recorded offerings of some English kings were much more substantial. Scott Robertson showed that Edward I, Edward II, and Edward III generally gave 7s. (84d.) to each of three or all four of the Becket stations, totalling 252d. for three stations and 336d. for four. Such sums are recorded twice for Edward I (1272–1307), three times for Edward II (1307–27), and four times for Edward III (1327–77).86 There were seasonal variations, of course, with the major traffic concentrated in the spring and summer,87 and there were some lean years,88 but the pilgrim ‘trade’ represented an important constituent of the commercial activity of Canterbury’s citizens until the end of the Middle Ages.

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Nilson, Cathedral Shrines, 113. Ibid., 215. 83 Ibid.,, 115. 84 Above, at n. 82. 85 MTB, ii, 230: above, n. 11. 86 Scott Robertson, The Crypt of Canterbury Cathedral, 50, n. On 18 January 1337 (10 Edw. III), Edward III gave a magnificent 20 florins and 60s. to the shrine, in addition to 7s. each to the tomb (mistakenly written ad coronam), the altar of the sword (ad gladium), and the head (ad caput). 87 Nilson, Cathedral Shrines, 116–17. 88 Although only two years fell below £100: 1257/8 (£71 8s. 3d.) and 1262/3 (£82 5s.). See Nilson, Cathedral Shrines, 212, 213. 82

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City and cathedral had good reason to be grateful to their saint, but he was not theirs alone. Canterbury’s St Thomas was held up as an ideal bishop; as a symbol of heroic resistance to violence and injustice; as the defender of the Church, the protector of crusaders, and of the English king. The cities of London and Canterbury put his image on their seals; so, too, did the community of Christ Church and the archbishop himself. Thomas was the patron not only of the London Brewers and the Venetian Coopers, but also of the English law students in Bologna, who gave a feast every year for their fellow students on his feast day, and of the English hospice in Rome. Cistercians, Canons Regular, Benedictines,89 Hospitallers and Templars could all identify with the man who had been educated by the Augustinians at Merton, received asylum from the Cistercians at Pontigny and the Benedictines at Sens, and whose name inspired the English crusaders before the walls of Acre. England and France may have been particularly blessed as the lands of his birth and exile, as one of Benedict’s antiphons had proclaimed in 1173:90

 89

Langenbahn, ‘Von Begegnung zur Verehrung. Thomas von Canterbury’ (above, n. 24), esp. 410–11. 90 Antiphon, Breviarium Sarum, ii, p. cclv. Here I have translated ‘felix’ as ‘fortunate’, ‘favoured’, ‘blessed’, and ‘happy’, to indicate the related meanings of the Latin word, all of which are admissible in the context. On July 5, 1535, more than 350 years after these verses were written, another former chancellor (Thomas More) of another King Henry (VIII) had Benedict’s antiphon in mind when he wrote to his daughter, ‘pray for me, and I shall pray for you and all our friends, that we may merrily meet in heaven’; and he hoped that he would die on the morrow (July 6), since that was St Thomas’s eve (that is, the eve of the ‘Summer St Thomas’ on July 7, which commemorated the Translation of 1220): The Correspondence of Sir Thomas More, ed. Elizabeth Frances Rogers (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1947), 564, cited by Germain Marc’Hadour, ‘La confrontation Becket-Henri II comme paradigme historique’, Cahiers de Civilisation Médiévale Xe–XIIe Siècles, 37 (1994), 101–10, at 103. Thomas had his wish, for he was beheaded on Tower Hill on July 6, 1535.

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Felix locus, felix ecclesia, In qua Thome viget memoria; Felix terra que dedit presulem, Felix illa que fovit exulem; Felix pater, succurre miseris, Ut felices jungamur superis.

Fortunate the place, favoured the church, Where flourishes the memory of Thomas; Fortunate the land that provided the bishop; Favoured that which protected the exile. Oh blessed father, help us poor folk, That we may be happily united in heaven. (trans. AJD)

but the miseri of the antiphon embraced the whole of afflicted humanity,91 and the holy blissful martyr’s benevolent favour extended to every place that cultivated his memory. That memory connected the saint with his shrine and his city, and drew thousands of ordinary men and women to pray for favours, or to give thanks for graces received through his intercession. Whatever may have been the conviction of the reformers who destroyed it in 1538, the shrine did not exist for, and was not sustained by, material considerations. It was not the desire to spend money on food, drink, lodging, and mementoes that brought the pilgrims to Canterbury— although they were a necessary part of the expenditure for those, like Chaucer’s pilgrims, who came from afar—but the belief that the cathedral was hallowed by the life and death of a holy man, and that there, where his earthly remains lay, men and women could experience a particular contact with the divine, by visiting the venerable place of his martyrdom, praying or giving thanks before his shrine, and perhaps taking home a pious token. It mattered little what form the memoria took. A mass-produced tin or pewter badge, a crude ampulla with bad Latin inscriptions, a small



91 It is surely noteworthy that there were significant surges in the offerings at the shrine and corona during periods of particular hardship: after the famines and epidemics of 1315–17, for example, and after the great plague of 1348–9, and its recurrence in 1369–71: Nilson, Cathedral Shrines, 214. The shrine and corona received £550 in 1319/20, for example, and £727 in 1350/1, £551 in 1351/2, £539 in 1370/1, and £563 in 1371/2. Given the high mortality in 1348–9, in which at least one third of the population died, these figures are remarkable.

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figurine—all could be as significant for their owners as Queen Margaret’s gold reliquary, Monreale’s splendid mosaic, or the great windows of Canterbury, Sens, or Chartres. All are testimony to the democratization of the pilgrimage, and to its capacity to involve the broadest possible spectrum of the population. It was this that sustained the cult across the centuries, and that cult was founded on the belief that St Thomas was a martyr, of and for the present time, who could mediate between heaven and earth, whose intercession could bring healing and comfort to tormented souls, and safety to those in peril on the sea.



THE CITIZENS OF CANTERBURY AND THE CULT OF ST THOMAS BECKET MARIE-PIERRE GELIN UNIVERSITY COLLEGE, LONDON

In the last years of the twelfth century, the city of Canterbury chose to adorn the reverse of its official seal with a representation of the murder of Archbishop Thomas Becket in the cathedral of Christ Church, Canterbury. The representation of the event follows the traditional iconographic formula for the scene which was developed in many media in the years following the assassination of the prelate on the evening of 29 December 1170.1 The seal shows Becket kneeling in front of an altar located within an elaborate architectural structure, most probably intended to represent the cathedral, and facing four armed knights brandishing swords. One of the knights (the second from the right) is striking the fatal blow to the prelate’s head. Behind the altar, a standing clerk holds the archiepiscopal cross; he is shown receiving a wound in his right arm from one of the knights.2 Two angels holding censers frame the scene, underlining the sanctity of the subject depicted.

 1

Tancred Borenius, The Iconography of Saint Thomas of Canterbury (Oxford : Society of Antiquaries of London, 1929), 70-104 and St Thomas Becket in Art (London: Methuen, 1932). 2 This representation follows the accounts of the murder which report that Edward Grim, one of the clerks from Becket’s household, was wounded in the arm while trying to protect the archbishop from the knights’ attack, for instance, Edward Grim, Vita sancti Thomae, Cantuariensis archiepiscopi et martyris, in vol. 2 of Materials for the History of Thomas Becket, Rolls Series 67, ed. James C. Robertson (London: Longman & Co, 1876), 437; William FitzStephen, Vita sancti Thomae, Cantuariensis archiepiscopi et martyris, in vol. 3 of Materials for the History of Thomas Becket, Rolls Series 67, ed. James C. Robertson (London: Longman & Co, 1877), 141; Herbert of Bosham, Vita sancti Thomae, archiepiscopi et martyris, in vol. 3 of Materials, 499; Anonymous I, (“Roger of Pontigny”), Vita Sancti Thomae, Cantuariensis archiepiscopi et martyris, in vol. 4 of Materials for the History of Thomas Becket, Rolls Series 67, ed. James C.



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This image is of historical interest for several reasons. As early as the first few decades following the events, the citizens of Canterbury elected to associate the official identity of their city with the image of the archbishop’s martyrdom. This probably testifies to the huge success encountered by the cult of the archbishop, as it had developed in the cathedral right from the night following his murder, and to the importance of that cult for the way in which the inhabitants of Canterbury perceived the identity of their city and the way they chose to define it.3 Beyond this, however, a slight paradox can be felt. Although the representation was obviously important to the city of Canterbury, and although the image on the seal, like most single-scene depictions of this event, follows faithfully the written accounts of the murder produced in the last years of the 1170s, it nonetheless omits one crucial element: apart from Edward Grim, no witness to the scene is represented. While it is true that many of the monks and clerks who accompanied Becket as he was led away from the archiepiscopal palace to seek shelter into the cathedral fled when the altercation between the knights and the archbishop became too heated,4 the cathedral was far from empty, and many bystanders heard and some actually witnessed the attack. There was a heated exchange of words before the first blow was struck, the knights angrily calling the archbishop a “traitor to the king”, and the archbishop addressing them before committing his soul to God.5 The attack took place during vespers, and the choir of the cathedral was occupied by the monastic community celebrating the office, a few steps from where the altercation took place. Numerous inhabitants of the city of Canterbury had, as usual, gathered in the nave of the cathedral to hear the

 Robertson (London: Longman & Co, 1879), 77; Anonymous II (“Lambeth Anynymous”), in vol. 4 of Materials, 131. 3 The same seal was altered in the reign of Henry VIII, when it was recut and the arms of the city of Canterbury used to blot out the representation of the martyrdom. 4 Some of the biograpers were eye-witnesses of the knights’ attack (John of Salisbury, William FitzStephen, Edward Grim, Benedict of Peterborough and William of Canterbury), but only Edward Grim stood by the archbishop when the blows started falling. The others had fled, seeking refuge in other parts of the cathedral, as recounted by William of Canterbury, in vol. 1 of Materials, 133-135. 5 William of Canterbury, in vol. 1 of Materials, 133; Benedict of Peterborough, in vol. 2 of Materials, 12-13; John of Salisbury in vol. 2 of Materials, 319-320; Edward Grim, in vol. 2 of Materials, 435-437; William FitzStephen, in vol. 3 of Materials, 139-141; Herbert of Bosham, in vol. 3 of Materials, 492-499; Anonymous I (“Roger of Pontigny”), in vol. 4 of Materials, 76-77; Anonymous II (“Lambeth Anonymous”) in vol. 4 of Materials, 129-130.



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office.6 This was after all the week after Christmas, a liturgically important time during which probably more laypeople than usual would have been coming to the cathedral for the celebrations. These mostly anonymous laypeople will constitute the main focus of this study. Their presence is mentioned quite briefly by the archbishop’s biographers – and even completely ignored in most iconographic representations – but they were important witnesses of the “murder in the cathedral”. Some of the sources even suggest that they were not simply the “backdrop”, the tapestry against which the events that December evening, took place, but that their role in the development and the spread of the cult of St Thomas Becket was central. I would like to concentrate here on the people from Canterbury who can be traced in the contemporary sources, on their relationships with the new martyr and saint and with the rapidly developing cult which had such a great impact on their city. Who were they? Was their relationship with St Thomas different from that of the other pilgrims who came to seek his help? How were they affected by the presence in their city of the saint who was called “the best doctor”?7 Two texts in particular offer considerable information about the inhabitants of Canterbury and their attitudes towards the murder and the cult of Archbishop Thomas Becket. The miracles worked by the new saint were compiled at Christ Church itself by two monks of the community, Benedict and William, between 1171 and 1179. Benedict, who became prior of Canterbury in 1174, was one of the eye-witnesses of the murder of Thomas Becket, and he became the first custodian of his tomb. He started compiling miracles from early 1171 and the first three books of his compilation were completed by 1173. The fourth book was finished later, possibly after he was elected abbot of Peterborough in 1177. Very little is known about William, except for a few details which appear in his text. He became a monk at Christ Church during Becket’s exile, and was vested



6 William of Canterbury, Vita, Passio et Miracula s. Thomae Cantuariensis archiepiscopi, in vol. 1 of Materials for the History of Thomas Becket, Rolls Series 67, ed. James C. Robertson (London: Longman & Co, 1875), 131; Benedict of Peterborough, Passio sancti Thomae Cantuariensis, in vol. 2 of Materials, 15; Edward Grim, in vol. 2 of Materials, 434-437; William FitzStephen, in vol. 3 of Materials, 138 and 148; Anonymous I (“Roger of Pontigny”), in vol. 4 of Materials, 78. 7 St Thomas Becket is described as “melior medicus” in an inscription in one of the stained glass windows illustrating his miracles in the Trinity Chapel of Canterbury Cathedral (panel 10, window s. II, described by Madeline H. Caviness, Christ Church Cathedral Canterbury, vol. 2 of the Corpus Vitrearum Medii Aevi Great Britain (London: Oxford University Press for the British Academy, 1981), 203.



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and ordained deacon by the archbishop after his return in December 1170.8 He joined Benedict as custodian of the shrine in June 1172, when the crowds of pilgrims had become such that one man could not face the task of recording all the miracles worked by Thomas Becket. The first five books of his compilation were probably finished by July 1174, when they were presented to King Henry II during his penitential pilgrimage to Canterbury. William went on recording miracles until 1178 or 1179, and these miracles make up the sixth book of his compilation.9 The two men worked alongside each other as custodians of the tomb of the archbishop, and though they adopted different approaches to the recording of miracles, their books present an excellent overview of the development of the cult of St Thomas during the crucial decade when it spread most rapidly and grew in fame and importance throughout England and on the Continent.10 Together they compiled just over 700 miracles attributed to the intervention of St Thomas Becket, a vastly more important number than for most other medieval miracle collection. Their books can be said to constitute a rather significant sample of the types of miracles worked by the saint, on the one hand, and on the other, of the different kinds of people benefitting from his intervention. A few of the miracles compiled by Benedict and William concern citizens of Canterbury. While these accounts can help understand what relationship the inhabitants of Canterbury had with St Thomas and with one of the most important cults of medieval Europe, they also reveal the attitude of the two authors – and beyond them possibly the entire monastic community – towards the city surrounding Christ Church.

Thomas Becket and Canterbury In the hagiographic accounts of the life of St Thomas, the laypeople of Canterbury appear very occasionally, and when they do, they are often described as passive witnesses, mere spectators, of the dramatic events of his pontificate. Thomas Becket was elected archbishop of Canterbury in

 8

William of Canterbury, in vol. 1 of Materials, 2 and 119. Didier Lett, « Deux hagiographes, un saint et un roi. Conformisme et créativité dans les deux recueils de Miracula de Thomas Becket », in Auctor et Auctoritas. Invention et conformisme dans l’écriture médiévale, ed. Michel Zimmermann (Paris: Ecole des Chartes, 2001), 202-203 ; Michael Staunton, Thomas Becket and his Biographers (Woodbridge : The Boydell Press, 2006), 50-51. 10 Anne Duggan, “The Cult of St Thomas Becket in the Thirteenth Century”, in Saint Thomas Cantilupe, ed. M. Jancey (Hereford: The Friends of Hereford Cathedral, 1982), 21-44. 9



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1162. Less than three years later, having incurred the king’s wrath, he had to flee England, returning only in December 1170. A few weeks later, he was dead. Though his connection with Canterbury predated his pontificate, his dramatic death had a profound impact on the way the archbishop was perceived in Canterbury. The city and its inhabitants appear only sporadically in the contemporary sources, though there are hints that the relationships between the archbishop and the city may not have been altogether easy. During his time as archdeacon of Canterbury, a position he held between 1154 and 1163, Becket had made few friends in Canterbury, and animosity against him only grew after his election to the archbishopric. His absenteeism and his worldly lifestyle did not give rise to much sympathy. Though he renounced the most visible trappings of his worldly lifestyle after his election to the archiepiscopal see, one of his most controversial actions as archbishop was to put the Canterbury estates in order. There had been considerable losses and encroachments since the Norman Conquest, and he endeavoured to recover what he could. He put the skills he had acquired as chancellor to the task, and soon acquired a reputation for avarice and ruthlessness. In particular, he alienated many local landowners, who saw his attempts at recovering Canterbury land as arbitrary, and increasingly incurred royal displeasure.11 This ill-will and mistrust might explain why some of the inhabitants of the city took advantage of the seizure of the archbishop’s property in 1164 to increase their fortune and improve their situation. The most notorious was undoubtedly Ranulf de Broc, a nobleman of the king’s household who, along with other members of his family, played an important role in the final years of Thomas Becket’s life. After Henry II had seized the archbishopric, he entrusted it to Ranulf, who derived a very substantial annual income of more than £1,560 from it.12 Thomas accused him and his kinsmen to have ravaged the archbishopric’s estate during their administration.13 In June 1166, Thomas pronounced a sentence of excommunication against him and several other men, accusing them of usurping the archbishopric’s possessions. Although Ranulf himself was

 11

Frank Barlow, Thomas Becket, (London: Weidenfeld and Nicholson, 1986), 8384; Anne Duggan, Thomas Becket (London: Arnold, 2004), 34-37. 12 “Rex anglorum (…) jubet in crastino Natalis statim archiepiscopum omnibus possessionibus destitui, et ecclesiam Cantuariensem, cum omnibus terris et accessionibus ejus, et omnes ecclesias et reditus omnium clericorum ipsius, in manum suam recipi”, William FitzStephen, in vol. 3 of Materials, 75. Frank Barlow, Thomas Becket (London: Weidenfeld and Nicholson, 1986), 125. 13 William of Canterbury, in vol. 1 of Materials, 84.



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not a resident of Canterbury, it seems that his nephews, Robert and William, lived in the city. Robert’s help was enlisted to lead the four knights across the archiepiscopal precincts and palace on the afternoon of 29 December 1170.14 William is one of the citizens who benefit from a miraculous cure from St Thomas a few years after these events. There is indeed evidence that the martyred archbishop did not hold grudges against those men who had taken advantage of the troubled political situation during his exile. St Thomas showed himself magnanimous towards them and their families after his death. William of Broc, Ranulf’s nephew, was for example cured from recurring fevers and a swelling of the chest and stomach by St Thomas’ intervention.15 It also possible that the woman named Aeliz, whose cure was recorded in one of the compilations of miracles, was the wife of Alan of Ratling, a local landowner who had been excommunicated by the archbishop in 1169 for his invasion of the see’s rights.16 Many among the Canterbury population must have been working, directly or indirectly, for the archbishop and his household, in particular during the prelate’s periods of residence in the city, though these seem to have been few and far between. The growing rift between Henry II and Thomas Becket, culminating in the dispute concerning the Constitutions of Clarendon, must have created tensions, as people found themselves forced to take sides. When Thomas Becket chose to leave England on 13 October 1164, to escape from the threatened wrath of the king,17 the situation of these people undoubtedly became precarious. They were left without a patron, and defenceless in the face of the king and his supporters. Not only were their positions and incomes jeopardized by the prolonged absence of the archbishop,18 but their lives were disrupted in many ways, as the archbishop’s religious and judicial duties were left unfulfilled. The religious organisation of the diocese was put under serious strain by Becket’s departure. For six years, Becket was unable to discharge the normal religious duties of a bishop with regard to his diocese (such as ordinations of clergy, visitations of churches and consecrations of sacred spaces). The king’s supporters in the area even took advantage of this

 14

Benedict of Peterborough, in vol. 2 of Materials, 10. Benedict of Peterborough, in vol. 2 of Materials, 128. 16 Ibid., 152-153. The account of the excommunication can be found in vol. 6 of Materials, 602. William Urry, Canterbury under the Angevin Kings (London: The Athlone Press, University of London, 1967), 56 and 182. 17 Anne Duggan, Thomas Becket, chapter 3, in particular 73-83. 18 Frank Barlow, Thomas Becket, 126, details the fate of some of the members of the archbishop’s household after the king’s sentence of exile. 15



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vacuum to impose their own men in certain churches, forcing out the priests and clerks faithful to Becket, a situation denounced by some of Becket’s biographers.19 More dramatically, in the weeks following Thomas Becket’s departure from England, Henry II turned his anger against the members of the archbishop’s familia, his whole family and household, both clerical and lay, seizing their property and condemning them to follow Becket in exile.20 Among these people could have been people from Canterbury.21 Similarly, the administration of justice in the diocese must have been widely disrupted by the absence of the archbishop. Sitting in various courts was an important part of a medieval prelate’s duties and Herbert of Bosham, in his detailed account of the archbishop’s daily routine, stresses that he spent every morning sitting as a judge.22 The biographer known as Anonymous I or Roger of Pontigny described how Thomas, on returning triumphantly to Canterbury in early December 1170, immediately resumed his judicial duties, making sure that those who had been oppressed under an unjust rule (that is to say, at the hands of the king’s men during the exile) should get a fair hearing again.23 Beyond the hagiographic tropes of the saint as administrator of the perfect justice, and as the restorer of order after chaos, it is nonetheless possible to imagine the vacuum that Becket’s prolonged absence must have created in and around Canterbury. The situation was therefore complex. Some people had obviously taken advantage of the troubled situation in which the archdiocese was left by the abrupt departure of Thomas Becket in 1164, as well as by the seizure of the archbishopric’s estates by the crown. Ordinary life must have been disrupted, to a degree, by the prolonged absence of archbishop, but the sources do not afford much insight into how the general population was

 19

Anonymous I (“Roger of Pontigny”), in vol. 4 of Materials, 69. Herbert of Bosham, in vol. 3 of Materials, 358-359. Some of these people were able to escape this sentence by paying heavy fines, Frank Barlow, Thomas Becket , 126. 21 Frank Barlow suggested that one of Becket’s siters, Roheise, who received land in Canterbury and settled there after the archbishop’s death, could have had a previous association with the city, Frank Barlow, Thomas Becket, 30. 22 Herbert of Bosham, in vol. 3 of Materials, 219-226. 23 « faciebat quoque justitiam his qui iniquo oppressi fuerant judicio, personarumque acceptione prorsus postposita, nulli contra justitiam parcebat, sed in multa libertate spiritus juste quod justum erat prosequebatur », Anonymous I (“Roger of Pontigny”), in vol. 4 of Materials, 69. On the question of the identification of the two “anonymous” biographers, see Frank Barlow, Thomas Becket, 1-9, and more recently, Michael Staunton, Biographers, 34-35 and 39-40. 20



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actually affected by these events. It is only after the night of the murder that some individuals gradually emerge from their anonymity.

The murder and the first miracles Thomas Becket may not have been a very popular archbishop, but his return to England was enthusiastically welcomed by the people of Kent. He was received at Sandwich by exuberant crowds, and along his route to Canterbury, his progress was accompanied by a great concourse of people, both lay and clerical, rejoicing and singing hymns and psalms. There are overtones of Christ’s entry into Jerusalem in the way his arrival at Canterbury is described by his biographers.24 A few weeks later, the sermons preached by the archbishop during the Christmas celebrations drew considerable crowds to Canterbury Cathedral.25 On the afternoon of 29 December 1170, when the four knights finally arrived at Canterbury after crossing the Channel and gathering a small force of men, they first tried to encourage the population of Canterbury to rise against the archbishop and to accompany them to the palace to bring the archbishop to reason. When the townspeople showed little enthusiasm, they were ordered to refrain from intervention, whatever they might see or hear.26 Thomas Becket may have alienated some people, but the ill feelings against him did not lead to any undue physical violence on the part of the majority of the townspeople. The presence of Canterbury townspeople in the cathedral at the time of the attack against Thomas Becket is attested by several accounts of the event. Anonymous I mentions this presence when he notes that one of the knights feared that the archbishop would “be saved by the people who had gathered to hear vespers”.27 He then describes the “multitude of the people” (“multitudine populi”) who had to be evacuated from the church

 24

“Processerunt autem ei obviam in laetitia et exsultatione monachi cum clero et populo universo, eumque gaudentes et Deum magnis vocibus collaudantes in locum suum introduxerunt. Circa viginti vero dies ante nativitatem Domini Cantuariam ingressus est”, Anonymous I (“Roger of Pontigny”), in vol. 4 of Materials, 69. 25 As illustrated in a panel of the stained glass window dedicated to the life of St Thomas Becket in Sens cathedral. See William FitzStephe and Herbert of Bosham, in vol. 3 of Materials, 130-131 and 484-485 26 William FitzStephen, in vol. 3 of Materials, 132. 27 « a populo, qui ad audiendas vesperas convenerat, eriperetur », in vol. 4 of Materials, 76.



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after the murder.28 William FitzStephen adds that the monks had to set up a perimeter, hastily erected with benches, around the spot where the archbishop had fallen, to prevent the crowd from trampling all over it.29 The biographers probably had a vested interest in making it sound like the murder had had numerous witnesses; if nothing else, it strengthened the sense of outrage provoked by the attack, and allowed them to present it as a quasi-public execution. It seems however certain that laypeople were present in perhaps slightly larger numbers than usual in the cathedral. During the octave of Christmas, the cathedral, dedicated to the Saviour (Christ Church), and its lavish liturgical celebrations would have been a particular focus of devotion for the townspeople, and the recent return of the archbishop to Canterbury would have constituted a further draw. More importantly, however, the laypeople who were in the cathedral on the evening of 29 December are described by the biographers as the first ones to recognize what could be called Thomas Becket’s “potential of sanctity”. The role they played in the development of the cult of St Thomas, often from the very night of the murder, is accordingly mentioned by several writers. Benedict of Peterborough, among others, mentions how several townspeople who had witnessed the murder made sure to collect some of the archbishop’s blood spilled on the floor of the church, after the knights had left, but before the monks dared to come near the body. He describes how some of them dipped their fingers in the blood and rubbed their eyes with it, others soaked some fabric with it, and others still filled vials with some of the blood in order to keep it and to use it as medicine and relic.30 It can be noted in passing how the central elements of the cult of Saint Thomas – the importance of the blood spilled in the cathedral, the way it rapidly acquired the status of relic, and its medicinal uses – were put in place in the minutes following the death of the archbishop, at least according to what the hagiographers wrote in retrospect. The attitude of the Canterbury townspeople can be contrasted with the reluctance displayed, at least initially, towards the murdered archbishop by the monastic community. Thomas Becket’s return in England in December 1170 had been fraught with controversy and danger. The political status

 28

Anonymous I (“Roger of Pontigny”) in vol. 4 of Materials, 78. « et ne conculcaretur locus ille pedibus transeuntium, scamna portabilia transponunt », William FitzStephen, in vol. 3 of Materials, 148. 30 Benedict of Peterborough, in vol. 2 of Materials, 15-16. I have analysed the very strong eucharistic overtones of the cult of St Thomas in my book, “Lumen ad revelationem gentium” : iconographie et liturgie à Christ Church, Canterbury, 1175-1220 (Turnhout : Brepols, 2006), 270-277. 29



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quo which had prevailed in the Canterbury area since his departure in 1164 was indeed being threatened. The de Broc family, in particular, had a lot to lose in the event of a reconciliation between Henry II and Thomas Becket. Even if the archbishop lifted the excommunications pronounced against those who had despoiled him and the archbishopric, Ranulf and his associates still stood to lose the lucrative income from the archbishopric’s estates, and they could legitimately fear that their positions would be undermined by any compromise reached by the king and the prelate. Threats of physical violence were pronounced against the body of the archbishop, and against whoever dared to honour him as a martyr.31 The monks were divided regarding what to do with Thomas Becket’s remains, and his body was originally buried in secret, without a mass (the church had been desecrated by the use of weapons and the spilling of blood), in an anonymous grave in the crypt of the cathedral.32 Thanks to their physical proximity with the martyr’s remains, the citizens of Canterbury figure prominently in accounts of the St Thomas’ miracles. They were among the very first beneficiaries of the martyr’s healing powers. According to the Life of St Thomas written by William FitzStephen, the first miracle (“primum signorum”) occurred on the very night of the murder. A Canterbury resident, who was in the cathedral at the time of the attack, had dipped his shirt in the blood of the archbishop. Back home, he washed his garment and gave the water tinged with blood to his paralytic wife. Having drunk it, she was immediately cured.33 FitzStephen adds that this cure was the first to use what was to become the specific modus operandi of the saint, the administration of what soon became known as the “acqua sancti Thomae”, or “water of St Thomas”,

 31

The Letters of John of Salisbury, vol. 2, The Late Letters, 1163-1180, ed. W.J. Millor & C.N.L. Brooke (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1979), 734. 32 Benedict of Peterborough, in vol. 2 of Materials, 16-17; Edward Grim, in vol. 2 of Materials, 439-440; William FitzStephen, in vol. 3 of Materials, 148-149; Herbert of Bosham, in vol. 3 of Materials, 521-522; Anonymous I (“Roger of Pontigny”), in vol. 4 of Materials, 78-79. 33 « Siquidem unus civium Cantuariensium, qui martyrio ejus inter caeteros spectator adfuit, sanguinis ipsius aliquid camisiae suae intixit. Habebat enim domi suam uxorem jam pridem paralyticam. Quae cum a viro suo domum reverso de passione et constantia sancti martyris ex ordine didicisset, (quod quidem in tumultu et flentium lacrymis et narrantium voce incondita audierat,) cumque sanguine sanctum in viri veste oculis aspiceret ; fide ad Dominum devota, spe ad salutem erecta, voto ad martyrem supplica, petivit lavari et recipi in aqua sanguinem, ut hauriret salutem. Ita factum est, et illa illico curata est. Hoc fecit Deus primum signorum pro martyre suo statim in ipsa nocte. », William FitzStephen, in vol. 3 of Materials, 149-150.



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that is to say water to which a few drops of the martyr’s blood had been added. Subsequently, pilgrims would be able to purchase vials or ampullae, initially made of wood and later of lead, filled with the precious liquid to bring back home.34 The Canterbury townspeople, at least some of them, can be counted among the active protagonists of the events of that fateful December evening. Their enthusiasm for the developing cult was immediate, and less reserved than that of the monks of the Christ Church community. From what the biographers and compilers report, they played a crucial role in defining which elements would become central in the cult of St Thomas, as well as in the dissemination of the archbishop’s reputation as a healer. But can the writers always be trusted when it comes to giving us a fair representation of the laypeople who flocked to Thomas’s shrine?

Benedict, William, and the citizens After the murder, the cathedral, which had been desecrated by the attack and by the blood spilled, remained deserted for almost a year. It was reconciled and reopened to liturgical celebrations on 21 December 1171.35 Meanwhile, the crypt where Thomas Becket had been hurriedly buried the day after his murder had to be opened to the pilgrims who had started to flock to Canterbury, drawn by the increasing number of miracles performed by the Saint. By Easter 1171, when Ranulf de Broc’s nephew, William, was cured at the tomb,36 the attitude of the authorities towards the developing cult must have changed sufficiently for access to be granted to the crypt and the tomb. It seems likely that at around this time it was judged desirable to start recording the accounts of cures and miracles performed by St Thomas, as reported by grateful pilgrims. In spite of the threats mentioned above, Thomas Becket’s friends and relations had soon started campaigning for

 34

William FitzStephen, in vol. 3 of Materials, 150. Many miracles concern the “acqua sancti Thomae” itself, in particular its changing into milk or oil,, and its miraculous restoration and multiplication, see for instance the miracles recorded by William, in vol. 1 of Materials, 354-357 (where the miracle is linked to the doctrine of the sacraments by the author), 451-452; Benedict of Peterborough, in vol. 2 of Materials, 49-54. 35 Edward Grim, in vol. 2 of Materials, 443. Landsdowne Manuscript, in vol. 4 of Materials, 169, and the two papal letters ordering the reconciliation and reconsecration of the cathedral, in vol. 7 of Materials, 551-552 (wrongly put under the year 1173). 36 Benedict of Peterborough, in vol. 2 of Materials, 128.



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the archbishop to be inscribed to the calendar of saints and martyrs.37 In this context, it must have seemed expedient to keep track of the miracles accomplished by the murdered archbishop, with a view to putting together evidence for a possible canonization process.38 As mentioned above, the task was first entrusted to the monk Benedict, who accepted it after receiving a series of visions where the saint urged him to undertake the compilation of his miracles.39 As the number of miracles kept increasing, another monk, William, joined him in June 1172, also after being visited by St Thomas in a series of dreams and visions.40 Over the next eight years, Benedict and then William compiled over 700 miracles - 265 for Benedict and 438 in William’s collection - which record the stories of pilgrims who came to St Thomas’ shrine to give thanks for a miraculous intervention from a variety of backgrounds and locations, from all over England and Europe, but also in a number of cases from Canterbury itself. The pilgrims interviewed by Benedict overwhelmingly came from England; over the years, as the cult spread, pilgrims visited from more distant locations, an evolution reflected in William’s account. It is not always easy to ascertain where these pilgrims came from, as our two authors do not systematically record their place of origin. From the information they give, however, it appears that the beneficiary of a miracle is specifically identified as “from Canterbury” in 27 cases, 21 in Benedict’s compilation and 6 in William’s.41 These last figures may not seem like much when compared to the overall total of recorded miracles. But the Canterbury townspeople are nonetheless those who, proportionally speaking, benefit the most from the miraculous intervention of the saint. This is not very surprising, as they enjoyed greater ease of access not only to the saint’s shrine, but more crucially to

 37

As early as January 1171, John of Salisbury wrote to his friend John of Canterbury, bishop of Poitiers to ask whether it was possible “an citra Romani pontificis auctoritatem tutum sit in missarum sollempnis et aliis publicis orationibus eum in cathalogo martirum tamquam salutis praesidem inuocare” ( in vol. 2 of The Letters of John of Salisbury, 736).  38 Eventually, no canonization process took place, as Pope Alexander III added St Thomas to the calendar of saints with the bull Redolet Anglia of February 23, 1173, in vol. 7 of Materials, 547-548. 39 Benedict of Peterborough, in vol. 2 of Materials, 27. 40 William of Canterbury, in vol. 1 of Materials, 2. 41 According to the statistics compiled by Ronald Finucane, 531 people are identified by their place of origin in the compilations. 360 of them hailed from the British Isles and a quarter of these came from Kent and Canterbury itself. Ronald C. Finucane, Miracles and Pilgrims. Popular Beliefs in Medieval England (2nd edition, London: MacMillan, 1995), 164-166.



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the monks compiling the accounts. It was furthermore easier for the compilers to verify the truthfulness of the account, thus making those miracles particularly attractive for their purpose. If the aim of Benedict and William was overall the same – that is to say to demonstrate and celebrate the sanctity and power of the martyr whose remains lay in Canterbury Cathedral – it seems that the means they chose to achieve those aims were quite different. Consequently, the miracles they chose to record could be said to reflect two distinct authorial strategies, which we are going to identify. A striking difference between the two compilations is the number of miracles concerning Canterbury inhabitants they each record. The difference is particularly obvious when one compares this number to the overall sum of accounts included by William (out of 438 accounts, only six deal with Canterbury townspeople). It might be possible to explain this difference by looking at the dates at which the two compilers started working, as well as by considering their intended audiences and the ways in which they chose to address them. Benedict began collecting miracle stories very early on, probably as soon as the cathedral was reopened to the faithful in 1171, around Easter time (28 March).42 His compilation follows a roughly chronological order, at least initially, and the first miracles he recorded, though they are not the very first miracles to have occurred, denote the beginnings of the cult, when it was still semi-clandestine and unofficial. In those days, the cult seems to have attracted people mostly from the local area and of relatively modest social background. The beneficiaries of St Thomas’ miraculous powers thus include the sons of Godfric the baker,43 and a poor man of the city, presented as “a certain Manwin, a poor man, who was nonetheless well known in the city”.44 Furthermore, most of the miracles concerning Canterbury townspeople (13 out of 21) have women as their beneficiaries. This indicates that, at its inception, the cult of St Thomas Becket shared many characteristics of other cults of healing saints, such as those of St Frideswide in Oxford or St Godric of Finchale: these cults appealed mostly to women, and attracted essentially people from the lower levels of society.45 15 of the 21 miracles are clustered in the first half of Benedict’s account, which is at this point still organised chronologically, and they

 42

Benedict of Peterborough, in vol. 2 of Materials, 35. Ibid., 58-59. 44 “quidam Manwinus, pauper quidem, sed in urbe tamen notissimus”, Benedict of Peterborough, in vol. 2 of Materials, 59. 45 Ronald C. Finucane, Miracles and Pilgrims, 126-129. 43



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seem to occur in relatively rapid succession.46 The remaining six miracles appear further apart, and seem to decrease in frequency as the fame – and the legitimacy – of the archbishop grew and as pilgrims began arriving from far flung regions. This tendency is even more remarkable in William’s compilation: only six miracles out of a total of over 430 had Canterbury inhabitants as beneficiaries. Begun several months after Benedict’s record, probably in June 1172, William’s account follows from the start a thematic plan rather than a chronological one. The miracles are grouped by type of cure or intervention, or even according to the social status of the beneficiaries. Probably continued up to 1179, William’s collection undoubtedly reflected the way the cult evolved as it spread. Pilgrims from southern England still make up the bulk of his accounts, however many miracles he recorded tend to have happened further afield, all over England and even on the Continent, and a considerable proportion of the pilgrims interviewed by the monk had travelled over great distances to offer their thanks in person at Canterbury.47 This was no doubt a result of the rapid spread of the fame of the martyred archbishop throughout Europe. His canonisation in February 1173 must have given added impetus to the blossoming cult by making it official and establishing a universal feast day for its celebration. The miracles William chose to include in his compilation indicate that by the time he was writing, there may have been less of an onus on the writer to demonstrate the sanctity of the archbishop. In this second stage of the development of St Thomas’s cult, the demographics of the pilgrims change noticeably: this time, they are mostly male, with more members of the better-off layers of society, such as members of the clergy and of the aristocracy. This seems to have been one of the defining features of the Becket cult: in contrast to other English cults, it was international, and attracted mostly male pilgrims from the upper echelons of society.48 Three of the six miracles which interest us here benefited members of the clergy (two monks from the Christ Church community and one priest) and a knight.49 William does not explicitly mention the social status of the remaining two Canterbury townspeople,

 46

Between pages 41 and 71 of the second volume of the printed Materials. In addition to the numerous cures and miracles which happened in northern England, Normandy or northern France, William recorded miraculous interventions in Italy, Sicily, Holland, Germany and Sweden (see for instance vol. 1 of Materials, 447, 452, 455, 521, 534, 539, 541, 544-45). 48 Ronald C. Finucane, Miracles and Pilgrims, 126. 49 William of Canterbury, in vol. 1 of Materials, 164-165, 321-323, 354-357, and 378-380. 47



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but they benefited from miracles which could indicate that they were possibly of a higher social and economic class. In the first case, St Thomas helped a Canterbury citizen recover a hawk he had lost,50 while in the second he saved a woman from the city who had almost choked on a bone. She discharged the bone through her nose after invoking the saint, and William underlines that she was being punished for indulging her appetites.51 Owning a hawk, as well as the possibility of gluttony, could indicate that we are here dealing with citizens of a social status slightly above the average. These six miracles do seem to be representative of William’s collection as a whole.52 These notable differences in the types of miracles included, as well as in the beneficiaries of the miracles, between Benedict and William’s compilations could also be explained by the different audiences the two authors were hoping to address. Benedict’s compilation was written at the request of the monks and was in all likelihood intended to be used within the monastery, for readings to the community and the pilgrims in the chapter house.53 His presentation of the beneficiaries as people who were well known in the city further suggests that he was addressing a local audience who could readily identify the individuals mentioned. His repeated use of the first person plural in his accounts (“a woman we knew”, “we knew indeed a man”) creates besides a sense of proximity, almost intimacy between the author, his audience and the protagonists of the accounts.54 William wrote his account for a rather different use. William reports how St Thomas himself, during one of the visions the monk received, had enjoined him to write a new compilation so it could be presented to King Henry II.55 The king received the work – at least the first five books – when he did his penitential pilgrimage to Canterbury in July 1174. Without going as far as Didier Lett, who suggested that William wrote his

 50

William of Canterbury, in vol. 1 of Materials, 502-503. “Cantuariae mulier quaedam, dum gulose pranderet olus, poenam gulositatis incurrit”, William of Canterbury, in vol. 1 of Materials, 465-466. 52 Didier Lett, in Auctor & Auctoritas, 201-216. 53 Benedict of Peterborough, in vol. 2 of Materials, 26-27. Didier Lett, in Auctor et Auctoritas, 203. 54 “matronam quandam novimus”; “Godelivam quandam Cantuariensem novimus”; “Novimus enim viri, natione Flandrensis, civis vero Cantuariensis, Ertini, conjugem Matildem nomine”, Benedict of Peterborough, in vol. 2 of Materials, 64, 81. 55 William of Canterbury, in vol. 1 of Materials, 2 and 137-138. 51



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compilation with the aim of rehabilitating Henry II,56 it is nonetheless likely that William had in mind a noble and courtly audience. This would provide an explanation for the important number of miracles concerning members of the aristocracy. It would also explain what could be perceived as a relative contempt for people of humbler origin. These make up only a small fraction (9%) of the miracles William recorded. As pointed out by Michael Staunton, William’s account denotes an attempt by the Canterbury community at shaping the Becket cult. Trying to give it a wider, more universal appeal would have been part of that effort.57 The two compilations can also be distinguished by the types of miracles they record. As noted before, the miracles concerning Canterbury townspeople tend to be representative of the miracles in the collections as a whole. It is in this regard striking that the miracles recorded by Benedict should overwhelmingly be healing cures, except for two, which recount situations where individuals were warned and rebuked by the saint in order to elicit more seemly and more Christian behaviour in the recipients. Matilda and her husband cannot reach the saint’s tomb, because they have offended him; they are only allowed to get near it after searching their consciences and repenting.58 Godeliva is warned that she must limit her contacts with the Jewish population of the city, as they are putting her soul in danger.59 Conversely, only two of the miracles recorded by William report healing cures: a monk of the Christ Church community is cured of a cough, and a woman from the city is saved from choking on a bone.60 The miracles in William’s account are more varied in nature; they deal with the martyr’s blood changed into milk, a thief caught and punished, a ship saved at sea, and, as mentioned earlier, a hawk lost and then recovered. William does include healing miracles in his book (it is after all the most common intervention of the saint who was called “the best doctor”), but his account presents a more varied assortment of miraculous interventions. A few words are needed here about the representation of the miracles of St Thomas in the stained glass windows of the Trinity Chapel in Canterbury Cathedral, created in the last two decades of the twelfth century and the first years of the thirteenth century. A vast iconographic cycle dedicated to the life and miracles of St Thomas was originally displayed in these windows. Unique in size and ambition, the cycle

 56

D. Lett, in Auctor et auctoritas, 212. William includes a rather strong criticism of the war waged by Henry II in Ireland. 57 Michael Staunton, Biographers, 52. 58 Benedict of Peterborough, in vol. 2 of Materials, 81-82. 59 Ibid., 71. 60 William of Canterbury, in vol. 1 of Materials, 164-165 and 465-466.



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surrounded the magnificent shrine where Thomas Becket’s remains were moved in July 1220. Originally spanning twelve lancets, the cycle opened with the life of the archbishop, probably the first two windows on the north side of the Trinity Chapel) and then recounted, over ten windows, many of the miraculous interventions of the saint. The windows were severely damaged over time, but scenes remain in seven of the twelve windows.61 The remaining panels describe mostly healing cures, many of which happened in the cathedral, at the archbishop’s tomb,62 and often record the thanksgivings and offerings of grateful pilgrims. It is not always possible to ascertain who the beneficiaries of the miracles were, but when the scenes can be identified, it seems that they were taken from Benedict and William’s compilations. Unfortunately, none of the panels still visible today in the cathedral tells the story of a Canterbury inhabitant, with the possible exception of the cure of a woman called Ethelreda, which happened before Easter 1171.63 According to Benedict, who recorded her story, Ethelreda suffered from quartan fever, and arrived at the shrine exhausted, looking pale and ashen. As soon as she drank some of the martyr’s blood, her colour and her strength immediately returned. Benedict tells us that Ethelreda “dwelled in Canterbury” (“Cantuariae degentem”), but he immediately points out that she hailed from another location (“aliunde genitam”).64 It is therefore highly probable that she was only a visiting pilgrim, attracted by the growing reputation of St Thomas’ miracles, and spending some time in the town in the hope that the saint would answer her prayers – as he did eventually. It is not possible to know whether other panels represented Canterbury townspeople. As the windows were created and put in place in the last decade of the twelfth and the early years of the thirteenth century, it can be surmised that, like the compilers of the miracle collections, the creators of the windows may have aimed to show that the action of the saint was not limited to Canterbury, but extended much further. Although working side by side, Benedict and William had a rather different approach to their task of recording St Thomas’s miracles for posterity. Their choice of stories shows how the cult evolved in the few

 61

Madeline H. Caviness, Windows of Christ Church, 158-161. In this case, the tomb represented in the windows is the one which was located in the crypt, since the windows were probably put in place before the translation of Becket’s relics to the Trinity Chapel in 1220 (Madeline Caviness, Windows of Christ Church, 163). 63 Window n. IV, panels 7 and 8, Madeline Caviness, Windows of Christ Church, 184-185. The two panels were extensively restored in the 19th century. 64 Benedict of Peterborough, in vol. 2 of Materials, 54. 62



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years following the death of the archbishop, from that of an essentially local healing saint to the celebration of a near universal and omnipotent figure. In operating their selection, they also revealed their own biases and preferences.

The city and the monastery This raises the question of the relationships which existed between the Canterbury townspeople and the monastic community in charge of organising and managing Saint Thomas’ cult. At times, Benedict and William’s text reveal the author’s attitudes – one could almost say the prejudices – towards the population of the city which surrounded the monastery. Much of what is known about Canterbury in this period is owed to the painstaking study of Christ Church document and charter evidence by William Urry over forty years ago.65 By bringing together his fascinating analysis with Benedict and William’s collections, it is possible to shed some light on the interactions between city and monastery. At the end of the twelfth century, Canterbury was a rather small city, dominated, both physically and economically, by the two monastic houses of Christ Church and St Augustine’s. According to William Urry’s estimates, there were probably no more than a few thousands inhabitants.66 Located on the road between Dover and London, Canterbury was however a thriving staging post between the Channel coast and the capital. Consequently, it housed a population with varied origins and occupations.67 This is reflected in the miracle collections, though the authors do not give much information concerning the professions and occupations of the beneficiaries. Benedict mentions a man named Ertin, a native of Flanders but nonetheless a citizen of Canterbury, and his wife Matilda.68 The rentals kept by the monks of Christ Church show that Ertin was probably a member of a small but prosperous community of Flemings residing in Canterbury; the fact that Benedict notes that he was a citizen of Canterbury may be a sign that he had been a resident there for some time. The occupation of Ertin is not mentioned, but the closeness to the Channel, and beyond to the Flemish ports, may allow to suppose that this

 65

William Urry, Canterbury under the Angevin Kings (London: The Athlone Press, University of London, 1967). 66 William Urry, Canterbury, 169-172. 67 Ibid., 172 ff. 68 “viri, natione Flandrensis, civis vero Cantuariensis”, Benedict of Peterborough, in vol. 2 of Materials, 81.



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community may have been essentially engaged in trade. Benedict also records the testimony of Godric the baker, whose three sons were cured by St Thomas.69 For his part, William mentions the profession of only one of the beneficiaries of St Thomas’ miracles: Tubert, a priest from the neighbourhood of Canterbury, but native of the city.70 This Tubert was a member of the large clerical community of Canterbury. Besides the monks from the two monasteries, some of which were either priests or deacons, there must have been about eighty priests or clerks in Canterbury at the end of the twelfth century, ministering the parish churches, of which there were 22 around 1200.71 Neither Benedict nor William are particularly explicit when it comes to the exact relationship between the pilgrims who came to the tomb of St Thomas and the monks. Simply relying on their accounts, it would be easy to imagine that the monastery was pretty much cut off from the rest of the population of the city. If complete isolation from worldly affairs was the ideal at the origin of Benedictine monasticism, by the end of the twelfth century it was far from being the case in reality, as the monks were part of a dense network of economic, social and personal relations which linked them closely with the townspeople. This can be, at times, glimpsed in the miracle compilations. Benedict in particular mentions several times that the beneficiary of a miracle was well known, not only in the city, but also by himself and the community. This is for instance the case of Manwin, “very well known in the city”, of Edmund, “a young man born in Canterbury and very well known there”, of Ethelburga and Godeliva, both described as “a woman whom we knew”, or of the couple Ertin and Matilda.72 Benedict and William, as custodians of the shrine and responsible for collecting and recording miracle accounts, were obviously in a particularly good position to get to know some of the townspeople, especially those who came regularly and often to petition the saint for a cure. These mentions, however, could reveal that the monastic community – at least some of the

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Benedict of Peterborough, in vol. 2 of Materials, 58-59. “Tubertus quidam, Cantuariae natus quorumdamque ejusdem civitatis civium cognatus, sacerdotale ministrat officium octavo circiter milliario ab urbe Cantuariorum”, William of Canterbury, in vol. 1 of Materials, 354 71 W. Urry, Canterbury, 170 and 210-211. 72 “in urbe tamen notissimus”; “Eadmundus, juvenis et natus et satis notus Cantuariae”; “matronam quandam novimus”; “Godelivam quandam Cantuariensem novimus”; “Novimus enim viri, natione Flandrensis, civis vero Cantuariensis, Ertini, conjugem Matildem nomine”, Benedict of Peterborough, in vol. 2 of Materials, 59, 62, 64, 81. 70



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monks – had more extensive dealings with the laypeople of the city, enough at least to get to know some of them rather well. These dealings could have taken several forms. The pastoral duties of the monastic community were relatively limited. As mentioned before, the city was well provided with parish churches, and a substantial group of secular clerks ministered to the daily religious needs of the population. The monastery did however provide some service to the townspeople – we saw earlier in the accounts of Thomas Becket’s murder that laypeople had access to the cathedral during the liturgical celebrations. This may not have been enough to afford the monks the kind of good knowledge of individual townspeople that Benedict seems to refer to, but one of the duties of the community was the giving out of alms to the poor of the city, and this may have contributed to creating links between monks and citizens. Manwin, presented by Benedict as “a poor man, but very well known”, may have been such a beneficiary.73 Furthermore, some of the members of the community were beyond doubt related to local families. The rentals analysed by William Urry reveal that not only several of the monks had brought some plots of land in the city as patrimony when they became members of the monastery, but that members of their families lived within the city limits too. Many aristocratic and wealthy Canterbury families gave one of their sons to the monastery.74 The links with the city could therefore have been quite close, and a way for the monks to acquire knowledge of some of the townspeople. The monastic community of Christ Church was one of the main landlords in Canterbury, and it owned many plots in the city itself and in the immediate surroundings. William Urry estimated that between a third and half of the land in Canterbury was owned by Christ Church at the end of the twelfth century.75 These plots of land were rented out to, among others, the laypeople of the city, who found themselves in the position of tenants of the monks. Renting out the plots and houses, collecting the rents, dealing with the tenants, could all have provided opportunities for the monks to become more familiar with the inhabitants of the city, though this relation is at no point explicitly mentioned by either of the compilers. Christ Church was besides one of the main employers in Canterbury. William Urry noted that “there is no doubt that a large proportion of the inhabitants of Canterbury made a living out of the monks”,76 and Christ Church, with its community of around a hundred monks who needed food,

 73

Benedict of Peterborough, in vol. 2 of Materials, 59. William Urry, Canterbury, 153-156. 75 Ibid., 23. 76 Ibid., 163. 74



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drink, clothes, and all the goods and materials necessary to monastic life, must have dominated the economic life of the city. In her study of Westminster Abbey at the end of the Middle Ages, Barbara Harvey estimated that the number of servants in a large monastic house must have been at least twice the number of monks.77 Though her estimate relies mostly on late medieval sources, the situation at the end of the twelfth century was probably not very different. Many townspeople must have found themselves working, at one time or another, and in one capacity or another, for the monastic community. Echoes of this economic dependency of the city towards the monastery can be heard in some of Benedict’s accounts. Godfric the baker, whose three sons were saved by St Thomas, is presented by Benedict as “a servant of the church of Canterbury”, suggesting that he may have been supplying bread to the community.78 Another miracle benefited “one of our servants”, a man suffering from fevers, whom the brethren have the greatest difficulty convincing to make a pecuniary offering on the archbishop’s tomb for his cure. Though the exact function of this man is not made clear, he undoubtedly belonged to the rather important group of townspeople working in more or less menial positions for the monks. Tenants, servants, family members – or possibly even any combination of the three: many of the townspeople could have had more or less close relationships with the monks. It is worth noting that all of these mentions of relations between monks and townspeople can be found only in Benedict’s account. That William does not really provide any mention of this sort may be another indication of his bias towards foreign (as opposed to local) pilgrims of rather more elevated social status. The pilgrims he chose to interview were not only further removed from Canterbury in geographical terms, and therefore less likely to have been known to the monastic community, but more importantly their social status meant that they were not in any dependent or subservient relationship to the monks. A final miracle reported by Benedict deserves to be mentioned here, as it hints at the relationship between the monastery and an important, but often neglected, group of Canterbury townspeople: the Jews. A woman of the city, named Godeliva, passing one day through the Jewish quarter on her way back home from fetching water, had accepted the offer of a

 77

This estimate relates only to those servants and dependents who appeared on the monastery’s payroll; the exact number of people depending financially on the monks may have been considerably greater, Barbary Harvey, Living and Dying in England, 1100-1540. The Monastic Experience (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1993), 152-153. 78 Benedict of Peterborough, in vol. 2 of Materials, 58.



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Jewish woman to come and rest a while in her home. St Thomas sent Godeliva a warning that she had better avoid all contacts with the Jews of Canterbury in future. The wooden vessel in which she was carrying water split open and leaked its contents on the floor, thus revealing to the woman the danger in which she was putting her soul by associating herself with Jews.79 The miracle in itself is not particularly remarkable, and the warning sent to Godeliva less terrifying than some St Thomas sent to other pilgrims.80 It does nonetheless reveal a rather stereotyped dislike for Jews, which seems somewhat contradictory with what can be reconstructed of the actual relationship of the monastery with the Jewish community of Canterbury. At the end of the twelfth century, the Jewish community of the city, though rather small, was probably the third in size in the country, and almost entirely concentrated in the trade area of Canterbury.81 Their relations with the city seem to have been peaceful, and the monks of the cathedral priory were on good terms with them. A synagogue had even been built on some land belonging to the monastery.82 Their main activity seems to have been moneylending, and the monks of Christ Church availed themselves of their services, particularly during their lengthy quarrel with Archbishop Baldwin of Ford in the 1180s, in order to finance the numerous appeals they made to the Roman curia.83 During that same quarrel, in 1184, the monks found themselves actually confined within the monastery precincts by order of the archbishop, and some of the Canterbury townspeople, among them the Jews of the city, took turns to bring them food and supplies.84 The attitude displayed towards the Jews in Benedict’s account may therefore not be an accurate reflection of the situation in Canterbury, but rather symptomatic of a generic, non-specific, dislike and mistrust of Jews in general within English society and in the Christian Church in the Middle Ages. Within a decade of the account

 79

Benedict of Peterborough, in vol. 2 of Materials, 71. The knight Jordan FitzEisulf, for instance, refused to heed the several warnings sent to him to honour his oath to offer money to St Thomas, until he was punished with the death of his eldest son, a story recounted at length by both William (in vol. 1 of Materials, 160-162) and Benedict (in vol. 2 of Materials, 229-234) 81 William Urry, Canterbury, 119. 82 Ibid., 120. 83 Michael Adler, Jews of Medieval England (London: E. Goldston for the Jewish Historical Society, 1939), 51 and Reginald A.L. Smith, “The Central Financial System of Christ Church, Canterbury, 1186-1512”, in Collected Papers (London: Longmans, Green & Co, 1947), 27. 84 Gervase of Canterbury, in vol. 2 of Gervasii cantuariensis opera historica, ed. William Stubbs, Rolls Series 73 (London: Longmans & Co, 1879), 401-405. 80



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being written, major incidents took place in London and York, where the Jewish communities were attacked and many of their members killed. This last example brings into question the reliability of Benedict and William as witnesses. It is important to remember that their aim was not to provide an accurate picture of the relationships between Canterbury townspeople and the cult of St Thomas, but rather to celebrate and extol the martyr’s virtues as healer and miracle worker. What can be learnt in their accounts about the inhabitants of Canterbury and their links with Thomas Becket and the monks is disclosed incidentally, and may have been used by the authors to enhance their subject’s reputation, and along with it, the standing of the monastery. Bearing this in mind, the compilations show that the attitude of Christ Church towards the rest of the city seems to have been fairly typical of what can be expected from a great monastic landlord at the end of the twelfth century. The monks’ status as spiritual and temporal lords is apparent in the types of relations that existed between them and the inhabitants of Canterbury, who are variously presented as their servants and dependents. I would like to end this reflexion with a look forward towards the evolution of the cult of St Thomas Becket in the years and centuries following the end of the compilation of the miracle accounts around 1180, and the consequences of this evolution for the Canterbury townspeople. Though the fame of the Saint probably grew most rapidly in the two decades which followed his death in 1170 and his official canonisation in 1173, the number of pilgrims visiting his shrine from all over England and the Continent showed little sign of decreasing over the next two centuries. When Canterbury Cathedral was severely damaged in a fire in 1174, the plan adopted to rebuild the eastern end took account of the need of the pilgrims to access the various sites connected with the martyrdom inside the church. A new space – the Trinity Chapel – was created to accommodate the sumptuous reliquary housing the archbishop’s relics and the many pilgrims wishing to access it.85 The translation of Thomas Becket’s remains from the crypt into the shrine erected in the Trinity Chapel finally took place on 7 July 1220, under the impetus of Archbishop Stephen Langton. After that date, the jubilee of the saint’s translation was

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Peter Draper convincingly showed that the Trinity Chapel was from the start intended to house St Thomas’s shrine, and that the decision to raise the floor of the chapel was taken in order to make it the focus of the pilgrimage (Peter Draper, “Interpretations of the Rebuilding of Canterbury Cathedral, 1174-1186: Archaeological and Historical Evidence”, The Journal of the Society of Architectural Historians, 56 (1997), 184-203, particularly 194-199).



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celebrated every fifty years by granting generous indulgences to the pilgrims who came to Canterbury on that particular occasion. The jubilees drew vast crowds to the city, and probably saw several hundreds of thousands of pilgrims converging on Canterbury.86 The attraction of the pilgrimage peaked during the plague epidemics of the fourteenth century and the Jubilee celebrations of 1420, but it decreased steadily after that.87 The extraordinary success of the pilgrimage created a whole economy from which the city and its inhabitants must have profited. The crowds drawn to the shrine had to be housed and fed, sometimes for long periods if the expected cure was long in coming. This income must have been even greater on jubilee years. Becket’s biographers already mention the vials necessary for the transport of the “water of St Thomas” which the pilgrims could purchase to bring back home.88 Originally made out of wood, these containers were soon made of lead to prevent leakage. The manufacture and commerce of those vials, as well as of the badges that pilgrims could purchase to commemorate their visit,89 must have provided a substantial additional income for some of the townspeople. When in 1220 Archbishop Stephen Langton organised the long-delayed celebrations for the translation of St Thomas to the shrine in the Trinity Chapel, he ordered that all pilgrims arriving from outside Canterbury on this occasion should receive food and drink at his expense.90 The exclusion of the Canterbury inhabitants from the archiepiscopal generosity seems quite typical of the evolution of the cult of St Thomas since its beginnings. Witnesses of the murder of the archbishop and originally the main beneficiaries of his healing powers, the Canterbury townspeople played an extremely dynamic part in the establishment and development of the cult in the first few weeks and months. After a few years, however, they gradually disappear from the sources, and gradually return to the obscurity from which the events of 29 December 1170 had drawn them for a while.

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Benjamin J. Nilson, Cathedral Shrines of Medieval England (Woodbridge: Boydell, 1998), 117. 87 Benjamin J. Nilson, Cathedral Shrines, 140-150. 88 See n. 34 above. 89 Brian Spencer, Pilgrim Souvenirs and Secular Badges (London, The Stationary Office, 1998), 102 and numerous plates. 90 Annals of Waverley, AD 1220 in vol 2 of Annales Monastici, ed. Henry R. Luard, Rerum Britannicarum medii aevi scriptores 36 (London: Longman, Green, Longman, Roberts and Green, 1864-1869), 293.



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Bibliography Adler, Michael. Jews of Medieval England. London: E. Goldston for the Jewish Historical Society, 1939. Barlow, Frank. Thomas Becket. London: Weidenfeld and Nicholson, 1986. Borenius, Tancred. The Iconography of Saint Thomas of Canterbury. Oxford : Society of Antiquaries of London, 1929), 70-104 and St Thomas Becket in Art. London: Methuen, 1932. Caviness, Madeline H. Christ Church Cathedral Canterbury, vol. 2 of the Corpus Vitrearum Medii Aevi Great Britain . London: Oxford University Press for the British Academy, 1981. Draper, Peter. “Interpretations of the Rebuilding of Canterbury Cathedral, 1174-1186: Archaeological and Historical Evidence”, The Journal of the Society of Architectural Historians, 56 (1997). Duggan, Anne. “The Cult of St Thomas Becket in the Thirteenth Century”, in Jancey, M. Saint Thomas Cantilupe. Hereford: The Friends of Hereford Cathedral, 1982. Finucane, Ronald C. Miracles and Pilgrims. Popular Beliefs in Medieval England. 2nd edition, London: MacMillan, 1995. Gélin, Marie-Pierre. “Lumen ad revelationem gentium” : iconographie et liturgie à Christ Church, Canterbury, 1175-1220. Turnhout : Brepols, 2006. Harvey, Barbary. Living and Dying in England, 1100-1540. The Monastic Experience. Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1993. Lett, Didier , « Deux hagiographes, un saint et un roi. Conformisme et créativité dans les deux recueils de Miracula de Thomas Becket », in Auctor et Auctoritas. Invention et conformisme dans l’écriture médiévale, Michel Zimmermann, ed. Paris: Ecole des Chartes, 2001. Luard, Henry R., ed. Annals of Waverley, AD 1220 in vol 2 of Annales Monastici, Rerum Britannicarum medii aevi scriptores 36. London: Longman, Green, Longman, Roberts and Green, 1864-1869. Nilson, Benjamin J. Cathedral Shrines of Medieval England. Woodbridge: Boydell, 1998. Robertson, James C., ed. Materials for the History of Thomas Becket, Rolls Series 67. London: Longman & Co., 1876. Smith, Reginald A.L. “The Central Financial System of Christ Church, Canterbury, 1186-1512”, in Collected Papers (London: Longmans, Green & Co, 1947. Spencer, Brian. Pilgrim Souvenirs and Secular Badges. London, The Stationary Office, 1998.



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Staunton, Michael. Thomas Becket and his Biographers. Woodbridge : The Boydell Press, 2006. Stubbs, William, ed. Gervasii cantuariensis opera historica, vol. 2. Rolls Series 73. London: Longmans & Co, 1879. Urry, William. Canterbury under the Angevin King . London: The Athlone Press, University of London, 1967.





CANTERBURY: THE CATHEDRAL CHAUCER'S PILGRIMS NEVER REACHED – OR, DID THEY? ARLETTE SANCERY UNIVERSITY OF PARIS-SORBONNE (PARIS 4)

When asked to define his identity, the philosopher Michel de Certeau was fond of replying: “I am a traveller”, echoing Mallarmé’s definition of Rimbaud as the “considerable passer-by” or “le passant considérable”. The metaphor will easily apply to Chaucer, to his characters, not to forget his readers/listeners of course, those other characters one must never ignore, whether we have in mind the fourteenth century or our present time. Travelling, passing through time and space at one’s own pace fits easily into the pattern. Harder to figure out, though, is the end of the journey, its goal, its aim, that is to say the Cathedral towards which the pilgrims of Chaucer’s tales are supposed to make their way, coming as they are, as he tells us in the General Prologue, from every shires ende Of Engelond [to Caunterbury they wende] The holy blisful martir for to seke That hem hath holpen when that they were seke (GP, l.15-18).1

We know that Chaucer completed only twenty-four tales out of the hundred and twenty-four he had initially planned, leaving aside a few fragments that will not concern us today. Let us simply remember that none of the “return tales”, to be told on the way back, have ever been written, a fact of such concern to some of Chaucer’s contemporaries or successors that several felt bold enough to undertake the opus magnum. Hence The Tale of Beryn and Lydgate’s Siege of Thebes.



1 All our quotations are taken from F.N. Robinson, ed., The Complete Works of Geoffrey Chaucer (Oxford, 1957).



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But before we speak of returning, would it not be more logical to deal with arriving? In the Canterbury Tales, we find very few indications concerning the roads or paths supposed to be followed by the pilgrims, and no mention of the weather either, or of the inns or other halts on their way, apart from just a few very brief details.2 There are hardly any spatial notations, and no log-book could be based on the sparse temporal ones. Most conspicuously missing is any description of the final stage, which should normally end with the climatic vision of the Cathedral looming in the distance, even if we cannot expect to find attributable to Chaucer’s pen the lyrical and mystical approach of Chartres by Charles Péguy. Instead of which, we get the Retracciouns. Hence a string of questions: Why? Why did they never arrive at Canterbury? What about the pilgrimage? Chaucer insists his characters are pilgrims, yet none of the tales they tell ever refer to the cathedral-city. Since today we are very much aware of Chaucer’s artistic, literary, intellectual mastery, as well as of his sense of humour, we shall not answer the question with a simple: “because he did not have time to finish”, but suggest instead that yes, they were pilgrims, and yes, they did reach Canterbury. More paradoxical still: we too reached the place with them, we too are pilgrims. If Chaucer doesn’t portray them/us arriving in Canterbury, maybe it is because they/we have been there all the time! Which is what I intend to show. Let us start with the pilgrimage, to try and define the term in The Canterbury Tales. Chaucer sparingly uses the homo viator topos widely known by his contemporaries. The main instance may be found at the end of "The Knight’s Tale", when Aegeas comments on the death of Arcites in the following way: This world nis but a thurghfare full of wo / And we ben pilgrimes, passing to and fro (KT, l.1989-90). As we know, the term “pilgrim” derives from the Latin peregrinus, later to become pelegrinus in ecclesiastical Latin. Per ager, through the fields in its initial agricultural sense, by the time when cathedrals dot the countryside all over Europe, the word has come to refer to a Christian peregrinating “up hill and down dale” on his quest of holiness, of God, of the truth, of his own truth

 2

One of those mentions Boughton-under-Bree at the very end of the Canon’s Yeoman’s Prologue (l.556), a town about 5 miles from Ospring, a usual stage on the road to Canterbury. Similarly, in the Introduction to The Man of Law’s Tale (l.5), the Host seems to say that the pilgrims have started on their second day’s journey and the time is two minutes before 10 in the morning of April 18. But the text is so vague that some critics hold that the pilgrims haven’t finished their first day’s journey yet. See Brae’s calculations in his edition of the Astrolabe (London, 1870), 68 ff.



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perhaps. The pilgrim is a traveller who has left his home, leaving behind what he knows, everything that is familiar to him, in order to follow a road that will take him to a place where he meets something he does not know, something he does not expect, something mysterious, un-known. He may encounter this mystery collectively, as part of a group –such is the case of Chaucer’s pilgrims. But the encounter will always be singular, individual. One may refer to a symbolic passage, from what is known to what is unknown, elsewhere, different. After entering the locus sacral, the traveller can then revive, accede to his Enlightenment or revelation– find the light, the answer to his existential quest. The pilgrim passes through a horizontal, visible universe, to arrive at an invisible reality, for some, the world of the divine, for all, the world of absolutes. A pilgrimage can thus be said to have three components: the road, a central target, and an encounter with that invisible reality, the new viewpoint the pilgrim was unable to see clearly at the start of his voyage. Which implies a change of direction, a “conversion”, when he returns, the same and yet a different person… In The Canterbury Tales, the centre or target is clear from the start. While still at the Tabard Inn in London, the narrator states that the aim of the pilgrimage is Canterbury and its cathedral with the shrine of Thomas à Becket, believed to cure many illnesses. The place is so well-known that Chaucer feels no need for further elaboration. All fourteenth-century English people know that to make a pilgrimage to Canterbury means acquiring indulgences that will shorten their time in Purgatory. Very precise codes of indulgences existed, specifying the appointed tariffs of penance and how many days of remittance a pilgrim may acquire, a remittance that can also be acquired through monetary gifts to the cathedral. Modern historians have estimated that the total amount of such gifts may have reached three to four hundred pounds a year in the fourteenth century, a considerable sum. They show an inflation in the second half of the century, perhaps due to the Black Death (whose first outburst dates from 1348-9), and a gradual decline after 1420.3 But what surprises us as we read through the Tales is that this target, central to the quest, is not referred to on the way. Canterbury appears in NONE of the tales told by the pilgrims, whereas Jerusalem is frequently spoken of – although it is neither the subject, nor the focal point of any of the tales we have. Should we therefore conclude that the passage from the



3 C. Eveleigh Woodruff, "The financial aspect of the cult of St Thomas of Canterbury", Archaelogia Cantiana, XLIV, 1932, 18-25



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visible to the invisible world takes place on a vertical plane, not a horizontal one? Then the place of enlightenment will be Heavenly Jerusalem, the spiritual construction, the central goal –as defined by the Parson, the last pilgrim to speak in those tales we have, who says he has been sent by Christ To shewe yow the wey, in this viage/ Thilke parfit glorious pilgrymage/ That highte Jerusalem Celestial (Parson’s Prologue, l.49-51). In this sense, the earthly bishopric then counts for nothing with regard to the allegory found in the last book of the Christian Bible, the Book of Revelations, which is at the center of Saint Augustine’s construction in The City of God. We must then conclude that a substitution has taken place, operated while we were totally unaware of it, and we must bow to Chaucer’s mastery, Chaucer’s playfulness – perhaps also Chaucer’s mystery. The road leading to the central target is never qualified by Chaucer, geographically or otherwise. We simply know that his group starts from Southwark – which is not merely the whorehouses area – to follow the road directly leading South and ending at Dover. We ourselves have a firm place among the pilgrims as soon as we start reading. Chucer abandons very early the fiction of orality, telling us at the beginning of the Miller’s Tale to turn the page and choose another tale if we don’t like what is written: Turne over the leef (MT, l.3177). The imaginary group, albeit being a literary construction, is rooted in social reality and among the pilgrims we can single out at least thirteen professional travellers, well-used to land or sea-routes: Chaucer himself; the Knight who has fought in Pruce and Lettow, and in Ruce, Grenade, Algesiras, and has taken part in the last crusades in the Mediterranean (GP, 51-63), the Squire, his imaginary son; who has fought in Flanders, Artois and Picardy; the Monk who goes hunting throughout the country; the mendicant Friar; the Merchant, whether from Calais Staple or the Merchant Adventurers, plying the sea towards the Low Countries and back; the Shipman, who has travelled from Hull to Carthago and from the Gottland to the Cape of Finistère; the Serjeant at Law who attends the courts of assizes throughout the land; the Reeve, the Summoner, the Franklin, the Pardoner with his relics still hot when he returns from Rome; all travel for professional reasons, both in Britain or abroad. Let us not leave out the Wife of Bath, thrice had she ben to Jerusalem / at Rome she had been, and at Boloigne / in Galice at Seint Jame/ and at Coloigne. And Chaucer adds with a wink that she could tell us a lot in matters of wandering, since she coude muchel of wandering by the weye (GP, 463-7). Whereas in the superb novel imagined by our colleague and friend Gloria



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Cigman,4 she turns out to be truly an extensive traveller, journeying for business (she deals with cloth) as well as sacrificial reasons, as a penitent. The group of pilgrims thus includes a strong core of people used to travelling who take us with them (take oure wey, GP 34) as we follow them into the world of their tales after we have integrated their biographical and physical data provided by the General Prologue. Three spatial topographies then begin to emerge, sounding very realistic: the London/Canterbury road that we too know nowadays as it figures on maps, quite similar to the one the pilgrims took in the 1390s; the world routes previously followed by the pilgrims/travellers; and the routes they will explore with us through their tales. We have no time to quote them all here, but any reader of Chaucer will evoke Yorkshire, for the Summoner, Italy and the Apennines of poor Griselda (the Clerk’s Tale), Lombardy and Pavia for the Merchant. The Squire mentions “Tartary” as well as the King of India and Araby (l.111), the Franklin chooses Armorique, whereas the Pardoner’s “rioters” wander through Flanders, the place where Sir Thopas’ knight was born. And let us not forget the epitome of all English countryside, the poultry yard of the widow ‘a povre widwe, somdel stape in age (NPT, 1), who thinks of herself as Chantecleer’s owner! If we prefer to speak of journeys through time instead of space, we can quote the time of Titus Livius chosen by the “Doctor of Physic”; or Merry Old England under King Arthur, as sung by the Wife of Bath; ancient Syria with its Sultan picked out by the Man of Law; Rome and Thebes at the time of King Theseus in the Knight’s Tale, etc. Let us also mention the Biblical times, from Lucifer to Balthazar, that the Monk evokes before he passes on to Zenobia, Queen of Palmyre, to end with Croesus. We are taken for trips through Christian and heathen time, for journeys in the past as well as in the present. Chaucer, Janus-like, bifrons, faces at once the past and the present, apparently manipulating Time as his fancy leads him. But this is only a matter of appearances, since he has made clear from the beginning of the General Prologue (Whan that Aprille…) that he was pointing to a specific time, the Spring reverdie, the starting point of Christian pilgrimages, in a cosmic perspective. Since Chaucer’s tool consists in words only, those journeys have been called virtual and imaginary. Yet, after we close the book, are we not like his pilgrims, different persons from what we were at the beginning of our progress? We have absorbed the travellers’ experiences both through the matter of their tales and the moral lesson that closes them. One moral



4 A Wife There Was, (Trafford Publishing, Oxford , 2007). Il était une femme, (Calleva ed., 2009).



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lesson only? Moral lessons, in the plural, rather shape our encounter, the third component of any pilgrimage after the road and the central focal point. An encounter that will lead to our own “illumination”. At this point, we must evoke the encounter of solaas and sentence initially mentioned by the Host. Solaas (or mirth) and sentence (or doctrine, core meaning) define Literature as the fourteenth century saw it: Literature must bring men wisdom, the deeper meaning, the hidden meaning of the text to be read (legendum est textum), to be meditated on, for them to interpret and explain. To this, Chaucer adds his own manner or style, joining solaas to sentence, preferring to entertain rather than to preach– despite the two or three exceptions to be found in The Canterbury Tales. For him, knowledge goes with a constantly renewed joy, the joy felt by the pilgrims once enlightened, the joy felt by the readers in Chaucer’s time who reached their own enlightenment. The joy felt by us, modern readers, who also reach enlightenment, each of us in a specific way. What better proof of this than the millions of papers, books, talks, articles, theses, videos or even movies about Chaucer’s Canterbury Tales produced practically every minute ? We have now shown that a pilgrimage takes indeed place in the Tales, and that it includes ours as well as that of the characters. Let us now go back to the Canterbury issue, since the cathedral-city was announced as the goal of the pilgrimage. Which will bring us to the scholar who left us last year, Derek Brewer, who elaborated on the theme of “Gothic Chaucer”, a novel idea initially due to the American scholar, C.A. Muscatine.5 With him, let us now turn to the most Gothic of all English writers, and to the most Gothic of all English cathedrals, Canterbury. The Host seems to speak good sense when he says that a tale cannot be at the same time a game (solaas) and something to be taken seriously (sentence), conveying serious information. But Chaucer plays tricks on his readers, for instance when he calls the Knight’s Tale “noble”– and rightly so – but applies the same epithet to the Miller’s Tale, which is a fabliau, and by no means noble! Chaucer actually entertwines solaas and sentence in a much more subtle way, and here we have the true meaning of Gothic: a combination of entertainment and seriousness. A literary and artistic combination in which various components blend, which excludes none but combines all. “Gothic” does not refer to a smooth construction, from which nothing sticks out. For D. Brewer, it means multiple viewpoints coexisting, yet without destroying the sense of unity in the poet’s work. A

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C. A. Muscatine, Chaucer and the French Tradition, Berkeley, 1957

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sense of unity emanating, in Chaucer’s case, from his pervading irony, a certain detachment, mingled with his toleration and acceptance of human diversity. We may well say that the genius of Chaucer consists in his faculty of reconciliating many currents of thought typical of his time and which would normally clash: the weight of tradition and the magnet of novelty, like the weight of the old religion and the magnet of the new forms explored by the Franciscans before and the Lollards afterwards; the appeal of vernacular romances versus the official forms of culture, intellectual and theological; the assumption that the Bible held the ultimate truth, versus the new scientific discoveries that seemed to clash with it. Derek Brewer claims that Chaucer found “the secular Christian wisdom of Boethius more personally sympathetic, eight centuries after Boethius’ death, than contemporary fourteenth-century ecclesiastical formulations of ordinary religious devotion”.6 In short, for Derek Brewer, “Gothic” means a surge of ideas mixing old and new tendencies, where extremes can dwell together, like the stonework added to the stained-glass windows glasswork, with laws of perspective specific to each element. In a Gothic cathedral, the faithful representation of Nature is not the central purpose of either its architects or its sculptors, as shown in the very hieratic representations of saints and apostles on the cathedrals’ fronts: nothing natural there. Whereas, when one looks for instance at the wooden sculptures representing ordinary people, the town-dwellers, their wives, their tools, in the choir of Chartres, there we find realism! There people recognize themselves, not in Saint Peter’s face. Isn’t it thus, visually, that the visitors of Ely, Canterbury, Chartres, Amiens, not to quote all the Gothic cathedrals of Europe, receive both solaas and sentence? Which allows us now to transfer this paradoxical analogy to Chaucer and answer our initial question. Chaucer blends ideas that would clash with a humour which sometimes does not exclude irony. For example, Chauntecleer will testify to the premonitory nature of dreams, thus agreeing with the Classics and most Christians of his time. But Pertelote claims with some reason too that dreams may well come from a bad stomach. Then, what of our free will? asks Chauntecleer, before he chooses to forget it all and make love to Pertelote. The dream does come true, but…Chauntecleer does not die! Was this then an instance of predestination? Naturally, Chaucer makes sure not to give any answer. A conformist in some respects, and a nonconformist in others, Chaucer mixes elements of the old Catholic stock still present in the fourteenth century with pre-reformation tendencies.

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Derek Brewer, ed., Geoffrey Chaucer (Boydell and Brewer, 1974), 26

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Does he really believe the story of the ritual murder of a Christian child by the Jewish community of York, as devoutly told by the Prioress? We may doubt it, but he does not elaborate. In the Tales, we find prose side by side with poetry, Hell is close to Heaven, Latin follows French and English, courtly Love mixes with Lust, romance alternates with the vernacular, and even if we cannot but share the Pardoner’s “Radix malorum is cupiditas”, the way he inserts this motto within a tale of vice and violence kills its possible virtue. Solaas here prevails over sentence. Or so it seems… Mythological heroes, or mythological divinities go hand in hand with the Christian pantheon, although such a mix cannot of course be found in cathedrals. But through its verbal structure, its wealth of images, allegories and symbols, Chaucer’s Canterbury Tales are already a Gothic edifice, as Derek Brewer defined it. By its scale and scope, its textual beauty and the cultural explosion it foretells, the work deserves indeed to be called “a cathedral”. We may even say that, unlike Canterbury, it encloses a maze – for Chaucer’s meaning is not always easy to define! Which allows us to conclude with a smile: Chaucer had no need to evoke the pilgrims’ arrival at the cathedral: they were there already and had always been there, with us.

Bibliography Brewer, Derek, ed. Geoffrey Chaucer. Boydell and Brewer, 1974. Cigman, Gloria. A Wife There Was, (Trafford Publishing, Oxford , 2007). Il était une femme, (Calleva ed., 2009). Muscatine, C. A. Chaucer and the French Tradition, Berkeley, 1957. Robinson, F.N., ed. The Complete Works of Geoffrey Chaucer. Oxford, 1957. Woodruff, C. Eveleigh . "The financial aspect of the cult of St Thomas of Canterbury", Archaelogia Cantiana, XLIV, 1932.



JUST WHY DID THEY GO TO CANTERBURY? GLORIA CIGMAN UNIVERSITY OF WARWICK

Chaucer has immortalised Canterbury in a vast archive of the imagination that extends far beyond the boundaries of his own language, his own country and his own time. The briefest, most perfunctory internet search finds references to The Canterbury Tales in languages as diverse as Serbian, Mandarin-Chinese, Slovenian, Finnish. In Europe, the phonetics of the place-name stay close to the English form - in Polish it is "Kanterberyjkie"; in Russian, "Kenterberi-iskie". Others will be able to tell us what happens to it when it travels further East, North and South. That Chaucer's enduring place in the world-wide reservoir of literature is attributable to his poetic genius is beyond question. Of course, the telling of stories that narrate experience or invent fantasies goes back beyond recorded time. But Chaucer's creation of portraits in words, some or all or none of which may depict individuals known to the writer, is without precedent - though this literary innovation, cultivated with such subtlety, anticipates the flowering of portraiture in Northern European and Italian religious and domestic painting.1 And while more than a quarter of a century earlier a collection of stories 2 was similarly projected as told to each other by a group of travellers - this time fleeing the Black Death in 1348- neither this predecessor nor any other attempts Chaucer's feat of originality whereby the character and personality of the tellers are vividly reflected in the tone, theme and style of the tales each of them tells. All of which explains the continuing ubiquity of The Canterbury Tales. But what of Canterbury itself? The place name conjures up an image of the magnificent cathedral that towers over the city. Historians tell us that Canterbury was one of the four most important pilgrim destinations in the Christian world. One reason for the reverence in which Thomas à Becket 1

Flanders: Jan van Eyck 1390-1441, Rogier van der Weyden 1399-1454, Hans Memlinc 1433-1494; Italy: Andrea Mantegna 1431-1506. 2 Decameron by Boccaccio, 1313-75, final version probably 1349-1351.

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was held at a popular level was undoubtedly the paucity of canonized martyrs on Chaucer's side of the Channel, in marked contrast with continental Europe. On the other hand, testimony to the enduring and widespread importance of this English saint is found in the extent to which pilgrims from all levels of society went on coming to Canterbury from France and elsewhere across Europe and beyond.3 Although Chaucer tells of pilgrims going to Canterbury from the length and breadth of England, none of the travellers he assembles at the Tabard Inn seems to have had a starting point very far from the South Bank of London's River Thames. That they aren't all from the immediate urban vicinity is clear, but there's no suggestion that any of them have travelled a great distance before beginning this particular pilgrimage - other perhaps than the idealized poverty-stricken parson, who lives frugally in a remote country parish and who is likened by Chaucer to a good shepherd because, instead of neglecting his needy parishioners and chasing up to London to get rich by praying for the souls of the wealthy, he dwelte at hoom and kepte wel his folde ["stayed at home and took good care of his flock"]4

Perhaps. But he is neither at home nor taking care of his sheep when we make his acquaintance. Nevertheless, there are certainly some experienced travellers among these pilgrims. Some in distant foreign parts - the Knight, the Merchant, the Shipman ; some throughout the length and breadth of England insert wordspace - the Monk and the Friar. In both categories, we find the Pardoner and Alison, Wife of Bath. Canterbury is no further from London than, say, Lille from Paris. A long way on foot or horseback on poor fourteenth-century roads, but entailing no dangerous sea voyage; and a very short distance indeed, if compared with the other three major pilgrim destinations of medieval Christianity: Rome, Compostella and Jerusalem. The more we reflect on Chaucer's ambitious undertaking, the further we move from the time-honoured spiritual connotations of Canterbury and its cathedral. Certain features of The Canterbury Tales point inescapably in a different direction. Indeed, the very way Chaucer chooses to launch his project gives rise to speculation, such as that invited by the title question of this article, as well as in the suggestion made by the American

3 4

To pursue this, see the reading list at the end. The Canterbury Tales, General Prologue (hereafter GP) line 512.

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scholar, Larry Benson:5 that these pilgrims had not assembled "by prior agreement", but found themselves together "by mere chance". Surely hardly feasible within the reality of Chaucer's time, when going on any pilgrimage, no matter where, could never have been casual, spontaneous or effortless? And yet, Chaucer's attitude to this motley group of people doesn't quite rule out the notion that maybe they did just happen to pop into the Tabard Inn for a drink, then on impulse and without forethought and preparation, decide to set off the next day for Canterbury. By moving away from one kind of reality, Chaucer frees himself to observe the robust realism of human moral interaction when it is distanced from the expectations of conventional piety. Despite the spiritual esteem and renown of Chaucer's Canterbury, the city is mentioned only five times 6 in his introduction to the tales, and always as if merely in passing: twice by the poet-narrator and three times by Harry Bailey, the Host at the Inn, who proposes and undertakes to judge the telling of tales - in the course of which, Canterbury is mentioned just two more times. One pilgrim speaks of ...this ground on which we been ridyng Til that we come to Caunterbury toun ["the road we're taking towards the town of Canterbury"]7

Another names a place they happen to be passing through on the way to Canterbury: "Bobbe-up-and-doun, under the Blee". Everything points to the conclusion that, although this revered city features so prominently in the title of Chaucer's project, for him Canterbury is a backdrop that serves his imagination as a poet in the "staging" of an unfolding drama that has many characters, scene changes and colourful incidents. Devised to be enacted in the course of the journeys to and from Canterbury, this drama is envisaged as units of time during which the travellers tell each other stories and, in the course of so doing, become both performers and audience, with us as spectators at one remove. Recognizing this intention is in no way to cast doubt on the piety and spirituality of the many thousands who made their way to shrines across Europe and beyond in the Middle Ages. The contention explored here is that, while Chaucer offers very little indication of any such motivation among the pilgrims he sends on the road to Canterbury in 1387 or 5

See Riverside Chaucer, Introduction to The Canterbury Tales, 4. GP, 16, 22 and 769, 793, 801. 7 The Canon's Yeoman, in his prologue, 623-24 and the Manciple, in his prologue, 2-3. See also note in the Riverside Chaucer, 952. 6

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thereabouts, he is very specific about an altogether different incentive for such a journey: their widespread belief that maladies of all kinds are known to have been cured at the shrine of St Thomas à Becket, The hooly blisful martir... That hem hath holpen whan that they were seke, ["the holy blessed martyr... who has come to their aid whenever they were ill."]8

Prompted by this, an American doctor has convincingly isolated details in Chaucer's descriptions of each of his pilgrims that point to a medically recognisable condition. 9 For example, the sore on the Cook's shin, the Pardoner's effeminate voice and evident hair loss, the Summoner's acne, pustules and swollen face, the Monk's prominent eyes, the Reeve's skinny legs and perpetual bad temper.10 To focus on the pilgrims' hopes that their various ailments may be cured at Canterbury and the conspicuous absence of piety is not to deny the serious moral concerns embedded in Chaucer's characterisation of his pilgrims and in the tales they tell. But he is a poet, not a preacher and, while he will have shared many of the preacher's beliefs and purposes, the preacher's methods are not his. He may begin by speaking of the `ful devout corage' ["deeply pious frame of mind"] that gives rise to yearnings to go on pilgrimages in the Spring, but that is not what we will hear in the individual voices the poet claims to be transmitting to us in the very words and manner of each of them. For Chaucer, the most admirable and the most reprehensible aspects of human behaviour are exemplified in the conduct of his pilgrims and their relationship to each other, rather than in anything akin to the overtly doctrinal and directive discourse of the pulpit. Even those among the pilgrims who are firmly bound to the Church lack the focus and dedication that we would expect to find. Instead, there is a discernible diversity of purposes. Each of them could be going anywhere. Not one has anything to say about Canterbury. As soon as the priest accompanying the three nuns is introduced by the Host, he plunges straight into a lively fable about an amorous cockerel: a veritable farmyard Don Juan or Casanova. That the teller is a priest and that his tale has an explicit underlying moral message in no way inhibits the Host from making some highly lewd and ribald observations,

8

GP, 17-18. Y.V. O'Neill, "Chaucer and Medicine", Journal of the American Medical Association (JAMA) vol.208.1, 7 April 1969, 78-92. 10 GP, 386, 675-79 and 688-91, 625-632, 200-201, 591-92 9

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I-blessid be thy breche, and every stoon! .... by my trouthe, if thou were seculer, Thou woldest have ben a trede-foul aright. For if thou have corage as thou hast myght, Thee were nede of hennes as I wene, Ya, moo than seven tymes seventene...

a polite translation of which is something like: ["Blessed be your buttocks and your testicles ...I swear that if you were a member of the laity instead of a priest, you'd be a rampant copulator of hens. If your stamina measures up to your inclinations you'd need more than seven times seventeen hens!"]11

The Monk is addressed in a similarly bawdy way by the Host, who flatters him by expressing regret that vows of celibacy prevent such a man, and the rest of the world, from profiting by his vibrant carnality. ...I preye to God, yeve hym confusioun That first ye broghte unto religioun! Thou woldest han ben a tredefowel arighte Haddestowe as greet a leeve as thou hast myght To parfourne al thy lust in engendure. Thou hadst bigeten ... Ful many a creature ["May God strike down whoever brought you to religious life. Indeed, you would have been a rampant copulator. If your freedom to breed were as great as your stamina, you'd have created a vast number of human beings"]12

To adopt such a tone when talking to a monk would only be both offensive and sacriligious if he were perceived by his companions as a truly devout man. Instead, he inspires light-hearted and suggestive banter which nevertheless doesn't prevent him from going on to bore the Host and, by implication, many of his other companions with a lengthy montage of tragedies that befell men who were once great and powerful. Yet again, there's no mention of pilgrimage or Canterbury. So much, then, for the worldly sociable priest accompanying the three pilgrim nuns and the gregarious, lusty Monk. But what of the Poor Parson? We would surely expect him to remind everyone of their destination. In 11 12

Epilogue to the Nun's Priest's Tale, 3348-54. Prologue to the Monk's Tale, 1943-48.

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the prologue to what turns out to be a sermon and not a tale, he speaks of pilgrimage in the most reverential, doctrinal terms as a "viage", but without mentioning Canterbury as he prays for the skill and wisdom to enable him to guide his travelling companions towards a less tangible, more sublime, destination: "heavenly Jerusalem", Jhesu, for his grace, wit me sende To shewe yow the way, in this viage of thilke parfit glorious pilgrymage That highte Jerusalem celestial...13 May the grace of Jesus make me able to guide you on the journey towards that most perfect and glorious pilgrimage [destination] that is called celestial Jerusalem

The Poor Parson is speaking of pilgrmage as an allegory of life itself: a journey beset by a perpetual battle against the Deadly Sins that stand between every Christan and the hoped-for destination of heaven. There can be no doubting the piety that permeates the Second Nun's prologue and her tale of the life of Saint Cecilia. But although Chaucer invests both with the stylistic features of spoken language, nowhere does he invest her with any awareness that she is addressing a group of companions on a pilgrimage, nor does she mention where they are going. Entertainment and not serious didactic discourse was clearly uppermost in the Host's mind when suggested the telling of tales. Any doubts about that are dispelled as we hear him call upon the bookish and diffident young scholar to come forward, Tell us some myrie tale... ...But precheth nat... To make us for oure olde synnes wepe... Ne that thy tale make us nat to slepe. ["Tell us something cheerful story... don't preach...to try to make us weep for past sins and don't bore us to tears"]14

In place of the virtue, piety and penitence we might expect to find in any group of pilgrims, what we see repeatedly is enmity, rancour and hostility. The drunken Miller and the skinny, bad-tempered Reeve hate each other so much that they ride as far apart as is possible. The Miller 13 14

The Poor Parson, 49-51. The Clerk of Oxenford's prologue, 9-12-13.

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insists on thrusting himself forward - despite the Host's efforts to keep him quiet - and hurls insults at his arch-enemy, who responds with a malevolent inversion of prayer, entreating God to break his neck.15 It is worth noting that at this period, when translations of the bible into English were severely outlawed by the Church, the Reeve knows and paraphrases correctly a text from the gospels, even though he does so only to reinforce his entrenched grievances against the detested Miller: He kan wel in myn eye seen a stalke But in his owene he kan nat seen a balke ["He can see a piece of straw in my eye very clearly, but he can't see a plank in his own."]16

The contempt that the ordained Friar and the secular Summoner feel for each other is fuelled by their rivalry in exploiting their calling for personal gain - in ironic contrast, it is avarice and dishonesty that nourish the hearty friendship between this same Summoner and the pilgrim Pardoner. Chaucer's portrait of the mendicant Friar in the General Prologue is consistently satirical and in no way contradicted by distinctly tongue-incheek later references to him as "worthy" and "noble." Chaucer is not in the least beguiled by the manipulative charm that serves the Friar so well in his dealings with others, particularly women. Nor is the Host, who reprimands him for the ill-mannered scowling and offensive, quarrelsome remarks he hurls at the Summoner, ...ye shulde be hende And curteys, as a man of youre estaat; In compaignye we wole have no debaat... ["You should be dignified and courteous, as befits a man of your calling. We don't want any of your disputes here."]17

This Friar is very determined that his calling should not give rise to any expectation of seriousness, ... heere as we ryde by the weye Us nedeth nat to speken but of game And lete auctoritees... To prechyng and to scoles of clergy 15

The Reeve's prologue, 3918 and see GP 566 and 622. The Reeve's prologue 3919-20, Matthew 7:3. 17 The prologue to the Friar's Tale, 1265, then 1286-89. 16

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Just Why Did They Go to Canterbury? ["As we ride on our way, there's no need for us to speak of anything that isn't entertaining. Never mind about learned texts.... leave those to preachers and theologians."]18

The tale the Friar goes on to tell is certainly humorous, but it is fuelled entirely by vindictiveness, as he ridicules and reviles summoners in general and provokes the one among his travelling companions to the Deadly Sin of Anger, This Somonour in his styropes hye stood; Upon this Frere his herte was so wood That lyk an aspen leef he quook for ire ["This Summoner stood upright on his stirrups, So enraged was he against the Friar That he quivered all over like an aspen leaf."]19

The Summoner, in turn, accuses the Friar of hypocrisy and worse and vents his fury and animosity in an obscene and abusive image of Hell as the dwelling place of twenty-thousand friars, who swarm like bees in and out and all around the Devil's rectum.20 Whatever the Doctor's reasons for going to Canterbury may have been, his expensive and elegant attire suggest neither gravity nor piety. It is surely to divert attention from the affluence derived from his habitual pursuit of material profit that he ends his tale with a gloomy and sententious exhortation to everyone to avoid sin, Beth war, for no man woot whom God wol smyte... ... Forsaken synne, er synne yow forsake. ["Take care, for no man knows whom God will strike... ...Abandon sin before sin abandons you."]21

And what of Alison, the Wife of Bath? In addition to her portrait among those that introduce the entire collection of stories, Chaucer gives this pilgrim a tantalising autobiographical discourse that is not only as long as all the other portraits put together, but is twice the length of the

18

Friar's prologue 1272-3. The prologue to the Summoner's Tale, 1665-67. 20 The Summoner's prologue, 1676-99 21 The Physician's tale, 278-286. 19

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tale that she goes on to tell. Tantalising, because it tells us much about her turbulent past, but leaves us wanting to know more.22 Just why was she going to Canterbury? Travelling alone, a woman of perhaps about fifty, "somdel deef", her face "reed of hewe" and her hips "large". 23 Hard of hearing. Red-faced. Overweight. Alison doesn't talk about her health, however, though she makes no secret of her rueful awareness that she is ageing. Instead, her lengthy and lively discourse is made up of two elements apart from her vivid autobiography: she engages in a lengthy defence of multiple marriage and in forceful opposition to the teachings of the Church that elevate virginity above all other human states and denigrate sexuality other than in the service of procreation. In addition to what we are told about her state of health, we can discern a further reason delete s for going to Canterbury, Diverse scoles makyn parfyt clerkes, And diverse practyk in many sondry werkes Makyth the werkmen parfit sekirly; Of fyve husbondes scoleiying am I, Welcom the sixte, whan that ever he shal ["A variety of places of learning creates perfect scholars, and varied experience makes perfect practitioners. Five husbands gave me my training, I am ready to welcome the sixth whenever he likes."]24

If you were asked to select the most self-serving and reprehensible, the least devout and admirable, among these Canterbury pilgrims, what would your choice be? Mine, without hesitation, is the Pardoner, the "pilgrim" who holds forth so eloquently and persuasively against the Deadly Sin of Avarice without ever pretending that he is motivated by anything else. The resources that serve his avarice are his natural eloquence as a preacher, the absolution he is authorised by the church to bestow and the healing powers he claims for the worthless objects he displays as sacred relics. The motif of his tale is radix malorum est cupiditas, ["Avarice is the root of all evil."] 25 One of the best in the collection, it demonstrates 22 A Wife There Was, my novel about this pilgrim, builds on Chaucer's portrayal and constructs her life from conception to death. See www.trafford.com/06-3232. It has been published in Serbian in 2008 as Bila Jednom Jedna Zena and in French as Il était une femm (Calleva 2009). 23 GP, 446, 458, 472. 24 The Wife of Bath's prologue, 46-50. 25 1 Timothy 6:10.

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convincingly the dire pitfalls of avaricious pursuit of money. And yet, when he reaches the end this audacious Pardoner immediately sets about practising on his fellow-travellers the very strategies he has exposed as fraudulent and which serve his relentless dedication to avarice; I wole haue moneie, wolle, chese and whete Al were it yeven of the povereste page Or of the povereste widwe in a village Al sholde hir children sterve for famine ["I am determined to have money, wool, cheese and wheat, Even from the poorest page, Even from the most poverty-stricken village widow, Even it means her children will die of starvation."]26

When he turns to the Host and asks him to be the first to come forward, to lavish kisses on his false relics and to open his purse, the response is so contemptuous and so offensive that it shocks even modern ears, accustomed as they are to many varieties of obscenity. And yet, paradoxically, there can be absolutely no denying the persuasive moral message of the tale he has just told! So.... "just why did they go to Canterbury? The brief glimpses here of sins unrepented and often enjoyed are intended as an invitation and a challenge: go back to The Canterbury Tales and see if I have overlooked any evidence that this pilgrimage was motivated by piety.

Bibliography Barlow, F. Thomas Becket. Phoenix Press, London 1986. Esp. Ch.12. Duggan, A. Thomas Becket. Reputations Series, Hodder, London 2004. Finucane, R.C. Miracles and Pilgrims: popular beliefs in Medieval England. Dent, London 1977. Woodruff, C.E. and W. Danks, Memorials of the Cathedral and Priory of Christ in Canterbury. Chapman and Hall, London 1912.

26

The Pardoner's tale, 448-51, 952-55.

READING HISTORY IN ENAMEL: THE JOURNEY OF THOMAS BECKET'S EXPERIENCE FROM CANTERBURY TO LIMOGES MARTINE YVERNAULT UNIVERSITY OF LIMOGES

On December 29, 1170, on the order of Henry II, four knights violated the sanctuary of the cathedral of Canterbury and murdered the Archbishop, Thomas Becket. The strong and popular worship which then spread through medieval Europe originated in that heinous act and it was expressed in many ways: pilgrimages, religious buildings, stained-glass windows, relics which justified the making of reliquaries and the development of arts and crafts related to those objects. Champlevé enamel châsses bear witness to that tragic event while preserving the memory of the links that once existed between Plantagenêt England and Limousin. Limousin was known to shelter various sorts of relics: the relics of local saints but also those relics which were protected in the area whenever a Norman invasion was impending. Enamel workshops then started to manufacture caskets in order to preserve the relics. When Alienor of Aquitaine remarried Henry Plantagenêt in 1152, Limousin, its abbeys (the Grandmont abbey especially) aroused the royal interest. Henry II even contemplated establishing Grandmont as a royal necropolis. In spite of the quarrels which divided the royal family, the English king’s interest for Limousin promoted the economy of the area and orders for precious objects increased dramatically.1 The story of Thomas Becket, his vita, cannot be severed from this context which mingled politics, spiritual life and religious issues, commercial exchanges, art and craft. Indeed the memory of the feud 1

See Bernadette Barrière, “Le Limousin et Limoges au temps de l’émail champlevé,”in L’Œuvre de Limoges : Emaux limousins du Moyen Age (Paris : Musée du Louvre, New York : The Metropolitan Museum of Art, 1995), 26 sq.

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opposing temporal power and spiritual power serves as a backdrop for a brisk and creative activity related to building, making, reproducing at an almost industrial scale. The cult of Thomas Becket and the reliquaries commissioned established the reputation of enamel workshops and Limoges could thus advertise the talents of local artists and craftsmen while contributing to raising funds to rebuild the cathedral of Canterbury destroyed by fire in 1174.2 These historical facts, briefly exposed, enable to provide a multifaceted definition of reliquaries and of their functions: reliquaries were reliable witnesses of an art which then flourished in Limousin and of the activity of the area’s workshops; reliquaries were also genuine political, social and religious texts translated in enamel images while standing out as comments on the value of relics as the visible remains of an event which could not be erased. Reliquaries guaranteed the permanence of an episode, sometimes magnified it; as such they may be conceived as a form of memory–in a rather broad sense, both simple and complex–as a text, a literary form which, in the case of Thomas Becket, may be very close to myth as has so often been contended. And indeed the archbishop’s murder was frequent matter for diverse literary treatments. A case in point is a text which is not even mentioned in J. C. Robertson’s Materials for the History of Thomas Becket.3 This text entitled Thomaïde corresponds to manuscript 990 preserved in the local Troyes library. It is an epic in 314 leonine hexameters, split into 7 cantos and preceded by 2 prefaces composed of 14 elegiac distichs.4 The poem was devoted to the life, martyrdom and miracles performed by the archbishop of Canterbury and it is thought to have been written in Clairvaux, probably after the 1220 translation.5 Finally the figure of Thomas Becket conjures up the memory of the famous pilgrimage. The geographical route which went from the meeting 2 See Marie-Madeleine Gauthier, “Le meurtre dans la cathédrale, thème iconographique médiéval,” in Actes du colloque international de Sédières, 19-24 août 1973, ed. Raymonde Foreville (Paris : Beauchesne, 1975), 253. 3 London, 1875-1885, 7 vols. 4 Quoted and translated from the French study of André Vernet, “La Thomaïde, poème latin inédit consacré à Thomas Becket,” Actes du colloque international de Sédières, op. cit., 11 (hereafter Sédières). 5 Jean-Marie Grassin’s article, “Le mythe littéraire de Thomas Becket à l’époque moderne,”Sédières, 285-297, provides a thorough approach of the literary treatment of the murder. Grassin focuses particularly on the divergence between real history and literary creation drawing on, for instance, Jean Anouilh (Becket ou l’honneur de Dieu), T. S. Eliot (Murder in the Cathedral), or films adaptations.

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place of the pilgrims in London to the cathedral of Canterbury reflected the literal aspect of the pilgrimage and this topographic progress serves as a visible basis to the narrative structure of Chaucer’s Canterbury Tales. But the Saint’s figure was equally visible on the badges and recognition signs worn by the pilgrims: the bust of Thomas Becket wearing his mitre, on horseback were frequent representations (the archbishop was an inured horseman used to travelling). The pilgrim, the medieval homo viator, never failed to wear these badges in lead or pewter.6 All these religious artefacts and rites were indispensable to the pilgrims expressing their faith in many ways as Richard Gameson in his study “The Early Imagery of Thomas Becket” recalls: Art determined the experience of the pilgrim. The majestic scale of the abbey church or cathedral as a whole; the impressive architectural setting of the shrine; the form and decoration of the reliquary; and the imagery round about–it was this above all that represented the climax of a pilgrimage. Bernard de Clairvaux (†1153) was in no doubt as to the overwhelming impact of such art on the faithful: ǥthe most beautiful image of some male or female saint is exhibited and that saint is believed to be the more holy, the more highly coloured the image is’.7

The life of Thomas Becket was therefore connected with many different fields. However after considering history, we will concentrate on art and particularly on the reliquary as text. In this exploration many keywords would be apposite but the words “progress,”“itinerary,” “circulation,” certainly stand out.8

6

See Tancred Borenius, St Thomas Becket in Art, (Port Washington, New York / London: Kennikat Press, [1932], 1970), 28-29. 7 Richard Gameson, “The Early Imagery of Thomas Becket,”ed. Colin Morris and Peter Roberts (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2002), 46-47. Richard Gameson is here quoting Apologia ad Guillelmum Abbatem: Sancti Bernardi Opera, ed. J. Leclercq and H. M. Rochais, 8 vols. (Rome, 1957-1977), vol. III, 80108, trans. C. Rudolph, The Things of Greater Importance: Bernard of Clairvaux’s Apologia and the Medieval Attitude Towards Art (Philadelphia, 1990), 280-1 8 “Circulation ” should be understood as the expression of the numerous consequences entailed by Thomas Becket’s martyrdom in the fields of religious art and literature from the Middle Ages to the present times. The introduction to the translation into modern French of La vie de Saint Thomas Becket by Guernes de Pont-sainte-Maxence (trans. Jean-Guy Gouttebroze and Ambroise Queffelec, Paris: Honoré Champion, 1990), 5, is in this respect quite relevant.

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The Way to the Cathedral One could easily draw a parallel between Thomas Becket’s itinerary and the life and career of famous political figures. Yet the tragic event took place in the Middle Ages and the archbishop’s determination to defend the power of the Church was partly justified by the medieval conception of life as a spiritual and symbolical journey on earth which granted but little value to the terrestrial. Man was a homo viator, a pilgrim, a traveller on earth, an exile in quest of the abode of eternal rest his soul would reach at the end of the terrestrial journey. This conception had been defended in the Antiquity, asserted later by Augustine, Guillaume Deguileville and his translators,9 and it applied to Thomas Becket whose life imaged as a book contained two chapters, the temporal first and then the spiritual. Thomas Becket was a pilgrim, on his way to the cathedral. But progress was first a family experience. Thomas Becket was born in London, around 1120 and the family’s roots may be traced back in Rouen and Caen since his parents were Normans. His parents, a family of wealthy merchants, settled in England at the beginning of the XIIth century but the Norman past left deep marks in the memories if one merely considers the sixty or so churches dedicated to the saint, the stained-glass windows depicting Thomas Becket and his life told in the Coutances cathedral or his history sculptured on the tympanum of the Bayeux cathedral.10 The links remained close between London and Normandy which the Becket family, like many other Normans had left, 11 but the Norman emigrants who had settled in London continued to trade with their native area. From a commercial, administrative and political standpoint, Normandy therefore occupied a crucial position in the Plantagenêt possessions.

9

See Pierre André Sigal, “Les différents types de pèlerinage au Moyen Age,”in Wallfahrt kennt keine Grenzen (Münich, Zürich : Verlag Schnell & Steiner, 1984), 76 sq. 10 On the profusion of objects and places linked with Thomas Becket, see Lucien Musset, “Thomas Becket et la Normandie,”in Raymonde Foreville, Annales de Normandie XXIV, n°2 (June 1974), 208 sq.; Arlette Larue, “Enquête sur l’iconographie et le mobilier de Thomas Becket en Normandie,”Sédières, op.cit., 211-219. 11 In her study, “Les origines normandes de la famille Becket et le culte de saint Thomas en Normandie,”in Mélanges offerts à Pierre Andrieu-Guitrancourt, L’Année canonique, XVII (1973), 438-442, Raymonde Foreville explains that Normandy went through a difficult period at the beginning of the XIIth century : famine was rampant in 1111 and severe floods took place in 1119.

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Other facets of Thomas Becket’s history may be deemed early examples of the literary approaches and texts which started to appear after his death and the vitality of which may still be noted in modern times. Thus at the beginning of the thirteenth century, a legend, in an oriental manner no doubt influenced by the crusades, claimed that Thomas was the son of Gilbert Becket and of a Saracen princess. However the real itinerary started when Thomas Becket entered the royal circle. He was first Henry II Plantagenêt’s chancellor, a faithful and friendly servant. But the situation changed when Thomas Becket became archbishop of Canterbury and began to voice his disagreement with the royal power. During his exile in France, his views were supported by Louis VII and Pope Alexander III. He was murdered on his return to England, a murder which shocked the whole Christian community and was followed by canonization. Hagiographic texts, the narration of his martyrdom enriched with the stories of his miracles tend to modify the circumstances of his murder. Thomas Becket was not killed close to the altar, which is the common iconographic representation; nor was he beheaded. Such changes however aimed at stressing the sacrilegious nature of the murder which, being presented as sacrifice, established the saint as a Christ figure. The parallel between the archbishop and Christ did not just inspire iconography but also emerged in texts, particularly in John of Salisbury. Such a parallel was a way of magnifying the saint; it was part of the imitatio Christi topos and it thus reinforced Thomas Becket’s position as defender of spiritual power against political power.12 The conflict culminated in the crisis triggered by the Constitutions of Clarendon which subjected the Church to the authority of the king and of his administration.13 12

See Julie Barrau, “La conversio de Jean de Salisbury,” in Cahiers de Civilisation Médiévale (Poitiers : Centre d’Etudes Supérieures de Civilisation Médiévale, JulySeptember 2007), 229-243 ; Barrau posits (236) that this parallel may be explicitly read in a letter which is in fact the first report on the murder (236, note 42). 13 At first Thomas Becket seemed to yield to and comply with the Constitutions, particularly Article 3: Clergyman charged and accused of anything shall, on being summoned by a justice of the king, come into his court, to be responsible there for whatever it may seem to the king’s court they should there be responsible for; and [to be responsible] in the ecclesiastical court [for what] it may seem they should be there responsible for–so that the king’s justice shall send into the court of the Holy Church to see on what ground matters are there to be treated. And if the clergyman is convicted, or [if he] confesses, the Church should no longer protect him. (“The Constitutions of Clarendon [1164],” in Sources of English Constitutional

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The tragedy which took place in the cathedral put an end to that feud without actually solving it. Henry II perceived that penance at Becket’s shrine as a humble pilgrim (equally aware of the political impact of his repentance) was the most appropriate decision. Just before the Field of the Cloth of Gold, Henry VIII also went to pray in the cathedral.14 When the conflict with Rome became acute, Henry VIII ordered the destruction of the shrine in an official proclamation: Therfore his grace chargeth and commandeth, that from hense forth the sayde Thomas Becket shall not be esteemed, named, reputed, nor called a sayncte, but bysshop Becket and his ymages and pictures, through the hole realme shall putte down and auoyded…15

Yet was total destruction of any avail? Were not the reliquaries made after the saint’s death one of the best ways to ensure his survival?

Memory Enshrined In her book entitled Les routes de la foi,16 Marie-Madeleine Gauthier gives the following definition of reliquaries: […] they were small, remarkably beautiful caskets meant to shelter the ‘holy bodies’, the remains of exceptional human beings whose virtue had been praised by their fellowmen in their lifetime or after their death. (My translation)

The structure of the reliquary immediately strikes the eye: originally it looked like a sarcophagus with a lid. Gradually châsses were given the History, ed. and trans. Carl Stephenson and Frederick George Marcham, (New York: Harper & Brothers, [1937], 1965), 73-76, in The Becket Controversy, ed. Thomas M. Jones (New York, London, Sydney, Toronto: John Wyley and Sons, Inc., 1970), 11-16). 14 For more developments about the original burial site and the 1220 translation to another shrine demolished on Henry VIII’s order, see William Urry, “Some Notes on the Two Resting Places of St Thomas at Canterbury,”Sédières, 195-208. 15 Tancred Borenius, op. cit., appendix I, Proclamation of Henry VIII issued from Westminster, November 16, 1538, 109-110 (copy of the Proclamation in the possession of the Society of Antiquaries). 16 Marie-Madeleine Gauthier, Les routes de la foi. Reliques et reliquaires de Jérusalem à Compostelle (Paris : Bibliothèque des Arts, Fribourg : Office du Livre, 1983), quoted by Jean-Marie Allard, Etude réalisée pour l’exposition tenue à la Bibliothèque Municipale de Limoges en avril-mai 1988 dans le cadre des manifestations entourant les Ostensions (Limoges, 1988), 11.

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specific structure used for the reliquaries dedicated to Thomas Becket or saint Valeria. The holy receptacle resembled a house, both materially and symbolically; it had sides resembling gables or side walls and an upper part called the roof. Thus symbolically death was an image of life.17 Another major characteristic concerns the relation between the reliquary as object and movement. First of all, the pilgrim longed to visit a holy place, to see precious shrines, which was a strong incentive to leave one’s home.18 Pilgrimage motivated by the desire to be personally present at a shrine corresponded to real and spiritual maps and itineraries composing a geographical network on the roads of which pilgrims walked their way towards God. Chaucer does not fail to emphasize those human displacements in the General Prologue of his Tales even if he suggests that they were not always motivated by spiritual reasons. Pilgrimages and their relics attracted individuals who were parts of a social community; the fragmented remains of holy figures were also the disseminated parts of a spiritual whole and were the mirrors of exemplary lives. Pilgrimages, however, were not the only expression of movement. Reliquaries and relics were often displaced before the practise of moving them to show them on the occasion of processions was limited and even forbidden by Episcopal authorities. Displacing relics meant to be shown to Christian eyes were the memory of the apostolic mission taught by Christ. Marie-Madeleine Gauthier relevantly stresses the complementarity between “immobile” holy places and “mobile” reliquaries which travelled to remote countries where they finally settled and spiritually rooted and sprouted. 19 Her analysis is very perceptive because it likens relics and reliquaries with roots spreading into the Christian world from an official shrine–Jerusalem, for instance, so often considered as the omphalos. 20 Reliquaries could also be seen as “wooden apostles” made according to the tradition of the Limousin enamel workshops, displaying and 17

Jean-Marie Allard, op. cit., 11. Marie-Madeleine Gauthier, Routes de la foi, op. cit., 7, recalls that the way leading to the holy places was a way towards personal restoration, escaping routine life in quest of a sort of therapy. 19 Routes de la foi, 18. 20 See for example the first part of Mandeville’s Travels which constantly emphasizes the central position of Jerusalem, the place of Calvary, conceived as the omphalos of the Christian western world (Mandeville’s Travels, ed. P. Hamelius, vol. I, O. S. 153 (London: Early English Text Society, 1988), 1-2). 18

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circulating narrative imagery. Such interpretations make even more sense when related to the specific terminology used to describe the parts of the reliquary: the wooden structure, for example, the inner body is called “l’âme”, the core. That core bears the champlevé enamel plates.21 A reliquary therefore is not a simple object; it is a perfect illustration of the medieval culture, an object (particularly in the case of now empty reliquaries) which is pointless without the enamel images and a meaningful set of images deriving their full justification from their attachment to that wooden structure. Because they were made by human hands reliquaries were invested with a very specific spiritual function. Religious art and craft may be considered as memory activities which recall, re-present, reproduce God’s creation, so that the spiritual sense may humbly be manifested or expressed by artists. Jean-Claude Schmitt sums up this privileged link between the human and the divine when he posits the relation between objects and meaning, or simply between objects bound by tensions and mingling what is made and what is created, the figurative and the allegorical, the visible and the invisible.22 The receptacle containing relics was an iconographic re-presentation as far as the death or martyrdom of a saint reproduced a passion related to Christ’s Passion. Making reliquaries consisted essentially in reproducing and expressing passion or sacrifice with a visual and memorial intention, and that form of art was therefore part of a mimetic process. Because they were meant to stimulate the worshippers’ memory, being themselves wooden memories containing and displaying a sacred story on their enamel sides and roof, reliquaries may be conceived as a comment on permanence, on spiritual resistance to terrestrial life and the ephemeral, on the passage from death to eternal life since, if the bottom part of the châsse showed Thomas

21 The reference book Email limousin (Regards, Culture & Patrimoine en Limousin), 1996, 46, gives the following definition of champlevé or taille d’épargne: On a rather thick metal plate, which may be copper, but also bronze or brass, gold or silver, a figure or a pattern is chiselled out and cell-like compartments left; enamel is then poured or laid into those spaces where the glassy substance is contained. (My translation) 22 Jean-Claude Schmitt, “Les reliques et les images, ”in Les reliques. Objets, cultes, symboles, Actes du colloque international du Littoral-Côte d’Opale (Boulognesur-Mer), 4-6 september 1997, ed. Edina Bozóky and Anne-Marie Helvétius (Turnhout : Brepols Publishers, 1999), 146.

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Becket’s murder, the upper part –the roof– magnified the vision and elevation towards redemption of his soul borne by angels. Obviously the outer parts of the reliquary expose the functions just mentioned. This by no means implies that the inner parts merely correspond to a hidden, obscure receptacle, a space beyond visual limits, a restricted box which may or not contain relics. But the outer parts reveal the art of man and, by resorting to enamel, precious stones and metal, the craftsman expressed transfiguration, the passage from life to death and ultimately immortality reflected in works of art that have come down to us through the ages. Jean-Claude Schmitt specifically refers to reliquaries that reproduced a part of the body, an arm, a bust, and he explains that the hidden relics are not meaningful as such except if one realizes that the remains are forever sublimated and magnified by the layer of gold coating them very much like a resplendent, precious veil or skin.23 Not only does this resplendent skin transmute the decay of death and challenge the transience of terrestrial time, but it constitutes a text, a text in gold or enamel telling a story over and over again, a “visible voice” as it were.

Reading History in Enamel Reliquaries perfectly illustrate the relation between the text, the signified, and the images displayed on their sides. At first sight the scene depicted seems to correspond to a representation as a whole but a real reading process is often involved, with sequences guiding the eye. 24For instance the altar in front of which the archbishop stands is often on the right hand side of the enamel plate, the murderers come from the left and reading is oriented through the different phases of the episode dynamically represented and revealing a subtle narrative process resorting to staging or to the dialogue expressed by the figures’ attitudes, bodies, hands. In other words the artist used a precise iconographic rhetorical methodology in order to expose, within the limits of the plate and with techniques that were in fact standard in the workshops, not just the space of representation but the space of memory, the original space where the tragedy took place, and that tragedy is not simply visible but dramatically conjured up and revived by the “enamel text”. The small plate is indeed a reduction and reduplication of the space within the holy space where Becket was literally

23 24

Jean-Claude Schmitt, op. cit, 153. See Marie-Madeleine Gauthier, “Le meurtre dans la cathédrale,”Sédières, 249.

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cornered by the murderers.25 Iconography should therefore be considered as a real text, having the same function as all the texts written on Becket’s life and focusing on the same episodes as the enamel plates fixed on the reliquaries, the analysis of which concludes this study. Among those texts the Gilte Legende 26 emphasizes essentially the position of Thomas Becket: he was an implacable defender of the Church who entirely devoted his competence (grete witte, 6) to the religious cause. The Legende does not really expatiate on the relationship between the king and the bishop; the text merely recalls that the king loved him and insists on Thomas Becket’s transformation, a sort of conversion, when he became archbishop. Two major changes characterize his evolution: penance regularly inflicted on his body as well as fasting and a relentless quest for humility and charity following the path paved by Christ: And euery day he woshe the fete of .xiij. pore men and fedde hem and [gaue] to euery man .iiij.d. (16-17).27 The Gilte Legende introduces the Constitutions of Clarendon as well as Becket’s exile. The murder committed by the knights on the king’s order is told in a very sober manner and, like the reliquaries, the Legende insists on the murder. A brief exchange between the murderers and the martyr is summarized in the text and expressed by the attitudes depicted on the plates: the murderers pounce on Thomas Becket, standing at the altar, turning his back to them, or he faces them. The text gives a very aggressive and explicit version of the exchange: We bene come to slee the, as thou shalt wete / I am here redy for to suffre dethe for the loue of God (72-74). The dialogue form opposes murder and passion, violation and martyrdom, atrocious death and death transfigured; on the enamel plates, similar oppositions are materialized by objects, the sword or the axe on the one hand, the cross on the other. The Legende stresses above all Thomas Becket’s immediate entry in the martyrs’ catalogue. The murder is relegated to the background while the Church occupies the centre of the descriptions and comment. The text makes it plain that the Church should be understood as the institution but that institution stands apart because it epitomizes the concept of construction 25

See Beryl Smalley, The Becket Conflict and the Schools. A Study of Intellectuals in Politics in the Twelfth Century (Oxford: Basil Blackwell, 1973), ch. VIII, 194196. 26 The edition used here is the following : Gilte Legende, ed. Richard Hamer, The Early English Text Society, O. S. 327 (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2006), 6165. 27 This imitatio Christi may be seen on the enamel plates since the murder of Thomas Becket is often juxtaposed to the crucifixion scene.

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from a literal, architectural viewpoint first, but essentially from a spiritual viewpoint. At the very moment of his death the archbishop, on the spot of his murder, is already enshrined in an architectural sanctuary detached from earthly hatred and feuds, and the cathedral –as architectural and spiritual representation– closes on the murder scene and is turned into a huge symbolical reliquary, thus foreboding the ensuing events, the future shrine, the translations and the creation of all the reliquaries which were made in Limoges in order to celebrate the memory of Becket’s martyrdom: “For he sufferid dethe in the chirche [and for the Chirche], in holy tyme and in holy place” (92-93). The text ends with the evocation of miracles, the description of holy water and some picturesque episodes like the story of the tamed bird chased by a falcon that flew towards Becket for help (116-119). The Vie de Saint Thomas Becket by Guernes de Pont-Sainte-Maxence offers another interesting approach because Guernes exposes his method, a method which is similar to a chronicle, aiming at objectivity and information in the modern sense of the word,28 influenced by much subjectivity though and already transforming Becket’s life into myth. Texts narrating his life, whether in Latin or in the Romance language, or in an oral form, started to circulate when the news of his horrendous death spread. Guernes was a travelling clerk and he wrote his life of Thomas Becket in the langue d’Oïl. He was born in Pont-Sainte-Maxence (to the North of Ile de France); Becket’s fame had spread into France on the occasion of his visits and stays in France (particularly during his exile) and even before when–he was then the king’s Chancellor–he fought to defend the cause of the king. Guernes’s text claims to be a sort of investigation drawing on his knowledge of the saint and on the facts he collected from the Canterbury clerks. His account of Becket’s life dates back to around 1174 and is part of a vast collection of writings dedicated to Thomas Becket, including the texts which Henry II himself, in order to restore his tarnished image, commissioned historiographers. Right from the beginning (l. 31-60), Guernes declares that the king’s legal project, which resulted in the Constitutions of Clarendon, was a dangerous enterprise. The Constitutions questioned the authority of divine law which had precedence over all other legal forms.29 28

See p. 5 of the introduction to the edition mentioned in footnote 8: La victoire de Thomas, si elle s’établit sur le sacrifice librement consenti de son corps, ne peut exister sans la publicité qui sera faite à ce propos: elle s’impose comme une victoire des médias de l’époque. 29 Si les clercs commettent des méfaits, laissez à Dieu le soin d’en tirer vengeance. Ils sont vos prélats, vous ne devez pas les juger. Ils peuvent, quant à eux,

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Guernes then launches into the exposition of his method (L.121-150): J’ai passé près de quatre ans à l’écrire et à l’enrichir […]. D’abord j’ai recueilli une tradition orale, et souvent alors, je me suis rendu coupable d’erreurs. Je suis allé à Cantorbéry où j’ai appris la vérité : je l’ai apprise des amis de saint Thomas et de ceux qui, dès son enfance, avaient été à son service.

Guernes objectively and honestly shows the paradoxical aspects of Thomas Becket’s figure: …un clerc très remarquable qui menait grand train. […] Il entretenait autour de lui une nombreuse cour de vaillants chevaliers, généreusement il leur prodiguait des dons et des provisions.[…]Il avait à son service des mercenaires, des archers et des hommes d’armes ; il les conduisait dans des expéditions condamnables et portait la responsabilité de graves méfaits. Il infligeait aux ennemis du roi des pertes importantes. (L. 331360)

But Guernes also underlines the dramatic change which, once archbishop of Canterbury, completely modified his life and habits, “ses mauvaises mœurs et ses activités mondaines. Il gouverna avec fermeté les clercs et la sainte Eglise. Il tint prête à frapper l’épée de justice ; ni la peur ni la convoitise ne purent l’y faire renoncer” (l. 541-570). Like many other biographers, Guernes was impressed by Becket’s inner spiritual strength, his habit of wearing very rough garments while outwardly looking like a canon (l. 571-600). The description of the murder is fascinating because, very quickly, Guernes turns his back to reality and privileges the symbolical. Thus the pillar (that was situated between two altars dedicated to the Virgin and to saint Benedict, l. 5521-5550, and behind which Thomas had run for shelter), is interpreted as the Christian’s recourse to faith as one of the foundations of a spiritual architecture: “Saint Thomas en effet s’était appuyé sur celui qui était le vrai pilier, celui qui avait souffert la mort sur la croix pour fonder son Eglise; personne ne pouvait l’en éloigner, ni l’en detacher” (l. 5551-5580).30 commettre tant d’horribles péchés qu’ils en perdront le bénéfice de leur ordination, vous ne pouvez les punir davantage. Ensuite, s’ils sont de nouveau pris en faute, vous pourrez exercer sur eux la justice. Such was Becket’s response to article 3 of the Constitutions. 30 Sheltering behind the pillar narrows the perspective, closes the terrestrial space while opening the spiritual space because the pillar ceases to be material and is symbolic of faith. This process consisting in narrowing the material space to

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In other words Guernes starts with biography and actual facts but aims at transforming the story into myth. Thomas, the man whose passion reproduced Christ’s Passion, died in Christ first and the murder was only instrumental in exposing his adamant faith. The terrestrial level (the man, the pillar) is completely erased by the spiritual level signified: God and Christ are the true pillars of the Church; Thomas was then the sole flying buttress and, by resisting the king’s Constitutions, he contributed to reinforcing the spiritual and the Canterbury cathedral seen both as the stage of a passion which reproduced the Passion of Christ and as a place that was the architectural epitome of the Church, the reflection on earth of the celestial abode promised to the faithful. Canterbury was implicitly invested with an eschatological dimension 31 and the murder of the archbishop was fused with Christ’s Passion in the very place which meant penance, redemption and salvation: De la même façon que les juifs, qui étaient ses fils, avaient crucifié Dieu et avaient permis le rachat du genre humain sur le calvaire–c’est en ce lieu que la justice obtenait réparation des forfaits–, de même ses propres fils ont martyrisé ce saint se sacrifiant pour la défense des clercs, dans ce lieu même où les méfaits sont remis et absous. (5611-5640)

The text written by Guernes is useful not just for the historical value it may have but also because the related story works as a pretext leading to deeper meanings. His text is a rather perceptive and also traditional approach of the problem of figuration. Thomas Becket’s death was not an expand the symbolical and privilege verticality (signified by the elevation of Thomas Becket’s soul born by angels on the roofs of the reliquaries) appears in T. S. Eliot who concentrated on the vision of the archbishop literally cornered in the cathedral: […]Cabined in Canterbury, realmless ruler / Self-bound servant of a powerless Pope, / The old stag circled with hounds. (T. S. Eliot, Murder in the Cathedral (London: Faber and Faber Ltd, [1935], 1969, 30). T. S. Eliot plays here with the dual conception of medieval hunting, both real and symbolical, and he insists on the prerogatives of the king, particularly in the field of hunting. One cannot fail to establish a relation between the hunting metaphor and the conflict opposing Thomas Becket and Henry II. Imagery and metaphors superimpose the man hunted down in the cathedral and the animal chased. (For further developments on the metaphor of hunting, see for example William Perry Marvin, Hunting Law and Ritual in Medieval English Literature (Cambridge: D. S. Brewer, 2006). 31 See T.S. Eliot, Murder in the Cathedral, op. cit., 28: Power is present. Holiness hereafter, a very ambiguous expression, pregnant with meaning, asserting the force of present, temporal power while deflating it by referring to spiritual eternity hereafter.

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isolated personal event but re-presented the sacrifice of Isaac which was a prefiguration of Christ’s sacrifice 32 and it was part of a spiritual lineage. 33 Guernes provides food for thought about the problem of representation: his at times violent narrative, teeming with details and written with much passion, aims at giving this atrocious murder a place in memory and at staging it. Guernes therefore acquired an official status, ranking among the historiographers, the biographers, artists and craftsmen who, through texts, objects, images, endeavoured to enshrine the memory of the murdered archbishop. He concludes his narrative with the evocation of the pilgrimage to Canterbury focusing on King Henry II’s expiatory journey, arriving barefoot at Canterbury. Chaucer34 focuses more on the pilgrimage, on the material conditions of the journey, on the notion of displacement (in all its senses) than on the destination, the sanctuary of the cathedral. In the General Prologue he both expands and narrows the perspective and space, passing from the cosmos, the zodiac, to nature and men longing to go to a holy place in England while mentioning distant pilgrimages beyond the English borders. Chaucer does not describe the cathedral but the sanctuary somehow emerges through the reference to Thomas Becket who, at the beginning of the Canterbury Tales is not even named but alluded to in relation to Becket’s tragic fate and to the good deeds and miracles he accomplished to alleviate the miserable life of many human beings: “[…] the holy blisful martir for to seke, / That hem hath holpen, whan that they were seke” (17-18). Canterbury is merely a destination, in the distance, and the human gathering, the human experience and the literary creation are Chaucer’s real focus. When Chaucer describes the pilgrims meeting at the Tabard inn and their departure, he essentially wants to suggest that a text is starting, is on the move and that this text will be a succession of sequences based on an initial strict contract and revealing changing perspectives and points of view as the text progresses. Canterbury is mentioned several times at the 32

See Erich Auerbach, Mimesis. La représentation de la réalité dans la littérature occidentale (Paris : Gallimard, [1946], 1968), 84. 33 T.S. Eliot goes even further when he identifies Thomas Becket’s spiritual progress with the Eucharist in which the blood of Christ mingles with the blood of the archbishop in a dialectical process based on payment, redemption and the medieval spiritual conception of the debt to be paid: This is the sign of the Church always, / the sign of blood. Blood for blood. / His blood given to buy my life, / My blood given to pay for his death, / My death for His death (op. cit., 81). 34 The edition quoted here is The Canterbury Tales, ed. V. A. Kolve and Glending Olson (New York, London: Norton, 1989).

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beginning of the General Prologue and towards its conclusion (790-834) but the cathedral remains a topographic pretext. The remembrance of Becket’s martyrdom sometimes emerges in formulas which in fact are meant to enliven the Host’s words: Ye goon the Caunterbury–God yow spede; / The blisful martir quyte yow your mede (769-770). In other words Canterbury stands out as a landmark, the geographical goal to be reached in the narrative contest consisting in telling stories to Caunterbury-ward (793) and fro Caunterbury (801). The space and time distance separating London from Canterbury may be likened to a narrative desert which gradually gains substance, shape and life as the text builds up in so many stories. The pilgrimage is a pre-text, a narrative experience emphasizing reading and hearing, and probably reflecting an obvious reality in Chaucer’s time: the murder took place in 1170 and the pilgrimage was a vestige and a memory of the tragedy. The political and religious text that could be read on the soiled flagstones of the cathedral no longer had the same meaning and force. Chaucer points to the fading of memory and shows that the pilgrims were no longer in the crucial position of witnesses of a crime but, because they told stories–like Boccaccio’s characters– meaning was displaced from act to text, from historical reconstruction and reproduction to sociological experience. The Canterbury Tales, a textual fresco, may be read–very much like the Bayeux tapestry–as a realistic, sometimes aesthetic frieze unfolding with the tales. There lies maybe the common point between Chaucer, the craftsman of the text, and the enamel workers who offered another text to be read, telling over and over again the story of Thomas Becket so often reproduced, not just because the murder had moved the hearts of the Christians and reinforced worship but essentially because the reliquaries were very useful receptacles advertising the quality of the enamel workshops and the economic health of Limousin. The four reliquaries commented on to illustrate the link between image and text are pictures provided by the different museums which acquired them; they may also be seen on the CD of the catalogue made on the occasion of the exhibition Valérie et Thomas Becket. De l’influence des princes Plantagenêt dans l’Œuvre de Limoges.35 We will concentrate on four reliquaries which represent a real text in enamel, focusing on the murder and the figure of Thomas Becket whereas

35

Exhibition curator : Véronique Notin ; associate organizers : Simone Caudron, Geneviève François. With contributions by Bernadette Barrière, University of Limoges, and Jean-Loup Lemaître, Ecole Pratique des Hautes Etudes, IVème section (Limoges: Musée Municipal de l’Evêché, 1999).

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Chaucer’s Tales conversely turn the pilgrimage and the cult into a pretext to a literary text. The London reliquary (Limoges, ca. 1185-1190, Victoria and Albert Museum, inv. M. 66. 1997) resorts to ultramarine, turquoise blue, sky blue and white for the background which is studded with blue and white, red and green discs. A crest with openings and adorned with a central spherule and cabochons is set on top of the roof. Though only three knights may be seen, the murder scene stages a significant number of characters. The murder is thus literally dramatized within the limits of the iconographic representation divided into symbolical spaces: Thomas Becket and the altar split the space clearly isolating, on the left, the murderers from, on the right, two monks or priests. Thus the terrestrial and the spiritual powers are clearly defined by the central position of the archbishop whose hands, reaching towards the chalice, express his implacable determination whereas the knights, the folds of their garments, and their hands mean action, execution and violence. The lower part of the reliquary contrasts with the roof which reflects spiritual elevation. Eternal rest is signified by the burial rite carried out with the appropriate objects. Contrary to the lower part which depicts murdering hands, the roof focuses on gestures respecting death and the funeral liturgy; those gestures prepare and announce eternal life and the wings, the angels’ wings that lift up Becket’s soul towards the heavens, express the victory of life over death and reinforce the visual contrast between redemption and murder. The second illustration is provided by the Utrecht reliquary (Limoges, 1195-1200, Utrecht [Netherlands], Rijksmuseum het Catharijneconvent, inv. ABM m 907). The reliquary displays the same scene but resorts to a different treatment. The material structure is similar with the same range of blue hues and the yellow, white, red and green discs. The crest decorated with an openwork shows a cross and two spherules. The altar is situated on the left of the front plate and the archbishop turns his back to it; his sacerdotal garments (alb, dalmatic, chasuble, mitre) are depicted with great accuracy. Though similar, the scene offers several variations: Thomas Becket seems to physically shield the altar as if his terrestrial body was already but a secondary reality; his body is part of the vertical organization of the scene which throws into relief the brandished objects, the three swords and the processional cross which seems to obstruct the space defended by the archbishop. The cross is of course far bigger than the three swords, rising like a wall, a protective line, from the lower part of the plate to the top; it

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both signifies the conflict between divine law and political law, and points towards the roof and the heavens–the seat of the only significant power the roof symbolizes. Behind Thomas Becket an angel supports the archbishop ready to cradle his soul within his wings and lift it up to the heavens. The representation contrasts the rigidity of the swords and of all the vertical lines on the lower plate with the harmonious and gentle movement of the elevation, already present in the elegant curves of the angel’s wings on the lower plate. This reliquary perfectly illustrates the fight between the spiritual and the terrestrial while the space layout reflects the spiritual progress, made visual by the gentle curves, from a ruthless earth towards salvation. The Riggisberg reliquary (Limoges, 1195-1200, Riggisberg, Switzerland, Bern, Abegg-Stiftung, inv. 8. 51. 63) is a relevant illustration of the textual function of art. The representation of the hands is treated with great care and the hands seem to be the fragments of a whole text displayed in enamel. The hands of the knights convey an impression of brutal determination; their left hands, in particular, seem to punctuate and encourage the execution by the right hands of a murder conceived as the achievement of a fateful plan. The archbishop’s hands are pointing towards the altar displaying a candlestick, a chalice and the Host. Thus holding out his hands towards the celebration of the Eucharist –the memory of Christ’s Passion– he seems to project himself into the holy space of prayer and sacrifice, indifferent to the fate of his mortal body; his hands are symbolically severed from his terrestrial being and they establish a transition with the spiritual space signified by the paradigmatic hand appearing on the right side: God’s hand (the memory of His creation of mankind), protects and blesses Thomas, thereby expressing his condemnation of this murder which outrageously contradicts his commandments.36 On the roof, Thomas’s hands held up in prayer, though chiselled like the three knights’ hands, reflect his faith and call to God’s eternal mercy while the three murderers’ hands only comment on the chronological execution of a temporal act. Of the original Cleveland reliquary châsse (Limoges, 1195-1200, Cleveland, U. S. A., Ohio, The Cleveland museum of Art, J. H. Wade

36

Simone Caudron (“Les châsses de Thomas Becket en émail de Limoges”), Sédières, 235, explains that God’s hand appearing during the murder is a very strong sign since Becket’s figure crystallizes tragic implications going far beyond his murder ; this sign, traditional in Christian imagery, expresses theophany, God’s interference with and presence in terrestrial events.

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Fund, inv. 51. 449), only a plaque is left which however is a very rich development on passion and sacrifice. The plaque is divided into two parts recalling the two panels of a diptych, or two chapters exposing the same contents in a specular way: on the left, the Crucifixion scene shows Christ’s tortured body, the Virgin and saint John; on the right, the plaque displays the passion of the archbishop who peacefully accepts his fate and his hand, held out like Christ’s, seems to stretch towards the Saviour and the two deaths are thus fused. The murderers’ hands however are denied the space which is granted the knights on the other reliquaries. The limitation of the temporal space contrasts with the spiritual strength pervading the scene through the meaningful representation of the essential characters’ hands: God’s hand, Thomas’s hand suggesting his sharing Christ’s arrest and sacrifice, the Virgin’s and St John’s clasped hands as they stand petrified with sorrow, and Christ’s hands nailed onto the cross (but being still open in the direction of men, his hands reveal that he redeems them through his death). Hands are visible everywhere, just like the cross: the true cross erected for Crucifixion, the cross on the altar, on the pommels of the swords, in the cross pattern formed by the horizontal and vertical enamel stripes both separating the two scenes and superposing them in the same signified experience. The cross is thus everywhere present, exposing a sort of psychomachy in which the spiritual triumphs over the terrestrial. Excess does not characterize the cross motif: conversely, the emblem of faith is emphasized by the subtle variety of the iconographic treatment. The presence of the cross is instrumental in the interpretative task and the reliquary thus stands out as an object, both specular and optical, which may be analyzed for its scientific and aesthetic values or may be meditated on by pilgrims and worshippers engrossed in the reading task connecting the receptacle and the conveyed text.37 Reliquaries are often empty, yet the text chiselled into the enamel plaques may be conceived as a relic, in other words the visible remains of a more extensive spiritual and political context carrying one back to times when Canterbury, for historical reasons, was close to Limoges. Those châsses stand out as an art and historical memory according to Mary Carruthers’s definition of the mnemonic preservation of the past through the material memory conveyed by an object valued for its tangible 37

See Alain Dierkens’s contribution, “Du bon (et du mauvais usage) des reliquaires au Moyen Age”, in Les reliques. Objets, cultes, symboles, op. cit., 245, in which the author shows that, because they were visual iconographic objects, reliquaries (like retables) were the visible complement of the vitae and sermons.

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or symbolical nature. In her book Machina Memorialis,38 Mary Carruthers posits that vague and abstract spaces cannot usefully shelter memories. To be preserved, memories should be stored in specific places and receptacles and their value thus varies according to personal, emotional, rational, or cultural contexts.39 Above all, she insists that the literal value of a text is only relative if it is not visually materialized into an object 40 which complements it through images invested with an allegorical or symbolical meaning; these images shape the sense, make it concrete to the mind through colours and ornament, so that sense may be fully received by and stored in memory. The hands of the enamel workers who created so many reliquary châsses were instrumental in the literal and symbolical task consisting in establishing memory. They strove to preserve holy bodies by sublimating physical remains, offered a visual abode to the spiritual contents, clothed martyrs with a resplendent skin in order to perpetuate memory and make spiritual and aesthetic life triumph over death. In this respect, one may consider that Noah’s Ark (the Latin etymology of arca refers to a cupboard, a chest, a casket) was the very first form of reliquary châsse sheltering relics of a particular sort: the humans that had been saved and remained after the Flood. In the same way, memory and the link between sense and material preservation is well exemplified in the Ark of the Covenant in which the Hebrews kept the Tables of the Law. As such a reliquary châsse is an oxymoron because it concentrates while simultaneously releasing infinite spiritual, historical, aesthetic meanings and the following quote, from T. S. Eliot again, reflecting on Becket’s murder he is staging, may serve to illustrate this oxymoron: In life there is not time to grieve long. But this, this is out of life, this is out of time, An instant eternity of evil and wrong.41

Being the memory of martyrdom, reliquaries–Becket’s reliquaries in particular–both reduce and expand. The murder in the cathedral of Canterbury was somehow blurred by the passing of time but the original place shrank down to the dimension of a châsse, a cathedral in reduction, 38

Mary Carruthers. Machina Memorialis. Méditation, rhétorique et fabrication des images au Moyen Age (Paris : Gallimard, [1998], 2002). 39 27. 40 31-32. 41 Op. cit., 83.

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the wall-like enamel plates of which still display the memory of an evil deed that took place in a dim and distant past.

Acknowledgements The author expresses her sincere thanks to the following institutions which provided images and granted permission to reproduce them: Figure 1. London, M. 66-1997, The Becket Casket; gilt copper and champlevé enamel on a wooden core; right ¾ view, French (Limoges), c. 1180, © V&A Images/Victoria and Albert Museum, London.

Figure 2. Utrecht, ABM m 907, © Museum Catharijneconvent, Utrecht.

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Figure 3. Riggisberg, inv. 8. 51. 63, © Abegg-Stiftung, CH-3132 Riggisberg, 1996 (photo: Christoph von Viràg).

Figure 4. Cleveland, Master G. Alpais (French) and workshop. Plaque from a reliquary châsse: Crucifixion of Christ and Martyrdom of St Thomas Becket, C. 1220-1225. Engraved, gilded copper, champlevé enamel, 16. 9 x 28. 5 x 0,5 cm. The Cleveland Museum of Art. Purchase from the J. H. Wade Fund 1951-449.

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Bibliography Allard, Jean-Marie. Etude réalisée pour l’exposition tenue à la Bibliothèque Municipale de Limoges en avril-mai 1988 dans le cadre des manifestations entourant les Ostensions. Limoges, 1988. Auerbach, Eric. Mimesis. La représentation de la réalité dans la littérature occidentale. Paris : Gallimard, [1946], 1968. Barrau, Julie. “La conversio de Jean de Salisbury,” in Cahiers de Civilisation Médiévale. Poitiers : Centre d’Etudes Supérieures de Civilisation Médiévale, July-September 2007), 229-243. Barrière, Bernadette. “Le Limousin et Limoges au temps de l’émail champlevé,”in L’Œuvre de Limoges : Emaux limousins du Moyen Age. Paris : Musée du Louvre, New York : The Metropolitan Museum of Art, 1995. Borenius, Tancred. St Thomas Becket in Art. Port Washington, New York / London: Kennikat Press, [1932], 1970). Carruthers, Mary. Machina Memorialis. Méditation, rhétorique et fabrication des images au Moyen Age. Paris : Gallimard, [1998], 2002. Caudron, Simone. “Les châsses de Thomas Becket en émail de Limoges” in Raymonde Foreville, ed. Actes du colloque international de Sédières, 19-24 août 1973. Paris : Beauchesne, 1975. Dierkens, Alain. “Du bon (et du mauvais usage) des reliquaires au Moyen Age”, in Les reliques. Objets, cultes, symboles. Actes du colloque international du Littoral-Côte d’Opale (Boulogne-sur-Mer), 4-6 september 1997, ed. Edina Bozóky and Anne-Marie Helvétius (Turnhout : Brepols Publishers, 1999 Eliot, T. S. Murder in the Cathedral. London: Faber and Faber Ltd, [1935] 1969. Foreville, Raymonde. “Les origines normandes de la famille Becket et le culte de saint Thomas en Normandie,”in Mélanges offerts à Pierre Andrieu-Guitrancourt, L’Année canonique, XVII (1973), 438-442. Gameson, Richard. “The Early Imagery of Thomas Becket,”ed. Colin Morris and Peter Roberts. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2002. Gauthier, Marie-Madeleine. “Le meurtre dans la cathédrale, thème iconographique médiéval,” in Raymonde Foreville, ed. Actes du colloque international de Sédières, 19-24 août 1973. Paris : Beauchesne, 1975. —. Les routes de la foi. Reliques et reliquaires de Jérusalem à Compostelle. Paris : Bibliothèque des Arts, Fribourg : Office du Livre, 1983.

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Gouttebroze, Jean-Guy and Ambroise Queffelec, tr. La vie de Saint Thomas Becket by Guernes de Pont-sainte-Maxence. Paris: Honoré Champion, 1990. Hamelius, P., ed. Mandeville’s Travels, , vol. I, O. S. 153. London: Early English Text Society, 1988. Hamer, Richard. Gilte Legende. The Early English Text Society, O. S. 327. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2006. Larue, Arlette. “Enquête sur l’iconographie et le mobilier de Thomas Becket en Normandie,”Sédières, op.cit., 211-219. Jones, Thomas M., ed. The Becket Controversy. York, London, Sydney, Toronto: John Wyley and Sons, Inc., 197 William Perry. Hunting Law and Ritual in Medieval English Literature. Cambridge: D. S. Brewer, 2006. Kolve, V. A. and Glending Olson, ed. The Canterbury Tales. New York, London: Norton, 1989. Musset, Lucien. “Thomas Becket et la Normandie,”in Raymonde Foreville, Annales de Normandie XXIV, n°2 (June 1974), 208 sq. Rudolph, C. The Things of Greater Importance: Bernard of Clairvaux’s Apologia and the Medieval Attitude Towards Art. Philadelphia, 1990. Sigal, Pierre André. “Les différents types de pèlerinage au Moyen Age,” in Wallfahrt kennt keine Grenzen (Münich, Zürich : Verlag Schnell & Steiner, 1984. Schmitt, Jean-Claude. “Les reliques et les images, ”in Edina Bozóky and Anne-Marie Helvétius, ed. Les reliques. Objets, cultes, symboles, Actes du colloque international du Littoral-Côte d’Opale (Boulogne-surMer), 4-6 september 1997.Turnhout : Brepols Publishers, 1999. Smalley, Beryl. The Becket Conflict and the Schools. A Study of Intellectuals in Politics in the Twelfth Century. Oxford: Basil Blackwell, 1973. ch. VIII, 194-196 Stephenson, Carl and Frederick George Marcham, ed. and transl. “The Constitutions of Clarendon [1164],” in Sources of English Constitutional History, New York: Harper & Brothers, [1937], 1965).

SAINTLY VIRTUE, CLERICAL VICE: JOHN OF SALISBURY AND ST EDMUND RICH IN SERMON 3 OF WILLIAM HEREBERT LAUREN MOREAU UNIVERSITY OF LEEDS

This paper will discuss the Canterbury connection and literary correlations between the hagiography of Edmund Rich and the Policraticus of John of Salisbury in William Herebert’s sermon three. In his sermon, Herebert reused quotations from John’s Policraticus in conjunction with quotations from the Vita Sancti Edmundi to demonstrate Edmund’s sanctity and to draw attention to clerical immorality in the fourteenth century. Edmund’s episcopate was troubled and led to comparisons with the problematic church of the twelfth century. Even during Edmund’s life, parallels were drawn between Edmund and Thomas Becket, Edmund’s predecessor both in Episcopal and saintly office. Therefore it is crucial to investigate the tradition of weaving Becket’s hagiography into the hagiography of Edmund. Edmund’s hagiographers wished to highlight similarities between Becket and Edmund, making both John of Salisbury’s Vita Sancti Thomae and Policraticus resonate anew. I will begin by briefly discussing John’s Policraticus before moving onto the textual links between John’s Vita Sancti Thomae and the Vita Sancti Edmundi, and then introduce William Herebert and his sermon 3 before presenting an analysis of the reuse of the Policraticus in the sermon.1 Within the course of this paper, I 1

See Edmond Martène, and Ursin Durant, eds, “Vita Sancti Edmundi,” in Thesaurus novus anecdotorum, vol. 3 (Paris: Delhaulne, 1717); C.H. Lawrence, ed., “Vita Sancti Edmundi auctore Eustachio de Faversham,” in St. Edmund of Abingdon: a Study in Hagiography and History (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1960), 203-221; Lawrence, ed., “Vita Sancti Edmundi auctore Matthaeo Parisiensi,” in St. Edmund of Abingdon, 222-289; See also James Craigie Robertson, ed.,“Vita Sancti Thomae auctore Ioanne Saresberiensi,” in Materials for the History of Thomas Becket, archbishop of Canterbury (canonized by Pope Alexander III, A.D. 1173), vol. 2 (London: Longman, 1876), 303-322.

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will demonstrate that William Herebert’s sermon 3 presents Edmund as the epitome of a virtuous cleric and uses quotations from the Policraticus to make observations about clerical abuses.2 The key players in this paper are St Edmund of Abingdon who served as Archbishop of Canterbury from 1233 until his death in 1240, John of Salisbury, twelfth-century philosopher, friend of Thomas Becket, Bishop of Chartres and author of the Policraticus and finally the early fourteenth-century Oxford educated Franciscan and sermon writer, William Herebert. During the second half of the 1150s John of Salisbury completed the Policraticus. Although John travelled a great deal during the 1140s and 1150s to Rome to the court of Eugenius III,3 and made a visit to Peter of Celle in Montier-la-Celle in 1147, 4 his main locus of activity was Canterbury under Archbishop Theobald. The library at Canterbury was quite possibly behind the extensive number of sources and quotations in the Policraticus. 5 According to Cary Nederman, this Canterbury centre would have also “constituted the immediate audience for much of John’s writing”.6 The Policraticus was comprised of eight books that were filled with classical and contemporary sources. John’s use of source material made the Policraticus useful to later medieval compilers, chroniclers and sermon writers.7 His expansive use of sources, however, does not indicate John to be a compiler of lost or rare sources. Rather, the Policraticus represented the range of popular source materials that he would have encountered in the libraries of Christ Church and Saint Augustine’s in Canterbury.8 John was associated with two archbishops during his lifetime and his Policraticus reflects much of his contemporary surroundings.9 It is 2

Stephen Reimer, The Works of William Herebert (Toronto: Pontifical Institute of Medieval Studies, 1987), 57-70. 3 Cary J. Nederman, “Introduction,” in Policraticus: on the Frivolties of Courtiers and the Footprints of Philosophers (Cambridge: University Press, 1990), xvi. 4 Julian Haseldine, ed., The Letters of Peter of Celle, Oxford Medieval Texts (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2001), 300. 5 Barlow, Thomas Becket (London: Weidenfeld & Nicholson, 1986), 32. 6 Nederman, Policraticus, xv. 7 See Beryl Smalley, The English Friars and Antiquity in the Early Fourteenth Century (Oxford: Blackwell, 1960), 54; Amnon Linder, “The Knowledge of John of Salisbury in the Later Middle Ages,” Studi Medievali 40 (1977), 315-366. 8 Janet Martin, “John of Salisbury as a Classical Scholar,” in The World of John of Salisbury, ed. Michael Wilks (Oxford: Published for the Ecclesiastical History Society by Blackwell, 1984), 179-202 (180); Martin, “ John of Salisbury and the Classics” (PhD diss., Harvard University, 1968), 188. 9 Christopher Brooke, “John of Salisbury and his World,” in The World of John of Salisbury, 1-20 (2 and 14).

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unsurprising that his works reflect the tribulations of the Canterbury episcopate and that John’s words retained relevance for later medieval writers who wished to draw connections between the troubled church of the twelfth century and the contemporary Church.10 The hagiography of St Edmund demonstrates that there is precedent of the re-use of John of Salisbury’s work in relation to Edmund. Becket’s hagiography became a popular and model source text for the hagiography of Edmund. 11 There are several reasons for the use of John’s narration from his Vita Sancti Thomae in the corpus of Edmund’s Vitae. Edmund’s episcopate was troubled from the start and resulted in exile in France. Specific issues during Edmund’s episcopate concerning church liberties were seen to mirror the tribulations Becket experienced insofar as Edmund also chose Pontigny as his place of exile, the same location that Becket chose a century earlier.12 These connections would make the Vita Sancti Thomae suitable source material for use in composing the Vita Sancti Edmundi. The Life of St Edmund by Eustace of Faversham quotes passages from John of Salisbury’s life of Becket six times. 13 Matthew Paris’ Vita sancti Edmundi also quotes John’s Vita of Becket at least twice.14 Narrative elements from Becket’s life are used to outline narrative elements of Edmund’s in the hagiography. In a few instances, Eustace of Faversham uses extended passages from episodes in Thomas Becket’s life to fill in biographical information and events in Edmund’s life.15 John’s Vita Sancti Thomae was used in the Vitae sancti Edmundi to help highlight narrative elements of Edmund’s life. As will be demonstrated in the 10

For the Becket conflict see Frank Barlow, Thomas Becket (London: Weidenfeld and Nicolson, 1986), 88-198; Barlow, The English Church 1066-1154: A History of the Anglo-Norman Church (London: Longman, 1979), 268-311; Anne Duggan, Thomas Becket (London: Arnold 2004), 33-201. For St Edmund see William Chester Jordan, “The English Holy Men of Pontigny,” Cistercian Studies Quarterly 43:1 (2008): 63-75; Lawrence, St. Edmund of Abingdon, 155-182; For general issues with the fourteenth-century church see W. A. Pantin, The English Church in the Fourteenth Century (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1955), 34-40. 11 Lawrence, St. Edmund of Abingdon, 35-38. 12 Jordan, “The English Holy Men of Pontigny,” 63-75. 13 See Lawrence, “Vita Sancti Edmundi auctore Eustachio de Faversham,” 203-221. Quotations from John’s Vita sancti Thomae occur on pages 206, 209, 216, 217 and 218. See also Robertson, “Vita Sancti Thomae auctore Ioanne Saresberiensi,” in Materials, 303-322. 14 See Lawrence, “Vita Sancti Edmundi auctore Matthaeo Parisiensi,” in St. Edmund of Abingdon, 233, 254. 15 Lawrence, St. Edmund of Abingdon, 35-36.

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following sermon of Herebert, however, the Policraticus is used to demonstrate Edmund’s virtue in comparison to contemporary clerical immorality. William Herebert’s sermon 3 was preached in the church of the Blessed Virgin Mary in Oxford on the feast of the translation of St Edmund Rich of Canterbury.16 This sermon was most likely preached on the 9th of June in 1314, and it is likely that it would have been delivered as part of Herebert’s doctoral training at Oxford, before he was named lector three years later. 17 The sermon’s theme is taken from Luke 16:19, “Homo quidam erat diues et induebatur purpura et bisso et epulabatur cotidie splendide”.18 This particular theme was fitting, as St Edmund was known as Edmund Rich or “Dives”.19 Helen Leith Spencer notes that this play on words “was too good to miss” for Herebert.20 A total of three quotations from the Policraticus are found in sermon 3. In order to understand the usage of the Policraticus it is first necessary to analyse the structure of the sermon as a whole before proceeding to a detailed lexical analysis of the Policratican quotations. Throughout the sermon a variety of quotations are used to emphasise Herebert’s arguments and fill out the narrative of Edmund’s life. Sermon 3 contains around eighty-two quotations in total, primarily from biblical and patristic sources. The total of biblical quotations reaches twenty-seven; six more are references or allusions to material found in the Bible. Nonbiblical quotations reach a total number of forty-four. Amongst the authors quoted in the sermon are patristic sources such as, Nazianzenus, St Ambrose, St Augustine, St Gregory and St Jerome. Classical authors such as Seneca, Lucan and Cicero are quoted as well. Modern authors and compilers such as John Bromyard, Hraban Maur and John of Salisbury fill out the rest of the sermon.21 Finally, it is important to note that the Vita Sancti Edmundi is the main source for the sermon. Much of the discussion and examples given in the sermon are taken directly from the Vita and 16

Reimer, The Works of William Herebert, 57. Reimer, “Studies in the Sermons and Lyrics of Friar William Herebert” (PhD diss., University of Toronto, 1984), 43. 18 Luke 16:19 (‘There was a certain rich man who was clothed in purple and fine linen and feasted sumptuously every day’). 19 For a discussion on the usage of the name Edmund Rich over Edmund of Abingdon, see Reimer, “St Edmund Rich,” Notes and Queries, n.s. 30: 4 (August 1983): 292-293. 20 Helen Leith Spencer, English Preaching in the Late Middle Ages (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1993), 107. 21 Reimer, The Works, 57-70. 17

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consequently many of the other quotations in the sermon are selected because they frame the content of the Vita. As will be discussed below in relation to the Policraticus, Herebert at times uses the material from the Vita as a vehicle to introduce and frame other quotations that make relevant observations concerning contemporary society. Herebert divides his theme into three principals, based on the words of the theme, from the passage from Luke, mentioned above. The theme is divided as follows: 1. 2. 3.

Homo quidam erat diues induebatur purpura et bisso epulabatur cotidie splendide

The first division focuses on the nature of riches and wealth. The scriptural explanation of riches leads to a discussion based on two types of riches. Herebert first describes the “hominem divitem” as a “mundi civem” and second as a “mundi contemtorem”. 22 Herebert relates each division of the theme to both the “hominem divitem” and “mundi civem”.23 Herebert then centres the attention of the sermon on the “homo quidam diues”, Edmund Rich. The second half of the sermon is a discussion of the ways in which Edmund is rich. Herebert applies the above divisions of the theme to Edmund’s character. The principals are listed after the correlating statements of the theme below: 1. 2. 3.

22

Homo quidam erat diues/ Diues, inquam, ex proprietate cognominis24 induebatur purpura et bisso/ (diues) ex sublimitate pontificis uel presulis25 Epulabatur cotidie splendide/ (diues) ex integritate uirtutis seu corporis/numinis cordis26

Reimer, “St Edmund Rich,” 293; Reimer, The Works, 58 (“the rich man”, “citizen of the world”, “despiser of the world”). 23 Reimer, The Works, 58-62. 24 Ibid., 62 (“There was a certain rich man”/ “Rich, I say, because of the quality of [his] name”). 25 Ibid., 62 (“who was clothed in purple and fine linen”/ “[Rich] because of sublimity of priesthood or episcopal office”). 26 Ibid., 62 (“and feasted sumptuously every day”/ “[Rich] because of integrity of virtue or of the body or of the divinity of heart”).

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The first principal in the second half of the sermon examines Edmund’s richness of name. Herebert gives an etymological discussion and explanation of Edmund Rich’s name through a continuation on the pun of the word “diues”. Herebert tells his audience that Edmund was given his name by his Father who took the first syllable of his own name, Edward, and added “mundus” to make Edmundus Diues.27 Herebert expands his analysis by invoking a part of the Vita Sancti Edmundi, and asserts that the AngloSaxon roots of the prefix “edi” is derived from “eadig”, which in turn adds a further “blessed” to the beginning of Edmund’s name. 28 Herebert continues to quote from the Vita to demonstrate that Edmund was “dives re, nomine, et uirtute”. 29 In this sermon, the three quotations from the Policraticus are found within the development of this principal. The next principal relates the second part of the theme to Edmund’s “priestly array”. 30 Herebert uses the story of Aaron and the vestments, Exodus 28, to further his discussion on the holiness of Edmund’s garb.31 The biblical allusion lends historical pedigree to a priest’s vestments and allows Herebert to draw both literal and spiritual conclusions concerning the “riches” of Edmund’s “priestly array”. The third principal relating to Edmund is a discussion based on the division of the theme and a quotation from Ecclesiasticus 30:27. This section conveys the idea that good hearts are always feasting, as Edmund was “diues ex integritate uirtutis seu cordis numinis”. In the section of the sermon dealing with Edmund, Herebert argues that the rich man, Edmund, is rich in deed, that the rich clothing is that of a priest and that the rich feast is one served to good hearts. The remaining portion of the sermon reiterates and ties together the sections on worldly riches and the more valuable spiritual riches that Edmund possesses. The sermon concludes by arguing the need to be charitable to those who are poor. Herebert quotes from the Policraticus three times in sermon 3 to support his arguments concerning simony within the sermon. In Late

27

Reimer, The Works, 62 (“Describitur, inquam, beatus Edmundus [. . .]”; “He is described, I say, as the blessed Edmund”). 28 Ibid., 63. 29 Ibid., The Works, 63 (“rich in deed, name and virtue”). 30 Reimer, ‘Notes and Queries’, 293; Reimer, The Works, 64; “Secundo, describitur Beatus Edmundus quantum ad ornamentum presulare cum dicitur quod induebatur purpura et bisso’’ (‘Secondly it will be described that Blessed Edmund, when it is said that [he] was clothed in purple and fine linen in as much as for the purpose of episcopal trappings’). 31 Reimer, The Works, 64.

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Medieval England pluralism and simony were common practices. 32 The aspects of the Policraticus that critique twelfth-century society seemed apt for quotation in a section of a sermon that calls for clerical reform and introspection in the fourteenth century, as demonstrated by sermon 3. The quotations are found in very close proximity to each other in the principal of the sermon focusing on Edmund’s richness in name. This is the beginning of the major division of the sermon, where Herebert steers the direction of the sermon and narrates the life and deeds of Edmund. It is also where Herebert begins quoting from his most important and prevalent source of the sermon, the Vita Sancti Edmundi. Of the extant Vitae of Edmund, the Pontigny Vita has the closest versions of the quotations that Herebert uses. 33 This particular subdivision of the sermon includes the story of Edmund’s life and a comparison of Edmund’s deeds to those of contemporary churchmen. (See Annex 1) Through these quotations from the Policraticus William Herebert presents St Edmund as the epitome of a virtuous cleric and makes contemporary observations about clerical abuses. Herebert weaves the quotations from the Policraticus into his narration of Edmund’s life, beginning with a quotation from Ecclesiasticus 31:8-9: Beatus diues qui inuentus est sine macula et qui post aurum non abiit, nec sperauit in pecunia et thesauris.34 The etymological discussion of “edi” from the Vita, discussed above, follows. A quotation from St Ambrose elaborating upon the quotation from Ecclesiasticus links up to the next series of quotations from the Vita. The flow of the Vita is interrupted briefly by the quotations from the Policraticus before the narration of Edmund’s deeds is resumed. The Vita quotations detail the educational progress of Edmund and the money which he received for teaching. The passage is as follows: Hec ille. Hic est Edmundus, diues re, nomine, et uirtute, in cuius uita legimus quod denarios quos, dum in artibus regeret, ‘a scolaribus suis recipiebat, in fenestra sua reponere consueuit. Et cooperiens eos puluere, dum quasi sepeliret eos, eorum celebrauit exequias hoc sermone: ‘terra, terre, cinis cineri, puluis pulueri debet non immerito commendari.’ Et sepius asportabantur clanculo, uel per iocum a sociis uel furibus malo modo’. Progrediens autem ad theologiam audiendam ‘beneficium 32 Andrew D. M. Barrell, “Abuse or Expediency? Pluralism and Non-Residence in Northern England in the Late Middle Ages,” in Government, Religion and Society in Northern England: 1000-1700, ed. John C. Appleby and Paul Dalton (Stroud: Sutton, 1997), 117; Pantin, The English Church, 35-46. 33 Reimer, The Works, 63. 34 Ibid. (“Blessed is the rich man who is found without blemish and who does not seek gold, nor places hope in money and treasure”).

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This passage describes Edmund’s dislike of worldly riches. This dislike is descriptively detailed in the scene in which Edmund holds funeral rites for coins earned from teaching. Herebert uses this description to connect the discussion of Edmund’s disdain for worldly riches to his commendable attitude concerning benefices. The Vita describes how Edmund would refuse the offers of benefices while studying theology and that he would only ever consider them if he was able to reside in the location of the office. Herebert sees this as a testament to Edmund’s merits and uses a quotation from the Policraticus to emphasise this virtuous behaviour and to call attention to those guilty of plurality. Although the seamless weaving of quotations from the Policraticus seem as though they could have been included in the original Vita Sancti Edmundi, an investigation of the Pontigny life and the lives by Eustace of Faversham and Matthew Paris did not reveal the Policratican quotations to be in the section of the Vita quoted here in sermon 3. 36 The likely explanation is that Herebert then placed the Policratican quotation in the middle of the quotations from the Vita to make a pointed remark about the state of beneficed clergy in his contemporary England. The quotation is taken from Book 7, chapter nineteen of the Policraticus, De his qui impudentius irruunt, sine dissimulatione ambitionis, quos neque ratio nec auctoritas reprimere potest.37 The chapter is a discussion of the vices of 35

(“This is Edmund, rich in reality, name and virtue, in whose life we read that he was accustomed to put those silver coins which he was receiving from students when he was directing them in the arts, back on to his own window. And covering them with dust, while as if he might bury them he celebrated their funeral rites with this saying ‘earth ought surely to be commended to earth, ash to ash, dust to dust’. And often times they were removed in secret either through sport, by friends or by thieves in an evil manner. Making progress, however, to pay heed to theology, he never wished to hold ecclesiastical benefice excepting one alone and not even this one except without a burden of residency, because as often as he arranged to be free for daily lessons, he was accustomed to resign [these posts], awaiting the counsel of no one else”). 36 Reimer, The Works, 63; see also Martène and Durant, Thesaurus novus Anecdotorum, vol. 3, 1777. 37 Webb, vol. 2, 168 (“Of those who push themselves forward without dissembling their ambition and who can be held back neither by reason nor authority”, altered from Dickinson), 292.

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the ambitious and argues against the ambitions of the clergy and other groups of twelfth-century society. In the Policraticus, the quotation served as an exclamation of contempt for the behaviour of pluralist clergy. The statement, however, still holds weight when Herebert discusses the virtues of Edmund in opposition to the prevalence of the practices of simony and pluralism of the clergy in the fourteenth-century.38 The quotation from the Policraticus follows Herebert’s quotations from Edmund’s Vita detailing his refusal of benefices The excerpt as appears in Webb’s edition of the Policraticus is as follows: Vtinam ita agatur cum procis nostris qui omnes sedes olfaciunt adtentius quidem et curiosius quam odora uis aut sagacitas canum formellas leporum aut ferarum latebras deprehendat./ Inde est quod omnes quasi in stadii agone contendunt anelantibus singulis ne episcopatum accipiat alter.39

In comparison the version of the quotation in sermon 3 is as follows: Vtinam uel hunc attenderent proci nostri, qui omnes sedes et dignitates olfaciunt, attencius quidem et curiosius quam, odora uis aut sagacitas canum formellas leporum aut ferarum latebras deprehendat./Inde est quod omnes, quasi in agone contendunt, anhelantibus singulis, ne dignitatem uel episcopatum accipiat alter.40

The first part of this quotation is found two folios later in the Policraticus than the second quotation. The second part, beginning “Inde est [. . .]” can be found in an earlier part of chapter nineteen. The two lines are combined to create a vivid image of the contemporary bids for benefices. It is uncertain when the two lines could have been combined. They could have been joined together long after the Policraticus had been composed through the mediation of a compiler, however, it is most likely Herebert who first used these quotations in conjunction with one another.41 38

See A. D. M. Barrell, “Abuse or expediency?,” 117-130; Joseph H. Lynch, Simonaical Entry into Religious Life from 1000-1260: a Social, Economic and Legal Study (Columbus, OH: Ohio State University Press, 1976). 39 Webb, vol. 2, 174-175. The forward slash shows where the quotation should be split into two quotations, as they are taken from two different folios in the same chapter and fused together in Herebert’s sermon. 40 Reimer, The Works, 63. Acknowledgements are due to Professor Anne Duggan who kindly pointed out the understood “titled” in the translation of dignitas. 41 There is a case for Herebert having knowledge of large sections of the Policraticus, or, indeed the whole of the Policraticus. Reimer has argued that Herebert did know the text and quoted it from first-hand knowledge. The evidence

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The subjects in the first clause are the first major difference between the two versions of the quotations. In the quotation from sermon 3, Herebert uses the verb “attenderent”, “they heed”; this makes the suitors, “nostri proci” the new nominative and subject of the quotation. However, John of Salisbury uses the verb “agatur”, ‘it should be done’ making the following “nostri proci”, “our suitors” in the ablative form, “procis nostris”. Although this does not initially appear to be a great variation between the texts, the verb form and its resulting subject offer two different readings. The reading in sermon 3 allows for a direct link to the previous hagiographical passage that details Edmund’s resistance to plurality. The translation for the clause from sermon 3, should then read as follows, “would that our suitors heed this [. . .]”. The “hunc” acts as the direct object, “this” and refers back to the example of Edmund’s virtuous behaviour. It is clear that Herebert wishes to draw attention to the example of Edmund by using the quotation. The quotation challenges clerics who hold multiple benefices, reminding them that they should feel disdain for money and refuse all benefices unless they are able to take up residence, as Edmund did. The use of this quotation is particularly interesting because John’s sentiments on plurality clearly resonate in the fourteenth century. The next difference between the texts follows in the next clause. There is an additional “dignitates” in the Herebert version. This allows the quotation to be more general, encompassing all seats and titled offices, as opposed to John’s version which only includes “sedes”, seats. “Sedes” would refer specifically to episcopal seats. Although “dignitates” refers to a titled office, it is still not as specific a term as “sedes”. The variant is significant and permits Herebert to continue his statement more generally; thus extending his criticism for clergy who hold multiple offices of any type. In the penultimate line of this passage, John introduces the metaphor concerning games through stating that the games are “in stadii”. This phrase, however, is absent from the version in Herebert’s sermon. A variant reading in a manuscript of the Policraticus or a form of the quotation from a compendium may have contributed to the absence of the for Herebert’s sermon 6 is more suggestive of this than sermon 3. Sermon 6 contains over 30 quotations from the Policraticus, many of which are taken in succession from Book seven. Many sermon writers would have only accessed the Policraticus through the mediation of compilers. Nevertheless, Herebert does demonstrate significant knowledge of the text of the Policraticus. See Reimer, “Studies”, 104; Lauren Moreau, “Preaching the Policraticus: the Re-use of John of Salisbury’s Policraticus in Selected Sermons Produced in England in the Later Middle Ages” (PhD diss., University of Leeds, forthcoming 2011).

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word. The last difference of note in this particular quotation is in the last clause. As in the earlier part of the quotation, Herebert’s version includes “dignitas”, “office”. John’s original version contains only “episcopatum”. The use of “dignitas” in Herebert’s version allows for parallelism with the beginning of the quotation. The use of “dignitas”, similarly to the line mentioned above, allows the quotation to be used and interpreted more generally. Although John is targeting bishops, Herebert opens the quotation to include all titled clerical offices. The differences between the two texts concerning, “sedes” and “dignitas” are among the more significant of the passage. Herebert includes many types of clerical offices in his version in order to make a more general remark. This fits in with Herebert joining the text of the Vita with the text of the Policraticus. The story from the Vita is about Edmund’s refusal of all benefices that he would be unable to take up residence in. The story is from the early part of Edmund’s life and takes place before he was offered the archbishopric. Therefore, Herebert’s version of the text from the Policraticus needed to include all of these offices to make sense in the context of the Vita. The next quotation in Herebert’s sermon is John’s version of a biblical verse. The excerpt from the Policraticus: Nusquam ergo illud Apostoli: Non omnes prophetae, non omnes magistri; omnes enim prophetae et magistri sunt.42

And from sermon 3: Nusquam illud Apostoli: non multi prophete, non multi sapientes. Omnes enim prophete et magistri sunt.43

This quotation is based on the 1 Corinthians 12:29, numquid omnes apostoli numquid omnes prophetae numquid omnes doctores. 44 The quotation in sermon 3 exactly matches the form of the quotation found in the edition of the Policraticus, except for the use of “multi” instead of “omnes”; no other variants are listed. The similarities between the versions in the Policraticus and sermon 3 demonstrate that Herebert is re-using John’s version of the quotation and not the original verse from Corinthians. The last quotation from the Policraticus found in sermon 3 is the recounting of a proverb. The quotation from the Policraticus is as follows:

42

Webb, vol. 2, 170. Reimer, The Works, 64. 44 Ibid., “Are all men apostles? Are all men prophets? Are all men teachers?”. 43

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The quotation as it appears in sermon 3: Ita ut secundum antiquum prouerbium merito dicatur, quod et Saul inter prophetas.46

These last two quotations from the Policraticus serve as a brief conclusion to the previous discussion on plurality before Herebert returns to a long quotation from the Vita Sancti Edmundi. Shortly after the last Policratican quotation, Herebert links the passages by stating, “[. . .] noster Edmundus ex hoc luculenter apparet [. . .]” 47 This line helps us to understand that Herebert is using the Policratican quotation to not only describe the immorality of the clergy of his own time, as exemplified by the use of present tense verbs in the quotation, but also to demonstrate that the practice of plurality was also present in Edmund’s time. This was a situation that the virtuous Edmund was able to rise above. The use of the Policraticus in sermon 3 is an interesting example of reuse of a twelfth-century philosophical text in a later medieval sermon. Herebert re-uses a critique of immoral clergy from the Policraticus to amplify the sanctity of Edmund. There is suggestive evidence from Herebert’s other sermons that he was probably familiar with the whole of the Policraticus, or at the least, substantial excerpts of it. 48 It would have been a logical choice of text to use for quotations relating to clerical immorality. Several quotations from the Policraticus concern clerical abuses and serve as a harsh rebuke for practitioners of simony and plurality. Attempts to understand Herebert’s use of the Policraticus also beg questions regarding the re-use of John because of the Becket connection. Although the hagiography demonstrates that there is a connection between the re-use of John’s Vita Sancti Thomae in the hagiography of Edmund, 45

Webb, vol. 2, 171. Reimer, The Works, 64. 47 Ibid., “From this our Edmund splendidly appeared”. 48 See notes 41 and 46. Herebert uses over thirty quotations from the Policraticus in his sermon 6. The volume of the Policratican quotations in sermon six make up almost a third of the entire sermon. Herebert uses only three short quotations from the Policraticus for sermon 3. However, when taken together with the evidence and nature of re-use of the Policratican quotations in his sermon 6, the case for Herebert knowing large sections of the Policraticus emerges as the probable interpretation. 46

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this is most likely due to purely practical reasons. It is more likely that quotations from the Policraticus are found, synthesised with quotations from the Vita Sancti Edmundi in sermon 3, because of their criticism of clerical abuses and not because of John’s connection to Becket. This paper demonstrates that the influence of Canterbury does not solely arise from it being an Episcopal seat. In assessing the importance of Canterbury, it is important to bear in mind that the people involved with a Canterbury milieu throughout the Middle Ages - through politics, education and literary production - are never separated by great distance. One of the best examples of the extent and longevity of Canterbury’s intellectual legacy is the manifold and far-reaching influence of works, such as John of Salisbury’s Policraticus. John’s Policraticus was at times meant to be read in a general sense and at other times it was directed specifically at the actions of the courts and churchmen who surrounded him in the 1150s. Nevertheless, the text held a lasting resonance for his readers, and provided ample source material for later medieval sermon writers, who wished mine sources retrospectively to challenge contemporary corruption found in medieval society.

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Annex 1 1

2

3

John of Salisbury’s Policraticus Vtinam ita agatur cum procis nostris qui omnes sedes olfaciunt adtentius quidem et curiosius quam odora uis aut sagacitas canum formellas leporum aut ferarum latebras deprehendat. Inde est quod omnes quasi in stadii agone contendunt anelantibus singulis ne episcopatum accipiat alter.49 Nusquam ergo illud Apostoli: Non omnes prophetae, non omnes magistri; omnes enim prophetae et magistri sunt.51 Ita ut secundum antiquum prouerbium merito dicatur quod et Saul inter prophetas.53

William Herebert’s sermon 3 Vtinam uel hunc attenderent proci nostri, qui omnes sedes et dignitates olfaciunt, attencius quidem et curiosius quam, odora uis aut sagacitas canum formellas leporum aut ferarum latebras deprehendat. Inde est quod omnes, quasi in agone contendunt, anhelantibus singulis, ne dignitatem uel episcopatum accipiat alter.50 Nusquam illud Apostoli: non multi prophete, non multi sapientes. Omnes enim prophete et magistri sunt.52 Ita ut secundum antiquum prouerbium merito dicatur, quod et Saul inter prophetas.54

49 Bold italics in the table show textual differences between the versions of the quotations. John of Salisbury, Ioannis Saresberiensis episcopi carnotensis policratici sive de nugis curialium et vestigiis philosophorum libri VIII, ed. C.C.I. Webb (Oxford: Clarendon, 1909), repr. 1979 Arno press, vol. 2, 174-75 (“Would that it be done thus with our suitors, who make all seats of honour stink and with a more curious odour than the fragrant power which leads the dogs to hunt down the forms of hares or the lairs of wild beasts. Hence they all contend as if in games in the stadium each one panting lest the other take the bishopric”, altered from the translation by John Dickinson, transl., The Statemen’s Book of John of Salisbury: being the Fourth, Fifth, Sixth and Selections from the Seventh and Eighth Books of the Policraticus (Alfred A. Knopf, 1927), repr. (New York: Russell and Russell, 1963), 297. 50 William Herebert, The Works, 63 (“Would that our suitors heeds this who make all seats and offices stink with a more curious odour than the fragrant power which leads the cunning of dogs to track down the forms of hares or the lairs of wild beasts. Hence they all contend as if in games, each one panting, lest the other take the titled office or bishopric”). 51 Webb, vol. 2, 170 (“Therefore to no purpose is the saying of the Apostle: not all men are prophets, not all men are magistrates; for all men are prophets and all men are magistrates” , altered from Dickinson, 293). 52 Reimer, The Works, 64 (“Therefore the saying of the Apostle: not many men are prophets, not many are wise men. For all are prophets”). 53 Webb, vol. 2, 171 (“So that according to the ancient proverb, it is said rightly that Saul is among the prophets”, altered from Dickinson, 293).

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Bibliography Primary soures Celle, Peter of. The Letters of Peter of Celle, Oxford Medieval Texts, edited by Julian Haseldine. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2001. Durant, Martène, Edmond, and Ursin, eds., “Vita Sancti Edmundi,” in Thesaurus novus anecdotorum, vol. 3. Paris: Delhaulne, 1717. Faversham, Eustace of. “Vita Sancti Edmundi auctore Eustachio de Faversham,” in St. Edmund of Abingdon: a Study in Hagiography and History, edited by C.H. Lawrence, 203-221. Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1960 Paris, Matthew. “Vita Sancti Edmundi auctore Matthaeo Parisiensi,” in St. Edmund of Abingdon, edited by C.H. Lawrence, 222-289. Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1960. Salisbury, John of. Ioannis Saresberiensis episcopi carnotensis policratici sive de nugis curialium et vestigiis philosophorum libri VIII, edited by C.C.I. Webb, vol 2. Oxford: Clarendon, 1909, repr. 1979 Arno press. —. Policraticus: on the Frivolities of Courtiers and the Footprints of Philosophers, edited and translated by Cary J. Nederman. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1990. —. The Statemen’s Book of John of Salisbury: being the Fourth, Fifth, Sixth and Selections from the Seventh and Eighth Books of the Policraticus, translated by John Dickinson. Alfred A. Knopf, 1927, repr. New York: Russell and Russell, 1963. —. “Vita Sancti Thomae auctore Ioanne Saresberiensi,” in, Materials for the History of Thomas Becket, archbishop of Canterbury (canonized by Pope Alexander III, A.D. 1173), edited by James Craigie Robertson, vol. 2, 303-322. London: Longman, 1876. Herebert, William. The Works of William Herebert, edited by Stephen Reimer. Toronto: Pontifical Institute of Medieval Studies, 1987.

Secondary Sources Barlow, Frank. Thomas Becket. London: Weidenfeld & Nicholson, 1986. —. The English Church 1066-1154: A History of the Anglo-Norman Church. London: Longman, 1979.

54

Reimer, The Works, 64 (“So that according to the ancient proverb, it is said rightly that Saul is among the prophets”).

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Barrell, Andrew D. M. “Abuse or Expediency? Pluralism and NonResidence in Northern England in the Late Middle Ages.” In Government, Religion and Society in Northern England: 1000-1700, edited by John C. Appleby and Paul Dalton. Stroud: Sutton, 1997. Brooke, Christopher. “John of Salisbury and his World.” In The World of John of Salisbury, edited by Michael Wilks, Studies in Church History: Subsidia, 3, 1-20. Oxford: published for the Ecclesiastical History Society by Blackwell, 1984. Duggan, Anne. Thomas Becket. London: Arnold, 2004. Jordan, William Chester. “The English Holy Men of Pontigny,” Cistercian Studies Quarterly 43:1 (2008): 63-75. Linder, Amnon. “The Knowledge of John of Salisbury in the Later Middle Ages,” StudiMedievali 40 (1977): 315-366. Lynch, Joseph H. Simonaical Entry into Religious Life from 1000-1260: a Social, Economic and Legal Study. Columbus, OH: Ohio State University Press, 1976. Martin, Janet. “ John of Salisbury and the Classics.” PhD diss., Harvard University, 1968. —. “John of Salisbury as a Classical Scholar.” In The World of John of Salisbury, edited by Michael Wilks, 179-202. Oxford: Published for the Ecclesiastical History Society by Blackwell, 1984. Pantin, W.A. The English Church in the Fourteenth Century. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1955. Reimer. “St Edmund Rich,” Notes and Queries, n.s. 30: 4 (August 1983): 292-293. —. “Studies in the Sermons and Lyrics of Friar William Herebert.” PhD diss., University of Toronto, 1984. Smalley, Beryl. The English Friars and Antiquity in the Early Fourteenth Century. Oxford: Blackwell, 1960. Spencer, H. Leith. English Preaching in the Late Middle Ages. Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1993.

THE EUROPEAN CONNECTION ASPECTS OF CANTERBURY CATHEDRAL PRIORY'S TEMPORALITIES OVERSEAS1 JOHN O. MOON UNIVERSITY OF KENT, CANTERBURY

Monastic houses, wherever they were situated, always benefited from the crown or the nobility through charters granting privileges such as land. Extensive and detailed research of post-Conquest charters reveals that French monastic institutions were granted extensive privileges in England. It is surprising to learn that until Professor Vincent’s, as yet unpublished, recent work on English Monasteries and their French Possessions,2 very little research has been undertaken to determine if any English monastic houses were granted privileges in continental Europe. However, a detailed search of Canterbury Cathedral’s manuscripts and registers uncovered a series of notifications and mandates granting the monks of Canterbury privileges whose benefit they enjoyed into the fifteenth century. The charters were given by a combination of French kings, the nobility of France and Flanders, and ecclesiastics in Lyons. Canterbury’s connections with the continent, through these grants, were both spiritual and temporal, consisting of two spiritual confraternities; a temporality with spiritual overtones; an estate within the archbishopric of Lyons; a vineyard and toll exemptions in various ports of France and Flanders. The scope of this paper does not allow a detailed discussion of all the foregoing connections with Canterbury, however, a short summary of each connection should demonstrate the breadth of Canterbury’s privileges, before an in-depth examination of the grants of the counts of Boulogne and of Flanders. Canterbury, like other English monastic 1

I thank Dr Barbara Bombi for her advice and guidance in the preparation of this chapter 2 I thank Professor Nicholas Vincent for an early draft of his article entitled ‘The English Monasteries and their French Possessions,’ which will be subsequently referred to as “English Monasteries”.

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houses, had spiritual connections with continental abbeys. Canterbury’s spiritual connection with France was a confraternity of prayer with the abbey of St Bertin in St Omer.3 Canterbury and St Bertin exchanged lists of obits, with names and dates of death, of abbots, monks and nuns and details of how deaths would be honoured. The origin of St Bertin’s confraternity is difficult to establish although a letter from abbot John of Ypres,4 in the late twelfth century, reestablishing the confraternity hints at a date of c.1140. The first of the temporal possessions, granted in 1212, was for five quarter-virgates5 of a vineyard at St Brice-sous-Forêt, and given in pure and perpetual alms and takes the form of a notification6 from Peter of Nemours, bishop of Paris at the request of Richoldis de Groolai. Two of the other temporal privileges, with spiritual overtones, can be dated to the years immediately following Becket’s murder in 1170; the spiritual overtones relate to visions or miracles associated with St Thomas. The first of these temporalities is referred to as “The Wine of St Thomas”, an 1179 grant from Louis VII of France following Louis’s pilgrimage to the shrine of St Thomas at Canterbury, where he prayed for his sick son.7 While at

3 CCA/DCc/ChAnt/B/390 has details of the confraternity with St Bertin. St Bertin monks in exile in England [1235], see Calendar of the Patent Rolls, 19 Henry III, (London, Eyre and Spottiswoode, 1891), 91. Details of the other continental confraternity with St Michael’s abbey in Hildesheim, Lower Saxony can be found in CCA/DCc/ChChLet/II/5. Further references to Canterbury Cathedral Archives are in the form, ChAnt, ChChLet or Reg. 4 ChChLet/II/6 5 A virgate is a land measure equivalent to approximately 30 acres (12 hectares), David Hey (ed.), The Oxford Companion to Local and Family History, (Oxford University Press, 2000), 476. 6 ChAnt/F/96 & ChAnt/F/97, also noted in Literae Cantuarienses: the letter books of the monastery of Christ Church, Canterbury, edited by J. Brigstocke Sheppard, (3 vols., London, 1887), i, lxxxiii, subsequently referred to as Lit. Cant., and noted in Fifth Report of the Royal Commission on Historical Manuscripts, (London, 1876), Appendix, pp. 460-461. 7 The story surrounding the wine is complex and spans over three hundred and fifty years from the original grant in 1179, yet scant attention has been given to unravelling the complete story as Barrie Dobson [1995] observed “as the occasion for one of the longest and best documented conflicts in Anglo-French relations during the Middle Ages, the complex history of the Wine of St. Thomas deserves more attention than it received over a century ago [1889] in Lit. Cant., i, lxxvilxxxiii, & iii, xix-xxiv, noted in Barrie Dobson, "Canterbury in the Later Middle Ages", in A History of Canterbury Cathedral, eds., Patrick Collinson, Nigel Ramsay and Margaret Sparks, (Oxford University Press, 1995), 142, n. 357 &

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Canterbury, Louis granted the monks their wine, from the royal vineyards at Poissy near Paris, in anticipation of his son’s recovery. This grant was confirmed by successive French kings although, from time to time, the monks of Canterbury had to petition the French king for its reinstatement, even as late as 1514. The other temporality, related to St Thomas, was situated in the archbishopric of Lyons and comprised housing in the precincts of Lyons cathedral and an estate at Quincieux.8 The grant, dated to the 1170’s, was made by Guichard, archbishop of Lyons, following a vision in which Becket is purported to have appeared at Guichard’s consecration in Lyons. Guichard had previously been abbot of Pontigny when archbishop Becket was in exile from 1164 to 1170, first at Pontigny then at Sens. The remaining temporalities were toll exemptions granted to the Canterbury monks, particularly those given by the counts of Boulogne and of Flanders. Other toll exemptions existed but those granted by nobles and ecclesiastics controlling the River Seine from Paris to Rouen and those related to the Honour of St Valery, the counts of Guînes and of Ponthieu are most probably associated with The Wine of St Thomas. As a framework for examining Canterbury’s rights and privileges from these grants, two key questions will be addressed: what do the grants reveal about the attitudes and character of the counts of Boulogne and of Flanders – and why were the grants given to Canterbury? There are twelve extant grants, dating from ca.1096 to ca.1317, from the counts of Boulogne and of Flanders; of the twelve grants, eight are from the counts of Boulogne9 and four from the counts of Flanders;10 with one exception, which is a mandate, all other grants are notifications to bailiffs, officials or men of the ports of Wissant, Boulogne, Calais or Niwene. Three of the grants can be dated to before archbishop Becket’s murder in 1170, while the remainder date after 1173, the year of Becket’s canonisation. The grants of the counts of Flanders are simpler in construction but share two similarities with the grants of the counts of Boulogne. ChAnt/F/90 and ChAnt/F/91 (duplicate charter), Register A fo. 267r and /Register E fo. 34r. 8 Nicholas Vincent, English Monasteries, 12 – 20. 9 For details of the counts of Boulogne grants see, Eustace III & Baldwin – ChAnt/F/130; Stephen & Matilda – ChAnt/F/102 (inspeximus); Matthew – ChAnt/F/132; Reginald & Ida – ChAnt/F/102(inspeximus); Matilda – ChAnt/F/98; Robert I – ChAnt/F/103; Robert II – ChAnt/F/142 & Robert III – ChAnt/F/103. 10 For details of the counts of Flanders grants see, Robert II – ChAnt/F/171; Philip – ChAnt/F/111 (copy); Philip – ChAnt/F/118 and Baldwin – ChAnt/F/111 (copy).

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Firstly, they both provide the monks of Canterbury with quittance from tolls, pedage and customs at Wissant,11 Boulogne, Niwene and Calais,12 this clause, by extension, also provides free movement for the monks and their officials when transacting church business 13 and secondly, issue a warning to the officials and men of the counts of Boulogne and of Flanders not to hinder or cause trouble to the monks of Canterbury or their property. 14 The grants from the counts of Boulogne have three extra clauses in addition to those noted above: a dedication clause dated to later than the murder of Becket and in all probability to 1173,15 the year of his canonisation; a dedication clause, for the souls of their parents and themselves [the grantors];16 and a clause referring to disagreements with the English crown.17 Disagreements between France and England were not uncommon especially where an increase in land ownership could represent an increase in power as well as wealth. Disagreements could also have arisen in situations where the personal allegiances of individuals were called into question, especially if either the kings of England or France were involved. When discussing the temporalities it is perhaps more correct to refer to Francia and the surrounding duchies and counties since presentday France is different from medieval France. The royal lands of the Franks18 by the mid-eleventh century had shrunk to a small area centred on 11

Wissant is identified as a major trading port when Flemish cloth merchants travelled to England in 1113, see Robert Barlett, England under the Norman and Angevin Kings 1075-1225, (Clarendon Press, 2000), 368, see also Eadmer, Historia Novorum in Anglia, trans. Geoffrey Bosanquet, (The Cresset Press, 1964), 92 & 157. 12 ChAnt/F/103, ‘dederunt et concesserunt monachis et conuenti ecclesie Christi Cantuariensi scilicet theloneum et consuetudines que exigi solent in Wythsando Bolonia Niewene et Caleys a transuentibus’ 13 ChAnt/F/171, ‘habeant meam pacem et tuitionem per totam meam terram ad facienda negocia sua de quacunque re indiguerint et quieti et absque perturbatione sint et de theloneo quantum ad me pertinet’ 14 ChAnt/F/103, ‘et prohibo ut nullus hominum vel ministrorum meorum eos pro hac re vexare presumat’ or ‘libere et secure transeant et redeant absque omni impedimento omni tempore’ 15 ChAnt/F/132, ‘pro honore Dei et beati Thome archiepiscopi Cantuariensis et gloriosi matris’ 16 ChAnt/F/103, ‘pro salute anime nostre et parentum et heredum nostrorum’ 17 ChAnt/F/130, ‘et ista donatio rata erit semper siue pax sit siue discordia inter regem Anglie et comitem ipsius terre’ 18 During William of Malmesbury’s time (ca. 1080/1095 – ca. 1143), “authority of the Capetian monarchs scarcely extended beyond the Île de France,” see William

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Paris, the Île de France. These royal lands were surrounded by duchies, such as Normandy and Burgundy or counties, such as Troyes, Blois, Vermandois, Flanders and Boulogne. Gradually the Capetians exerted their authority securing the key Duchy of Normandy from England in 1204. The proximity of the counties of Boulogne and Flanders to England meant they were of strategic importance to both France and England. The king of France’s position was advantageous, in theory at least, since both the counts of Boulogne and of Flanders were his vassals. Although these allegiances could at times be severely tested. The question of varying allegiances is reflected in the disagreements identified in the grants. Two disagreements were with the English crown involving successive counts of Boulogne, Eustace III and Stephen of Blois, and the other involved the French crown and Reginald of Boulogne. Eustace III’s conflict refers to the threat to usurp William Rufus in 1088; Orderic Vitalis is clear that Eustace is one of the rebellious landowners alongside Robert of Bellême and Odo, bishop of Bayeux.19 Although the rebellion failed, Eustace was saved from the death penalty because of his father’s earlier and valuable support to William the Conqueror. However, Eustace’s lands were confiscated20 but reinstated in 1101 as a reward for his support of Henry I of England in Robert Curthose’s second failed attempt to seize the English throne.21 Stephen of Blois’s disagreement was with Henry I of England, his uncle although it is not immediately clear that an overwhelming case for a disagreement between them existed. They were known to be close, as Stephen had supported Henry during the Flemish succession crisis of 1127 to 1128 and the aligning of Boulogne with the Anglo-Norman realm. 22 However, analysing Stephen’s behaviour, suggests that a degree of strife albeit sitting just below the surface may have existed. Stephen was absent from Henry’s court from 1128 to 1132, during which time Stephen was building a loyal following with a view to making a bid for the English of Malmesbury, Gesta Regum Anglorum, II, ed. Rod M. Thomson, (Clarendon Press, 1999), 112. 19 Orderic Vitalis, The Ecclesiastical History of Orderic Vitalis, 6 vols., ed. & trans., Marjorie Chibnall, (Clarendon Press, 1968), iv, Book viii, 120, Heather J. Tanner, Families, Friends and Allies: Boulogne and Politics in Northern France and England, ca. 879-1160, (Brill, 2004), 132-133, Austin L. Poole, Domesday Book to Magna Carta: 1087-1216, (The Oxford History of England, 2nd edition, reprinted 1988, Oxford at the Clarendon Press, 1955), 100-101. 20 Orderic Vitalis, iv, Book viii, 128 & 132. 21 Tanner, Families, 129. 22 Tanner, Families, 242.

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throne;23 although in reality Stephen did not take this step, it was perhaps these alliances that allowed Stephen to act quickly and with strong support on the death of his uncle, Henry I of England. Establishing a viable and workable succession to the English crown was always a preoccupation, and Henry clearly expressed his opinion that Empress Matilda was his preferred heir, although Matilda was not everyone’s favourite and especially not Stephen’s.24 It was probably this combination of factors that led Stephen to assume strife existed between himself and Henry I. Reginald of Boulogne was theoretically a vassal of Philip II of France but in 1197 aligned himself with Richard I against the French king, Philip Augustus. This alliance, which also included the count of Flanders, was in response to the threat of French royal expansion. Reginald continued to fight against the French crown and supported an Anglo-Flemish alliance during the struggle for control of Flanders in the early 1200’s, a struggle culminating in the Battle of Bouvines in 1214; a battle lost by the AngloFlemish alliance resulting in the concession of Artois to the French king and the eventual death of Reginald, in captivity, in 1219. Although the grant of Robert II of Flanders does not include a disagreement clause it is interesting to note Robert’s dual allegiance to Henry I of England and Philip I of France. Robert accepted a money fief25 from Henry under the Treaty of Dover in 1103 but also pledged fealty to Philip. Under the terms of the treaty Robert II had to provide 1,000 soldiers to Henry I but if Philip I invaded Normandy then Robert had to provide 980 soldiers to Henry I and only 20 soldiers to Philip I; a definite advantage to Henry I. The Treaty of Dover was renewed in 1110 and witnessed by Eustace III of Boulogne, although the different allegiances of the counts of Boulogne and of Flanders do not appear to have resulted in any formal hostilities.26 One common allegiance shared by the nobility was God, which raises the question of knightly piety and relationships with the religious. Marcus Bull’s study of knightly actions surrounding the First Crusade implies an expected reciprocity, as “gifts from the laity allowed them to share in the spirituality of monastic life.”27 Bull further points out that the lay response 23

Tanner, Families, 238. Tanner, Families, 191. 25 For a detailed study see Bryce D. Lyon, ‘The Money Fief under the English Kings, 1066-1485’, The English Historical Review, Vol. 66, No. 259, (April,1951) 26 See David Nicholas, Medieval Flanders, (Longman, 1992), 58 and en passim, Tanner, Families for links between the comital houses of Boulogne and Flanders. 27 Marcus Bull, Knightly Piety and the Lay Response to the First Crusade, (Clarendon Press, 1993), 157. 24

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in South-West France also reflected actions by Northern French nobility.28 Piety played an important role in the life of the nobility and their piety towards Canterbury is reflected in two clauses, one common to all Boulonnais grants, where the dedication was for the souls of their parents and themselves. The use of the Latin sub-clause “pro anima patris et matris sue et animabus eorum,” is, as David Knowles29 argues, a strong indicator of the pious intent of a charter or a grant. The other Latin subclause indicating piety, and again only used in Boulonnais grants, is “pro honore Dei et beati Thome archiepiscopi Cantuariensis et gloriosi martiris,” – for the love of God and St Thomas the glorious martyr. This latter clause appears after 1170 and is first used by Matthew of Boulogne between 1171 and 1173. If Jane Sayers's work on the reuse of clauses from Papal Bulls in English manuscripts also holds true for French manuscripts, then it is feasible that Matthew’s scribe reused the phrase “gloriosi martiris” from Alexander III’s Papal Bull issued in March 1173.30 Eustace III’s, count of Boulogne from ca.1088/1089,31 and his brother Baldwin’s grant is the first to use the Latin sub-clause “pro anima,...” Although the grant is undated, evidence from William of Tyre32 identifies both brothers leaving for the First Crusade in the autumn of 1096 and Baldwin becoming king of Jerusalem in 1100. As Baldwin died in the Holy Land and never returned to France, it is highly probable that the grant can be dated to before autumn 1096. Given the announcement of the crusade in November 1095 and departure in August 1096, this period would allow sufficient time for Eustace’s and Baldwin’s administrative affairs to be put in order, and any pious donations to ecclesiastical institutions conferred.

28

Ibid., 250-281. David Knowles, Christopher N L Brooke, and Vera C M London, (editors), The Heads of Religious Houses in England and Wales, 940-1216, (Cambridge University Press, 1972), 10 30 Jane E. Sayers, ‘The Influence of Papal Documents on English Documents before 1305’ in Papsturkunde und europäisches Urkundenwesen: Studien zu ihrer formalen und rechtlichen Kohärenz vom II. bis 15, Jahrhundert/hrsg. von P. Herde and H. Jakobs, (Koln, Wein, Bohlau, 1999), 161-99. 31 Alan V. Murray, The Crusader Kingdom of Jerusalem: a dynastic history 10991125, (Oxford, Prosopographica & Genealogica, 2000), 29, Murray identifies the date of accession as c. 1089; Tanner, Families, 290, 32 Guillaume de Tyr, Chronique, Robert B. C. Huygens, (Brepols, 1986), i, 17, 138, “dominus Godefridus Lotaringie dux et cum eo fratres eius, dominus videlicet Balduinus et dominus Eustachius” 29

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Pious donations just prior to the Crusades are well documented and RileySmith points out that many extant cartularies attest to crusaders acquiring money or ensuring that long-standing disputes were settled before departing on crusades; for example, Duke Henry of Brabant and Lorraine settled a dispute with Forest Priory in 1197.33 It is entirely conceivable that Eustace’s grant was yet another example of a pre-Crusade pious gesture. The grant of Robert II, count of Flanders, was made sometime between 1093 and 1111 although Robert’s grant does not contain any clause indicating pious intent. However, given that Robert was an integral and important leader of the First Crusade it is possible that this grant had a pious intent especially if it was made before he embarked for the Holy Land in 1096, although it may have been granted following Robert’s safe return from the First Crusade in autumn 1100.34 The timing of the First Crusade prompts a review of the Movement of the Peace of God, which was strictly related to the beginning of the crusading movement and saw the participation of the counts of Boulogne and of Flanders. One of the earliest known actions for peace was a missus 35 from King Charles the Bald in the late ninth century which provided protection for the religious, the weak and oppressed; such an act could be considered as a forerunner to the Peace movement, promoted by the bishops of Aquitaine and Burgundy, ca. 1000 and enacted through various peace councils,36 such as Narbonne in 990 and 1054, and Rouen in 1096. As Cowdrey observes in his study of the Peace movement in the eleventh century, “endemic lawlessness pervaded French society.”37 Additional supporting evidence of the importance of promotion of peace by the nobility and the relationship to spiritual retribution for failure is provided by Bull’s study of eleventh century aristocratic piety in 33 Louise Riley-Smith & Jonathan Riley-Smith, The Crusades – Idea and Reality, 1095-1274, (Edward Arnold, 1981), en passim. 34 The Anglo-Saxon Chronicles, Anne Savage, trans., and ed., (Book Club Associates, 1983), 240. 35 H.E. John Cowdrey, ‘The Peace and the Truce of God in the Eleventh Century,’ Past and Present, No. 46, (February, 1970); for the evolution of the Peace movement in Aquitaine see Thomas Head, ‘The Development of the Peace of God in Aquitaine (970-1005)’, Speculum, Vol. 74, No. 3, (July, 1999); see also Thomas Head and Richard Landes, eds., The Peace of God. Social Violence and Religious response in France around the Year 1000, (Cornell University Press, 1992). 36 Examples of Peace councils include the Council of Narbonne [990 and 1054], council of Anse [1025], council of Lillebonne [1080], council of Melfi [1089], council of Troia [1093 and 1115] and council of Rouen [1096]. 37 Cowdrey, ‘The Peace of God,’ 53.

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southern France, where he argues that “the mistreatment of religious communities or their property could be construed as a sin.”38 It would be unusual if such an observation were restricted to nobility in southern France, an observation borne out by the letters of Ivo of Chartres in his Correspondance attesting to the Peace and Truce of God being part of French life up to and beyond the end of the eleventh century.39 Kaeuper adds to the debate of widespread adherence to the peace movement by arguing that the Peace of God evolved into the Peace of the Count and eventually the Peace of the King,40 an outcome welcomed by all levels of medieval society. The other aspect of protection and stability were steps taken by the Merovingians and Carolingians when creating immunities and exemptions for monasteries. One of the most notable examples of this action occurred when Urban II visited Cluny, in autumn 1095, during his tour, preaching for the First Crusade. As Barbara Rosenwein has argued, Urban was linking the cessation of violence to the crusade and by creating a substantial area around Cluny he was “linking peace to the establishment of a holy and inviolable circle around the monastery;” 41 an area that excluded control by kings or bishops. Indeed Urban went further by indicating that violation of this sacred area would result in excommunication; the ultimate penalty in a highly religious society. The creation of immunities, the granting of exemptions and an increasing trend to protect the religious and other members of medieval society from unnecessary violence demonstrates a strong belief in God by recognising that an attack on ecclesiastical institutions was an attack on God. The counts of Boulogne and of Flanders would not have been immune from the pressures of society to support the Peace movement and ensure that not only the religious but also lay society was protected from violence. The grants of Eustace III and Baldwin, and Stephen of Blois used the Latin clause “et secure transeant et redeant absque omni impedimento omni tempore;”42 subsequent counts of Boulogne strengthened 38

Bull, Knightly Piety, 164, for a detailed discussion see 155-203. Cowdrey, ‘The Peace of God’, 54, citing Yves de Chartres, Correspondance, ed., Jean Leclercq, i (Paris, 1949), nos. 28, 44, 62, 118-120, 174-184, & 258; Tanner, Families, 139. 40 for a discussion of the Peace and Truce of God evolving to a peace of the Count and a Peace of the King, see Richard W Kaeuper, Chivalry and Violence in Medieval Europe, (Oxford University Press, 2001) 41 For a detailed discussion of early medieval immunities especially those at Cluny, see Barbara Rosenwein, Negotiating Space, (Cornell University, 1999). 42 ChAnt/F/129 & ChAnt/F/130 39

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the meaning through the Latin clause, “et prohibo ut nullus hominum vel ministrorum meorum eos pro hac re vexare presumat;”43 while Robert II of Flanders used the clause, “homines eorum habeant meam pacem et tuitionem per totam meam terram.”44 All these clauses entreat their subjects not to cause harm to the monks or their officials and demonstrate not only support for Ivo of Chartres's observation that the Peace movement covered all France but also add weight to Kaeuper’s assertion that the movement evolved into the Peace of the Count. The counties of Boulogne and Flanders were integral to the medieval history of northern France, a history that is littered with examples of dynastic land struggles, internal wars, wars with England and changing allegiances either directly by money fief or by the possibility of increasing their land holdings and thereby their wealth. Despite this somewhat chaotic picture of constant struggle, the various counts of Boulogne and of Flanders found time to participate in crusades, to ensure that the Peace movement continued to provide stability and an element of control to society, and were influenced by these movements and ideals and chose to mirror them in their charters to both local and English religious houses. But why did the counts of Boulogne and of Flanders and their successors give grants to Canterbury Cathedral Priory quitting them of toll, pedage and customs? Research cannot ever be exhaustive but it would appear that no other English monastic house was ever granted toll exemptions anywhere in France or Flanders. The grants freed the monks from paying travellers tolls and tolls on goods, in other words they were trading exemptions. These exemptions applied to specific areas of northern France, namely the ports of Wissant, Boulogne, Niewene and Calais. A chronological analysis of the grants reveals that only Wissant is mentioned in the charter of 1096, which is unsurprising as Wissant had long been the port of choice for cross-channel traffic especially from Sandwich or Dover, given that the vessel of choice, the cog, with its single large square sail was difficult to navigate close to the wind.45 Boulogne

43

ChAnt/F/111 ChAnt/F/171 45 See Daniel K. Connolly, ‘Imagined Pilgrimage in the Itinerary Maps of Matthew Paris’, The Art Bulletin, Vol. 81, No. 4, (December, 1999), 607 for c. 1250 representation of a medieval cog from Paris’s Chronica majora; for a discussion of Medieval shipping technology see Robert Gardiner and Richard Unger, eds., Cogs, Caravels and Galleons: The Sailing Ship 1000-1650, (Chartwell Books, 2000) and Richard W Unger, ‘Warships and Cargo Ships in Medieval Europe’, Technology 44

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and Niwene were not added until the charter of Matthew of Boulogne, dated to between 1171 and 1173, and not until 1181 was Calais added to the list. The addition of new places of exemption probably reflects a number of factors including an increase in cross-channel trade; an increase in the number of cross-channel pilgrims in response to the Cult of St Thomas, and land reclamation started under the aegis of Robert of Flanders in the eleventh century. Pilgrim traffic notwithstanding a more realistic explanation for the exemptions from tolls, customs or pedage, given to Canterbury was to gain access to their wool. The grants were very specific in exempting tolls for goods that the monks were carrying, which must imply that they were trading, thus providing a reliable and dependable supply to meet the growth of the woollen and textile industry in Artois and Flanders. Unfortunately, no early records of wool exports from England exist until 1270 when systematic customs records began. However, Canterbury’s estates maintained large flocks of sheep; for example, an Essex estate record46 of 1225 identifies the purchase of 435 sheep, 157 rams and 242 lambs in a single year, representing a significant investment in stock. Other extant records show that by 1286, the majority of Canterbury’s wool was being shipped abroad, coincident with Prior Eastry’s expansion of sheep farming.47 An examination of Canterbury’s extant financial records may show that they purchased cloth from France and Flanders during the twelfth and thirteenth centuries, despite the existence of a well established English cloth industry; however, it may well have been an unwritten precondition of the charter that the monks had to purchase cloth from France and Flanders. Another possibility, predicated on the underlying pious intent, is the desire for prayers. For example, an analysis of a list of over sixty-three charters and references48 for the Boulonnais Comital family from the late ninth to mid-twelfth century shows that their grants were to religious communities, and were typically property and appurtenance rights. In one sense this is hardly surprising as nobility supported religious institutions in return for spiritual rewards, and religious institutions were dependent on and Culture, Vol. 22, No. 2, (April, 1981), 233-252; John H. Pryor, Logistics of Warfare in the Age of the Crusades, (Ashgate, 2006) 46 Reginald A. L. Smith, Canterbury Cathedral Priory, (Cambridge University Press, 1943), 147. 47 Smith, Canterbury Cathedral, pp. 146-165, see also Reginald A Pelham, ‘Some aspects of the East Kent Wool Trade in the Thirteenth Century’, Archaeologia Cantiana, XLIV, 218-228. 48 Tanner, Families, 319-324.

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grants for income, especially from land; anything that alleviated expense would be beneficial. Unlike other charters issued to monastic institutions there are no explicit requests for prayers in the Canterbury grants in return for exemptions from tolls. However it was a well accepted premise in the Middle Ages that grants to religious houses would be expected to result in intercessionary prayers. But if it was a pious gift with the implied expectation of prayers then why was the grant made to Canterbury and not a key religious house in France such as those of the congregation of Cluny? Certainly those grants made after the murder of Becket may be directly attributable to the rapid rise of the Cult of St Thomas and therefore the importance both nationally and internationally of Canterbury. If it was in the minds of successive counts of Boulogne and of Flanders that if the monks of Canterbury offered prayers and performed liturgies then they might carry more weight than those performed by local religious houses. Thus the encouragement of a reliable source of wool through toll exemptions together with the value of prayers and liturgies from Canterbury encouraged the continued renewal of charters. The examination of twelve extant grants from the counts of Boulogne and of Flanders provides an understanding of who they were, and what might have shaped their attitudes to their local society and Canterbury in particular. Monks from Canterbury would have been regular visitors to northern France and Flanders because of the wool trade, visiting the Roman curia, visiting their confraternity of St Bertin and on other occasions spending periods in exile. Both the grants of the counts of Boulogne and of Flanders demonstrate a desire to encourage peace and stability in society and reduce the level of violence against the religious. Those specifically attributed to the counts of Boulogne show a greater bias toward pious intent and, from Matthew of Alsace’s grant dated between 1171 and 1173, reflect the speed with which the Cult of St Thomas spread, not only in England but also continental Europe. William of Canterbury in his discussion of the miracles of Thomas Becket makes an undated reference to Matthew 49 , visiting the shrine of Becket at Canterbury which must have been before August 1173, as Matthew died

49

William of Canterbury, Materials for the history of Thomas Becket, Archbishop of Canterbury, ed., James C Robertson, (7 volumes, London, 1875-85), i, 264, “Haec milies cum uxore et filius nobis praesente comite Bononiensi Matthaeo narravit ... qui causa orationis mare transierant quibus etiam audientibus aliud miraculum exhibitum est.”

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shortly after being wounded at Driencourt. 50 It is also conceivable that Matthew’s grant was a penitential act, making atonement for his possible guilt following the enforced marriage with Mary. Mary was abbess of Lillechurch and was taken from the nunnery and forced to marry Matthew of Alsace, the son of Thierry of Flanders; a marriage instigated by Henry II of England, Matthew’s uncle, but without the consent and knowledge of Matthew’s father, Thierry.51 These grants of exemption from tolls, customs or pedage, to the monks of Canterbury Cathedral Priory were unique, as no other English monastic house was ever granted such privileges in France or Flanders. Notwithstanding the implication of trading, another consideration for the grants was raised by Brigstocke Sheppard52 in 1887 when he argued that grants made after 1179, following Louis VII’s grant of wine, were at the command of the French king thus allowing free passage of the wine from Paris to Boulogne. However, this interpretation may not be correct for three reasons: firstly, the Canterbury monks, at least from the late thirteenth century, sold the Wine of St Thomas in Paris and used the money to purchase wine from Gascony, in London, through their connections with the Bardi; secondly, no extant grants remain for the lands of Vexin, Beauvais, Eu, Montrieul, St. Pol or Clermont, all territories immediately surrounding the Capetian demesne lands centred on Paris. Without any exemptions the monks of Canterbury would have had to pay tolls, pedage and customs through these lands, not an action in keeping with Louis VII’s requests. It is possible that these charters have been lost although this is unlikely as Canterbury kept meticulous records of its French temporalities and no other grants have been lost. Thirdly, given the location from which the wine was shipped, that is, Poissy to the west of Paris and situated on the Seine, then it is more likely that the wine was shipped from Poissy to Rouen along the Seine. This explanation is further supported by charters from Gazo of Poissy, Adam de L’sle-Adam, Guy Mauvoisin, Robert of Meulan, Waleran of Meulan and Walter of Coutances, bishop of Rouen53 all providing the monks with exemptions to carry wine to Rouen.

50

W. Lewis Warren, Henry II, (Yale University Press, 2000), 127. Tanner, Families, 187. 52 Lit. Cant, i, lxxviii. 53 ChAnt/F/115 [early XIIIth century], ChAnt/C/210 [early 13th century], ChAnt/F/135 [late 12th century], ChAnt/F/124 [1181-1207], ChAnt/F/139 [early 13th century] and ChAnt/F/134 [1184-1196]. 51

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Another intriguing possibility was that the grants were only made in return for a customary payment from the archbishop or archbishop-elect of Canterbury on first arrival at Wissant. 54 The letter copied into a sede vacante register, is dated 1293 and refers to Robert Winchelsey and his journey to Rome to collect the pallium. Winchelsey eventually paid forty marks and received quittance from tolls for all his lifetime. 55 It is interesting to note that archbishop Kilwardby had earlier challenged this ancient right and, rather than pay the tribute, had his goods seized.56 Given that both these demands on archbishops of Canterbury were by Robert II, count of Boulogne and Auvergne, it suggests a one-off exercise as no other extant records suggest this was a regular payment. The reverence with which Canterbury was held by previous counts of Boulogne especially related to the Cult of St Thomas would also suggest that this was a one-off exercise. All of the charters were copied into two of the great cartularies of Canterbury, from the late thirteenth century. These cartularies formed, along with many other charters and letters, a compendium of Canterbury’s rights and privileges, collected in one place for safe keeping. Clearly the charters remained important to Canterbury, otherwise why waste money, time and precious resources on making copies? The maintenance of not only the original charters but also copies in multiple registers poses an important question of why this effort undertaken. This question will be answered in future research.

Bibliography A.

Original Authorities Unpublished

Canterbury Cathedral Archives CCA-DCc-Chartae Antiquae – all referenced as follows, CCA-DCcChAnt/X/nnn: where 'X' is the reference volume and 'nnn' is the individual manuscript reference number CCA-DCc-Registers/A and E CCA-DCc-ChChLet/I/II/III and IV – Letter Books 54 William P. Blore, ‘Concerning the Customary Payment that the Count of Boulogne demands from the Archbishop or the Elect of Canterbury, if confirmed, on his first arrival at Wissant,’ Canterbury Cathedral Chronicle, October 1937 55 Jeffrey H. Denton, Robert Winchelsey and the Crown, 1294-1313, (Cambridge University Press, 2002), 234. 56 Decima L. Douie, Archbishop Pecham, (Oxford at the Clarendon Press, 1952), 52.

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Original Authorities – Published The Anglo Saxon Chronicles, trans. and ed., Anne Savage. Book Club Associates, 1983. Calendar of the patent rolls preserved in the Public Record Office, 19 Henry III. London, Eyre and Spottiswoode, 1891. Eadmer, Historia Novorum in Anglia, trans. Geoffrey Bosanquet. The Cresset Press, 1964. Guillaume de Tyr, Chronique, 2 vols., ed., Robert B. C. Huygens, (Brepols, 1986) Fifth Report of the Royal commission on Historical Manuscripts. London, 1876. Literae Cantuarienses: the letter books of the monastery of Christ Church,Canterbury, 3 vols., ed. J Brigstocke Sheppard, (London, 1887) Orderic Vitalis, The Ecclesiastical History of Orderic Vitalis, 6 vols., ed., and trans., Marjorie Chibnall. Clarendon Press, 1968. William of Canterbury, Materials for the history of Thomas Becket, Archbishop of Canterbury, 7 vols., ed. James C Robertson. London, 1875-1885. William of Malmesbury, Gesta Regum Anglorum, 2 vols., ed., Rod M. Thomson. Clarendon Press, 1999.

Secondary Authorities – Books Bartlett, Robert. England under the Norman and Angevin Kings 10751225. Clarendon Press, 2000. Bull, Marcus. Knightly Piety and the Lay Response to the First Crusade. Clarendon Press, 1993. Collinson, Patrick, Ramsay, Nigel, and Sparks, Margaret, eds. A History of Canterbury Cathedral. Oxford University Press, 1995. Denton, Jeffrey H. Robert Winchelsey and the Crown, 1294-1313. Cambridge University Press, 2002. Dobson, Barrie. "Canterbury in the Later Middle Ages" in A History of Canterbury Cathedral, eds., Patrick Collinson, Nigel Ramsay and Margaret Sparks. Oxford University Press,1995. Douie, Decima L. Archbishop Pecham. Oxford at the Clarendon Press, 1952. Gardiner, Robert and Unger, Richard, eds., Cogs, Caravels and Galleons: The Sailing Ship 1000-1650, (Chartwell Books, 2000)

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Head, Thomas and Landes, Richard, eds. The Peace of God. Social Violence and Religious Response in France around the Year 1000. Cornell.University Press, 1992) Hey, David, ed. The Oxford Companion to Local and Family History; Oxford University Press, 2000; Kaeuper, Richard W. Chivalry and Violence in Medieval Europe. Oxford University Press, 2001. Knowles, David. Brooke, Christopher N. L., and London, Vera C. M., eds. The Heads of Religious Houses in England and Wales, 940-1216. Cambridge University Press, 1972. Murray, Alan V. The Crusader Kingdom of Jerusalem: a dynastic history 1099-1125. Oxford, Prosopographica & Genealogica, 2000. Nicholas, David. Medieval Flanders. Longman, 1992. Poole, Austin L. Domesday Book to Magna Carta: 1087-1216. The Oxford History of England, 2nd edition, reprinted 1988, Oxford at the Clarendon Press, 1955. Pryor, John H. Logistics of Warfare in the Age of the Crusades. Ashgate, 2006. Riley-Smith, Louise and Riley-Smith, Jonathan. The Crusades – Idea and Reality, 1095-1274. Edward Arnold, 1981. Rosenwein, Barbara. Negotiating Space. Cornell University, 1999. Sayers, Jane E. "The Influence of Papal Documents on English Documents before 1305" in Papsturkunde und europäisches Urkundenwesen: Studien zu ihrer formalen und rechtlichen Kohärenz vom II. bis 15, Jahrhundert/hrsg. von P. Herde and H. Jakobs. Koln, Wein, Bohlau, 1999. Smith, Reginald A. L. Canterbury Cathedral Priory. Cambridge University Press, 1943. Tanner, Heather J. Families, Friends and Allies: Boulogne and Politics in Northern France and England, c. 879 -1160. Brill, 2004. Warren, W. Lewis. Henry II. Yale University Press, 2000.

Secondary Authorities – Journal Articles Blore, William P. "Concerning the Customary Payment that the Count of Boulogne demands from the Archbishop or the Elect of Canterbury, if confirmed, on his first arrival at Wissant". Canterbury Cathedral Chronicle. October, 1937. Connolly, Daniel K. "Imagined Pilgrimage in the Itinerary Maps of Matthew Paris". The Art Bulletin, Vol. 81, No. 4, (December, 1999)

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Cowdrey, H. E. John. "The Peace and Truce of God in the Eleventh Century". Past and Present, No. 46, (February, 1970) Head, Thomas. "The Development of the Peace of God in Aquitaine (9701005)". Speculum, Vol. 74, No. 3, (July, 1999) Lyon, Bryce D. "The Money Fief under the English Kings, 1066-1485". The English Historical Review, Vol. 66, No. 259, (April, 1951) Pelham, R. A. "Some aspects of the East Kent Wool Trade in the Thirteenth Century". Archaeologia Cantiana, XLIV, 1932. Van Houts, Elisabeth. "The Anglo-Flemish Treaty of 1101". AngloNorman Studies, XXI, (1998). Unger, Richard W. "Warships and Cargo Ships in Medieval Europe". Technology and Culture, Volume 22, No., 2, (April, 1981), pp. 233252. Vincent, Nicholas. "The English Monasteries and their French Possessions". Unpublished paper, 2008.

HENRY EASTRY: AN EMINENCE GRISE AT THE PRIORY OF CHRIST CHURCH, CANTERBURY CATHERINE ROYER-HEMET UNIVERSITY OF LE HAVRE

January 1327: the political turmoil which shook England at that particular time saw, amongst other things, the deposition of King Edward II Plantagenet, an event which was "unprecedented since the Norman Conquest".1 However, a controversy is still going on, as to whether it was an abdication or a deposition and the author who seems to sum it up best is Bertie Wilkinson when he writes: “[…] a nice mixture of deposition and abdication.” 2 Nevertheless, the country was faced with a major crisis, during the course of which a number of figures emerged as leaders who managed to avoid total chaos. Their influence has reverberated over the centuries thanks to contemporary sources such as chronicles and sermons as well as letters exchanged between those who were engaged in the events. They were bishops such as Adam of Orleton, bishop of Hereford, John Stratford, bishop of Winchester and Walter Reynolds, archbishop of Canterbury. Those three prelates openly supported this deposition in their public addresses despite the fact that it represented a genuine upheaval regarding the notion and the workings of the monarchy. They occupied the foreground of the political scene throughout those difficult times. Archbishop Reynolds was the target of severe criticism from numerous authors at the time of the events and long afterwards. Of all the English medieval prelates, he is probably the one with the worst reputation.3 Most

1

Claire Valente, « The Deposition and Abdication of Edward II » in The English Historical Review, Vol. 113, n° 453. (Sept. 1998), 852-881. 2 B. Wilkinson, The Later Middle Ages in England, 1216-1485 (Harlow : Longman, 1995), 151. 3 A. Bannister, The Register of Adam Orleton, bishop of Hereford (1317-1327) (Hereford: Wilson and Philips, 1907), 79.

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of the time, he was accused of indecision, weakness, incompetence4 and even illiteracy. In one contemporary chronicle, he is described as “homo quasi illiteratus" 5 and in another one, the chronicler goes as far as to assert that he could not even write his own name properly. 6 His rehabilitation as a political figure, though far from being unanimous, had to wait until the late twentieth century.7 Historians are still blaming him for betraying his sovereign, Edward II, who had had him appointed to the archiepiscopal see and also for waiting until the last moment to see who the winner would be, the king or the queen, before changing sides. He has recently earned the inglorious name of “turncoat”. 8 Contemporary chroniclers often wrongly made him the head of the movement and, in narratives, his name stands out, which comes as no surprise if we bear in mind the fact that the archbishop of Canterbury was the most prominent figure on the English medieval political scene; he is therefore cited because of the position he held. But, unfortunately for him and for posterity, Reynolds never had the charisma nor the energy and willpower to lead any movement whatsoever. This is most probably the reason why he turned to one man in particular, friend and counsellor, namely Henry Eastry who was prior of Christ Church Cathedral in Canterbury. As a matter of fact, Reynolds did so more than either his predecessor or his successor. Henry Eastry can be regarded as an eminence grise, in other words a powerful advisor or decision-maker who operates secretly or unofficially; he was the shadow behind the archbishop. This paper aims to show, through letters written by Eastry and addressed to Reynolds, how and to what extent the former influenced the latter, how the prior gave the help and counsel that the prelate needed so badly throughout the much troubled times that plagued the later months of his life ; how he actually told him what to do. Six letters from the prior, among the extant abundant correspondence of the prior, bear witness to major political events of the period. They are 4

Walter Farquhar Hook, Lives of Archbishops of Canterbury (London: Richard Bentley, 1865), 485. 5 J. Stevenson, ed., Chronicon de Lanercost, MCCI-MCCCXLVI (n.p.: Bannatyne Club, 1839), 205. 6 Quoted by J. Robert Wright in his article « The Supposed Illiteracy of Walter Reynolds » in G. J. Cuming, ed., Studies in Church History, 5 (Leiden : Nelson, 1969) 58 : « […] Walteri Reginaldi, viri siquidem laici et in tantum illiterati ut nomen proprium declinare penitus ignorabat ». 7 John Robert Wright, Church and the English Crown (Toronto: Pontifical Institute of Medieaeval Studies, 1980), 243. 8 Roy Martin Haines, Death of a King (n.p. : Scotforth Books, 2002), 38.

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dated between 1325 and 1327 and they mark the beginning and the end of the deposition process that so dramatically put an end to the reign of Edward II. In 1325, Edward II was still king of England but he was under the influence of his favourites, the two Despensers In accordance to tradition, he should have undergone a journey to France so as to do homage for his territorial possessions in Aquitaine to Charles IV, the newly-crowned French king. But the problem he faced was twofold : on the one hand, this homage had been a recurring bone of contention in Anglo-French diplomatic relations. On the other, Edward was most reluctant to leave his kingdom as he feared wrongdoing from some of the leading English nobles with whom he was at odds. Furthermore, the Despensers were unwilling to let him go because that meant they would have been left alone to face their enemies, those very English nobles they had so alienated. Edward II’s reign has often been been dubbed ‘disastrous’ and there is indeed ample ground for that. The situation in 1325 seemed to have reached a dead-end until Queen Isabella made a suggestion that apparently accommodated everyone. She offered to go to Paris in order to negotiate with her brother, Charles IV. The reason why Edward II readily agreed to this proposal is still a mystery as it remains difficult to understand why he did not anticipate all the forthcoming complications. All the more so as, after Isabella had left in March, he allowed the heir to the throne, young Prince Edward, to go and join his mother to pay homage in his stead. In any case, in March 1325, preparations for the voyage began and, of course, a number of people found themselves involved, including Archbishop Walter Reynolds who, it was suggested, should accompany the queen. But turning back to Henry Eastry, out of the forty-two priors who served at Christ Church, Canterbury, he was the twenty-seventh and he held his office for forty years ; the dates that are generally given for his term of office are 1285-1331. Like many other medieval figures, practically nothing is known about his early life ; his precise date of birth is not even known. Because of his name, he is assumed to have been born at Eastry, a Kentish village near Canterbury ; his educational background is a matter of guesswork except that, evidently like his friend the archbishop, he did not study at a university.9 He became a monk while still very young since Eastry manor belonged to Canterbury monastery and many young men were traditionally sent there.10 He then started his career 9

Dom David Knowles, The Religious Orders in England (Cambridge: CUP, 1950), 52. 10 T.F. Tout, “Henry of Eastry” in Dictionary of National Biography, vol. XXVI (London: Smith, Elder & Co., 1891), 117.

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in Archbishop Kilwardby’s familia. He was appointed prior of Christ Church in 1285 and held this office until his death in 1331, at the age of eighty for some historians, 11 ninety-two for others 12 and for those who prefer not to take risks, at « an advanced age ». He is of course the most famous of all the priors of Canterbury monastery for several reasons. Under his rule and despite occasionally difficult circumstances, the livestock of the priory significantly increased and the crops flourished. Henry Eastry left particularly abundant and wellkept accounting books and other official documents. Under his leadership, the priory managed to reach an unparalleled level of prosperity, never to be equaled afterwards. The correspondence of this outstanding prior consists of a variety of documents, from debtors’ letters to authorizations for papal envoys, money loans or orders of excommunication,13 Those 173 written documents altogether demonstrate the intense activity of the prior and his priory in all areas. Many of them have been edited, translated and published, while others have not for a number of reasons : their dubious legibility or the absence of textual evidence permitting their dating. Amidst the correspondence, some more personal letters bear witness to a lively exchange between the prior and the archbishop of Canterbury. It has been possible to say that these letters were evidence of a friendly relationship between the two men.14 A few words must be said here about the hierarchical and theoratical relationship between the primate of England and the monastery of Canterbury. It is established that ever since Augustine’s arrival with his missionaries, Canterbury Cathedral had been the religious see of the country. 15 Consequently, the monastic community dependent on the cathedral held a privileged and higher position compared to the other religious houses, which accounts for the close links existing between the archbishop and the monastery, whose central character was the prior. Furthermore, there was a particular hierarchical rapport between both since, on the one hand, the monks elected the archbishop – at least theoratically in spite of the frequent papal provisions and, on the other hand, the archbishop-elect then became their abbot and appointed a 11

T. F. Tout, DNB, 1891. Dom David Knowles, op. cit., 49n. 13 Joseph Brigstocke Sheppard, ed., Literae Cantuarienses, vol. 2, (London: printed for Her Majesty's Stationery Office, by Eyre and Spottiswoode, 1889), 251. 14 John Robert Wright, The Church and the English Crown, 1305-1334. A Study based on the Register of Archbishop Walter Reynold (Toronto: Pontifical Institute of Mediaeval Studies, 1980), 268. 15 See article in this volume by Leo Carruthers, « Monks Among Barbarians » 12

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number of prominent members of their community. In view of these administrative contingencies, it is not surprising that contacts between the primate of the English Church and Canterbury monastery should have been closer than with the other religious houses of his province. In the case of Reynolds and Eastry, we have even more reasons to assert that the two men were close. Reynolds, for his part, seems to have differed from his predecessors in his relations with Canterbury monastery. Firstly, there is the matter of his election : when Robert Winchelsey died, on May 11, 1313, the monks of the Canterbury chapter, wanting to retain their electoral privilege, proceeded to elect Thomas Cobham. However, Edward II had begun to negociate with pope Clement V in order to have Walter Reynolds provided. It was said that the king had paid for this election because the pope preferred Cobham, but there is no apparent basis to sustain the accusation. 16 Nevertheless, the pope refuted Cobham’s election and informed the Canterbury chapter concerning the choice of Reynolds.17 The new archbishop must have been aware of the particular circumstances surrounding his election. Is this the reason why he strove to keep his relations with the monks harmonious? It is a possibility. Then, there is Walter Reynolds’s personality. As has previously been mentioned, the prelate received harsh criticisms even during his lifetime and long after his death. There was a strong anti-Reynolds feeling, probably stemming from the above-mentioned circumstances surrounding his election as well as because of the barons’ antagonism which was due to Reynolds’s frequently acting as a middleman during the countless feuds between king Edward II and the magnates of his kingdom.18 Opinions concerning the prior of Canterbury are quite different. The adjectives used about him are mostly laudatory : a fine assessor, 19 an experienced man, careful and astute. One may wonder about his reasons for wanting to advise and protect Archbishop Reynolds. This was an attitude which he adopted with neither Robert Winchelsey, Reynolds’s predecessor, nor with Simon Meopam, his successor, to whom the prior was extremely unpleasant. During Reynolds’s episcopate, from 1313 to 1327, the prior was a faithful friend and a wise counsellor to the primate. The 6 letters written by Henry Eastry between 1325 and 1327 reveal a number of recurring characteristics. Obviously, the archbishop asked his friend what he thought about the queen’s much-debated trip to France 16

J. Robert Wright, “Walter Reynolds”, Dictionary of National Biography Edition électronique de la Bibliothèque Nationale de France. 17 J. Robert Wright, The Church and the English Crown, 267. 18 J . Robert Wright, “Walter Reynolds”, Dictionary of National Biography. 19 Dom David Knowles, op. cit., 53.

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because the prior, in a letter dated February 8, 1326, gives him his opinion. Eastry thinks it is a good thing for the queen to recover the honours she is entitled to and which she had been deprived of because of the Despensers’ misdeeds. He appears to approve of the trip. However, his letter is not straightforward ; initially, he links the archbishop with the trip, writing « about the queen’s travel and yours to France, I have good hope » ; but a little further on, he mentions potential problems concerning the prelate’s passage, more precisely the fact that he might be in danger of incurring a tax imposed by the Count of Boulogne on his entry into the land of France. Thus he advises his friend to « avoid that route » if possible. Since it is quite impossible to imagine the archbishop choosing a different route from the queen’s, it amounts to advising him to avoid undertaking that trip « ad partes Franciae ». This letter is quite emblematic of the other ones written by Eastry for a number of reasons : to begin with, the advice given to the archbishop is full of caution. The prior never suggests anything other than a thoughtful attitude and prudent dealings. Above all, no precipitation. It has been said of Henry Eastry that he was a man of great common sense, particularly because of his efficiency as a ruler of the monastery but also because of such advice as those given to the archbishop about his trip to France. Eastry always saw the practical side of things first. In his view, if the archbishop landed at Boulogne, he was likely to be racketeered ; the prior mentions the possible confiscation of horses as well as the expense Reynolds would have to incur in order to obtain authorization for his passage. The prior wants to spare his friend the unpleasant aspects of the trip and he has a tendency which is apparent in a number of his letters, to anticipate, to think of everything. He examines several possible solutions : the best one is, for the archbishop, simply not to go, especially to avoid having to pay a tribute to the Count of Boulogne. However, the prior also knows that Reynolds is not free to do as he wishes. He is above all a servant of the State and, as such, he has to obey the orders he is given. So Eastry imagines another solution, a « contingency plan » so to speak. He writes : « if somehow you have to cross over, you must send beforehand to Wissant some of your men so as to negotiate with the aforementioned Count’s ministers about what I told you. »20 Eastry frequently used a peremptory tone in his letters : « it is useful to… », « you will have to… », « you must… ». In a letter dated March 12, 1326, before Queen Isabella’s return to England, - before what can be called ‘the beginning of the end of Edward II’s reign- he tackles the 20

J. B. Sheppard, ed., Literae Cantuarienses, letter n° 146

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subject of her return, writing : « When the queen and her son, the Duke of Aquitaine, are back in England, it is desirable, it is necessary to go to them in haste with respect and avoid resisiting violently in any manner whatsoever if they ever have with them powerfully armed men in an excessive and unusual crowd ».21 He also uses, when imagining specific events, verbs in the future tense which show his assertiveness, as though he could not be wrong. Concerning a possible visit of the pope and the French king to England for negociations, he writes : « No improvement will come out of it but a terrible general confusion will spread ».22

For a member of the regular clergy, a prior, whose mind should have been focused on the affairs of his monastery, Henry Eastry turns out to be quite a worldly man. In letter n° 1, dated February 1325, he is well aware of the dealings of the Count of Boulogne who habitually ransomed newcomers to France. In letter n° 2, dated March 12, 1326, he echoes the rumours he has heard : « as has been reported by some travellers from France » and he tells his friend about the latest episodes of the negociations, namely a treaty worked out by pope John XXII so that the two antagonistic kingdoms might reach an agreement, a treaty approved by the king of France and his sister, Queen Isabella, still on a diplomatic mission in Paris. Likewise, he knows about the relations between the prominent protagonists on the European political scene. For example, he writes : « The pope, who has a soft spot for the king of France (…) ». He is familiar with the subtleties of political relations and their hidden aspects. A genuine collaboration between the two men, Eastry and Reynolds, can be sensed through their frequent letter-writing that deals with specific topics and precise questions ; for example, in letter n°2, Eastry tells the archbishop about his search for information : « About this great army that has been gathering in France and about which you questioned me, I could get nothing from people travelling from there ». This was March 1326 ; Isabella had just left Paris, to the great relief of her brother, Charles IV, who was beginning to find her presence quite embarrassing, owing to her dealings for one thing and her love affair with Roger Mortimer for another. She left with her retinue for Hainault where she found concrete support and she began to gather troops so as to prepare the invasion which was due to take place in September. Of course, the prior is not aware of that. He relays information when he is sure about it. If he does not know, he is 21 22

Ibid., letter n° 173. Ibid.

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honest and says nothing. If it has not been possible for him to check one point or another, he takes precautions. When he refers to an envoy of the Count of Kent (the king’s half-brother who was cautiously staying in France after a military failure in Gascony), he writes : « a messenger who claims to be familiar with the Count of Kent (…) », and a litter further on, « this is what he says (…) ».23 Likewise, the phrase « so it is said (…) » recurs repeatedly. Eastry takes it as his duty to inform the archbishop about the latest rumours in the area of diplomacy but he does so with great caution. However, he is not overly alarming ; he is not very worried about the so-called armed force gathering in France : « we must not fret too much about what has been said, I think, or fear an invasion of the country ». He is alluding to the orders emanating from the royal house. These had started in December 1325 and back then, already referred to « things that were detrimental to the King and the Crown’s rights ».24 Then, throughout 1326, February, April May, August, they came thick and fast, each time referring to the growing threat of an enemy invaion, which accounts for Eastry writing : « It is now being made public that aliens are to invade the realm » (August 1326). In August, Archbishop Reynolds was even expressly ordered to take measures so as to put an end to rumours that defiled the name of the king and to have sermons preached for the truth to be known. Alms, masses and other works of piety had to be carried out, the situation had to be explained to the bishops of his province and he had to inform the king. Thus, on the one hand, there was the king who was obviously panicking and, on the other, the prior repeatedly telling him not to worry. In the middle, there was poor Reynolds. Actually, Henry Eastry’s advice can be illustrated by 3 popular proverbs : 1. 2. 3.

Run with the hare and hunt with the hounds Always count the cost Look before you leap

The first two are closely related ; in fact, the prior’s motto involves caution, mediation, no risk taking. It begins with refraining from criticizing the magnates of the kingdom, at least openly. So in March 1326, he mentions the conciliatory attitude of the queen regarding the pope’s peace treaty, although he does moan about the expense brought about by 23 24

Letter 173. Calendar of Close Rolls, 1323-1327 (London : Eyre and Spottiswode, 1898) 533.

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Isabella’s absence and the fact that he has to take care of her dogs. 25 However, he specifies that a respectful attitude must be observed on her return. Likewise, he advises his friend to obey the king’s orders, « if our lord the king asks you to do a difficult thing, do what you can as long as it is licit, honest and useful, while preserving what can be preserved ».26 Then, keeping the second proverb in mind, Eastry’s phobia seems to be armed troops. He wants to avoid violence and bloodshed at any cost. This fear is very often blatant. In another letter, dated September 28, 1326, four days after the landing of Isabella and her army at Orwell on the south coast of England and despite repeated orders from the king’s house to gather arms against the forthcoming invasion, the prior insistently advises his friend to take precautions before undertaking anything : « Before bearing arms against the aliens who, as is said, have penetrated into the realm in great numbers without being bidden or hired, have three bishops sent to get information about the reasons for their coming and their being here in such warlike crowd ».27 In the same letter, he tells the archbishop that the king’s emissaries should ‘parley’ with the aliens before any rash and offensive action is taken. He advocates talks with the aliens for the sake of peace-keeping and says that it is important that negotiations should be conducted by men of the cloth. He recommends the utmost care in those dealings, telling the archbishop that he should never go beyond the call of duty and above all, that he should conform to the pope’s will and the demands of the Roman Curia, being the supreme authority. « Be careful not to send armed men anywhere, unless it is required by your position, your official status and that of the Church ».28 For this is Henry Eastry’s major and ultimate, if not his unique preoccupation : to protect the Church and, in this regard, he must ensure that the archbishop’s person and position be safeguarded. The prelate must not be placed in an awkward situation, he must not get into trouble because if he were, the Church itself would be in trouble. The third proverb can be explained as follows : not only is the prior well-versed in diplomatic matters but he also constantly anticipates the course of events. It has already been shown that he was not overly worried in March 1326 about the rumours concerning a gathering army in France. However, he imagines, in case this army should materialize on the English coast, potential problems due to the local population’s reaction : "The 25

Letter 171. Ibid. 27 Letter 190, September 28, 1326. 28 Letter 190. 26

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Kentish population, who is the closest to the sea, is weak and poor and I fear that if they see troops, they might withdraw inland and into the forest, foresaking the seashore to their victors’ hands".29 In March 1326, he gives Reynolds some advice on how to behave when the queen and her son come back to England : « it is necessary to go to them with respect, without any violent resistance ». He mentions the subject twice in this letter. Eastry was worried about the relations between the royal spouses even before Isabella’s departure for France ; in his letter dated February 1325,30 he had written : « Before she departs, our queen should be restored with her noble and due apparatus. » He was alluding to the problems posed by the fac that the king’s favourites, the Despensers, had deprived her of the privileges normally due to her rank. The queen had been humiliated and angered. It may be conjectured whether the astute and far-seeing prior had not, as early as 1325, foreseen the lengthy exile and the future dealings of Queen Isabella. Last but not least, we must mention the acute paranoia that Henry Eastry demonstrates in his letters. Of the 6 letters, three close with undisguised instructions to Reynolds on how careful and secretive he must be on the subject of these letters. He ends the first letter with : « Do avoid, Father, that an alien eye should see this letter for the course of things is unsure ». The second letter ends with : « Please, keep this letter secret ». As for the third one, the prior’s instructions are clear and to the point: « Burn this letter after you have read it ». This is a piece of advice which, obviously the archbishop did not follow. Now that a lot of attention has been devoted to the first three letters from Henry Eastry, let us turn to the later ones. In December 1326, a number of things have obviously changed. The prior expresses mixed feelings; he writes that he is happy and saddened at the same time. He is happy because the queen has contacted Reynolds and started giving him instructions : she has taken the reins of the kingdom. In short, someone is in command again. It is all the better since, as Eastry laments, the king has left the head of the country. The prior mentions the fact that, shortly, the magnates of the kingdom will gather so as to treat « very delicate matters ». This is indeed an understatement concerning the political situation of England in late 1326, with a king who is a prisoner in his own country, a queen who has usurped power with a band of rebels and a country on the verge of chaos.

29 30

Letter 173. Letter 146.

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The last two letters from the prior, dated January 1327, are different. On January 3, Eastry sends a note to the archbishop to excuse himself from a Parliamentary session scheduled for the seventh. He gives two reasons for his absence: firstly, he is too busy to leave Canterbury and secondly, he must stay there to keep « organizing the res publica. ».31 The tone of this letter differs from that of the others; instead of giving orders, he apologizes, invokes surprising excuses; he seeks the primate’s approval and consent. It is tempting for us to think: the prior is shirking his duty… It is obvious that he did not wish to show himself at the front of the stage on which the other prelates had been acting throughout the past few months on the occasion of the numerous public manifestations during which they addressed the London crowds. There remains a question: what did he fear? Was he merely afraid of the Londoners’ outbursts which had been the cause for the brutal murder of the bishop of Exeter in October 1326? Did he fear that his influence on Reynolds might be revealed to all? Was he wary of a possible blunder from the fearful archbishop? Nobody knows. The reality is that he sent an envoy in his stead, one Galfridus Potel who remained hidden since we do not have records of anything about or from him. The end of the fourth letter reads a little enigmatically : “The road remains for you long and hazardous”. It was not to be that long, however, since Reynolds died in November 1327 and it has been asserted that his death was due to an accumulation of worries during the crisis. Henry Eastry sent the archbishop a last letter some time in January 1327, full of wise advice. In spite of distancing himself earlier, he had kept himself up to date with current affairs and was still willing to have a say. He mentions in his letter the first delegation that was sent to the king at Kenilworth, whose members had asked the disgraced sovereign to come to London and attend Parliament. The king had refused and the delegation had returned to London. We do not have the precise date of the letter but we know that it was written after the emissaries’ return because it begins thus : “It was permitted that two bishops recently addressed our Lord the King, begging him (…) to come to the Parliament in London for the purpose of an arduous mission”.32 Then he mentions the king’s refusal to come to London, which created a dilemma for Parliament since, in theory, if the king was not present, the assembly could not sit. This was immensely problematic and the group of rebels, with the queen at their head, found themselves in a dead-end. They could hardly drag the sovereign forcefully to London. This is no problem 31 32

Letter 199 Letter 205.

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for the ever resourceful prior; he has a contingency plan. He suggests another delegation duly composed of representatives from what was called ‘the community of the realm’. The aim of that second mission was to convince the king to abdicate. Reynolds conveyed that idea to London and it was adopted. We must admit that it was a rather shrewd idea which resolved the predicament. Relations between the prior of Christ Church and the archbishop of Canterbury were never as harmonious as at the time of that serious crisis. However, apart from all the “I think that…” and “you must…”, Henry Eastry’s letters hardly ever give away any private feeling or personal opinion. This earned the prior comments from later historians about his exaggerated common sense or even coldness. The prior’s letters allow us to gain some perspective about all the harsh criticism expressed about Walter Reynolds, according to which he had procrastinated, showed indecision beyond acceptance. It has to be taken into account that he did so on the advice of his confidante and friend. Of course, one might argue that the archbishop was terribly lacking pugnacity, if not plain willpower, blindly trusting someone else, no matter how astute and reliable. In his book devoted to Walter Reynolds, John Robert Wright asks an interesting and thought-provoking question: must we only pay attention to those prelates who, owing to their personality and acumen, stand out on the political scene of their times? Should we not, also, take into account those conscientious servants of the State, such as Reynolds, who tried to handle difficult situations as best as they could? Reynolds’s tricky and awkward case can hardly be an exception. He has been said to have justified the coup of January 1327, particularly in the sermon that he preached as a finale of the process of deposition-abdication ; the theme was “Vox populi, vox Dei”. Indeed, for such a fearful man, anxious to abide by the rules, that sermon was altogether atypical in the sense that it was not based on a scriptural quotation but on a popular saying, and a debatable one at that.33 At that moment, Reynolds, having listened to the voice of his friend, was making his own heard. To conclude, one must pause for a short while before two tombs which are located in the south aisle of the Cathedral choir in Canterbury. They are those of Prior Eastry and Archbishop Reynolds and are placed one behind the other. One cannot help noticing that the former is behind the latter, as though the prior were still taking care of the archbishop. 33

Wilhem Wattenbach and Ernst Dummler, eds., Monumenta Alcuiniana (Berolini : apud Wedmannos, 1873) 808, letter 253, “[…] Nec audiendi qui solent dicere vox populi, vox Dei ; quum tumultuositas vulgi semper insaniae proxima sit. […]”.

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Seal lvi.13 The British Library’s Western Manuscripts Collection.

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Bibliography I would like to express my warmest thanks to the Canterbury Cathedral Archives for their help in providing a digital picture of the seal of Henry Eastry.

Primary sources Calendar of Close Rolls, 1323-1327 (London : Eyre and Spottiswode, 1898) Sheppard, Joseph Brigstocke, ed. Literae Cantuarienses, vol. 1. London: printed for Her Majesty's Stationery Office, by Eyre and Spottiswoode, 1889. Wattenbach, Wilhem and Ernst Dummler, eds. Monumenta Alcuiniana. Berolini : apud Wedmannos, 1873.

Secondary sources Bannister, A, The Register of Adam Orleton, bishop of Hereford (13171327). Hereford: Wilson and Philips, 1907. Haines, Roy Martin. Death of a King. n.p. : Scotforth Books, 2002. Hook, Walter Farquhar. Lives of Archbishops of Canterbury. London: Richard Bentley, 1865. Knowles, Dom David. The Religious Orders in England. Cambridge: CUP, 1950. Stevenson, J., ed. Chronicon de Lanercost, MCCI-MCCCXLVI. n.p.: Bannatyne Club, 1839. Valente, Claire. « The Deposition and Abdication of Edward II » in The English Historical Review, Vol. 113, n° 453. (Sept. 1998). Wilkinson, Bertie. The Later Middle Ages in England, 1216-1485. Harlow : Longman, 1995. Wright, John Robert. Church and the English Crown. Toronto: Pontifical Institute of Medieaeval Studies, 1980.

Reference Dictionary of National Biography -Tout, T. F. “Henry of Eastry” in Dictionary of National Biography, vol. XXVI. London: Smith, Elder & Co., 1891.

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Wright, John Robert. “Walter Reynolds”, Dictionary of National Biography. Edition électronique de la Bibliothèque Nationale de France, Paris.

THE NARRATIVE REPRESENTATION OF MEDIEVAL CANTERBURY IN C.L. GRACE'S A SHRINE OF MURDERS MANUEL JOBERT UNIVERSITY OF LYON (LYON 3) CREA – EA 370 PARIS 10

Paul Charles Doherty is well known for his medieval mysteries and some of his most famous characters, like Hugh Corbett, have become household names among aficionados of this genre. Hugh Corbett’s Medieval Mysteries, The Canterbury Pilgrimage Mysteries and Kathryn Swinbrooke’s Canterbury Tales, published under the pseudonym of C.L. Grace, have now become classics introducing the reader to the English Middle Ages. More precisely, the first novel in this series, A Shrine of Murders, published in 1993, plunges the contemporary reader into fifteenth-century Canterbury, under the guidance of Kathryn Swinbrooke, a physician and apothecary. This novel is clearly in the same vein as Ellis Peters and her famous Brother Cadfael. It heavily relies on the depiction of medieval Canterbury which is not merely the backdrop of the plot but a crucial thematic and narrative element. The textual representation of space will be my prime concern, as well as the way it is taken onboard by readers. Although this paper is not strictly-speaking in the tradition of cognitive stylistics, I shall however resort to various cognitive tools. Deixis, where the referential world and textuality merge, will also be of paramount importance. As the narrative progresses, so do the readers in the dark allay-ways of Canterbury, which enables them to discover the reality of the city behind deceptive appearances. I would suggest that A Shrine of Murders is an invitation to reconsider this literary genre – often brushed aside as popular – in the light of the minutiae of the narrative construct.

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Medieval Canterbury in C.L. Grace's A Shrine of Murders

2. Canterbury: “attractor” and focal point From the start, Canterbury is presented as an “attractor” in more than one way as it seems to attract – literally – many characters as well as it provides an orientation to the reader. In theoretical terms, attractors are objects or devices that pique the reader’s interest and become the focus of attention. Locative expressions, used in everyday life create templates which enable us to make sense of the world and give rise to “image schemata”1. Image schemata involving movement are often found in the titles of books. They imply a dynamic mode involving at least three elements: a trajector that follows a path, itself related to a landmark. If we concentrate on Paul Doherty, aka, C.L. Grace, we find The Assassin in the Greenwood (trajector) or again The Devil’s Hunt (path). In A Shrine of Murders, as in Chaucer’s Canterbury Tales, Canterbury is depicted as a destination or, in cognitive terms, a target. Typically, the Prologue of A Shrine of Murders opens on the traditional motif of the reverdie and many characters are actually presented on their way to Canterbury. The author, however, disrupts traditional patterns since Death seems to be the main concern2 : Strange deaths were reported, mysterious fatalities amongst those who flocked to Canterbury to seek the help of Blessed Thomas à Becket, whose battered corpse and cloven skull lay under sheets of gold before the high altar of Canterbury Cathedral (2).

From the general, the text swiftly moves to the particular and the reader follows a pilgrim from London up to Canterbury where he is poisoned after visiting the Cathedral. The second character to be introduced is an Irishman, Colum Murtagh, who fought for the House of York at the battle of Tewksebury. As a reward for his help to the cause of the White Rose, the king appoints him “custodian of the King’s horses” in the meadows outside Canterbury. This general move towards Canterbury corresponds to the historical reality as Archbishop Thomas Bourchier reminds Kathryn: ‘It draws people from all over England as well as the rest of Europe’ (29).

The description of a group of pilgrims provides an opportunity to depict Canterbury as one of the greatest shrines of Christendom:

 1 2

On this, see Stockwell, Cognitive Poetics, 13-25 and Simpson, Stylistics, 89-90. “Death still rode the foul alley-ways of Canterbury” (2).



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A few were professional pilgrim-walkers and bore on their hats and cloaks the scallop-shell of St James Compostella or the engraved palm indicating they had been to Jerusalem in Outremer (23).

Both the functional motivations of the characters and the historical truth contribute to turning Canterbury into the ideal backdrop of a traditional medieval mystery. In cognitive stylistics, it is believed that characters are usually perceived as salient in a text as they travel, change and acquire psychological depth as the story unfolds. They thus become figures and spatial elements tend to fade into the background, whereby becoming the ground. However, as Stockwell [2002: 15] suggests: Occasionally, the setting can thematically become the figure, emerging out of the background to assume a figure status in the text.

A Shrine of Murders is packed with references to places. The paratextual elements call for a topographical reading of the story. The title evokes the murders committed in Canterbury and as such is both metonymic and oxymoronic. The shrine actually refers to Canterbury and the oxymoron prepares the reader for the major tension of the story: Canterbury, “a jewel in the crown” (53), has become the scene of unexplained murders. This shift, from one state of affairs to another, triggers the plot: the purpose of Colum and Kathryn is to bring things back to the previous situation3. The text proper is also accompanied by the reproduction of a 1471 map, which enables the reader to become familiar with the intricate pattern of streets of fifteenth-century Canterbury. The fact that an authentic map should be provided allows the author to make objective references to places and streets whilst it gives the novel a realistic feel. According to Levinson [2003: 40-56], there are only three possible cognitive spatial frames of reference: intrinsic, relative and absolute. An intrinsic frame of reference is object-centred and determined by the inherent features of the object. A relative frame of reference is based on the viewer’s viewpoint4. Finally, an absolute frame of reference refers to fixed directions (derived from gravity or cardinal points for instance). To start with, the narrative is based on an absolute frame with direct references to cardinal points. The names of various gates provide for that with “Westgate” or “Northgate” as well as other expressions such as “she

 3

What we have here is a conflict of worlds: the “wish-world” is different from the actual “text-world”. 4 This is often referred to as “deictic” but Levinson, Space in Language and Cognition, 43 argues that this term may be misleading.



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lives in the slums to the north of the city” (66). As a medieval city, Canterbury possesses many narrow streets and alley-ways. It is described as “a maze of alleys” (157), “a hive of activity” (155) through which the reader is closely led. The characters’ comings and goings can easily be plotted on the map provided and every street is either directly named or located in connection with a specific building: They went up Crimelende Street and into the Poor Priest’s Hospital (19). They entered the Highstreet, which ran under the brooding mass of Canterbury Cathedral (22) Thopas strolled across Burgate (37) Kathryn […] moved down to the Highstreet (73).

Similarly, taverns provide ample topographical references with, for instance, “Burgate Lane Tavern” (35), “The Black Jack” (62) etc. This technique clearly puts the reader in the same situation as the characters as in the Middle Ages cardinal points and places with a definite social function (churches, taverns, hospitals or castles) were crucial to find direction5. Sometimes, this intrinsic frame of reference is welded with relative references where the characters’ viewpoint overrides the apparently objective description. This gives rise to what Levinson [2003: 33] calls a “driving tour”: Moments later they followed Luberon out of Ottemelle Lane, along Hethenman Lane, turning left into King’s Bridge, past St Peter’s Gate, the Friars of the Sack and down the main thoroughfare to Westgate (147).

The street where Kathryn Swinbrooke lives is located in the centre of Canterbury which allows the apothecary to reach every part of the city very quickly. Ottemelle Lane, mentioned for the first time on page 13 is conscientiously named each and every time Kathryn or her maid Thomasina go about their business. The cohesive network based on lexical repetition could not be denser. Space is thus foregrounded, or, from a cognitive perspective, it becomes the dominant. Stockwell [2002: 14] explains: The dominant is a sort of ‘super-foregrounded’ figure, around which the rest of the literary text is dynamically organised.



5 A similar use of spatial references is to be found in Ken Follet’s The Pillars of the Earth.



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It is now well known that strict lexical repetition is different from mere co-reference (anaphora / cataphora). It reactivates the referent by multiplying the references to the extra-linguistic world. This preference for exophora (as opposed to endophora) underscores the importance of space in the novel6. It is worth pointing out that such references appear in bundles at moments of tension. The first murder is indeed characterised by a minute spatial description. The relative frame of reference used enables the narrator to present the action from the murderer’s perspective: Sir Thopas, as the murdered liked to call himself […] watched the pilgrims stream through Newgate, across the lay folks cemetery of Canterbury Cathedral, to visit Becket’s shrine. […] He waited for the merchants to come down Palace Street past St Alphege’s Church, Turnagain Lane and into Sun Street (35).

The references to several senses reinforce the impact focalisation has on the reader: He had listened to their conversation in Burgate Lane Tavern the night before. […] The assassin leaned against the greystone house and looked up Burgate Street.

Narrative time is equal to story time and the pilgrims’ progression is presented with great minutiae. The reader’s involvement reaches its climax: They were led across the lay-folk cemetery, the sub-prior pointing to two of the great towers of the Cathedral. They stopped for a stoup of water at the fountain in the middle of the graveyard before going through the south porch of the Cathedral (37).

The murderer then joins the group of pilgrims, thereby enabling the narrator to take the reader on a realistic guided tour of the Cathedral. The narrative could not be more precise: “the Martyr’s transept”, “the crypt”, “the cleft skull of the Martyr”, “the choir entrance”, “the altar”, “St Andrew’s Chapel” and finally “Becket’s tomb in Trinity Chapel” represent the different stages of the visit. The shift from the outside to the inside, the slowing down of the narrative as well as the shift in perspective, all contribute to a narrative crescendo culminating in the merchant’s death.

 6

On these notions, see Halliday & Hasan, Cohesion in English and Rotgé, “Le point sur la cohésion en anglais” for an updated analysis of the relationship between cohesion and coherence.



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As in all detective stories, the sense of observation of the sleuth plays a crucial role. In A Shrine of Murders, it seems to be deeply ingrained in the characters’ personality. Kathryn remembers her father’s words: ‘A good physician can only watch, study and draw conclusions. Look at the evidence. A man’s eyes, the state of his nails and hair, the way he sits, the manner of his breathing’ (46).

The link between healing the sick and solving murders is clearly established and presented in Free Indirect Thoughts: “Perhaps she should apply the same rules to this” (47). Because of her work, Kathryn seems to be particularly well-equipped to lead the inquiry. It also seems to be the case for Colum Murtagh, whose gift for spotting details is emphasised as early as the Prologue. As he espies a group of Lancastrian lords trying to escape their fate, the narrator comments: Any other spy would have dismissed them as a group of common knights seeking refuge in flight, but Murtagh knew horses, and these were the best (6).

Reading whodunits entails a similar gift. Yet reading is a “distraction” (see Stockwell [2002 : 18-19]) both literally and figuratively. When a text is not tightly constructed, the reader’s attention may very well wander. Redundancy of expression or the repetition of previously established facts may “distract” readers and lead them to neglect these elements, deeming them too predictable or unimportant. The high frequency of spatial markers in A Shrine of Murders could very well drive the reader to dismiss them as elements of local / historical colour playing a minor role in the text. In the novel, however, they seem to be “attractors” precisely because they are presented from a particular perspective (when the murderer spies on his victims for instance, p. 36 or p. 106) or because the syntactic arrangement makes them salient. As the spatial markers are often “targets”, they appear in a position of end-focus, thus carrying nuclear stress even when they do not carry new information: Thomasina, huffing and puffing, two bundles of long yellowing rushes under her arm, walked up Ridinggate towards Ottemelle Lane (101).

The very genre of the novel as well as the way information is presented incite the reader to be particularly attentive to places, all the more so as the murderer is believed to be familiar with the city. This thematic element alone would suffice to renew readerly attention:



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The poisoner, [Kathryn] reflected, must be someone who lived in or near Canterbury, someone who knew the streets and alley-ways, who could disappear, hide and re-emerge in a different disguise (48).

However, a merely spatial acquaintance with the city – precise as it may be – is not enough to discover the identity of the murderer and Kathryn has to go beyond appearances. A bi-dimensional, map-like approach is no longer sufficient. The two sleuths have to probe deeper into the city.

2. Deictic projection and the secrets of Canterbury As the story unfolds, Kathryn Swinbrooke discovers many aspects of the city she was not aware of. She has to inquire into the lives of the most important men of the city, starting with her fellow apothecaries. They are all suspects because of their knowledge in potion-making as well as because they all possess a key to the different posterns of the city, which enables them to go about their business unnoticed. Kathryn thus discovers that some enjoy adulterous relationships or indulge in homosexuality while others have a certain penchant for prostitutes. Several places become salient in the text and the two dimensional city slowly acquires perspective: the Guidlhall where Kathryn is summoned by the aldermen, the Collegium where the apothecaries work as well as the slums of Westgate. Entering these places is no easy matter and the narrator insists on the several passageways which appear to be obstacles rather than conveniences: “the dark passageway” (23) leads from the street to the Guildhall; “a long gallery” (123) gives access to the Collegium as well as “a long wood-panelled passageway” (124) leading to the main room of this building. In Westgate, things seem to be even more difficult and the downward movement carries negative connotations (“down is bad” in cognitive terms). Note also the alliteration (“deeper”, “down”, “dank”): They went deeper into the slums. Some alley-ways were so dark, lanterns had been lit and slung on hooks outside the doors (161). They went deeper into the alley-way. (162). Luberon and Katheryn followed [the woman] down a dank passageway (162).

Passageways and more generally moving from one place to another is often associated with newly acquired knowledge. Such changes reflect a change of perception. A brief study of prototypical deictics (person, time and place) shows this evolution. The episode in the Guildhall, where



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Kathryn is informed of her mission by the aldermen, is characteristic of this shift in perspective. There is indeed a “deictic push” [Stockwell 2002] and the external viewpoint fades away progressively. Kathryn becomes the subject of verbs of action (“she pushed the door open”), of verbs of perception (“she saw”, “she glimpsed”), and of mental process verbs (“she remembered”, “she recognised” (25). The dense network of focalisation markers enables the reader to maintain his / her cognitive stance in the text-generated world. Hence, although there are not any objective focalisation markers in the following quotation, the description of the rich merchant indicates that it is Kathryn’s evaluation which is provided: Newington looked nervous, his bald head shimmering with sweat. His eyes were wary and his face lined with exhaustion (26).

The fact that this description should sound like a professional diagnosis confirms this reading-hypothesis. Functionally speaking, this first visit to the Guildhall also provides an opportunity to present the major protagonists, amongst whom there are Archbishop Bourchier and Colum Murtagh. The three traditional social orders are presented: the bellatores represented by Murtagh who is depicted as a prototypical soldier, the oratores, with the Archbishop and the laboratores with Newington. It is thus a microcosm of medieval society which is offered to the reader during this first visit. Kathryn and Colum’s visit to the Collegium follows a similar pattern. Their purpose is to question the reluctant apothecaries. Here again, a deictic push replaces the external focalisation: “Kathryn stared round in delight” or again “She reminded Kathryn of a doll” (124). The focalisation has a more domestic slant than previously and the luxurious rooms are described at length: The room was large and spacious, with leaden-paned windows, shaped in lozenges, some of them tinted with colour. A fire burning in the large canopied fireplace and candles and torches brought the room to life, making the shadows flicker round the walls. The wealth of the house was quietly ostentatious: woollen rugs on the floor, high-backed, quilt-seated chairs, padlocked chests and cupboards, heraldic shields above the fireplace. At the far end on a small dais stood a large oaken table prepared for supper. Silver-branched candlesticks bathed the glass goblets, dishes and decanters in pools of shimmering light (124).

This room appears to be a miniature medieval museum and all the objects contribute to historical realism. What is more, this focalisation



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also offers some elements of characterisation as Kathryn is presented as objective and benevolent: If only her father had lived, he too might have reaped such rewards for his labour (124).

As was the case before, the function of the passage is twofold. Indeed, it offers both an introduction to the luxurious lives of the wealthy apothecaries and an indirect evaluation of Kathryn. Kathryn and Luberon’s visit to the underbelly of Canterbury, in Westgate, is built along similar lines. The same “deictic push” can be observed and the reader is struck by the repetition of the same pattern: the verbs “looked”, “stared” and “realised” (163) are used to describe Kathryn’s discovery of the house of the prostitute who unwittingly poisoned the pilgrim. Kathryn and Luberon also meet an old hag dabbling in the black art there. Another technique is used to add weight to focalisation. It is what Stockwell [2002: 54] calls “relational shifts” i.e. a bundle of features encoding the attitudes of the deictic centre thus maintaining a character’s apparent “mindstyle”. The paralinguistic vocal features used inform readers about certain attitudes or reactions to events, whereby inviting them to share similar emotions: “Luberon snarled”, “Luberon murmured”, “the old woman whined”, “the old woman cackled”, “Kathryn announced abruptly” (163). Unlike “murmur” that simply encodes prosodic information, the other verbs already provide evaluations of the situation. These instances are all the more remarkable as paralinguistic comments are few and far between in the novel. They do not enable readers to determine the viewpoint for certain (“whined” for instance could be attributed to the narrator or to Kathryn) but make them live, as it were, this moment of tension and react to the situation. These three passages show that deictic projection enables readers to slip into the fictional world almost unconsciously by slowly changing the deictic centre or origo. The functions of this narrative technique are various (creation of a believable historical background, characterisation, or maintaining suspense). These passages should be contrasted with the scene of comedy with which the novel opens and which is quite characteristic of our contemporary idea of domestic life in the Middle Ages: ‘What you need is a man.’ ‘I have a man. I am married.’ Kathryn Swinbrooke glared at Thomasina’s fat face. […]



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Medieval Canterbury in C.L. Grace's A Shrine of Murders ‘You need a man. A woman is not happy unless she has got a man between her thighs. I should know; I have been married three times.’ (9).

This bawdy incipit provides a vivid portrait of Thomasina, who, although she has had two husbands fewer than the Wife of Bath, shares her promptness to fly into a rage as well as her sexual appetite. What is more, the central position of Kathryn’s house justifies that the plot should start there, turning it instantly into a strong centre of empathy. Colum also takes residence there while his lodgings are being repaired. Kathryn scours the city in search of the murderer and finds decisive clues in the parish register of St Peter’s. Texts, and writing in general, play a crucial role in the story: notes are posted on doors, hate-letters are received, books are consulted. More specifically, as the sub-title of the novel suggests (Being the First of the Canterbury Tales of Kathryn Swinbrooke, Leech and Physician), Chaucer’s Tales play a central functional role.

3. Canterbury: textuality and intertextuality Unlike Chaucer’s pilgrims, C.L. Grace’s pilgrims all make it to Canterbury. The main character is a woman whereas in Chaucer’s tales women are relatively few although, as Crépin & Taurinya Dauby [1993 : 157] remark, “they play a crucial role in most of the tales” (my translation). It is exactly the opposite with Grace and, apart from Kathryn, most women are depicted in an unfavourable manner: they are either haughty, stock characters of comedy (Thomasina) or prostitutes etc. Despite the subtitle, a systematic comparison between Grace’s novel and Chaucer’s tales leads nowhere. The plot of A Shrine of Murders starts after the battle of Tewkesbury in 1471 and the fact that Thomas Bouchier (1404-1486), named Archbishop the Canterbury in 1478, should appear as a character in the story, adds to the historical relevance of the novel. Chaucer’s tales were very popular at the time as Caxton had already published two editions (1478 and 1484). The tales were thus part of the literary culture of the time for those who had access to them. In A Shrine of Murders, only a few copies exist in the city and most people know about Chaucer via the oral tradition. A public recitation of Chaucer’s tales gives Kathryn her first “hunch” to solve the murder-case: Of course, she thought, Chaucer and his tales, or, more appropriately, the Prologue of his great poem, which her father had loved and helped her memorise: Chaucer had written about pilgrims, the murderer struck at pilgrims: Chaucer had listed their professions, the assassin picked his victims by profession (73).



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Indeed, the murderer discloses the identity of his victims by writing posting doggerels on the door of the Cathedral: A weaver to Canterbury his way did wend And I to Heaven his soul I did send (29).

A summoner to Canterbury his way did trot, And now in Hell his soul will rot (145).

A merchant to Becket’s shrine did go And I to Hell his soul did show (81).

A yeoman green to Canterbury did go, alas And I to Satan his soul did pass (178).

These doggerels are strongly reminiscent of the Prologue of Chaucer’s tales, more particularly the lines 16 and 17 that read as follows: Of England, down to Canterbury they wend To seek the holy blissful martyr […]

Intertextuality, however, remains loose. The murderer fancies himself as Sir Thopas. Chaucer’s description of this character is well known: Sir Topaz grew a doughty swain, With face like bread of whitest grain. His lips were red as rose, And his complexion like a stain Of scarlet red, and I maintain He had a seemly nose (195).

The first description Kathryn gives of the murderer – when she does not yet know he is the assassin – could not be more different: His bald head [was] shimmering with sweat. His eyes were wary and his face lined with exhaustion (26).

In both cases (the reference to the Prologue and to Sir Thopas), the links between the two texts are tenuous. However, these references are sufficient to convey an impression of strong intertextuality. The same is true of the systematic references to space. In both cases, the point is to create an illusion: no intimate knowledge of Chaucer’s tales is required to follow the plot, nor is any topographical knowledge of the city of Canterbury necessary to make sense of the story. The mental image of



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Canterbury that the modern reader derives from the text corresponds in fact more to his / her idea of what the city must have been than to any historical, cultural or spatial reality. However, the efficiency of the author’s technique is not to be questioned. Like most historical novels, C.L. Grace’s text is based on the Principle of Minimal Departure. Text-World theory has it that unless there are indications to the contrary, what is true in the real world is also true in the fictional world. When there is direct mapping between the two worlds – which is the case here – suspending one’s disbelief is made easier7. If we apply this principle to the novel, we obtain the following representation: Real world

TextWorld

- War of the Roses

- War of the Roses

- Medieval Canterbury

- Medieval Canterbury

- Social context

- Social context

Each element of the real world has a counterpart in the text-world. What’s more, the author, an Oxford historian, provides ample paratextual information. The paratext is of the utmost importance here as it represents the boundary between the real world and the fictional world. As such it can be regarded as an element of textual cartography. The boundary between reality and fiction is precisely what is at stake here. A shrine of Murders is preceded by what Genette [1987: 209] calls “an original preface” (“une préface originale”) which claims that the events narrated are true. On top of the map, the author also provides a long list of historical characters as well as a brief description of the War of the Roses. It seems the author has two types of readership in mind. One group of readers actually needs this information to be able to situate the events depicted and another group who does not need all this historical

 7

On these points, see Stockwell, Cognitive Poetics, Gavins, Text World Theory and Gavins & Steen, Cognitive Poetics in Practice.



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background but is flattered by this connivance. Omitting certain names creates thus a special bond between the author and these well-informed readers. The second paratextual element, called “Author’s note”, blurs the frontier between the genres: History is riddled with as many fallacies as facts (vii).

Historical narratives are deemed as fictitious as any other piece of writing. Any text would thus be “fictual8” that is a blend between what is “actual” and what is “fictional”. Even the presentation of the heroine is unclear. Her fictitious status is asserted before she is compared with historical figures. As such, she becomes not so much a fictional character as the literary avatar of a long list of historical figures. She is thus perceived as a prototypical incarnation, in other words, a generic character: Kathryn Swinbrooke may be fiction, but in 1322, the most famous doctor in London was Mathilda of Westminster; Cecily of Oxford was the royal physician to Edward III (vii).

The author also refers to the preceding paratextual elements: In this novel fiction corresponds with fact and the quotation facing the title page summarises quite succinctly how women played a vital role as doctors, healers and apothecaries. (vii).

This quotation – by Kate Campbellton Hurd-Mead, from A History of Women in Medecine [1938] – reads as follows: In the middle Ages women doctors continued to practise in the midst of wars and epidemics as they always had, for the simple reason that they were needed.

This epigraph follows another quote taken from Chaucer’s Canterbury Tales. The co-existence, on the same page, of a quote claiming historical truth and another one, unambiguously pointing to literary creation, shows that the author explicitly positions himself in this literary no man’s land between reality and fiction. As such, he invites the reader to enter a textworld where the opposition between facts and fiction is abolished, in a fantasy Canterbury which becomes the cognitive frame of reference for the subsequent adventures of Kathryn Swinbrooke.

 8

“Faction” is also used to refer to this type of narratives.



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Conclusion The literary representation of medieval Canterbury in A Shrine of Murders is particularly well-devised. Starting with a precise bidimensional topographical depiction where Canterbury appears to be “the dominant”, the author then probes more deeply into the city by showing the complex relationships between the different characters. As the inquiry progresses, our knowledge of life in the Middle Ages increases. The joint-references to history and medieval literature turn the text into an unspecified literary object whose genre is to remain uncertain. The parallel world thus created becomes the city’s fictional avatar which eventually replaces our cognitive representation of medieval Canterbury. As he reads on, the reader progressively loses his notion of the extralinguistic reality to replace it by the author-generated text-world in which the story takes place. The reader of the other Canterbury Tales of Kathryn Swinbrooke will automatically consider the first novel of the series as his cognitive reference point. The reader will then build on this knowledge which will become more precise and therefore more “real” or at least more “believable”. To reach this goal, the author uses a traditional but very effective technique: he introduces new characters as the story moves on. At the end of A Shrine of Murders, Kathryn finds Wuff, a young orphan. His role will become more and more important in the following novels of the series. The author uses the same technique in his other series (see the Hugh Corbett Mysteries for instance). These recurring characters, typical of the genre, acquire a reality at least as important as the historical figures appearing along with them in the novels. Readers become familiar with them and with their ways. Their world becomes much more precise than what could be gleaned from reading historical accounts. This undoubtedly accounts for the popularity of this type of literature among medievalists as well as lay readers.

Bibliography Grace, C.L. A Shrine of Murders. London, Harper Collins, 1993. Chaucer, Geoffrey. The Canterbury Tales, London, Penguin, 1977. —. Les Contes de Canterbury, Paris, Folio, 2000. Présentation et traduction d’André Crépin. Crépin, André & Hélèn Taurinya Dauby. Histoire de la littérature anglaise du Moyen Age, Paris, Nathan, 1993.



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Gavins, Joanna. Text World Theory, an Introduction, Edinburgh, Edinburgh University Press, 2007. Gavins, Joanna & Gerard Steen. Cognitive Poetics in Practice, London, Routledge, 2003. Genette, Gérard. Seuils, Paris, Edition du Seuil, 1987. Halliday, M.A.K. & Ruqaiya Hasan. Cohesion in English, London, Longman, 1976. Levinson, Stephen. Space in Language and Cognition, Cambridge, Cambridge University Press, 2003. Rotgé, Wilfrid. “Le point sur la cohésion en anglais – application à un texte littéraire” in Anglophonia, 1998, 4. Toulouse: Presses Universitaires du Mirail, 181-199. Simpson, Paul. Stylistics, London, Routledge, 2004. Stockwell, Peter. Cognitive Poetics, an Introduction, London, Routledge, 2002.



CONTRIBUTORS

Myriam MEAR-COULSTOCK was a student at La Sorbonne, Paris in the English Department. Her PhD (2009) was in English Medieval Studies, focusing on the evolution of place-names in England coming from the Latin castra. She gave papers at several international conferences; for example, in March 2008, she was invited to speak at the Sorbonne University in Paris, on the theme “Palimpsests: writing, erasure and reinscription in Medieval England”, by the Centre for Medieval English Studies (CEMA). Now she lives in England and is taking a course in genealogy-family history with a view to working in that field. Born in Dublin, Ireland, in 1949, Leo CARRUTHERS studied at UCD (MA, 1972) before moving to France to pursue research at the Sorbonne (Paris 4). For his PhD thesis (1980) he worked on the English translations of the Somme le Roi, and in 1987 he was awarded the French ‘State Doctorate’ for his study of Jacob’s Well which partly issues from the same tradition. In 1988 he helped to set up the International Medieval Sermon Studies Society and was elected its first president. Since 1994 he has been professor of English at the Sorbonne, and since 2006, president of AMAES, the French Association for Medieval English Studies. He has written on many aspects of Old and Middle English literature, from Beowulf to Everyman, with a particular interest in religious themes and their historical contexts. Marthe.MENSAH has a PhD in English linguistics and was a senior lecturer at the University of Reims. Her main interest is in the Middle Ages and she has published numerous articles on the language, the literature and the civilisation of the period. She has also translated into French several works relating to the same period, among which Aelfric's Grammar in collaboration with Fabienne Toupin, Lives of British Saints, the Auchinleck Debate of the Body and the Soul and Saint Katherine, etc.… She has also translated Gloria Cigman’s A Wife there was (2009). She is now retired and lives in Alsace.

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Contributors

Anne DUGGAN is the leading expert on Thomas Becket her interests and expertise cover an extensive range of topics, from nobility and queenship to canon law; from manuscripts and diplomatic to liturgy and the cult of saints. In collaboration with teams of international scholars, she has published important studies on two twelfth-century popes (Adrian IV and Celestine III, 2003 and 2008) and studies on a further two (Eugenius III and Alexander III) will appear shortly. Speaking of her study on Thomas Becket (London, 2004), a French reviewer (2005) spoke of ‘her faultless erudition’ which ‘introduces the reader to the subtleties of canon law, to the richness of theology in the schools of Paris and Laon, to the novelties of the government and administration of Henry II, to the technical knowledge and the manner of life of the clerks of the court and to many other aspects of the life … of the twelfth century’, and her earlier edition and translation of Becket’s letters, The Correspondence of Archbishop Thomas Becket, ed. and trans. A. J. Duggan, 2 vols, Oxford Medieval Texts (Oxford, 2000) is regarded as definitive. A volume of collected studies, Thomas Becket: friends, networks, texts, and cult, was published in 2007. Among the multi-disciplinary conferences she has organised are those on Kings and Kingship in 1992, Queens and Queenship in 1995, and Nobles and Nobility in 1998, each of which produced a book. Marie-Pierre GELIN’s research interests focus on the ecclesiastical and monastic history of the second half of the Middle Ages, with an emphasis on visual culture. She has worked extensively on the liturgy and the iconography of Canterbury Cathedral between the 11th and the 13th centuries, and has published a monograph on the subject (Lumen ad revelationem gentium: iconographie et liturgie a Christ Church, Canterbury, 1175-1220, Brepols, 2006). Her current research activities center on the image of the archbishops of Canterbury since the early Middle Ages, the development of the cult of St Thomas Becket in medieval Europe from the 13th century onwards, and the Tree of Jesse motif in the stained glass windows of medieval churches and cathedrals between the 12th and the 16th centuries. He is currently Honorary Research Fellow in Medieval History at University College London Arlette SANCERY is a former student of Professors Marguerite-Marie Dubois and André Martinet and she has taught English Literature and Linguistics for a number of years. Her last position was at the University of Paris-Sorbonne, where she joined the English dept in 1994, while being an active member of its Medieval studies research group for many years previously, under the leadership of Professor André Crépin, first, then of



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Leo Carruthers. A.Sancery specialized along two main lines: the study of religious ideas - often expressed through the sermon medium - and their evolution, from the early Middle Ages to the Reformation (she was twice invited as a Research Fellow for the Voltaire Foundation in Oxford and the Center for Renaissance and Reformation studies of Victoria College, University of Toronto). The second axis concerns Anglo-Saxon history and literature down to the 14th century, plus a happy if modest incursion into Shakespeare. She is still taking part part in many conferences and meetings in France and abroad and has published and is publishing along those lines. She has also translated several books into French, such asThe Black Death, A Perfect Red, Seven Days in the Art World, and Arcadia for the Paris publishing house Autrement. Gloria CIGMAN is living in Oxford and Paris. She has a BA Honours English Language and Literature, University College London as well as a M.Litt. Linacre College Oxford. She was a Lecturer then Senior Lecturer at University of Warwick, elected Senior Research Fellow after retirement. Publications: numerous articles in academic journals: e.g. Literature and Theology International conference papers on aspects of medieval preaching and Middle English literature books on Lollard Sermons, Early English Text Society 294 (Oxford University Press 1989). Exploring Evil: through the landscape of literature (Peter Lang 2002). She wrote a novel: A Wife There Was (Trafford 2008) published in Serbian (Belgrade 2009) published in French Il était une femme (Calleva 2009). Her recent research interest has moved into Art History, with particular focus on late medieval tapestries. Martine YVERNAULT is Professor of English literature at the University of Limoges, France. Her research work focuses on medieval literature and culture and her main areas concern dreams and visions, pilgrimage and travel, space as well as education and social rituals. She has organised international conferences in relation to the Middle Ages and recently edited two books: Poètes et artistes, la figure du créateur au Moyen Age et à la Renaissance. Eds. Martine Yvernault et Sophie Cassagnes-Brouquet, Limoges: Presses Universitaires de Limoges, 2007. Frères et soeurs: les liens adelphiques dans l'Occident antique et médiéval. Eds. Martine Yvernault et Sophie Cassagnes-Brouquet, Turnhout: Brepols, 2007. She is engaged in a translation programme of medieval texts. A translation of Breton Lais is forthcoming (Brepols)



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Contributors

Lauren MOREAU studies in the Institute for Medieval Studies at the University of Leeds and is currently finishing her PhD on the re-use of John of Salisbury's Policraticus in sermons produced in England during the Later Middle Ages. John O. MOON is researching for a PhD at the Centre for Medieval and Early Modern Studies, University of Kent at Canterbury after graduating, in 2006, with a First Class BA Honours degree in History from the University of Kent. Prior to renewing his interests in the history of Canterbury, John enjoyed a 33 year career in Sales and Marketing Management for a Global IT Company.His research interests cover ecclesiastical and religious history in the High Middle Ages (1200-1450). In particular he is researching institutional monastic history during the 13th and early 14th centuries with a focus on the priorate of Henry of Eastry. Utilising the extensive archives available in the UK John is examining the key registers and memoranda books to establish the political and legal policies adopted by Canterbury Cathedral Priory. Part of his research involves understanding the role of social and institutional memory in the management of a leading English Benedictine monastery. His papers include ‘In the case of Canterbury Cathedral Priory versus Dover Priory: Was anyone behaving badly?’ presented at the “Use & Abuse of Public and Private Space in Late Medieval & Early Modern Towns” Conference in July 2010. Catherine ROYER-HEMET teaches British history at the University of Le Havre, France. She has a PhD in Medieval English Studies; her thesis is entitled “Preaching and Propaganda during the Hundred Years War”. She has published a number of articles in different scholarly journals. She regularly participates in national and international conferences on medieval subjects. Manuel JOBERT is Senior Lecturer in English Studies at the University of Lyon 3 – Jean Moulin (France), where he specialises in stylistics and phonology. He is the author of a PhD thesis on the use of paralinguistic vocal features in Edith Wharton’s novels. His publications focus on stylistics and conversational analysis. He is a member of the Société de Stylistique Anglaise and of the Poetics and Linguistics Association (PALA). He has co-edited a colletion of essays on euphemism, Empreintes de l'euphémisme - tours et détours, Denis Jamet & Manuel Jobert, Paris, L'Harmattan, 2010.