Church and Belief in the Middle Ages: Popes, Saints, and Crusaders 9789048525720

Citation preview

Church and Belief in the Middle Ages

Crossing Boundaries Turku Medieval and Early Modern Studies The series from the Turku Centre for Medieval and Early Modern Studies (TUCEMEMS) publishes monographs and collective volumes placed at the intersection of disciplinary boundaries, introducing fresh connections between established fields of study. The series especially welcomes research combining or juxtaposing different kinds of primary sources and new methodological solutions to deal with problems presented by them. Encouraged themes and approaches include, but are not limited to, identity formation in medieval/early modern communities, and the analysis of texts and other cultural products as a communicative process comprising shared symbols and meanings. Series Editor Matti Peikola, University of Turku, Finland

Church and Belief in the Middle Ages Popes, Saints, and Crusaders

Edited by Kirsi Salonen and Sari Katajala-Peltomaa

Amsterdam University Press

Cover illustration: Kirsi Salonen Cover design: Coördesign, Leiden Lay-out: Crius Group, Hulshout Amsterdam University Press English-language titles are distributed in the US and Canada by the University of Chicago Press. isbn 978 90 8964 776 4 e-isbn 978 90 4852 572 0 (pdf) doi 10.5117/9789089647764 nur 684 © Kirsi Salonen and Sari Katajala-Peltomaa / Amsterdam University Press B.V., Amsterdam 2016 All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this book may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise) without the written permission of both the copyright owner and the author of the book. Every effort has been made to obtain permission to use all copyrighted illustrations reproduced in this book. Nonetheless, whosoever believes to have rights to this material is advised to contact the publisher.



Table of Contents

Preface 9 In the Name of Saints Peter and Paul

Popes, Conversion, and Sainthood in Western Christianity Sari Katajala-Peltomaa, Kirsi Salonen, and Kurt Villads Jensen

11

I  Papal Administration The Cost of Grace

39

Career Prospects of Minor Curialists in the Fifteenth Century

63

A Criminal Trial at the Court of the Chamber Auditor

85

The Composition Fees in the Penitentiary, c. 1450-1500 Ludwig Schmugge

The Case of Petrus Profilt Jussi Hanska

An Analysis of a registrum from 1515-1516 in the Danish National Archives Per Ingesman

II  Saints and Miracles The Power of the Saints and the Authority of the Popes

117

Velut Alter Alexius

141

Judicium Medicine and Judicium Sanctitatis

153

The History of Sainthood and Late Medieval Canonization Processes Gábor Klaniczay

The Saint Alexis Model in Medieval Hagiography Paolo Golinelli

Medical Doctors in the Canonization Process of Nicholas of Tolentino (1325): Experts Subject to the Inquisitorial Logic Didier Lett

Heavenly Healing or Failure of Faith?

Partial Cures in Later Medieval Canonization Processes Jenni Kuuliala

III

171

Crusades and Conversion

Servi Beatae Marie Virginis

201

Holy War – Holy Wrath!

227

Christians and Pagans in Henry’s Chronicle of Livonia Jüri Kivimäe

Baltic Wars Between Regulated Warfare and Total Annihilation Around 1200 Kurt Villads Jensen

The Swedish Expeditions (‘Crusades’) Towards Finland Reconsidered 251 Jens E. Olesen

Index 269

Eastern Baltic See region

Map by Johnny Grandjean Gøgsig Jakobsen

Preface The editors of this book met in 1991 in the Middle Ages study group led by Christian Krötzl, who was then a doctoral student at the University of Tampere. He defended his dissertation Pilger, Mirakel un Alltag. Formen des Verhaltens im Skandinavischen Mittelalter in 1994. Christian and the study group made excursions to Rome, Paris, and Tallinn, not to mention various domestic sites of interest to medievalists. Supplementing the more official program, we also had epoch fests and gatherings in more contemporaneous themes. As a post-doctoral researcher, head of the Finnish Institute in Rome (2000-2003), head of several projects of the Academy of Finland, and as a professor in Tampere (from 2005), Christian Krötzl has successfully created an atmosphere of support and encouragement, inspiring his students to aim high. At the University of Tampere, Christian Krötzl is a key figure in establishing the conference series Passages from Antiquity to the Middle Ages (from 2003) and forming the Trivium – Centre for Classical, Medieval and Early Modern Studies (first a network in 2006 and since 2015 an official research centre). The Middle Ages study group also still vigourously cultivates future medievalists; several of the former members have now defended their doctoral dissertations. While championing the colloquial approach, Christian Krötzl is a standard-bearer in the field of Finnish academia in other aspects. In the 1990s, he embraced a profoundly international approach at a time when internationality was not yet the norm in Finland. Indeed, one of his most important roles has been to introduce his students to foreign experts, thereby creating many fruitful relationships. International collaboration ranks high among the values Christian teaches his students, requiring, for example, reading skills in the major European languages (and sometimes in the minor ones as well). As the following essays demonstrate, Christian Krötzl’s range of interests is large and varied, from hagiography, everyday life, and lived religion via the papal curia and administration, to crusades and conversion in the Baltic Sea Region. The editors of this volume have also chosen different paths, one an expert in papal administration and justice, the other a specialist in hagiography and lived religion. As a tribute to the legacy and teaching of Christian Krötzl, we decided to join forces for this Festschrift in honor of his 60th anniversary in June 2016.

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We have followed the lead of Christian Krötzl and aimed high: this is not only a Festschrift, but also a collection of high academic value. The three topics chosen cover the fields the Geburtstagskind cultivates in his research, yet they also have scholarly justification, since they provide links between the traditional study of medieval Christianity and Church. The contributors are internationally known experts including the Doktorvater and opponent of Christian Krötzl’s doctoral defence (Professor Schmugge) and former students (Dr. Hanska, Dr. Kuuliala), while others (Professors Ingesman, Klaniczay, Golinelli, Lett, Kivimäe, Jensen, and Olesen) are his international colleagues. With all of them, Christian Krötzl enjoys a history of fruitful and pleasant collaboration. We wish to thank all the contributors for their scholarship and for cooperation during this process. We are grateful for the collaboration of the Crossing Boundaries series of the Tucemems; in particular, for series editors Matti Peikola and Janne Harjula, as well as for the competent staff of Amsterdam University Press. For financial support we express our thanks to The Finnish Centre of Excellency in Historical Research: History of Society: Re-thinking Finland 1400-2000 (University of Tampere) and the School of History, Culture and Arts Studies of the University of Turku. Sari Katajala-Peltomaa and Kirsi Salonen



In the Name of Saints Peter and Paul Popes, Conversion, and Sainthood in Western Christianity Sari Katajala-Peltomaa, Kirsi Salonen, and Kurt Villads Jensen

The Middle Ages formed the basis for modern Europe in many different respects. One of the most important – if not the most important – factor behind the formation of Europe was the Catholic Church: The Church functioned as a model for civil administration and jurisdiction for many emerging nation states, which adopted the principles of the papal administration and jurisdiction. On a political level, the medieval Church played an important role, when the secular leaders, especially in the north and east, conquered new territories in the name of Saints Peter and Paul, using Christianization as their justification. Church and faith, like patron saints, relics, church buildings, and devotional practices in their turn had an important effect on communal coherence and local identities. On a personal and everyday level the Church affected the great majority of the European population: the rites of passage from one stage to another in a person’s lifecycle, like baptism, marriage, and preparations for death were regulated by ecclesiastical norms. Through all these, the Church regulated the yearly rhythm of life and the Christian faith shaped the beliefs and worldviews of individuals, who prayed to saints for help and support, appealed to the papacy in their different kinds of problems, made pilgrimages far away or to the neighbouring parish, and donated property to the Church in their last wills. Since the Catholic Church was involved in practically every aspect of medieval life, it is impossible to make a comprehensive evaluation of its role and significance for Christians, societies, and cultures. Some large and frequently cited publications regarding medieval history, such as The Oxford Handbook of Medieval Christianity, The New Cambridge Medieval History, or the French Histoire du christianisme,1 attempt to cover as many aspects of the role of the Roman Church as possible, but its magnitude in medieval life renders these efforts extremely difficult.

1 The Oxford Handbook of Medieval Christianity; The New Cambridge Medieval History; Histoire du christianisme.

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Rather than a ‘mission impossible’ of covering all perspectives of Christianity in one book, most medieval historians specialize in one or two aspects of the medieval Church and belief and their roles in different aspects of life. In the course of historiography, those studying different aspects of the medieval Church have moved further and further away from each other: scholars interested in papal administration or canon law rarely meet those interested in the history of crusades or those focusing on hagiographic sources. During the past decades, the various fields investigating different aspects of the medieval papacy, Church, and faith have developed into their own fields of research. One may even consider them as independent disciplines, though they remain closely connected through the legacy of the papal administration behind their organization. This division of labour has resulted in the sad fact that scholars of these separate fields – or rather, the results of their work – rarely interact with each other. There are, however, scholars who zigzag between these different fields and try to combine them in their research. One of these is Professor Christian Krötzl (Tampere), whose monograph’s main title we have chosen as the title of this chapter.2 Professor Krötzl started his career studying medieval miracle collections and lived religion, but later published largely also on the Christian mission (and crusades) in northern Europe.3 He has also been interested in curial administration, especially the Apostolic Penitentiary. 4 Professor Krötzl’s work profits from his knowledge of canon law, hagiography, and everyday Christian life. Since this book is dedicated to him, our aim is to bring together scholars of these three core themes, all different yet utterly important for understanding medieval Christianity. This volume consists of ten chapters in which papal administration, sainthood and hagiography, as well as crusades and conversion in the Baltic Sea Region are approached from multiple angles and within the framework of several scholarly traditions. As is typical in collections like these, the approaches of individual authors vary: some contributions concentrate on deeper analysis of one source, person, or event, while others combine more sources or attempt to synthesize a larger theme or phenomenon across a longer period of time. Due to this variation, the spectrum of medieval source material used, analyzed, and interpreted in this volume is large, which 2 Krötzl, Pietarin ja Paavalin nimissä. 3 For example, Krötzl, ‘Parent Child Relation’; Krötzl, Pilger, Mirakel und Alltag. 4 Professor Krötzl was in 1998-2000 the head of the project of the Academy of Finland titled ‘The Church and Moral in Late Medieval European Society’, which focused on petitions to the Apostolic Penitentiary 1450-1530.

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reflects nicely the variety of historical sources mastered by Christian Krötzl: The chapters scrutinize and combine normative sources such as regulations of canon law and local legislation, narrative sources such as the vitae of saints or crusading chronicles, administrative sources such as papal bulls, dispensation letters sent to private persons, and hearings from canonization processes. Our volume crosses typical boundaries within research traditions; our intention is not to offer full analysis of all the chosen themes, but to display links between them, offering opportunities for discussion and showing the importance and benefits of comparison of results.

Papal Administration: Norms and Institutions The central administration of the medieval Catholic Church was concentrated around the person of the pope, who had all powers to handle various kinds of issues – be they theological, juridical, or practical – regarding the Church, religious persons, or any Christian. Many different kinds of administrative and religious issues were reserved for the authority of the popes, who by the thirteenth century could no longer personally handle all matters directed to their authority. As a consequence of the workload, the pontiff delegated most of the everyday business to people around him, first to cardinals and later to lesser employees of the curia. This led to the birth of numerous different papal offices and tribunals: the Apostolic Chancery, the Apostolic Chamber, the Apostolic Dataria, the Apostolic Penitentiary, the Sacra Romana Rota, and the Audientia litterarum contradictarum are the most important ones. These offices and tribunals continued their activity throughout the Middle Ages and beyond. The administrative reforms of the papal curia in the sixteenth century resulted in the creation of fifteen congregations, among which the most significant were the Supreme Congregation of the Roman and Universal Inquisition and the Sacred Congregation of Rites (dealing also with canonization processes).5 Even though in principle each papal office, tribunal, or congregation functioned independently, their daily activities were often intertwined. This could mean either that one and the same issue was handled in multiple places or that people working for the papal administration had simultaneously different functions in various papal offices. A petition directed to the pope is a good example of the first case: It was first received and checked at the Apostolic Dataria. After the pope had approved the request, 5

Del Re, La Curia Romana.

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the Apostolic Chancery took care of the preparation of the letter of grace issued as a result of the petition. Finally the Apostolic Chamber taxed the petitioner for the required fee. An example of the second case could be the twelve judges (called auditor) of the Sacra Romana Rota, the supreme court of the papal curia. In addition to their work for the tribunal, the auditors could help the officials of the Apostolic Penitentiary in checking the righteousness of its decisions in matters involving deeper knowledge of canon law. At the same time the auditors could also be consulted by the other papal tribunals, namely the Audientia litterarum contradictorum or Audientia camerae, or their expertise could be sought by the Congregation of Rites in defining the sanctity of a candidate to the altars. The chapters by Ludwig Schmugge, Per Ingesman, Jussi Hanska, and Gábor Klaniczay in this volume give further examples of intertwined activities between different papal offices and functionaries. At the same time, the officials of the papacy participated in the preparation of ecclesiastical councils: Jüri Kivimäe discusses the Fourth Lateran Council in his contribution. The canonists and theologians working for the papacy defined the limits for allowed use of violence in conversion, which Kurt Villads Jensen examines in his chapter. Analysing the intertwined activities of the offices and officials of the papal curia is crucially important for understanding how the central government of the Church functioned in practice, the reach of its jurisdiction, and whether the practice corresponded with ecclesiastical norms regulating the papal administration. The study of the functioning of different offices, tribunals, and congregations of the medieval and early modern papal curia began at a scientific level in the late nineteenth century, when the collections of the papal archives were made accessible to scholars in 1881, the result of a decision made by Pope Leo XIII a couple of years earlier. This decision brought a large number of scholars from all around the world to the premises of the Vatican Secret Archives. As a result of their work numerous large and small studies about the different sections of the papal curia were published. Among these publications was, for example, the colossal work of Ludwig von Pastor on the history of the papacy from the beginning until recent times.6 In addition to this general publication, the opening of the Vatican source material gave rise to many studies on the history and development of one papal office.7 At 6 v. Pastor, Geschichte der Päpste. 7 Baumgarten, Aus Kanzlei und Kammer; Baumgarten, Von der Apostolischen Kanzle; Celier, Les Dataires du XVe siècle; Cerchiari, Capellani Papae; Gottlob, Aus der Camera Apostolica; Göller, Die päpstliche Pönitentiarie; Göller, ‘Der Gerichtshof der päpstlichen Kammer’; Herde,

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the same time there also appeared many different source editions clarifying the curial norms.8 Additionally, the opening of the papal archives brought about a handful of larger research projects aimed at editing medieval or early modern papal source material, for example, the German Repertorium Germanicum, the British Calender of Papal Letters, and the Danish Acta pontificum Danica. The source edition projects of the late nineteenth or early twentieth centuries were mainly initiatives of individual countries wishing to publish material regarding their territory, but there have also been larger projects publishing material from the whole territory of medieval Western Christendom, such as the Regesta pontificum romanorum9 by August Potthast or the Die Register Innocenz’ III10 coordinated by the Institut für Österreichische Geschichtsforschung. Modern research on the medieval and early modern papal curia is still largely based on this early scholarship, although the modern digital era has changed the editorial principles and publication forums of some edition projects. The two World Wars interrupted the work of many scholars interested in the past of the papal administration and the number of publications related to the functioning of the medieval papacy diminished for many decades. Scholars began to re-direct their interest towards the topic of medieval papacy and its documentation in the late 1980s, when Christian Krötzl began his studies on medieval pilgrimages and began to explore the collections of the Vatican Secret Archives for this purpose. Later, Christian also undertook projects encouraging young Finnish scholars to use the Vatican source material. This ‘new generation of Vatican scholars’ broke with the past, no longer interested in the traditional history of institutions. Instead, they used the Vatican sources for questions related to everyday life and other more ‘fashionable’ topics. Along with the new approaches, new kinds of papal source material – such as collections regarding the canonization projects – became subjects of study, and after the archives of the Apostolic Penitentiary were opened to scholars in 1984, Christian Krötzl was among the first Scandinavians to receive the required permit to use the material. Audientia litterarum contradictarum; Hilling, Die römische Rota; v. Hofmann, Forschungen zur Geschichte der kurialen Behörden; Rusch, Die Behörden und Hofbeamten der päpstlichen Kurie; Schneider, Die Römische Rota; Storti, La storia e il diritto della dataria apostolica. 8 Der Liber cancellariae apostolicae; Die päpstliche Kanzleiordnungen; Regulae cancellariae apostolicae; Raccolta di concordati. 9 Regesta pontificum romanorum. 10 Die Register Innocenz’ III.

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Interest in the sources of the central papal government in the Middle Ages and in the Early Modern Period is constantly growing, but the paradigm of Vatican scholars has changed again. Scholars of the second millennium have shown a new and growing interest towards institutional history of the papacy. Unlike the first or the second generation, the modern approach towards the institution of papacy is not interested only in normative issues or those at the top of the hierarchy on the one hand, or individuals and microhistory on the other hand; rather, the new research focuses on the institution, its functioning, everyday business, and employees at all levels, aiming to create a more holistic picture of the functioning of the papacy – including the collaboration between different offices at both an institutional and personal level.11 This trend could perhaps be defined as ‘new institutionalism’ – if we want to use the concept adapted by and used in the social sciences – and the chapters by Schmugge, Hanska, and Ingesman in this volume represent this new trend, contributing thus to the development of the field of study. These scholars not only try to find the right way to the centre of the inextricable labyrinth of the curia (inextricabilis curie labyrinthus),12 a definition used by Petrarch, but also to map the whole maze and those using it.

Hagiography: In the Nexus of Papal Administration and Lived Experience Veneration of saints – and recording their vitae and miracles – began as early as Late Antiquity. Throughout the Middle Ages the heavenly intercessors were seen as idealized role models as well as protectors and helpers in daily life. They were used as tools in political propaganda, they were devices of papal policy, their feast days shaped the yearly rhythm of Christians, and interaction with them was an essential element of lay devotion. The study of hagiography has a long research history: the study and publishing of saints’ lives and miracles began in the seventeenth century by Bollandists when vitae of new saints were still actively written and miraculous experiences of the laity recorded and scrutinized by local clergy and papal administrators. The editing work of the Societé des Bollandists 11 Ingesman, Provisioner og processer; Meyer, Zürich und Rom; Schmugge, Hersperger, and Wiggenhauser, Die Supplikenregister; Salonen, The Penitentiary; Salonen, Papal Justice; Salonen and Schmugge, A Sip from the “Well of Grace”; Tewes, Die römische Kurie. 12 Zutshi, ‘Inextricabilis curie labyrinthus’, p. 410.

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continued; editing vitae and miracula of saintly protagonists was also a typical effort of other scholars at the beginning of modern historical research in the nineteenth century. In this era, the focus of the scholars of hagiographic material was on the administrative side of the cults and on the role the saintly protagonist had played in his or her community.13 The connection between the three branches – church administration, hagiography, and conversion – was well established in these early studies. The church administration and organization, as well as Christianization, were of particular interest in the early stages of national history-writing and hagiographic sources were used to study these elements. This is particularly evident in Finland: the legend of Saint Henry is one of the first surviving sources of this area. Since a major part of the narration focused on the Swedish ‘crusade’ to Finland and one of the participants was to be the first bishop of Finland, the legend has been used as a source for church organization and the Christianization process, as illustrated in Jens E. Olesen’s chapter. One may even claim that the legend’s nature as hagiographic source and Henry as a thaumaturge has received less scholarly interest.14 Christianization and church organization have been important topics of national history-writing throughout Europe, but their importance was highlighted already in medieval hagiography, as Klaniczay demonstrates in his chapter: for example, one of the merits of Saint Stephen of Hungary was conversion of the Hungarians. Future saints may have participated in the conversion process, but the Christianization of new areas also influenced the idea of sainthood: the concept of royal saints emerged gradually on the peripheries of medieval Christendom, among the recently converted peoples, as Klaniczay also argues. After the Second World War topics in medieval studies diversif ied; hagiographic sources are not principally used for the study of church organization. Simultaneously, the study of hagiography has grown. The lives of saintly protagonists, vitae sanctorum, have traditionally been – and still 13 The probably best known and still widely used collection is Acta Sanctorum, an edition of hagiographic material – vitae, miracula, canonization records, etc. – based on the calendar cycle of saints’ feasts. Respectively, many other early editions of this era are still used by scholars. For example, see the chapters of Klaniczay and Kuuliala in this volume. 14 On Saint Henry and the so-called first crusade, see Rinne, Pyhä Henrik; Maliniemi, De sancto Henrico episopo et martyre. Recently Tuomas Heikkilä (Heikkilä, Pyhän Henrikin legenda) has studied the diffusion of the cult of Saint Henry based on manuscript and liturgical tradition. The first crusade to Finland plays a major role in this work, as well. For Saint Henry in historiography, see pp. 38-52, for timing of the first crusade, pp. 53-73. This link is further elaborated in this volume in Olesen’s chapter.

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are – the focus of scholars.15 The role of saints in the formation of Christianity and Christian faith as well as the linguistic elements, like topoi, motifs, and metaphors have been analyzed broadly. In this volume, this kind of approach is adopted by Paolo Golinelli. By focusing on the various versions of the legend of Saint Alexis and on the same narrative elements in other contemporary vitae, he argues that hagiography was a multifaceted device: it was a way to channel devotion; it could entertain and educate and work as a propagandistic tool; it was used for dynastic purposes and to spread the ideas of the clerical elite to, for example, reinforce the acceptance of church reform and resist heterodoxy. Currently, hagiographic material is widely used by scholars other than historians, particularly literary critics or linguists. Gender and female mystics’ writings and vitae in particular have been at the forefront of interest recently; different backgrounds and approaches have led to various interpretations of the basic nature of these sources and the information they contain.16 The study of miracle collections and canonization processes bloomed simultaneously with the rise of interest in everyday life history, and a new focus on family and children.17 Christian Krötzl’s Pilger, Mirakel und Alltag is a seminal study in this field of medieval social history. He continued in the way paved earlier by Ronald Finucane18 and Pierre-Andre Sigal19 – who, with strong emphasis on quantitative analysis, scrutinized the contexts and practicalities of faith healing: the social background of the beneficiaries, various cures, and pilgrimage practices. The linkage between everyday life and popular or lived religion is a recurrent topic in these studies and others following in their vein. Currently, the strong emphasis on quantitative analysis has diminished. The micro-historical approach, comparison of various depositions and canonization processes, as well as methodological

15 Philippart, Les légendiers et autres manuscrits hagiographiques; Hagiography and Medieval Literature: A Symposium ed. by Bekker-Nielsen et al.; Grégoire, Manuale di Agiologia; Heffernan, Sacred Biography; Dubois and Lemaitre, Sources et methodes; Lifshitz, ‘Beyond Positivism and Genre’; Philippart, ‘Hagiographes et hagiographie’; Kleinberg, Histoires des saints. 16 Gendered Voices: Medieval Saints and Their Interpreters, ed. by Hollywood; Heinonen, Brides and Knights of Christ, pp. 81-96. 17 The bibliography is too vast to be detailed here. See, however, Krötzl, ‘Parent Child Relation’; Myrdal and Bäärnhielm, Kvinnor, barn & fester; Lett, L’enfant des miracles; Finucane, The Rescue of the Innocent. 18 Finucane, Miracles and Pilgrims. 19 Sigal, L’homme et le miracle.

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aspects, like the use of rhetoric in depositions, have emerged as major interests.20 Faith-healing was not only a matter of personal devotion. As Didier Lett discusses in his piece on doctors witnessing miracles in canonization processes, it was closely connected to the hagiographic genre as a literary category, to improving medical knowledge and education, as well as to increasing demands of papal and secular administration for expert witnesses. Practicalities of faith-healing continue to interest scholars, but this path has also led to new openings in the study of hagiographic material in general and canonization processes in particular: the concept of disability is one of the most recent themes introduced to this field.21 Here, Jenni Kuuliala scrutinizes this material from that perspective. The chapters by Lett and Kuuliala also discuss the the link between (the formation of) hagiographic material and church administration, which in recent years has been emphasized anew. Particularly, the practicalities of hearings for canonization have gained keen interest and Christian Krötzl was one of the first scholars to focus on these issues.22

Conversion and Crusades: The Baltic Experience Christianity spread from its Middle Eastern origin to the whole of Western Europe in a prolonged and complicated process. The lands around the Baltic Sea are of particular interest for understanding the dynamics behind the conversion to Christianity, because they were the last western territories that adopted the Christian faith, but they also present the researcher 20 On methodology of canonization processes, see for example Goodich, ‘Mirabilis Deus in sanctis suis’; Ackerman Smoller, ‘Defining the Boundaries’; Klaniczay, ‘Speaking about Miracles’. For the study of canonization processes, the seminal work of the field is the collection of essays Procès de canonization au Moyen Âge, ed.by Klaniczay. 21 While many works in disability studies use hagiographic material, the majority of the contributions do not focus on them as profoundly as Kuuliala in her Disability and Social Integration. See also Krötzl, ‘Crudeliter afflicta’. In addition to disability, the study of gender concept has also advanced recently in this field; see, for example, Farmer, Surviving Poverty in Medieval Paris; Katajala-Peltomaa, Gender, Miracles, and Daily Life. 22 Krötzl, ‘Vulgariter sibi exposito’; Krötzl, ‘Prokuratoren, Notare und Dolmetscher’; Krötzl, ‘Kanonisationsprozess, Socialgeschichte und Kanonisches Recht’. Obviously, already André Vauchez in his seminal study on canonization processes (Vauchez, La sainteté en Occident) concentrated on these issues. For other studies in this f ield, see Paciocco, Canonizzazioni e culto dei santi; Krafft, Papsturkunde und Heiligsprechung; Lett, Un procès de canonisation au Moyen Âge; Finucane, Contested Canonizations; especially on judicial aspects in canonization procedures Wetzstein, Heilige vor Gericht.

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with particular challenges. Medieval written sources are few and modern research literature is written in many different languages, representing distinctly diverse historiographical traditions. Conversion involves a large spectrum of aspects and research topics of which the most well known is crusade studies. Only a few scholars have attempted a more comprehensive approach to conversion in the Baltic. Oxford historian Eric Christiansen’s The Northern Crusades from the 1980s inspired several later studies, while American historian William Urban has published extensively on diverse themes of crusades and military conversion in the Baltic since the 1970s.23 Christian Krötzl has investigated the Baltic conversion from a broader perspective in his Pietarin ja Paavalin nimissä: Paavit, lähetystyö ja Euroopan muotoutuminen (500-1250) (2004) in which he treats the conversion to Christianity of Western Europe in general, but with special emphasis on the Baltic. The research on Baltic and Scandinavian conversion has undergone significant development during the past decades. Until a generation ago, most Scandinavian historians considered the history of the northern conversion as a top down process, decided by kings and magnates and adopted by the people. This assumption arose from the medieval narrative sources, which showed little interest in ordinary people and concentrated on the acts and motives of influential individuals. But this approach also reflected the historians’ own societies. In the nineteenth and twentieth centuries, the Scandinavian countries were highly centralized, bureaucratic societies in which decisions made by the government affected all individuals. It was natural for the scholars of that time to assume that this was the case as well in the Middle Ages. This assumption was further confirmed by the ideas of the Soviet Marxist paradigm, in which the new generation of historians in the Baltic republics, eastern Germany, and Poland were educated after the Second World War. Scholars representing this tradition were more critical towards Christianity, presenting mission and conversion as the tools of an imperialistic class of foreigners – Christian kings – against which the indigenous people rebelled under the command of their pagan leaders.24 In reality, royal power in the Middle Ages was weak and fluctuating, with little power to enforce central decisions. Historians realized this during 23 Christiansen, The Northern Crusades; Urban, The Baltic Crusade; Urban, The Samogitian Crusade; Urban, The Livonian Crusade; Urban, The Prussian Crusades. 24 For recent general studies on conversion in the north, including historiographical surveys, see The Cross Goes North, ed. by Carver; Christianization and the Rise of Christian Monarchy, ed. by Berend; Crusade and Conversion on the Baltic Frontier, ed. by Murray; Rom und Byzanz im Norden, ed. by Müller-Wille.

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the second half of the twentieth century, seriously challenging the top down approach. Even though a bottom up model has not succeeded in replacing the older interpretation, the history of conversion took a new turn when many historians accepted that Christianity also spread from the bottom: by Christians living among pagans, by individuals returning from foreign countries, by family members who stayed in Christian countries and converted but upheld connections to their pagan relatives at home.25 Parallel to the role of local kings, the role of the papacy and papal administration has also undergone re-evaluation in recent years. Earlier historians talked about a ‘papal policy’ for conversion in the Baltic, expressed and executed through papal legates to rulers or newly converted lands, sometimes being important elements in sacerdotium’s fight against regnum, in the papacy’s and the Church’s fight against secular rule. Recent scholarship has, however, claimed that the papacy was reactive rather than proactive, that it responded to local politics rather than formed and directed it.26 The latest scholarship within conversion history has also fought against the strong Lutheran tradition existing in most countries around the Baltic, which took as its starting point the anachronistic claim that religion and politics must be firmly kept apart. In the study of conversion this has meant that historians have traditionally claimed that medieval mission and conversion probably never took place earnestly, but only as a pretext for economic and political expansion. Similarly, it has been claimed that conversion amounted to superficial lip service, especially among the upper class, which did not fundamentally change the old worldview. Scholars interested in conversion have studied the remnants of pagan beliefs and practises around the Baltic and concluded that some kind of continuation existed across the conversion period and far into early modern time. The importance of this discovery, however, has probably been exaggerated, since many so-called pagan customs were not considered pagan but Christian by their practitioners in the Middle Ages and later. Therefore, the latest approaches in the study of conversion talk instead of a kind of synthesis between religions or about the adaptability of Christianity (and

25 The Clash of Cultures, ed. by Murray; Medieval Christianity in the North, ed. by Salonen, Jensen, and Jørgensen. 26 E.g. Fonnesberg-Schmidt, The Popes and the Baltic Crusades; for an example of the older approach, see Donner, Kardinal Wilhelm.

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of paganism around the Baltic) and its ability to incorporate local elements and ascribe to them a distinct Christian meaning.27 In recent years, conversion studies have begun to pay more attention to the message of different source categories (such as saints’ lives and legends unfolding stories of the lonely missionary in the wilderness, fighting with the word alone against demons and pagan superstition, or medieval narratives hailing the strong king who with the sword of justice and the shield of faith subdues the pagans and forces them to accept the true faith) and to ask whether these different approaches to mission only reflect a difference in sources, or a change in missionizing over time.28 Most historians today agree that church authorities in the late eleventh century developed a new legitimization for the use of violence for protecting and expanding Christianity, which certainly does not mean that all former conversion had been peaceful.29 With the crusades, however, religious warfare became more institutionalized and acceptable, becoming in itself a means to salvation. The new ideology resulted in new kinds of source material, such as crusade chronicles. Jensen’s chapter in this book discusses different approaches to missionary warfare, the juridically and theologically regulated versus unlimited mass killing. He attempts to show how these two attitudes existed side by side and could be expressed by the same author, but with different emphasis according to genre. For the Baltic area, more historians have claimed that a transition from mission by the word to mission by the sword actually took place, but there is no general agreement as to when. Some have proposed around the year 1000, more have pointed to a shift in the incipient Livonian mission around 1190. Most, however, would agree that the Second Crusade of 1147 received a theological licence to forced conversion from Bernard of Clairvaux when he stated that the pagan nations should be baptized or annihilated – aut ritus ipse aut natio deleatur.30

27 See general discussions in works mentioned in notes 25-26. Specifically, see Valk; ‘Christian and Non-Christian Holy Sites’; Valk, ‘Christianisation and Changes in Faith’; Valk, ‘Christianisation in Estonia’; Zulkus, ‘Heidentum und Christentum in Litauen’. 28 Discussions of genre and conversion in v. Padberg, ‘Geschichtsschreibung und kulturelles Gedächtnis’; Historical Narratives and Christian Identity, ed. by Garipzanov; The Making of Christian Myths, ed. by Mortensen; Medieval History Writing and Crusading Ideology, ed. by Lehtonen and Jensen; Janson, ‘Pagani and Christiani’. 29 Althoff, “Selig sind die Verfolgung ausüben”. 30 In general: Schwertmission, ed. by Kamp and Kroker; Kahl, ‘Compellere intrare’; Kamp, ‘Der Wendenkreuzzug’.

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It is a matter of definition whether or not the missionary wars in the Baltic were crusades. Since the 1970s, historians have increasingly applied a broad definition for crusades, according to which all papally authorized, spiritually rewarding wars against enemies of the Church belonged to the category of crusades.31 From this perspective, the first crusades in the Baltic began immediately after the conquest of Jerusalem in 1099 and continued until the Lutheran Reformation. This is not, however, a commonly shared opinion about crusades in the Baltic: interpretations vary markedly in different countries around the region. Danish and Swedish history-writing does not mention crusades from the last half of the nineteenth century onwards and considers all Baltic military campaigns as political wars. According to this tradition, which has been challenged only since the 1990s, the crusades never reached the north.32 A totally different tradition exists in Finland and the Baltic republics, the target countries for the missionary wars in the Middle Ages. In the Finnish and Baltic historiography, military campaigns were traditionally considered as crusades, while in Finland they were even used as a designation for the whole conversion period. These approaches and traditions are reconsidered in Olesen’s chapter. He focuses on crusades toward Finland from the outside perspective, challenging many traditional views of nationalistic historiography. Swedish crusaders to Finland are often seen as isolated phenomena, unique to the relationship between Sweden and Finland. This approach doesn’t allow for the view that the Swedes and the Finns, like the Novgorodians, the Danes, and the Germans, reacted to mutual politico-military constellations and trade interests; crusades can be seen as one manifestation of these. The Polish and German traditions are more mixed. There has been a strong interest in these wars – they have very often been seen also as religiously motivated – but many historians claim that they were an isolated phenomenon from the Middle Eastern crusades. Until the Second World War, German and Scandinavian research tradition considered the expansion to the east necessary to teach undeveloped locals some culture. Racism and social Darwinism combined and ‘demonstrated’ that Slavs and Finno-Ugrians were more primitive than 31 A broad definition has been criticized in Tyerman, The Invention of the Crusades; within a much broader chronological frame in Tyerman, The Debate on the Crusades. Also Jensen, ‘War, Penance, and the First Crusade’. On the spiritual reward, see now Bysted, The Crusade Indulgence. 32 On the re-evaluation of crusading in the north, see Bysted, Jensen, Jensen, and Lind, Jerusalem in the North; Harrison, Gud vill det!; Fonnesberg-Schmidt, The Popes and the Baltic Crusades; Lind, ‘Puzzling Approaches’.

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their Germanic neighbours and, for example, lacked the ability to form states and state institutions. Such an approach to crusades and conversion disappeared after the Second World War. What remained, however, was the idea of transmitting something superior to less developed areas in which the local inhabitants sat passively waiting for the new age to begin. The Europeanization of the north became a common frame of interpretation from the 1970s, applied by scholars around the Baltic to analyse how their own countries became part of Europe.33 This overall approach has been supplemented recently by a renewed interest in the practicalities of conversion, which has led to new approaches, such as eco-history.34 Historians have now begun to ask: How did it actually happen on a practical daily basis? How did a new religion introduce a whole new worldview and change institutions, customs, sense of time, etc.?35 In this volume, Kivimäe shows how Henry of Livonia used the conflicts and interaction between the crusaders and local pagan inhabitants to create an ideal image of Livonia as the Terra Mariana. Henry was a missionary priest; he shows the personal interests, political ambitions and Christian faith of the crusaders and how they deliberately changed the whole mental climate while converting the infidels. Another new and rising approach to crusade studies is the technical military history – comprising logistics, war machines, horses, transport on land and on sea – and religiously motivated enterprises. Also new is the attempt to combine disciplines that earlier were working in relative isolation from each other. One example of this is the interest around the Baltic in saints and warfare, which has been much better studied in other areas of Europe. An earlier sharp division between the religious and the military spheres in the Middle Ages is now being supplemented with a more holistic approach. Saints are now also studied as important elements in ‘grand strategy’, in the totality of ideological and practical matters that had to be considered and coordinated in the Middle Ages to make war and convert the others.

33 Bartlett, The Making of Europe; Blomkvist, The Discovery of the Baltic. 34 Pluskowski, The Archaeology of the Prussian Crusade. 35 Nielsen, ‘The Making of New Cultural Landscapes’; Crusading and Chronicle Writing, ed. by Tamm, Kaljundi, and Jensen.

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Structure of the Volume Since this volume includes contributions from specialists in the three central fields of the medieval Church and faith – papal administration, hagiography, and crusades/conversion – it seemed an obvious solution to divide this volume into three sections. For a logical and coherent continuum of topics, we begin with the chapters of central administration, move to hagiographical topics, and finally end with chapters focusing on crusading and conversion. Our goal is, however, to connect these three fields, aiming to show that a strict categorization is futile since many chapters deal with more than one of the three topics. The first chapter in this collection, ‘The Cost of Grace: The Composition Fees in the Penitentiary, c. 1450-1500’, is written by Professor Emeritus Schmugge (Zürich/Rome), who in the 1990s – after studying medieval pilgrimages for decades – directed his interest towards the papal administration and became the grand old man of research regarding the Apostolic Penitentiary. In this book he uses his expertise on the sources of the Penitentiary but enlarges his interest towards another curial office, namely the Apostolic Datary, and thus sheds light on how the activities of different curial offices were linked through the activities of individuals. Through use of the Penitentiary source material, he shows how the activities of the two offices were connected, how the creation and elevation of the office of the Datary was bound to the person of Pope Callixtus III, and how the financial administration of the papal curia and the graces granted by the Apostolic Penitentiary evolved hand in hand in the course of the second part of the fifteenth century. Docent Hanska (Tampere) continues in his chapter ‘Career Prospects of Minor Curialists in the Fifteenth Century: The Case of Petrus Profilt’ to illustrate how one individual could make a career in the papal curia by advancing from one position to another in different offices and thereby how the different parts of papal administration were bound together through personal connections. He analyses the career possibilities through the example of a Frenchman, Petrus Profilt, representative of at least 90% of persons working for the papacy in the late fifteenth century. The chapter takes a micro-historical approach, examining how much information it is possible to gain about one person and how pieces of information may be combined to build the story of an individual. Professor Ingesman’s (Århus) chapter ‘A Criminal Trial at the Court of the Chamber Auditor: An Analysis of a registrum from 1515-1516 in the Danish National Archives’ discusses the direct contact between different

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papal offices and how the decisions taken in one office could affect those of others. Ingesman’s work is based on an extremely rare early sixteenthcentury juridical report from the court of the Apostolic Chamber illustrating the phases in a litigation carried out both at the Sacra Romana Rota and at the Chamber court. His analysis draws on records describing the early sixteenth-century litigation between the Bishop of Schleswig, Godske Ahlefeldt, and a local parish priest, Didrik Brus. The chapter shows both the process by which litigants found their way in the labyrinth of the papal administration – using all possible connections at the papal curia for a favourable decision from the papal supreme court – and the punishments meted out by the administration to those employing illegal means in the course of this process. Like Schmugge and Hanska, Ingesman illustrates the complexity of the papal administration and its interconnected offices. The links between hagiography, concepts of sainthood, and papal administration are scrutinized in the next chapter. Ideas about saints were important, formative concepts for medieval Christianity, but also changed according to the demands of the era, as Professor Klaniczay (Budapest) explains in his chapter, ‘The Power of the Saints and the Authority of the Popes: The History of Sainthood and Late Medieval Canonization Processes’. Saints were believed to possess healing power as early as Late Antiquity; in the Early Middle Ages, their powers were used in the political domain to convert pagans and provide victory in battle, give power to abbeys, bishoprics, and cities, to enforce the position of royal dynasties, and to bestow well-being on entire kingdoms. By establishing the canonization process, which Professor Klaniczay calls ‘an institutional control mechanism unknown to any other world religion’, the popes shaped the image of officially sanctioned sainthood. Klaniczay’s chapter shows neatly how the papal policy of canonization changed significantly during the high Middle Ages from canonizing martyrs to preferring royal saints for political reasons and finally to supporting the ‘living saints’ of mendicant orders. Even if the background of saints and the concept of sainthood changed over time, many elements in written material stayed the same. Studying the legend of Saint Alexis and other contemporary vitae, Professor Golinelli (Verona) shows in his chapter, ‘Velut Alter Alexius: The Saint Alexis Model in Medieval Hagiography’, how certain topoi and motifs were adapted from one text to another and how these adaptations were made for the ‘higher purposes’ of supporting the views of the central ecclesiastical administration versus heresies. According to Golinelli, the saints’ legends were not only an element of elite culture, but affected lay devotion as well. Furthermore, he demonstrates that hagiography in general was used as a

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device for political propaganda and, in the case of the legend of Alexis, the texts were a way to spread the ideas of church reform. One attempt at the eleventh-century reform involved resistance to heterodoxy, as Golinelli argues. Thus, his chapter gives another example of the link between the cult of saints, hagiography, and church administration. Canonization processes can be seen as a nexus of papal administration, lay devotion, and the literary genre of hagiography. All these elements are evident in Professor Lett’s (Paris) chapter, ‘Judicium Medicine and Judicium Sanctitatis – Medical Doctors in the Canonization Process of Nicholas of Tolentino (1325): Experts Subject to the Inquisitorial Logic’. He gives evidence of the practice of medicine in north-central Italy: even if the doctors appearing in canonization processes seem to have followed the best knowledge of the era, in this material their role was not to heal the patient but to fail. They were unsuccessful, since in canonization processes the only effective doctor and medicine was the saint. Yet, doctors were increasingly favoured as witnesses in canonization hearings since their knowledge allowed them to give extra and obvious proof of miracles performed. The genre may have demanded their failure, but the increasing appreciation and request of expert witnesses gave their words extra value. As Lett’s chapter demonstrates, healing power of the saints was at the centre of elite thought, but it was particularly important for lay Christians. Dr. Kuuliala (Tampere) in her chapter, ‘Heavenly Healing or Failure of Faith? Partial Cures in Later Medieval Canonization Processes’, offers a lens through which to view the laity’s experiences. The depositions of nearly perfect, partial, or failed cures of long-lasting illness enable a comparison with the elite estimations of miracles, saints, and their literary formulations. Kuuliala’s chapter analyses partial cures that were recorded in canonization processes as proofs of saintly powers, hence offering a lay perspective to the late medieval discussions of health, illness, and the miraculous. The cult of saints was in its turn very closely linked to crusading and Christianization. Professor Kivimäe (Toronto) in his chapter ‘Servi Beatae Marie Virginis: Christians and Pagans in Henry’s Chronicle of Livonia’, takes as his starting point the most important writing about the conversion of the Baltic countries, the Chronicle of Henry of Livonia. His contribution focuses on two core points in Henry’s writings. First, Kivimäe examines the author’s statements about the indigenous people in the Baltic territory and their conversion to the Christian faith. He then turns to the highly relevant question about how the cult of the Virgin Mary, contemporaneously promoted by the Roman curia, was used to legitimize and support the crusading campaign in the Baltic Sea region up to the time that representatives from

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the Baltic dioceses take their case to the pope and the general ecclesiastical council celebrated in Rome in 1215. The chapter ‘Holy War – Holy Wrath! Baltic Wars Between Regulated Warfare and Total Annihilation Around 1200’ by Professor Jensen (Stockholm) continues the theme of the conversion of the Baltic countries. While Kivimäe concentrates on the writings of one of the main actors in the conversion of the Baltic territory, Henry of Livonia, Jensen takes a broader look at the sources and the crusades in the Baltic area around 1200. As a specialist in crusading studies, Jensen observes how the two medieval concepts of warfare, both formulated by those close to the papacy – one stressing a regulated and limited warfare serving missionary zeal, the other accepting a total war aimed at annihilating the pagans – were born, developed, and applied in the Baltic area according to the contemporary sources. The collection’s last chapter continues in the field of crusades and conversion but moves north from the Baltic area: Professor Olesen (Greifswald), takes a new look at the lately much disputed question of the Swedish crusades to Finland in the chapter ‘The Swedish Expeditions (‘Crusades’) Towards Finland Reconsidered’. Olesen follows the idea of Professor Krötzl’s book Pietarin ja Paavalin nimissä (In the Name of Saints Peter and Paul), interpreting the Finnish ‘crusades’ within a broader framework of the medieval crusaders’ movement in the territory of the Baltic See instead of analysing them from only a Finnish or Swedish perspective. Olesen thus compares the Finnish crusades to similar military campaigns made by the Novgorodians, the Danes, and the Germans for various religious, political, or military reasons, showing that the old Finnish or Swedish tendency to interpret the Finnish crusades from a purely nationalistic viewpoint is outdated. The last contribution to the book thus functions as an important opening for future discussions about the ‘international’ background of the Finnish crusades. Regardless of the different perspectives, sources, and starting points of the pieces in this collection, they all contribute to the major theme of the publication, namely the medieval ecclesiastical administration and its effects. The long arms of the papacy and ecclesiastical power affected all of Christianity. The opinions of papal theologians and canonists contributed to the crusading ideology and practice regardless of whether the crusader was active in the Holy Land, the Iberian Peninsula, the Baltic See region – or Finland. Respectively, canon law as well as the policies and regulations of the papal curia had an important impact on concepts of sanctity, sainthood, and the healing power of saints; these regulations formed the background for carrying out canonization processes in various

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parts of Western Christianity. Furthermore, the daily life and religious practices of the laity in partibus on the one hand and the curial officials on the other hand were intertwined through the official regulations and didactic messages of the Church, as shown in depositions in canonization processes, court protocols, and different kinds of petitions to the pope. The contributions in this volume show how the popes, saints, and crusaders have been inextricably intertwined, at the same time bearing witness to the monumental stature of the medieval Church and religiosity. The authors here offer an extremely important point in analysing the role of the medieval Church: there were always different nuances linked to time, place, and social background. Indeed, various contexts and approaches presented in this volume manifest the flexibility and adjustability of the medieval Church, which all scholars should keep in mind – as Professor Krötzl has done.

Bibliography Printed Sources Acta Sanctorum quotquot toto orbe coluntur vel a Catholicis Scribtoribus celebrantur, ed. by Société des Bollandistes, 68 vols. (Brussels and Antwerp: Société des Bollandistes, 1863-1887). Der Liber cancellariae apostolicae vom Jahre 1380 und der Stilus palatii abbreviatus Dietrichs von Nieheim, ed. by Georg Erler (Leipzig: von Veit, 1888). Die päpstliche Kanzleiordnungen von 1200 bis 1500, ed. by Michael Tangl (Innsbruck: Wagner, 1894). Raccolta di concordati su materie ecclesiastiche tra la sante sede e le autorità civili, 1, ed. by Angelo Mercati (Rome: Tipografia poliglotta vaticana, 1919). Regesta pontificum romanorum 1198-1304, ed. by August Potthast, 2 vols. (Berlin: Decker, 1874-1875). Die Register Innocenz’ III., 13 vols. to date (Graz, Vienna, Cologne, and Rome: Österreichische Kulturinstitut in Rom, 1964-). Regulae cancellariae apostolicae. Die päpstlichen Kanzleiregeln von Johannes XXII. bis Nikolaus V., ed. by Emil von Ottenthal (Innsbruck: Wagner, 1888).

Literature Gerd Althoff, “Selig sind die Verfolgung ausüben”: Päpste und Gewalt im Hochmittelalter (Darmstadt: Theiss, 2013). Robert Bartlett, The Making of Europe: Conquest, Colonization and Cultural Change 950-1350 (London: Penguin Book, 1994). Paul Maria Baumgarten, Aus Kanzlei und Kammer. Erörterungen zur kurialen Hof- und Verwaltungsgeschichte im XIII., XIV. und XV. Jahrhundert (Freiburg i.Br.: Herder, 1907).

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Paul Maria Baumgarten, Von der Apostolischen Kanzlei. Untersuchungen über die päpstlichen Tabellionen und die Vizekanzler der Heiligen Romischen Kirche im XIII., XIV. und XV. Jahrhundert, Görres-Gesellschaft zur Pflege der Wissenschaft im katholischen Deutschland. Sektion für Rechts- und Sozialwissenschaft, 4 (Cologne: Bachem, 1908). Nils Blomkvist, The Discovery of the Baltic: The Reception of a Catholic World-System in the European North (AD 1075-1225), The Northern World, 15 (Leiden: Brill, 2005). Ane L. Bysted, The Crusade Indulgence: Spiritual Rewards and the Theology of the Crusades, c. 1095-1216 (Leiden: Brill, 2014). Ane L. Bysted, Carsten Selch Jensen, Kurt Villads Jensen, and John H. Lind, Jerusalem in the North: Denmark and the Baltic Crusades, 1100-1522, Outremer. Studies in the Crusades and the Latin East, 1 (Turnhout: Brepols, 2012). Léonce Celier, Les Dataires du XVe siècle et les origines de la Daterie Apostolique, Bibliothèque des Écoles françaises d’Athènes et de Rome, 103 (Paris: Fontemoing et cie, 1910). Emmanuele Cerchiari, Capellani Papae et Apostolicae Sedis Auditores causarum sacri palatii apostolici seu Sacra Romana Rota ab origine ad diem usque 20 septembris 1870. Relatio historicaiuridica, 4 vols. (Rome: Typis Polyglottis Vaticanis, 1919-1921). Christianization and the Rise of Christian Monarchy: Scandinavia, Central Europe and Rus’ c. 900-1200, ed. by Nora Berend (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2007). Eric Christiansen, The Northern Crusades: The Baltic and the Catholic Frontier, 1100-1525 (Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press, 1980) [London: Penguin Books, 1998, 2nd edn]. The Clash of Cultures on the Medieval Baltic Frontier, ed. by Alan V. Murray (Aldershot: Ashgate, 2009). The Cross Goes North: Processes of Conversion in Northern Europe, AD. 300-1300, ed. by Martin Carver (York: York Medieval Press, 2003). Crusade and Conversion on the Baltic Frontier 1150-1500, ed. by Alan V. Murray (Aldershot: Ashgate, 2001). Crusading and Chronicle Writing on the Medieval Baltic Frontier: A Companion to the Chronicle of Henry of Livonia, ed. by Marek Tamm, Linda Kaljundi, and Carsten Selch Jensen (Farnham, UK: Ashgate, 2011). Niccolò Del Re, La Curia Romana: Lineamenti storico-giuridici, Quarta edizione aggiornata ed accresciuta. Sussidi eruditi, 23 (Rome: Edizioni di storia e letteratura, 1998). Gustav Adolf Donner, Kardinal Wilhelm von Sabina, Bischof von Modena 1222-1234. Päpstlicher Legat in den nordischen Länder (+ 1251) (Helsinki: Societas Scientiarum Fennica, 1929). Dom Jacques Dubois and Jean-Loup Lemaitre, Sources et methodes de l’hagiographie medievale (Paris: Cerf, 1993). Sharon Farmer, Surviving Poverty in Medieval Paris: Gender, Ideology and the Daily Lives of the Poor (Ithaca: Cornell University Press, 2002). Ronald Finucane, Miracles and Pilgrims: Popular Beliefs in Medieval England (London: J.M. Dent & Sons Ltd., 1977). Ronald Finucane, The Rescue of the Innocents: The Endangered Children in Medieval Miracles (New York: St. Martin’s Press, 2000). Ronald Finucane, Contested Canonizations: The Last Medieval Saints (Washington: Catholic University of America Press, 2011). Iben Fonnesberg-Schmidt, The Popes and the Baltic Crusades, 1147-1254, The Northern World, 26 (Leiden: Brill, 2007). Gendered Voices: Medieval Saints and Their Interpreters, ed. by Amy Hollywood (Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 1999).

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Emil Göller, Die päpstliche Pönitentiarie von ihrem Ursprung bis zu ihrer Umgestaltung unter Pius V., Bibliothek des Königlich Preussischen Historischen Instituts in Rom, 3, 4, 7, 8 (Rome: Loescher, 1907, 1911). Emil Göller, ‘Der Gerichtshof der päpstlichen Kammer und die Entstehung des Amtes des procurator fiscalis im kichlichen Prozessverfahren’, Archiv für katholisches Kirchenrecht, 94 (1914), 114-21. Michael Goodich, ‘Mirabilis Deus in sanctis suis: Social History and Medieval Miracles’, in Signs, Wonders, Miracles: Representations of Divine Power in the Life of the Church, ed. by Kate Cooper and Jeremy Gregory (Woodbridge: Boydell Press and Ecclesiastical History Society, 2005), pp. 135-56. Adolf Gottlob, Aus der Camera Apostolica des 15. Jahrhunderts. Ein Baitrag zur Geschichte des päpstlichen Finanzwesens und des endenden Mittelalters (Innsbruck: Wagner, 1889). Réginald Grégoire, Manuale di Agiologia: Introduzione alla letteratura agiografica (Fabriano: Monastero San Silvestro Abate, 1987). Hagiography and Medieval Literature: A Symposium, ed. by Hans Bekker-Nielsen et al. (Odense: Odense University Press, 1981). Dick Harrison, Gud vill det! Nordiska korsfarare under medeltiden (Stockholm: Ordfront, 2005). Thomas J. Heffernan, Sacred Biography: Saints and Their Biographers in the Middle Ages (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1988). Tuomas Heikkilä, Pyhän Henrikin legenda (Helsinki: Suomalaisen Kirjallisuuden Seura, 2005). Meri Heinonen, Brides and Knights of Christ: Gender and Body in Later Medieval German Mysticism (Turku: University of Turku, Unpublished PhD Thesis, 2007). Peter Herde, Audientia litterarum contradictarum. Untersuchungen über die päpstlichen Justizbriefe und die päpstliche Delegationsgerichtsbarkeit vom 13. bis zum Beginn des 16. Jahrhunderts, 1-2, Bibliothek des Deutschen Historischen Instituts in Rom, 31-32 (Tübingen: Niemeyer, 1970). Nikolaus Hilling, Die römische Rota und das Bistum Hildesheim am Ausgange des Mittelalters (1464-1513). Hildesheimische Prozessakten aus dem Archiv der Rota zu Rom, Reformations­ geschichtliche Studien und Texte, 6 (Münster: Aschendorff, 1908). Histoire du christianisme, ed. by Charles Pietri, Luce Pietri, André Vauchez, Marc Venard, and Jean-Marie Mayeur, 14 vols. (Paris: Desclée, 1995-2001). Historical Narratives and Christian Identity on a European Periphery: Early History Writing in North, East-Central, and Eastern Europe (c. 1070-1200), ed. by Ildar H. Garipzanov (Turnhout: Brepols, 2011). Walter v. Hofmann, Forschungen zur Geschichte der kurialen Behörden vom Schisma bis zur Reformation, 2, Bibliothek des Königlich Preussischen Historischen Instituts in Rom, 13 (Rome: Loescher, 1914). Per Ingesman, Provisioner og processer. Den romerske Rota og dens behandling af danske sager i middelalderen (Århus: Aarhus universitetsforlag, 2003). Henrik Janson, ‘Pagani and Christiani. Cultural Identity and Exclusion Around the Baltic in the Early Middle Ages’, in The Reception of Medieval Europe in the Baltic Sea Region: Papers of the XIIth Visby Symposium Held at Gotland University, Visby, ed. by Jörn Staecker, Acta Visbyensia, XII (Visby: Gotland University Press, 2009), pp. 171-91. Janus Møller Jensen, ‘War, Penance, and the First Crusade: Dealing with a “Tyrannical Construct”’, in Medieval History Writing and Crusading Ideology, ed. by Tuomas M.S. Lehtonen and Kurt Villads Jensen, Studia Fennica Historica, 9 (Helsinki: Finnish Literature Society, 2005), pp. 51-63.

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Hans-Dietrich Kahl, ‘Compellere intrare. Die Wendenpolitik Bruns von Querfurt im Lichte hochmittelalterlichen Missions- und Völkerrechts’, Zeitschrift für Ostforschung, 4 (1955), 161-93, 360-401. Hermann Kamp, ‘Der Wendenkreuzzug’, in Schwertmission. Gewalt und Christianisierung im Mittelalter, ed. by Hermann Kamp and Martin Kroker (Paderborn: Schöningh, 2013), pp. 115-38. Sari Katajala-Peltomaa, Gender, Miracles, and Daily Life: The Evidence of Fourteenth-Century Canonization Processes (Turnhout: Brepols, 2009). Gábor Klaniczay, ‘Speaking about Miracles: Oral Testimony and Written Record in Medieval Canonization Trials’, in The Development of Literate Mentalities in East Central Europe, ed. by Anna Adamska and Marco Mostert (Turnhout: Brepols 2004), pp. 365-95. Aviad Kleinberg, Histoires des saints. Leur rôle dans la formation de l’occident (Paris: Gallimard, 2005). Otfried Krafft, Papsturkunde und Heiligsprechung, Die päpstlichen Kanonisationen vom Mittelalter bis zur Reformation. Ein Handbuch, Archiv für Diplomatik, Beiheft, 9 (Vienna: Böhlau, 2005). Christian Krötzl, ‘Parent Child Relation in Medieval Scandinavia According to Scandinavian Miracle Collections’, Scandinavian Journal of History, 14 (1989), 21-37. Christian Krötzl, ‘“Crudeliter afflicta”. Zur Darstellung von Gewalt und Grausamkeit in mittelalterlichen Mirakelberichten’, in Crudelitas. The Politics of Cruelty in the Ancient and Medieval World, ed. by Toivo Viljamaa, Asko Timonen, and Christian Krötzl, Medium Aevum Quotidianum, Sonderband, 2 (Krems: Medium Aevum Quotidianum, 1992), pp. 121-38. Christian Krötzl, Pilger, Mirakel und Alltag. Formen des Verhaltens in skandinavischen Mittelalter (12.-15. Jahrhundert), Studia Historica, 46 (Helsinki: Suomen Historiallinen Seura, 1994). Christian Krötzl, ‘Vulgariter sibi exposito. Zu Uebersetzung und Sprachbeherrschung im Spaetmittelalter am Beispiel von Kanonisationsprozessen’, Das Mittelalter, 2 (1997), 111-18. Christian Krötzl, ‘Prokuratoren, Notare und Dolmetscher. Zu Gestaltung und Ablauf der Zeugeneinvernahmen bei spätmittelalterlichen Kanonisationsprozessen’, Hagiographica, 5 (1998), 119-40. Christian Krötzl, ‘Kanonisationsprozess, Socialgeschichte und Kanonisches Recht im Spätmittelalter’, in Nordic Perspectives on Medieval Canon Law, ed. by Mia Korpiola (Saarijärvi: Gummerus, 1999), pp. 19-39. Christian Krötzl, Pietarin ja Paavalin nimissä. Paavit, lähetystyö ja Euroopan muotoutuminen (500-1250), Historiallisia Tutkimuksia, 219 (Helsinki: Suomalaisen Kirjallisuuden Seura, 2004). Jenni Kuuliala, Disability and Social Integration: Constructions of Childhood Impairments in Thirteenth- and Fourteenth-Century Canonisation Processes (Tampere: University of Tampere, Unpublished PhD Thesis, 2013). Didier Lett, L’enfant des miracles. Enfance et société au Moyen Âge (XIIe-XIIIe siècle) (Paris: Aubiers, 1997). Didier Lett, Un procès de canonisation au Moyen Âge. Essai d’histoire sociale. Nicolas de Tolentino, 1325, Le Nœud gordien (Paris: Presses Universitaires de France, 2008). Felice Lifshitz, ‘Beyond Positivism and Genre: “Hagiographical” Texts as Historical Narrative’, Viator, 25 (1994), 96-113. John H. Lind, ‘Puzzling Approaches to the Crusading Movement in Recent Scandinavian Historiography: Danish Historians on Crusades and Source Editions as well as a Swedish Historian on Crusading in Finland’, in Medieval History Writing and Crusading Ideology, ed. by Tuomas M.S. Lehtonen and Kurt Villads Jensen, Studia Fennica Historica, 9 (Helsinki: Finnish Literature Society, 2005), pp. 264-83.

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The Making of Christian Myths in the Periphery of Latin Christendom (c. 1000-1300), ed. by Lars Boje Mortensen (Copenhagen: Museum Tusculanum Press, 2006). Aarno Maliniemi, De sancto Henrico episopo et martyre. Die mittelalterliche Literatur über den apostel Finnlands. II Legenda nova. Sermones, Suomen Kirkkohistoriallisen Seuran julkaisuja, 45:2 (Helsinki: Suomen Kirkkohistoriallinen Seura, 1942). Medieval Christianity in the North: New Studies, ed. by Kirsi Salonen, Kurt Villads Jensen, and Torstein Jørgensen, Acta Scandinavia, 1 (Turnhout: Brepols, 2013). Medieval History Writing and Crusading Ideology, ed. by Tuomas M.S. Lehtonen and Kurt Villads Jensen, Studia Fennica Historica, 9 (Helsinki: Finnish Literature Society, 2005). Andreas Meyer, Zürich und Rom. Ordentliche Kollatur und päpstliche Provisionen am Frau- und Grossmünste 1316-1523, Bibliothek des Deutschen Historischen Instituts in Rom, 64 (Tübingen: Niemeyer, 1986). Janken Myrdal and Göran Bäärnhielm, Kvinnor, barn & fester i medeltida mirakelberättelser (Skara: Skaraborgs Länsmuseum, 1994). The New Cambridge Medieval History, 7 vols. (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1995-2005). Torben K. Nielsen, ‘The Making of New Cultural Landscapes in the Medieval Baltic’, in Medieval Christianity in the North: New Studies, ed. by Kirsi Salonen, Kurt Villads Jensen, and Torstein Jørgensen, Acta Scandinavia, 1 (Turnhout: Brepols, 2013), pp. 121-53. The Oxford Handbook of Medieval Christianity, ed. by John H. Arnold. (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2014). Roberto Paciocco, Canonizzazioni e culto dei santi nella christianitas (1198-1302) (Assisi: Edizioni Porziuncola, 2006). Lutz E. v. Padberg, ‘Geschichtsschreibung und kulturelles Gedächtnis. Formen der Vergangenheitswahrnehmung in der hochmittelalterlichen Historiographie am Beispiel von Thietmar von Merseburg, Adam von Bremen und Helmold von Bosau’, Zeitschrift für Kirchengeschichte, 105, Vierte Folge, 43 (1994), 156-77. Ludwig v. Pastor, Geschichte der Päpste seit dem Ausgang des Mittelalters, 16 vols. (Freiburg i.B.: Herder, 1886-1933). Guy Philippart, Les légendiers et autres manuscrits hagiographiques, Typologie des sources du Moyen Age occidental, Fasc. 24-25 (Turnhout: Brepols, 1977). Guy Philippart, ‘Hagiographes et hagiographie, hagiologes et hagiologie: des mots et des concepts’, Hagiographica, 1 (1994), 1-16. Aleksander Pluskowski, The Archaeology of the Prussian Crusade: Holy War and Colonisation (London: Routledge, 2013). Procès de canonization au Moyen Âge: Aspects juridiques et religieux – Canonization Processes in the Middle Ages: Legal and Religious Aspects, ed. by Gábor Klaniczay, Collection de l’École française de Rome, 340 (Rome: École française de Rome, 2004). Juhani Rinne, Pyhä Henrik. Piispa ja marttyyri, Suomen Kirkkohistoriallisen Seuran julkaisuja, 33 (Helsinki: Suomen Kirkkohistoriallinen Seura, 1932). Rom und Byzanz im Norden. Mission und Glaubenswechsel im Ostseraum während des 8.-14. Jahrhunderts, ed. by Michael Müller-Wille, 2 vols. (Stuttgart: Franz Steiner, 1998). Borwin Rusch, Die Behörden und Hofbeamten der päpstlichen Kurie des 13. Jahrhunderts, Schriften der Albertus-Universität Königsberg. Geisteswissenschaftliche Reihe, 3 (Berlin: Ost-Europaverlag, 1938). Kirsi Salonen, The Penitentiary as a Well of Grace in the Late Middle Ages: The Example of the Province of Uppsala 1448-1527, Suomalaisen Tiedeakatemian Toimituksia – Annales Academiae Scientiarum Fennicae, Humaniora, 313 (Helsinki: Suomalainen Tiedeakatemia, 2001).

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Kirsi Salonen, Papal Justice in the Late Middle Ages: The Sacra Romana Rota, Church, Faith and Culture in the Medieval West (London: Routledge, 2016). Kirsi Salonen and Ludwig Schmugge, A Sip from the “Well of Grace”: Medieval Texts from the Apostolic Penitentiary, Studies in Medieval and Early Modern Canon Law, 7 (Washington D.C.: Catholic University of America Press, 2009). Ludwig Schmugge, Patrick Hersperger, and Béatrice Wiggenhauser, Die Supplikenregister der ­päpstlichen Pönitentiarie aus der Zeit Pius’ II. (1458-1464), Bibliothek des Deutschen Historischen Instituts in Rom, 84 (Tübingen: Niemeyer, 1996). Franz Egon Schneider, Die Römische Rota. Nach geltendem Recht auf geschichtlicher Grundlage, I: Die Verfassung der Rota, Görres-Gesellschaft zur Pflege der Wissenschaft im katholi­ schen Deutschland. Veröffentlichungen der Sektion für Rechts- und Sozialwissenschaft, 22 (­Paderborn: Schöningh, 1914). Schwertmission. Gewalt und Christianisierung im Mittelalter, ed. by Hermann Kamp and Martin Kroker (Paderborn: Schöningh, 2013). Pierre-André Sigal, L’homme et le miracle dans la France médiévale (XIe- XIIe siècle) (Paris: Les Éditions du cerf, 1985). Laura Ackerman Smoller, ‘Defining the Boundaries of the Natural in Fifteenth-Century Brittany: The Inquest into the Miracles of Saint Vincent Ferrer (d. 1419)’, Viator, 28 (1997), 333-60. Nicola Storti, La storia e il diritto della dataria apostolica dalle origini ai nostri giorni, Contributi alla storia del diritto canonico – nuova serie di studi storico-giuridici (Naples: Athena Mediterranea, 1968). Götz-Rüdiger Tewes, Die römische Kurie und die europäischen Länder am Vorabend der Reformation, Bibliothek des Deutschen Historischen Instituts in Rom, 95 (Tübingen: Niemeyer, 2001). Christopher Tyerman, The Invention of the Crusades (Toronto, Buffalo: University of Toronto Press, 1998). Christopher Tyerman, The Debate on the Crusades, 1099-2010 (Manchester: Manchester University Press, 2011). William L. Urban, The Baltic Crusade (De Kalb: Northern Illinois University Press, 1975). William L. Urban, The Samogitian Crusade (Chicago: Lithuanian Research and Studies Center, 1989). William L. Urban, The Prussian Crusades (Chicago: Lithuanian Research and Studies Center, 2000). William L. Urban, The Livonian Crusade (Chicago: Lithuanian Research and Studies Center, 2004). Heiki Valk, ‘Christianisation and Changes in Faith in the Burial Traditions of Estonia in the 11th-17th Centuries A.D.’, in Rom und Byzanz im Norden. Mission und Glaubenswechsel im Ostseraum während des 8.-14. Jahrhunderts, 2, ed. by Michael Müller-Wille (Stuttgart: Franz Steiner, 1998), pp. 37-55. Heiki Valk, ‘Christianisation in Estonia: A Process of Dual-Faith and Syncretism’, in The Cross Goes North: Processes of Conversation in Northern Europe, AD 300-1300, ed. by Martin Carver (York: York Medieval Press, 2003), pp. 571-79. Heiki Valk, ‘Christian and Non-Christian Holy Sites in Medieval Estonia: A Reflection of Ecclesiastical Attitudes towards Popular Religion’, in The European Frontier: Clashes and Compromises in the Middle Ages, ed. by Jörn Staecker (Lund: Almquist & Wiksell, 2004), pp. 299-310. André Vauchez, La sainteté en Occident aux derniers siècles du moyen âge d’après les procès de canonisation et les documents hagiographiques, Bibliothèque des Écoles Françaises d’Athènes et de Rome, 241 (Rome: École Française de Rome, 1981).

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Thomas Wetzstein, Heilige vor Gericht. Das Kanonisationsverfahren im europäischen Mittelalter (Cologne: Böhlau, 2004). Vladas Zulkus, ‘Heidentum und Christentum in Litauen im 10.-16. Jahrhundert’, in Rom und By­ zanz im Norden. Mission und Glaubenswechsel im Ostseraum während des 8.-14. Jahrhunderts, 2, ed. by Michael Müller-Wille (Stuttgart: Franz Steiner, 1998), pp. 143-62. Patrick Zutshi, ‘Inextricabilis curie labyrinthus: The Presentation of Petitions to the Pope in the Chancery and the Penitentiary during the Fourteenth and the First Half of the Fifteenth Century’, in Päpste, Pilger, Pönitentiarie. Festschrift für Ludwig Schmugge zum 65. Geburtstag, ed. by Andreas Meyer, Constanze Rendtel, and Maria Wittmer-Butsch (Tübingen: Niemeyer, 2004), pp. 393-410.

I Papal Administration



The Cost of Grace The Composition Fees in the Penitentiary, c. 1450-15001 Ludwig Schmugge

For the whole Middle Ages, the economy of the Catholic Church and the functioning of the papal administration were dependent upon payments made to the papal curia. The amount of different kinds of payments to the papal curia increased considerably during the Avignon Papacy (1309-1377) together with quickly developing papal administration. The papal office responsible for handling the economy of the Church, the Apostolic Chamber (Camera Apostolica), became one of the central offices of the papacy. Its task was to take care of the bookkeeping of the Church as well as to receive and handle all different kinds of payments arriving to the curia through papal collectors, diocesan administration, or individual Christians.2 The centre of the ecclesiastical administration, the papal curia and its numerous different offices, was considered as ‘a well of grace’, where Christians could obtain solutions to their various needs whether they wanted an ecclesiastical benefice, a dispensation for marrying a close relative, a licence to carry a portable altar, absolution from excommunication, or a letter of indulgence. Even if the papacy could not sell graces – that would have been considered simony3 – the papal curia did not grant letters of grace for free. Its clients had to pay for the services of the papal administration: fees for preparation of the letters of grace and salaries of the curia employees. These payments went typically through the hands of officials of the Apostolic Chamber, but there were a few exceptions to this rule. One of these exceptions was the composition fee for certain kinds of graces granted by the Apostolic Penitentiary, which was a papal office responsible for absolving Christians from severe sins among other things. 4 The composition fees related to Penitentiary graces were handled by

1 I wish to thank Kirsi Salonen for the translation of my text from German. 2 Concerning the activity and powers of the Apostolic Chamber, Gottlob, Aus der Camera Apostolica; Baumgarten, Aus Kanzlei und Kammer; Felici, La Reverenda Camera Apostolica. 3 Salonen and Schmugge, A Sip from the “Well of Grace”, pp. 35-36. 4 About the powers of the Penitentiary, see, for example, Salonen and Schmugge, A Sip from the “Well of Grace”, pp. 17-68.

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another official within the papal curia, the datarius.5 This chapter analyses these payments, which until now have received very little attention in research, probably because the sources describing the payments are scarce. The medieval archives of the Apostolic Datary, an office which from the mid-fourteenth century began to receive more and more tasks and powers, include very little testimony about the composition fees. However, as this chapter will show, the Apostolic Penitentiary’s archives do include information that supplements the meagre details. This chapter first outlines the development of the composition fees in the curial administration system, going on to clarify the juridical basis for these payments. Finally, it discusses the payments on the basis of the fifteenth- and sixteenth-century records of the Apostolic Penitentiary and papal account books. The source analysis is mainly based on German documentation, which is available in published form unlike the material found, for example, in Italy, Spain, or France, but since the papacy treated similarly all Christians regardless of place of origin, the results can easily be generalized to the whole of Western Christendom.

The Composition Fees: A System Change in 1455 Since the end of the Western Schism, the papal curia required special payment for punishing those Christians who had seriously violated the regulations of canon law by, for example, being guilty of simony or selling forbidden products to Muslims. Christians guilty of such crimes incurred an automatic excommunication of which they could be liberated only after receiving a papal grace (absolution and dispensation).6 These graces were not granted for free; recipients had to compensate the Church by paying a certain sum of money for financing crusades or, since the return of the papacy from Avignon to Rome in 1377, for contributing to the re-building of 5 The datarius was originally the head of a papal office called Dataria Apostolica. As one may deduce from its name, the Apostolic Dataria had its origins in an official of the Apostolic Chancery called the datarius, whose task it was to date the incoming and outgoing letters in the curia. After the Dataria became an independent office during the pontificate of Martin V in the 1420s, its officials acquired more and more responsibilities. Concerning the activity and powers of the Apostolic Dataria, Celier, Les Dataires du XVe siècle; Storti, La storia e il diritto della dataria apostolica; Tewes, ‘Die päpstliche Datarie um 1500’. About the financial activities of the Dataria, see Litva, ‘L’attività finanziaria’, pp. 82-93. 6 The data for Martin V and Eugene IV are to be found in v. Hofmann, Forschungen zur Geschichte der kurialen Behörden I, p. 88, note 1.

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Saint Peter’s basilica. These payments are known as composition (compositio) fees because the amount of payment was not fixed: sinners had to agree with the officials of the papal curia for the amount of the compensation. In principle, the composition fees were not considered a form of selling graces because the pope (or in the case of the Penitentiary, the Cardinal Penitentiary, or his second, the regent) had already granted the grace; therefore, as Thomas Frenz has put it, the compositions were (theoretically) voluntary payments for a papal grace. In practice, however, Christians had no choice but to agree upon paying this fee because the datarius – through the hands of whom the letters of grace were expedited – allowed the expedition only after the payment of the fee. Therefore, and because of the non-transparency of the office, the datarius was often suspected of simony.7 Until the year 1455, Christians agreed upon the amount of composition fees with the vicarius Sancti Petri, meaning that the money was deposited to the papal curia through the Apostolic Chamber. The Penitentiary documentation from the pontificate of Pope Nicholas V confirms this practice: 33 German petitions (most of them from the Holy Year 1450) include a reference to a composition fee and mention the vicarius Sancti Petri as the recipient.8 This canonically justifiable practice did not last long, however. The successor of Pope Nicholas V, the Borgia Pope Callixtus III, made the system much more economically profitable for the pope, so that these payments would be received by people close to the pontiff, not by those working for the central administration. It is possible to follow this change through the entries in the register volumes of the Apostolic Penitentiary from April 1455 onwards, when Callixtus III was elected to the see of Saint Peter. Soon after his election (8 April 1455), the control of the papal household, including its economy, was entrusted to the papal personal confessor and cubicular Cosmas de Monteserrato (d. 1473).9 According to the Penitentiary records, on 10 April 1455 the Cardinal Penitentiary Domenico Capranica wrote 7 About the Datary and the development of the Apostolic Dataria, Frenz, Die Kanzlei der Päpste, pp. 99-100, 206 and v. Hofmann, Forschungen zur Geschichte der kurialen Behörden I, pp. 80-102. 8 Repertorium Poenitentiariae Germanicum (henceforth: RPG) II, 266, 301-02, 345, 350, 352-55, 398, 402, 405, 421, 429-30, 434, 436, 460-62, 472, 480, 719-20, 746, 885, 891, 931, 953-54, 1004, 1045, 1060. These references are now easily searchable through a database of the German Historical Institute in Rome (word search: componat) http://www.romana-repertoria.net. Only once is it ordered (RPG II, 166) that the payment be made to the datarius Ludovicus de Janua, vicarium Sancti Petri. A Ludovicus de Janua is known between 1462 and 1502 as a scribe, but not as a papal datarius. See Frenz, Die Kanzlei der Päpste, p. 400 (no. 1542) and Tabelle 1. See also Frenz, Papsturkunden des Mittelalters. 9 See Pitz, Supplikensignatur und Briefexpedition, pp. 79-87, 322.

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that the composition fee should be paid to the vicarius Sancti Petri,10 but only one week later, on 17 April 1455, Cardinal Capranica ordered that the composition of another petition approved by him should be paid to the archidiaconus Terraconensis, sanctissimi domini nostri cubicularius, that is, to Cosmas de Monteserrato.11 ‘The personal confessor of Callixtus III’, as Ernst Pitz has put it, had thus become ‘the confidant of his Lord also in monetary questions’.12 The transfer of the economic responsibility in these cases to Cosmas de Monteserrato had further organizational consequences within the papal curia. In the beginning of the following year 1456, Cosmas received the title ‘datarius’, and from April 1456 onwards the wording referring to the composition fees in the Penitentiary petitions became the following: et componat cum datario (and compound with the datarius).13 The decision of Pope Callixtus meant also a considerable change in the role of the datarius in the papal curia. Until his pontificate, the main task of the papal datarius was to put a registration date on the petitions approved in the papal curia, but he had no economic competencies. It was only on the appointment of Cosmas de Monteserrato that the datarius received the right to impose and collect the compositions. The componat cum datario is without doubt the most frequent wording referring to the composition in the petitions approved by the Penitentiary, but the registers also contain other kinds of references to the payment, such as simply componat or concordat.14 As Cosmas in 1458 was appointed Bishop of Gerona, he could keep the position of datarius, but the wording in the Penitentiary entries changed to et componat cum domino Gerunden.15 Therefore, it can be concluded that at least during the pontificate of the Borgia-Pope the composition payments were rather connected to the person of Cosmas de Monteserrato than with the office of datarius.

10 RPG III, 16. See also Müller, ‘Die Gebühren der päpstlichen Pönitentiarie’, p. 201, note 19. 11 RPG III, 23. 12 Pitz, Supplikensignatur und Briefexpedition, p. 83. About Monteserrato also Celier, Les Dataires du XVe siècle, pp. 32-34; v. Hofmann, Forschungen zur Geschichte der kurialen Behörden I, p. 86 and II, p. 99. 13 Among many examples, see, RPG III, 210 (4 April 1456), 280, 468, 524, 1978. The register volumes of the Penitentiary often contain signs or a signature of the datarius as confirmation of a fulfilled payment. 14 See RPG III, 68, 71, 92. 15 For the f irst time in RPG on 11 July 1458, RPG III, 2033. During the pontif icate of Pope Alexander VI, Cosmas also obtained the position of Apostolic Librarian. See RPG III, p. XVIII, note 28.

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When receipt of these payments was included in the everyday tasks of the datarius with Cosmas de Monteserrato, it remained the task, or privilege, of the papal datarius to receive these fees. In 1458 Laurentius Roverella 16 was appointed as successor of Cosmas de Monteserrato, but Roverella or his fifteenth-century successors are not mentioned by name in the Penitentiary registers even though they were involved in the payments of the composition fees. The first name of a datarius that emerges in the Penitentiary documentation after Cosmas de Monteserrato as the recipient of composition fees is Johannes Gozzadini, who is mentioned as active both in Bologna and Rome starting from December 1506.17 From the same year the Penitentiary sources contain more information on the datarius. In addition to Gozzadini, the Bishop of Concordia, Franciscus Argentinus de Venetiis, is mentioned as datarius pape. He confirmed a receipt of a composition fee 40 times: for the first time on 15 July 1507 18 and for the last time on 18 February 1511 in Bologna.19 Franciscus died on 23 August 1511 as the Cardinal of San Clemente.20 His successor Laurentius Pucci21 in his turn gave a receipt of a composition fee 37 times; the first of them was dated on 24 October 1510 in Bologna22 and the last one on 18 February 1513 in Rome.23 In September of the same year he was promoted Cardinal of Quattro Coronati and in 1520 he was appointed to the office of the Cardinal Penitentiary, though apparently he kept control over the Apostolic Datary during the whole papacy of Leo X.24 Additionally, the names of three deputy datarii emerge in the pages of the Penitentiary

16 Laurentius Roverella was appointed Bishop of Ferrara in 1460. He died in 1474. Eubel II, p. 153. 17 See RPG IX in index ‘Jo. Goz.’ from no. 139. About him Frenz, Die Kanzlei der Päpste, p. 239 and no. 1264. Ciuccarelli, ‘Gozzadini, Giovanni’, pp. 205-07. 18 RPG IX, 318. 19 RPG IX, 786-87. 20 Frenz, Die Kanzlei der Päpste, p. 99 and no. 676; Eubel III, pp. 12, 174. 21 Frenz, Die Kanzlei der Päpste, p. 99 and no. 1487; v. Hofmann, Forschungen zur Geschichte der kurialen Behörden I, p. 102. Lorenzo Pucci died in 1531 (Eubel III, pp. 13-14, note 6). 22 RPG IX, 732. 23 RPG IX, 1233. 24 He pointed this out on 7 December 1517, APA, Reg. Matrim. et Div. 61, fol. 149r, and on 18 March 1518, APA Reg. Matrim. et Div. 61, fol. 200r.

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registers: Silvius Passerini25 (in volumes 60, 61, and 62), Latinus Benassai26 (in volumes 61 and 62), and Baldassare Turini27 (from volume 65 onwards). These references in the Penitentiary material testify that the datarii continued to receive these payments into the age of the Reformation; the study of later Penitentiary registers would probably confirm the same situation. This development is supported by the statement of the late vice-prefect of the Vatican Secret Archives, Hermann Hoberg, that by 1500 the income of the Apostolic Dataria had exceeded that of the Apostolic Chamber. According to Hoberg, this occurred mainly because the composition fees, which in the fourteenth century made up a considerable part of the income of the Apostolic Chamber, went now to the Apostolic Datary.28

Juridical Basis for the Composition Fees The successors of Pope Callixtus III continued the same system with the composition fees. In the second half of the fifteenth century, it became a prerequisite to agree upon a composition fee with the datarius for a Penitentiary grace in four different kinds of cases: for those who needed to commute a solemn vow to make pilgrimage to the three maior shrines of Christendom (Jerusalem, Rome, and Santiago de Compostela) into another kind of pious act, for those who had profited from illegal trade with Muslims or from the crime of simony, and for those who needed a dispensation from certain kinds of marital impediments. The ‘agreeing upon a composition fee’ did not mean that the datarius and the petitioners negotiated about a suitable sum, but that there were no fixed fees and therefore the datarius had the right to decide how large a sum the petitioners had to pay. In practice he made his decision on the basis of the petitioners’ social status, and thus the ability to pay.

25 Frenz, Die Kanzlei der Päpste, p. 99 and no. 2091, since 1517 Cardinal. 26 Frenz, Die Kanzlei der Päpste, no. 1470. About the career of Benassai see Zapperi, ‘Benassai, Latino’, pp. 173-74. 27 Frenz, Die Kanzlei der Päpste, no. 313. Baldassare Turini is a particularly important person for Finnish scholars working in Rome, as he started the construction of Villa Lante, nowadays housing the Finnish Institute in Rome, where among others Christian Krötzl as head of the Institute lived for several years. About Turini and Villa Lante, see http://www.irfrome.org/ei/ index.php?option=com_content&view=article&id=144&Itemid=78&lang=en and http://www. irfrome.org/ei/index.php?option=com_content&view=article&id=152&Itemid=72&lang=en. 28 Hoberg, ‘Die Einnahmen der Apostolischen Kammer’, p. 85, note 49.

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But what was the juridical basis for the composition fees? Why did Christians have to pay these fees to the Holy See? The oldest reference to such payments can be found in the faculties granted to the Cardinal Penitentiary by Pope Eugene IV in 1438.29 These faculties mention that a solemn vow to make a pilgrimage to Jerusalem or Santiago de Compostela could be commuted into other kinds of pious acts, if the pilgrim was impeded from travelling and could pay a certain amount of money to the Apostolic Chamber.30 This regulation was based on the requirement that if an individual had taken a solemn vow, he or she was bound to it. It was possible to commute ecclesiastical vows to other kinds of pious acts, with the decision typically left to local bishops. Only in the cases of solemn ecclesiastical vows – like pilgrimage vows to the major sanctuaries of the Catholic Church – were the powers to commute the vows reserved for the papal authority.31 The same faculties granted by Eugene IV allowed the Penitentiary to absolve persons who had violated the papal regulations impeding trade with Muslims. Since they had received economic profit from breaking ecclesiastical norms, the pontiff imposed a composition fee upon the sinners so they would compensate the Holy See for the profit they had gained.32 Arnold Esch has shown that fallible merchants, who had traded weapons, cereals, and other forbidden products with Muslims living in the Mediterranean, had indeed turned to the datarius for paying a composition fee after being absolved by the Penitentiary, but that the fees imposed upon them were relatively insignificant, namely between three and eighteen florins.33 Simony was the crime of selling or buying the property of the Church, holy orders, or ecclesiastical offices or of taking money for performing ecclesiastical functions. It is easy to find a canonical foundation for a composition fee in cases of simony because several medieval popes tried to fight this crime. The Penitentiary entries contain relatively frequent references to the constitution of Eugene IV, Cum detestabile scelus from 29 Göller, Die päpstliche Pönitentiarie I:2, pp. 37-47, at p. 46. About the commutation of pilgrimage vows during the Western Schism, see Meyer, Die Pönitentiarie-Formularsammlung, pp. 101-06, 434-56. 30 During the pontificate of Paul II, the amount of composition was in one case as high as ten florins: ASV, Cam. Ap., Intr. et Ex. 467, fol. 16r. See also Göller, Die päpstliche Pönitentiarie I:1, p. 111. 31 About the powers of the Penitentiary in commuting pilgrimage vows, see Salonen, The Penitentiary, pp. 153-55; Salonen and Schmugge, A Sip from the “Well of Grace”, pp. 40-41. 32 Göller, Die päpstliche Pönitentiarie I:2, p. 41. 33 Esch, ‘Der Handel zwischen Christen und Muslimen’, p. 138. See also Salonen, ‘Unlicensed Pilgrims’.

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1434,34 to the homonymic constitution of Paul II from 1464,35 as well as to the constitution of Sixtus IV, Perniciosam aut verius detestabilem simonie labem from 147236 forbidding simony.37 The canonical foundation for the composition fees in the case of simony is directly expressed in these constitutions, stating the necessity for the guilty to pay a penalty fee to the datarius before absolution.38 Because of a lack of studies, it is difficult to find a juridical basis to explain why two people who needed a dispensation allowing them to marry despite an impediment should be obliged to pay a composition fee.39 A study of this question based on the summae, glossae, and decretals regarding marriage – from Tancred of Bologna (c. 1185-1230/1236) and Raymundus de Pennaforte (c. 1175-1275) to Konrad von Megenberg (1309-1374)40 – would therefore be important and welcome. We know that the fathers of the Fourth Lateran Council (1215) made important decisions concerning marital impediments, reducing the forbidden degree of the impediment of consanguinity and affinity from seventh to fourth. At the same time they did not impose any penalty upon those who violated these regulations on marital impediments. 41 Therefore, the introduction of the penalty fee cannot be connected to the important constitutions of the Fourth Lateran Council, but rather to the times of the Western Schism. The entries in the registers of the Apostolic Chamber from the pontificate of Boniface IX testify that a couple who had married against the consanguinity rules had to pay a certain sum – which varied according to the social status of the couple – to the Apostolic Chamber or to a papal collector before receiving a marital dispensation. 42 34 Bullarium Romanum 5, pp. 16-17. 35 Extrav. comm. 5.1.2. 36 Bullarium Romanum 5, pp. 208-09. 37 See the indexes of the RPG volumes under ‘Decretalis’. See also Schmugge, ‘Kanonistik in der Pönitentiarie’, pp. 100-01. 38 About the powers of the Penitentiary in cases of simony, see Salonen, The Penitentiary, pp. 147-48; Salonen and Schmugge, A Sip from the “Well of Grace”, pp. 35-36. 39 See also the Introduction in Supplications from England and Wales I, ed. by Clarke and Zutshi, pp. xxvii-xxx. 40 Kuttner, Repertorium der Kanonistik, p. 445. I have studied the manuscript of Tancred in: BAV, Borgh. lat. 261. The level of the edition of the Summa of Raymundus by Wunderlich (Göttingen, 1841) is not reached in the edition of Ochoas. Landau, Europäische Rechtsgeschichte, p. 737, note 77. About the Tractatus de arboribus cansanguinitatis of Megenberg, see Landau, ‘Der Tractatus de arboribus consanguinitatis’. 41 Concilium Lateranense IV, c. 50, edited in Conciliorum Oecumenicorum Decreta, pp. 257-58; X 4.3.3 and X 4.14.8. 42 Göller, Die päpstliche Pönitentiarie I:1, p. 114.

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This practice probably had its origin in a decretal of Pope Clement V, which stated that a couple who had married knowing about the existence of an impediment incurred an automatic excommunication and had to ask for papal absolution.43 Alexander V and Martin V imposed a composition fee on such couples. Pope Eugene IV continued this practice and from his pontificate onwards demanding a composition fee from such couples became a daily practice in the Penitentiary. The faculties of the Penitentiary do not mention any difference between couples guilty of violating the regulations concerning the impediments of consanguinity or affinity. 44

The Evolution of the Composition Fees The practicalities around the payment of the composition fees became regulated during the pontificate of Pope Callixtus III and his immediate successors, but how did the payments evolve afterwards? This chapter analyses the number of cases in which the composition fees had to be paid in order to see whether payments became more common or their number decreased. The analysis is based on German and English documentation in the Vatican Archives, which does not include any cases of commutation of pilgrimage vows or trade with Muslims. 45 Therefore Table 1 gives the numbers of German and English petitions related only to simony and marriage issues. The German material includes 1053 cases in which a composition fee was imposed in relation to a marital dispensation and 80 cases in which it was imposed for petitioners guilty of simony. 46 The same numbers from the English and Welsh dioceses include 111 cases related to marriage dispensations and eleven cases related to simony.47 Together they

43 Clem. 4.1.1. 44 Göller, Die päpstliche Pönitentiarie I:1, p. 114 and I:2, pp. 35-43. About marriage cases handled by the Penitentiary, see Schmugge, Ehen vor Gericht, esp. pp. 37-44. 45 The analysis is restricted to German and English material published in Repertorium Germanicum (henceforth: RG) VIII-IX (only pontificates of Pius II and Paul II are included); RPG IV-IX (includes pontificates from Pius II until Julius II); Supplications from England and Wales I-III, ed. by Clarke and Zutshi (includes years from 1410 until 1503). 46 The German documents can be easily consulted online: http//:www.romana-repertoria. net. 47 Supplications from England and Wales I-III, ed. by Clarke and Zutshi. Among the 453 petitions from the Swedish Church province of Uppsala to the Penitentiary between 1410 and 1526, there are 66 marriage dispensations. In four of them a composition fee is mentioned (nos. 151, 237, 265, 422). Auctoritate Papae, ed. by Risberg and Salonen. The only edition of Italian Penitentiary

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form a corpus of 1255 petitions, in which the Penitentiary has ordered the petitioner to agree with the datarius upon a composition fee. Table 1 Number of German and English Penitentiary petitions involving a composition fee Pius II Paul II Sixtus IV Innocent VIII Alexander VI Julius II Total 1458-1464 1464-1471 1471-1484 1484-1492 1492-1503 1503-1521 German Matrim. Simony English Matrim. Simony Total

113 20

52 16

341 31

293 5

154 5

100 3

1053 80

1 3 137

5 0 73

45 1 418

38 4 340

22 3 184

103

111 11 1255

Source: RG VIII-IX; RPG IV-IX; Supplications from England and Wales I-III, ed. by Clarke and Zutshi

Table 1 demonstrates that while the number of cases related to simony, in which a composition fee had to be paid, tends to diminish towards the end of the fifteenth century, the number of marriage dispensations with a composition fee instead seems to increase. The Penitentiary cases with a composition fee are most numerous in the pontificate of Sixtus IV and diminish afterwards. This is not a surprise, since comparison of these numbers to the overall number of cases handled by the Penitentiary shows that the Penitentiary was very busy during the long thirteen-year-pontificate of Sixtus IV. 48 One could also argue that the diminishing trend in German material from the early sixteenth century reflects an early break with the papacy. These numbers also demonstrate clearly that the majority of composition fees were related to marriage dispensations granted by the Penitentiary. There were no German or English/Welsh cases related to commutation of pilgrimage vows or trade with Muslims and the proportion of cases related to simony is very small as well. The reason is that the Penitentiary handled documentation is Penitentieria Apostolica, ed. by Ostinelli. There are 36 dispensations with a reference to a composition fee. Thirty-two of them are marriage dispensations. 48 The Penitentiary handled 37,039 petitions altogether during the pontificate of Sixtus IV, when the number handled by the office was only 15,685 petitions during the pontificate of Pius II, and 30,205 petitions during the pontificate of Innocent VIII. Salonen and Schmugge, A Sip from the “Well of Grace”, p. 19.

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numerous marriage-related petitions daily, while all other kinds of cases were brought to the authority of the office only occasionally. 49

How Expensive Were the Compositions? It would be historically important – and not only from the point of view of economic history – to know the amount of the penalty fees paid to the datarius. This would contribute to the old discussion of whether the Roman curia through this practice actually sold graces and thereby was guilty of the sin of simony. Unfortunately, neither the Penitentiary registers prior to the pontificate of Leo X nor the original Penitentiary letters sent to the petitioners and now preserved in various European archives reveal anything about the amounts people paid to the datarius. The Penitentiary records begin to register the composition fees paid to the datarius as late as during the vacancy of the papal see after the death of Leo X.50 During the vacancy in 1521, when the Penitentiary began to function actively again, the registers of the office include three entries concerning marriage dispensations in which are mentioned the sum of the composition fee as well as the name of the person to whom the money should be paid (during the vacancy of the Apostolic See, nobody could act as the datarius). These three entries concern Cologne,51 Augsburg,52 and Regensburg,53 and they are approved and signed by the Cardinal Penitentiary, Lorenzo Pucci, Cardinal Priest of SS. Quattro Coronati. The composition fees in these cases amounted to twenty, eighteen, and twelve ducats respectively. These documents also mention the names of the agents who have taken care of the payment on behalf of the petitioners. Apart from these three Penitentiary documents, what other papal source material could help us find the sums petitioners had to pay for the compositions? The account books of the Apostolic Dataria, which contain information regarding the selling of offices within the papal curia as well as composition fees, have unfortunately survived only very sporadically.54 49 Salonen and Schmugge, A Sip from the “Well of Grace”, pp. 21-28. 50 During the papacy of the Medici-Pope Leo X, the Penitentiary registers refer to the payment of 34 composition fees. 51 APA, Reg. Matrim. et Div. 67, fol. 125v. 52 APA, Reg. Matrim. et Div. 67, fol. 125v. 53 APA, Reg. Matrim. et Div. 67, fol. 126r. 54 ASV, Cam. Ap., Taxae 11 (1469-1470), 12 (1470), 13 (1476-1479), 32 (1492-1493), 34 (1462-1481), 36 (1502-1503), and 37 (1505-1507). See also Frenz, Die Kanzlei der Päpste, p. 236; Gottlob, Aus der

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Another source group could cast light upon the composition fees, namely the tax-lists composed for the use of the Penitentiary proctors. The tax-lists, which survive from c. 1500,55 carefully indicate the amount of different kinds of payments and seem to give a realistic picture about the approximate amount of the composition fees, since the numbers mentioned in them correspond with the payments found in the pages of papal account books.56 Luckily, another register series in the Vatican Archives can help us further, namely the series called Introitus et Exitus, which recorded the incomes and payments of the Holy See that passed through the Apostolic Chamber. The Introitus et Exitus registers from the pontificate of Paul II contain registration marks concerning the composition fees;57 however, the registers covering earlier and later pontificates do not repeat such information.58 In addition, some fragments of account books of the Apostolic Dataria from the pontificates of Julius II and Leo X (concerning the years 1502-1503 and 1505-1507) include more information about the sums paid to the datarius as composition fees.59 What do the existing sources from the pontificate of Paul II (1460s) and the few years from the pontificates of Julius II and Leo X (1500s) then tell us about Penitentiary clients who had to pay a composition fee? Since the composition fees related to marriage dispensations represent the majority Camera Apostolica. 55 The oldest is dated around 1500 (ASV, Arm. LIII, vol. 12, fol. 12r), edited in Celier, Les Dataires du XVe siècle, pp. 152-55 and in Müller, ‘Die Gebühren der päpstlichen Pönitentiarie’, pp. 249-61, and p. 233, note 70. To these tax-lists also belongs a paper manuscript of 66 folios preserved in the Archivio della Fabrica di San Pietro (AFSP, Arm. 29 A 610: ‘Taxe vere sacre penitentiarie apostolice’) but seems to originate from the ASV, Arm. XXIX. The manuscript is dated to the pontificate of Julius II and lists carefully all fees related to graces granted by the Penitentiary. 56 The fee lists edited in Celier, Les Dataires du XVe siècle give the following sums: In 2nd degree of consanguinity or affinity: 300 to 600 ducats (nisi cum magnatibus, that is, only for high nobility and when the Pope has signed the petition personally). In 3rd degree of consanguinity or affinity: 25 ducats, 50 for members of nobility. In 4th degree of consanguinity or affinity when contracted knowingly: 10 ducats. In spiritual relationship, no dispensations for poor people, otherwise 300 ducats (typically only 100). In 3rd and 4th degree: 15 to 18 ducats, for poor people 10 ducats. 57 ASV, Cam. Ap., Intr. et Ex. 449-86. 58 I have used the following manuscripts in the Vatican Archives: ASV, Cam. Ap., Taxae 11-13, 32, 34, 36-37; ASV, Indice 1112, fol. 20r; ASV, Cam. Ap., Intr. et Ex. 487 (1471-1472, here can be found two compositions regarding marriage dispensations on fols. 1v and 2r but nothing more); 533 (1502-1503): No compositiones for marriage dispensations; 506 (1482-1483): No compositiones for marriage dispensations; 504 (1490-1491): No compositiones for marriage dispensations. See also, ASV, Indice 1036, fols. 3r-4r. 59 ASV, Cam. Ap., Taxae 36-37. Frenz, Die Kanzlei der Päpste, p. 236.

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of fees, and therefore benefit from a standard of treatment unlike the more rare simony or trade cases, the following analysis is restricted to payments related to marriage graces. The three following tables illustrate first the geographical origin of the petitioners upon whom a composition fee was imposed, second what kind of impediments were involved in cases when the composition fee was required, and third the amounts of the payments. Table 2 The geographical distribution of marriage dispensations with a composition fee Germany Italy France British Isles Paul II Julius II and Leo X Total

71 21 92

174 134 308

104 53 157

12 57 69

Iberian Unknown Total Peninsula 92 68 160

38 9 47

491 342 833

Source: RG IX and RPG V; ASV, Cam. Ap., Intr. et Ex. 463-486; ASV, Cam. Ap., Taxae 36-37

Analysis of the numbers in Table 2 show that the marriage dispensations with a composition fee handled in the papal curia during the papacy of Paul II originate mainly from Italy (174 cases, 35%), followed by France (104 cases, 21%), Iberia (92 cases, 19%), Germany (71 cases, 14%), and Britain (12 cases, 3%). In 38 cases (8%) the provenance of the petitioners could not be identified. The dispensations handled during the years of Julius II and Leo X’s pontificates also originated mainly from Italy (134 cases, 39%). But in the sixteenth-century material, the Iberian petitions (68 cases, 20%) are in second place followed by British (57 cases, 17%), French (53 cases, 15%), and German (21 cases, 6%). In nine cases the origin of a dispensation are unknown. This result is interesting and shows that the geographical distribution of cases with a composition fee varied slightly in time. Italian dispensations were consistently most numerous, while the percentages of other European territories varied somewhat from the 1460s to 1500s. The share of Iberian and French dispensations with a composition fee did not change significantly, but there was notable growth in the number of British cases (3% vs. 17%) and a significant decrease in the number of German cases (14% vs. 6%). The dominance of Italian dispensations is not a surprise, because the overall analysis of the whole Penitentiary material regarding marriages done by Salonen and Schmugge demonstrated clearly that almost half of marriage graces were granted to Italians. In the whole Penitentiary material the share of Iberian and French marriage petitions was also relatively large for the

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whole period of the late Middle Ages.60 The diminishing trend in the German numbers might point to the fact that especially in northern Germany there was a growing criticism towards the papacy in the early 1500s. All in all, the numbers demonstrate that the composition fees were imposed on Christians from all parts of the Latin West, which shows that the datarius did not differentiate between the places of origin of Penitentiary clients when deciding upon the amount of their payments. The connection between canon law regulations and the composition fee in cases of different marital impediments has already been discussed, but we have not yet examined whether the payments were more often connected to certain kinds of forbidden relationships than others. The Penitentiary faculties do not differentiate between the impediments of affinity or consanguinity in granting marriage dispensations or licences; they do make a clear distinction between the different degrees of consanguinity or affinity. The closest still dispensable degree is the 2nd degree (which in case of consanguinity corresponds to marriage between cousins) and the last still forbidden degree is the 4th degree (which in case of consanguinity corresponds to marriage between third cousins).61 Table 3 shows the number of marriage dispensations with a composition fee related to three different dispensable degrees of consanguinity or affinity and to spiritual relationship (cognatio spiritualis).62 Table 3 The marital impediments in marriage dispensations with a composition fee 2nd degree 3rd degree 4th degree Paul II Julius II and Leo X Total

6 11 17

214 240 454

151 62 213

cognatio spiritualis 120 11 131

?

Total

18 18

491 342 833

Source: RG IX and RPG V; ASV, Cam. Ap., Intr. et Ex. 463-486; ASV, Cam. Ap., Taxae 36-37

The numbers in Table 3 show that during the pontificate of Paul II, a composition fee was required only six times in cases involving the 2nd degree of consanguinity or affinity. A composition fee was instead much more common in cases involving the 3rd degree (214 cases) or the 4th degree (151 60 For a quantitative analysis of marriage petitions handled by the Penitentiary, see Salonen and Schmugge, A Sip from the “Well of Grace”, pp. 26-28. 61 Concerning the Penitentiary and the regulations regarding different marital impediments and their degrees, see for example Schmugge, Ehen vor Gericht, pp. 45-61. 62 Regarding the impediment of spiritual relationship see De Leon, La “cognatio spiritualis”.

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cases) of consanguinity or affinity. A composition fee was involved relatively often in cases regarding the impediment of spiritual relationships as well (120 cases). All different kinds of impediments came fairly consistently from the above-mentioned different territories of Christendom. We can observe an almost similar pattern in cases from the years of popes Julius II and Leo X: A composition fee was most often involved in cases in which the couple was related to each other by the 3rd degree of consanguinity or affinity (240 cases). In second place came dispensations involving the 4th degree of consanguinity or affinity (62 cases), with the number of cases regarding the 2nd degree of consanguinity or affinity again very small (eleven cases). The patterns of the two different periods, however, differ significantly with the spiritual relationship because the number of such payments sinks dramatically from 120 in the 1460s to only eleven cases in the later period. In eighteen cases the impediment could not be detected. Comparison between the materials from these two periods demonstrates that no other fundamental change had taken place between the 1460s and 1500s than that the number of payments related to the spiritual relationship diminished strongly. During both periods, the most common reason for having to pay a composition fee was the impediment of 3rd degree of consanguinity or affinity, and this can clearly be connected to a papal decree declaring the need of a composition fee in such cases. This shows that the officials of the Penitentiary acted exactly according to the regulations of canon law and the faculties given to the office by the pontiffs.63 Finally, we come to the price of the dispensations with a composition fee. Table 4 gives the minimum and maximum amounts of a composition fee during the papacy of Pius II in the 1460s and the pontificates of Julius II and Leo X in the 1500s in cases of the different degrees of consanguinity or affinity and in case of spiritual relationship. Table 4 Composition fees in florins (fiorini di camera) in marriage dispensations

Paul II Julius II and Leo X

2nd degree

3rd degree

4th degree

cognatio spiritualis

120-150 max. 2100 80-180 max. 2500

12-20

3-10

20-25

8-10

10 max. 1200 47-100

Source: RG IX and RPG V; ASV, Cam. Ap., Intr. et Ex. 463-486; ASV, Cam. Ap., Taxae 36-37

63 Göller, Die päpstliche Pönitentiarie I:1, p. 114 and I:2, pp. 35-43.

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The most eye-catching fact in the numbers in Table 4 is the enormous difference in the minimum and maximum of the payments: the sums vary between three and 2500 florins. This leads to several questions: How is this possible? Were there no regulations or norms for these fees? Was the amount of composition fees imposed totally arbitrarily? At the moment there are no comprehensive studies explaining on what basis the datary made his decision about the fees imposed on petitioners, but through a closer analysis of the Penitentiary sources it is possible to make some general observations. First, we can see that a higher composition fee was imposed on people with higher social status. Noblemen were generally taxed more highly than common people; it was even possible to get a reduced payment if the petitioner swore an oath that he was poor, called iuramentum paupertatis. Second, it was cheaper to receive a dispensation from consanguinity or affinity after an already contracted marriage than a licence allowing a forthcoming marriage. Third, dispensations for those who had married in ignorance of an existing impediment were cheaper than dispensations for those who had married knowingly. Fourth, an intervention of a high rank curialist in favour of the petitioners (in the sources often repeated with phrases like intuitu domini cardinalis64) could lead to a reduction of the payment. Fifth, the fees were generally lower for petitioners who were personally present in the papal curia (presentes in curia). Finally, certain geographical differences in the fees could be observed as well: for example, Irish petitioners seem to have paid the least for marriage dispensations, only between three and twelve florins.65 Let us now return to the amount of the payments for different marital impediments. The composition fees in cases of dispensation from the 2nd degree of affinity seem to vary the most. This certainly depends on the fact that numerous cases involved the impediment of affinitas superveniens, which aggravated the situation of the petitioners and made the dispensation more expensive. Affinitas superveniens means that a couple was related to each other through a previous sexual relationship of one of them with a close relative of the other.66 In 1465, a French couple related to each other through the 2nd degree of affinity had to pay a composition fee of twenty 64 As mediators, we meet in 1503 the Cardinalis Salernitanus (ASV, Cam. Ap., Taxae 36, fol. 60r), in 1506 the Cardinalis S. Petri ad Vincula (ASV, Cam. Ap., Taxae 37, fol. 41), or in 1506 the dominus F. Argentin. (ASV, Cam. Ap., Taxae 37, fol. 70v). Lady Camilla della Rovere acted as mediator before the Penitentiary for one Roman couple (ASV, Cam. Ap., Taxae 36, fol. 61v). 65 ASV, Cam. Ap., Taxae 36, fols. 78v, 95v (3 florins); 37, fol. 98r (12 florins). 66 About affinitas superveniens see Landau, Europäische Rechtsgeschichte, pp. 67-71 with reference to older literature.

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florins,67 while in 1466 one Italian and one French couple made a payment of ten florins.68 In the same year, 1466, two French couples paid 120 and 150 florins respectively.69 The largest payment involving the impediment of 2nd degree of affinitas superveniens was recorded in 1469, when French nobleman Philippus de Monte Morenay and his wife Antonia had to pay 2100 florins for receiving their dispensation.70 At the beginning of the sixteenth century the composition fees were even higher. In 1502-1503 the composition fees for those related to each other through the 2nd degree of affinity amounted typically to sums between 80 and 180 florins.71 At that time the Penitentiary also granted dispensations for couples related to each other through the 2nd degree of consanguinity (that is, a marriage between two cousins) and in these cases the composition fee varied between 100 and 150 florins.72 The highest recorded fee was paid by a petitioner from Seville, who on 22 August 1506 received a marriage licence for his thirteen-year-old son, Henricus Guzmán, and a seven-year-old Maria Giron, and another licence for his other child. The children were related to each other by the tie of 2nd and 3rd degree of consanguinity. The children’s father had to pay the datarius Johannes Gozzadini 2500 florins for these two dispensations.73 Unfortunately, the Vatican sources do not inform us about the dynastic interests at stake in these marriages, but it must be possible to search the information in the local Spanish sources since the families Guzmán and Giron belonged to the nobility of Castile and Leon.74 In cases of an impediment of 3rd degree, the composition fees were generally lower than in cases of an impediment of 2nd degree. According to the Introitus et Exitus registers of the papal curia from the pontificate of Paul II, the datarius did not impose composition fees higher than 20 florins for people related to each other through the 3rd degree, unless the case had

67 ASV, Cam. Ap., Intr. et Ex. 463, fol. 34v. 68 ASV, Cam. Ap., Intr. et Ex. 465, fol. 28r. 69 ASV, Cam. Ap., Intr. et Ex. 465, fols. 30v, 39v. 70 ASV, Cam. Ap., Intr. et Ex. 477, fol. 57v. 71 ASV, Cam. Ap., Taxae 36, fols. 24v (80 florins), 20v (120 florins), 48r (100 florins), 94v (90 florins); 37, fols. 90v (dispensation, 180 florins), 94v (dispensation, 150 florins), 99r (license for 2nd and 3rd degree, 100 florins). 72 ASV, Cam. Ap., Taxae 36, fols. 53r (license, 110 florins), 57r (dispensation, 100 florins), 82r (licence, 150 florins). 73 ASV, Cam. Ap., Taxae 37, fol. 70r. 74 http://fmg.ac/Projects/MedLands/SPA NISH%20NOBILIT Y%20LATER%20MEDIEVAL%202.htm.

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aggravating circumstances (excessus).75 The same trend can be observed in the registers of Julius II and Leo X, according to which the composition fees for a couple related to each other through the 3rd degree of consanguinity or affinity varied between 20 and 25 florins. Higher composition fees (over 25 florins) can also be found, though it seems in these cases that the petitioners were noblemen and therefore the payment was estimated higher. For example, an Italian count (conte) had to pay 50 florins for a composition fee in the case of a marriage impediment of 3rd degree of consanguinity.76 In the case of the impediment of 4th degree of consanguinity or affinity, the category with most dispensations (213), the composition fees did not change much over time. During the pontificate of Paul II (1460s), the fees varied between three and ten florins, while the fees of the 1500s varied between eight and ten florins. There was also no difference between fees in cases of consanguinity or of affinity. But are there signs that the fees tended to increase from the 1460s to 1500s? Yes, especially in cases related to the spiritual relationship, a marital impediment based on a relationship created by the sacraments of baptism or confirmation.77 In these cases during the pontificate of Paul II, the datarius most commonly imposed a composition fee of ten florins. At this time there was also no difference between the fees for a marital dispensation or licence. The highest composition fee in a case of spiritual relationship that can be found in the papal sources testifies about a fee of 1200 florins imposed upon a French nobleman.78 It seems, however, that this was a special case, dispensatio matrimonialis specialis, in which the special circumstances augmented the fee. In the sources from the years of Julius II and Leo X, the composition fees related to the spiritual relationship were clearly higher, varying typically between 47 and 100 florins both in cases of licence and dispensation.79 At the same time, we have testimony of lower fees. For example, a German petitioner received the same licence for 40 florins because he was able to swear an oath of poverty.80 75 RG IX, 4958 and ASV, Cam. Ap., Intr. et Ex. 476, fol. 20r: Oswald Staudinger and his wife Catherina had already had sexual intercourse ( fornicatio). They paid 30 florins. See also ASV, Cam. Ap., Intr. et Ex. 463, fol. 11r; 476, fols. 32v, 33r, 47r; 479, fol. 117r; 482, fol. 131r. In a case of a double consanguinity in 3rd and 4th degrees, the sum of 30 florins had to be paid. See ASV, Cam. Ap., Intr. et Ex. 465, fol. 90r; 467, fol. 30r. 76 ASV, Cam. Ap., Intr. et Ex. 463, fol. 86r. 77 De Leon, La “cognatio spiritualis”. 78 ASV, Cam. Ap., Intr. et Ex. 477, fol. 97v. 79 ASV, Cam. Ap., Taxae 36, fols. 4v, 9v, 39v, 44v; 37, fols. 33v, 53v, 68v, 80v, 100v. 80 ASV, Cam. Ap., Taxae 37, fol. 88r. The composition is so high because the couple had already had children (prole iam suscepta).

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Who Took Care of the Payments? Finally, how did these payments arrive in Rome and the papal curia, as it is well known that few petitioners travelled to the Eternal City? Because of the lack of sources on the transport of money in the late fifteenth and early sixteenth centuries, it is almost impossible to know who carried the fees to Rome. The Vatican sources luckily refer to a few couples who came personally to the curia. In these cases, the curia is not interested in who brought the money; rather, the existing sources include this reference because the people received a reduction of their composition fees because of their presence in Rome.81 Carrying one’s own payment personally to the curia was possible, but only if the sum was not too high. In cases of higher payments, petitioners used the services of the Italian banking houses, like the Florentine banking house of the Pazzi.82 Numerous references inform us that in the case of moderate payments, the usual practice was that the procurator who handled the case also took care of the payments and received his compensation from his clients one way or another. For example, sources from 1506 inform us about a procurator employed by two Spaniards. He received from the petitioners a total of 22 florins, nineteen of which he used to pay the composition fee. He kept the remaining three florins for his own compensation.83 A well known curialist, Wilhelm von Enckenfort, a member of the German brotherhood of the church of Santa Maria dell’Anima in Rome and Rota notary – whom Pope Hadrian VI elevated to cardinalate in 1523 – acted regularly as a procurator in the years 1502 and 1503. According to existing sources, he not only served Germans who needed help in the papal curia, but he paid the composition fees to the Datary on behalf of English couples as well.84 The above-mentioned cases are only a few among the many references to procurators who participated in the payments of composition fees related to marriage dispensations. The Appendix lists more names of procurators who served German Penitentiary petitioners. 81 In 1471, one couple from the diocese of Sitten paid, instead of the normal 10 florins, only 5 florins for a dispensation from the marital impediment of cognatio spiritualis (ASV, Cam. Ap., Intr. et Ex. 485, fol. 133v). In the same year, two Frenchmen similarly had to pay only 5 florins for a dispensation from the 3rd degree of consanguinity (ASV, Cam. Ap., Intr. et Ex. 486, fol. 8r). 82 As an example of the activity of the banking house of the Pazzi, see note 79. 83 ASV, Cam. Ap., Taxae 37, fol. 60r. 84 ASV, Cam. Ap., Taxae 36, fols. 8r, 34v, 50r.

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Conclusions The late medieval popes introduced composition fees, a special payment for Christians who had seriously violated regulations of the Church. Most of these fees were related to graces granted by the Apostolic Penitentiary. Originally, the recipient of the composition fees was the vicarius Sancti Petri, but in 1455 this practice was changed. Pope Callixtus III ordered that from then on, composition fees were to be paid to the Chamberlain and personal confessor of the Pope, Cosmas de Monteserrato, who was given the title of papal datarius. By assigning the task of collecting the composition fees to one of his confidants, the Pope secured for himself (and for his successors) a new source of income, which the central administration of the Church and the cardinals could not control. Pope Callixtus III thus created, in the person of Cosmas de Monteserrato and the position of datarius, a new focal point for the financial penalties, which increased rapidly in the coming years. His successors did not see any reason to give up this highly lucrative activity. Analysis of the Penitentiary sources together with the sources from the Apostolic Datary demonstrated that the clients of the Penitentiary had to pay composition fees for four different reasons. The payment was required from those who were guilty of simony or trade with Muslims, from those who needed to commute their solemn pilgrimage vow, and from those who needed a certain kind of marital dispensation. The quantitative analysis of the Penitentiary sources demonstrated that the composition fees were collected mainly in the context of granting marital graces. Closer analysis of the records regarding the paying of composition fees in marriage issues in its turn gleaned some interesting findings. First, the composition payments were mostly imposed upon Christians originating from the central areas of Christendom: Italy, France, the Iberian Peninsula, and Germany. Second, most of the composition fees related to marriage graces were imposed upon couples related to each other by the 3rd degree of consanguinity or affinity, showing that the officials of the papal curia followed carefully the regulations of canon law when imposing these payments. Third, the Vatican sources testified in many ways that the amount of the composition fee had to be agreed with the datarius case by case. It became evident that the sums could vary from three up to 2,500 florins depending upon the social status of the petitioners, their presence in Rome, and connections in the papal curia, for example. The far higher composition fees imposed upon noblemen allow us to conclude – if we consider the imposing of a composition fee as the selling of grace – that the papal sources show clearly that this was handled with the social background of the petitioners in mind.

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Appendix – Procurators Paying Composition Fees The Appendix gives the names of all known procurators who participated in the payments of composition fees in marriage dispensations. After the name of the procurator comes his position within the papal curia and in parentheses the sum of the composition fee(s) paid (in florins). The second column of the table lists references to those mentioned in the Repertorium Germanicum (RG) and Repertorium Poenitentiariae Germanicum (RPG) as well as in the Introitus et Exitus (I+E) and Taxae volumes in the Vatican Secret Archives. Adam Piscatoris, penit. procurator (10, 6) Adrianus (de Hee), litt. ap. scriptor (14) Albertus Koch/Kock, litt. ap. scriptor (8, 10) Albertus Puch (Puck) (30) Alexander Meisterlin (10) Arnaldus Melxter, fam. pape (102, 10)

Balduinus Baldoleti, cler. Leod. dioc. (8, 10, 10, 5, 10) Bertholdus NN (8) Filippus de Martellis, institor soc. de Medicis (25) Conradus de Tuongen (4) Cristianus, credentiarius pape (4) Dominicus de Luca, litt. ap. scriptor (50) Guillelmus Stunt (6, 3) Henricus (de) Hestel (60) Henricus Holewort (100) Henricus Lebenter, in R. cur. sollicitator causarum, nuntius Pape (10, 20, 10) Henricus Molitoris, cursor et fam. Pape (10) Jacobus Scah (12) Johannes de Cardona, scriptor ap. (18) Johannes Carpentari (5) Johannes Cavalieri (2, 3)

I+E 479, fols. 93v, 145v (1470); RG IX, 2051, 2429, 6177; RPG V, 714. I+E 467, fol. 91r (1467); RG VIII, 52; RG IX, 42. I+E 465, fol. 17r (1466); I+E 477, fol. 130v (1469); RG IX, 66, 3207, et passim sub Indice. I+E 472, fol. 22v (1468); RG IX, 78, 1300. I+E 482, fol. 35r (1470); RG IX, 128, 1491, 3452, 3646, 4016, 5885. I+E 470, fol. 33r (1467); I+E 482, fol. 45v (1470); RG VIII, 301; RG IX, 338, 1845, 1889, 2964, 3665, 4988. I+E 467, fols. 11v, 19r (1467); I+E 470, fol. 8v (1467); RG IX, 377, 1220. I+E 465, fol. 39r (1466); RG IX, 6281; RPG V, 222. I+E 470, fol. 23v (1467); RG IX, 733. I+E 465, fol. 54r (1466); RG IX, 4710. I+E 470, fol. 6v (1467); RPG V, 415, 416; RG IX, 778. I+E 470, fol. 101r (1468); RG VIII, 945, 5886. I+E 465, fol. 107r-v (1466); RG IX, 1, 5658; RPG V, 260. I+E 486, fol. 20v (1471); RG IX, 6035. I+E 479, fol. 80v, 82v (1469). I+E 467, fol. 11v (1467); I+E 482, fol. 128r (1470); RG VIII, 1876; RG IX, 2006, et passim sub Indice. I+E 482, fol. 24r (1470); RG VIII, 1905; RG IX, 2040, 3261. I+E 467, fol. 46r (1467); RPG V, 367; RG IX, 2719. Taxae 36, fol. 7v (1502). I+E 477, fol. 32r (1469); RG IX, 2774(?). I+E 463, fol. 91r (1465); RG IX, 2109, 3987; RPG V, 186.

60  Johannes Haltfast (14, 100) Johannes Louth (4) Johannes de Madrigal, procurator penit. ap. (19) Johannes Siester (4) Ludovicus de Colonia (2) Marcus Fugger, suppl. scriptor (10) Nicolaus Lepetit (20, 80) Nicolaus de Rizoribus (60) Peregrinus Viale (100, 100, 60) Petrus Profilt (8) Sifridus (de Venningen), cubicularius pape (10) Stephanus Nunkilch (5, 7)

Ludwig Schmugge

I+E 467, fol. 33v (1467); I+E 485, fol. 88v (1470); RG IX, 2644, 3167, 3956; RPG V, 356. I+E 467, fol. 68r (1467); RG IX, 653; RPG V, 377. Taxae 36, fol. 7v (1502). I+E 465, fol. 81v (1466). I+E 463, fol. 53r (1465). I+E 486, fol. 70v (1471); RG IX, 3782, 4343. Taxae 36, fols. 7r, 9v (1502). I+E 470, fol. 113r (1468). I+E 470, fol. 101v (1468). I+E 467, fol. 68r (1467); RPG IV, 381. I+E 482, fol. 83v (1470); RG VIII, 3199; RG IX, 2486, 5515. I+E 472, fol. 32r (1468); I+E 477, fol. 52r (1468); RG IX, 741, 4598, 5653; RPG V, 545, 646.

Bibliography Unprinted Sources Archivio della Fabbrica di San Pietro, Vatican City (= AFSP) – Arm. 29 A 610. Archivio della Penitenzieria Apostolica, Vatican City (= APA) – Reg. Matrim. et Div. passim. Archivio Segreto Vaticano, Vatican City (= ASV) – Arm. XXIX, LIII. – Cam. Ap., Intr. et Ex. 449-487, 504, 506, 533. – Cam. Ap., Taxae 11-13, 32, 34, 36-37. – Indice 1036, 1112. Biblioteca Apostolica Vaticana, Vatican City (= BAV) – MS Borgh. lat. 261.

Printed Sources Auctoritate Papae. The Church Province of Uppsala and the Apostolic Penitentiary 1410-1526, ed. by Sara Risberg and Kirsi Salonen. Diplomatarium Suecanum Appendix, Acta Pontificum Suecica II, Acta Poenitentiariae (Stockholm: National Archives of Sweden, 2008). Bullarium Romanum. Bullarium diplomatum et privilegiorum sanctorum romanorum pontificum Taurinensis editio, 5, ed. by Luigi Tomassetti, Charles Cocquelines, Francesco Gaude, and Luigi Bilio (Augustae Taurinorum: Seb. Franco et Henrico Dalmazzo editoribus, 1860).

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Conciliorum Oecumenicorum Decreta, ed. by Giuseppe Alberigo, Joseph A. Dossetti, Perikles Joannou, Claudio Leonardi, Paolo Prodi, and Hubert Jedin (Bologna: Istituto per le scienze religiose, 1973, 3rd edn). Hierarchia catholica medii aevi sive summorum pontificum, S. R. E. cardinalium, ecclesiarum antistitum series ab anno 1431 usque ad annum 1503 perducta, ed. by Conradus Eubel (Münster: Libraria Regensbergiana, 1914, 2nd edn) (= Eubel II). Hierarchia catholica medii et recentioris aevi sive summorum pontificum, S. R. E. cardinalium, ecclesiarum antistitum series saeculum XVI ab anno 1503 complectens, ed. by Guilelmus van Gulik and Conradus Eubel (Münster: Libraria Regensbergiana, 1923, 2nd edn) (= Eubel III). Penitentieria Apostolica. Le suppliche alla Sacra Penitenzieria Apostolica provenienti dalla diocesi di Como (1438-1484), ed. by Paolo Ostinelli. Materiali di storia ecclesiastica lombarda (secoli XIV-XVI), 5 (Milan: Unicoepli, 2003). Repertorium Germanicum VIII. Verzeichnis der in den päpstlichen Registern und Kameralakten Pius’ II. vorkommenden Personen, Kirchen und Orte des Deutschen Reiches, seiner Diözesen und Territorien 1458-1464, ed. by Dieter Brosius and Ulrich Schesckewitz (Tübingen: Niemeyer, 1993) (= RG VIII). Repertorium Germanicum IX. Verzeichnis der in den päpstlichen Registern und Kameralakten Pauls II. vorkommenden Personen, Kirchen und Orte des Deutschen Reiches, seiner Diözesen und Territorien 1464-1471, ed. by Hubert Höing, Heiko Leerhoff and Michael Reimann (Tübingen: Niemeyer, 2000) (= RG IX). Repertorium Poenitentiariae Germanicum II (Nikolaus V.), III (Calixt III.), IV (Pius II.), V (Paul II.), VI (Sixtus IV.), VII (Innozenz VIII.), VIII (Alexander VI.), IX (Julius II.): Verzeichnis der in den Supplikenregistern der Pönitentiarie vorkommenden Personen, Kirchen und Orte des Deutschen Reiches, ed. by Ludwig Schmugge et al. (Tübingen: Niemeyer 1996-2014) (=RPG). Supplications from England and Wales in the Registers of the Apostolic Penitentiary, 1410-1503, 1-3, ed. by Peter D. Clarke and Patrick N.R. Zutshi. The Canterbury and York Society, 103-105 (Woodbridge: The Canterbury and York Society, 2013-2015).

Literature Paul Maria Baumgarten, Aus Kanzlei und Kammer. Erörterungen zur kurialen Hof- und Verwaltungsgeschichte im XIII., XIV. und XV. Jahrhundert (Freiburg i.Br.: Herder, 1907). Léonce Celier, Les Dataires du XVe siècle et les origines de la Daterie Apostolique, Bibliothèque des Écoles françaises d’Athènes et de Rome, 103 (Paris: Écoles françaises d’Athènes et de Rome, 1910). Cecilia Ciuccarelli, ‘Gozzadini, Giovanni’, Dizionario Biografico degli Italiani, 58 (2002), pp. 205-07. Enrique De Leon, La “cognatio spiritualis” segun Graciano, Pontificio Ateneo della Santa Croce. Monografie giuridiche, 11 (Milan: Giuffrè, 1996). Arnold Esch, ‘Der Handel zwischen Christen und Muslimen im Mittelmeer-Raum. Verstöße gegen das päpstliche Embargo geschildert in den Gesuchen an die Apostolische Pönitentiarie (14391483)’, Quellen und Forschungen aus italienischen Archiven und Bibliotheken, 92 (2012), 85-140. Guglielmo Felici, La Reverenda Camera Apostolica. Studio storico-giuridico (Vatican City: Tipografia poliglotta vaticana, 1940). Thomas Frenz, Die Kanzlei der Päpste der Hochrenaissance (1471-1527), Bibliothek des Deutschen Historischen Instituts in Rom, 63 (Tübingen: Niemeyer, 1986). Thomas Frenz, Papsturkunden des Mittelalters und der Neuzeit, Historische Grundwissenschaften in Einzeldarstellung, 2 (Stuttgart: Steiner, 1986). Emil Göller, Die päpstliche Pönitentiarie von ihrem Ursprung bis zu ihrer Umgestaltung unter Pius V., 1-2, Bibliothek des Königlich Preussischen Historischen Instituts in Rom, 3, 4, 7, 8 (Rome: Loescher, 1907, 1911).

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Adolf Gottlob, Aus der Camera Apostolica des 15. Jahrhunderts. Ein Beitrag zur Geschichte des päpstlichen Finanzwesens und des endenden Mittelalters (Innsbruck: Wagner, 1889). Hermann Hoberg, ‘Die Einnahmen der Apostolischen Kammer am Vorabend der Glaubensspaltung’, Römische Quartalschrift, Supplementheft, 35 (1977), 69-85. Walter v. Hofmann, Forschungen zur Geschichte der kurialen Behörden vom Schisma bis zur Reformation 1, Bibliothek des Königlich Preussischen Historischen Instituts in Rom, 12 (Rome: Loescher, 1914). Stephan Kuttner, Repertorium der Kanonistik (1140-1234): Prodromus corporis glossarum I, Studi e testi, 71 (Vatican City: Biblioteca Apostolica Vaticana, 1937). Peter Landau, ‘Der Tractatus de arboribus consanguinitatis et aff initatis des Konrad von Megenberg’, in Konrad von Megenberg (1309-1374) und sein Werk. Das Wissen der Zeit, ed. by Claudia Märtl, Gisela Drossbach, and Martin Kinzinger (Munich: Beck, 2006), pp. 99-114. Peter Landau, Europäische Rechtsgeschichte und kanonisches Recht im Mittelalter (Badenweiler: Bachmann, 2013). Felice Litva, ‘L’attività f inanziaria della Dataria durante il periodo tridentino’, Archivum Historiae Pontificae, 5 (1967), 79-174. Matthäus Meyer, Die Pönitentiarie-Formularsammlung des Walter Murner von Strassburg. Beitrag zur Geschichte und Diplomatik der päpstlichen Pönitentiarie im 14. Jahrhundert, Spicilegium Friburgense, 25 (Freiburg i.Ü.: Universitätsverlag Freiburg Schweiz, 1979). Wolfgang P. Müller, ‘Die Gebühren der päpstlichen Pönitentiarie (1338-1569)’, Quellen und Forschungen aus italienischen Archiven und Bibliotheken, 78 (1998), 189-261. Ernst Pitz, Supplikensignatur und Briefexpedition an der römischen Kurie im Pontifikat Papst Calixts III., Bibliothek des Deutschen Historischen Instituts in Rom, 92 (Tübingen: Niemeyer, 1971). Kirsi Salonen, The Penitentiary as a Well of Grace in the Late Middle Ages. The Example of the Province of Uppsala 1448-1527, Suomalaisen Tiedeakatemian Toimituksia – Annales Academiae Scientiarum Fennicae, Humaniora, 313 (Helsinki: Suomalainen Tiedeakatemia, 2001). Kirsi Salonen, ‘Unlicensed Pilgrims and Illegal Trade. Late Medieval Cultural Encounters in the Mediterranean according to the Archives of the Apostolic Penitentiary 1458-1464’, in Cultural Encounters During the Crusades, ed. by Kurt Villads Jensen, Kirsi Salonen, and Helle Vogt (Odense: University Press of Southern Denmark, 2013), pp. 165-97. Kirsi Salonen and Ludwig Schmugge, A Sip from the “Well of Grace”: Medieval Texts from the Apostolic Penitentiary. Studies in Medieval and Early Modern Canon Law, 7 (Washington D.C.: Catholic University of America Press, 2009). Ludwig Schmugge, ‘Kanonistik in der Pönitentiarie’, in Stagnation oder Fortbildung? Aspekte des allgemeinen Kirchenrechts im 14. und 15. Jahrhundert, ed. by Martin Bertram, Bibliothek des Deutschen Historischen Instituts in Rom, 108 (Rome: Niemeyer, 2005), pp. 93-115. Ludwig Schmugge, Ehen vor Gericht. Paare der Renaissance vor dem Papst (Berlin: Berlin University Press, 2008). Nicola Storti, La storia e il diritto della dataria apostolica dalle origini ai nostri giorni. Contributi alla storia del diritto canonico – nuova serie di studi storico-giuridici (Naples: Athena Mediterranea, 1968). Götz-Rüdiger Tewes, ‘Die päpstliche Datarie um 1500’, in Stagnation oder Fortbildung? Aspekte des allgemeinen Kirchenrechts im 14. und 15. Jahrhundert, ed. by Martin Bertram, Bibliothek des Deutschen Historischen Instituts in Rom, 108 (Rome: Niemeyer, 2005), pp. 159-80. Roberto Zapperi, ‘Benassai, Latino’, Dizionario Biografico degli Italiani, 8 (1966), 173-74.



Career Prospects of Minor Curialists in the Fifteenth Century The Case of Petrus Profilt Jussi Hanska

On Saturday 1 March 1466, two young Frenchmen participated in a general ordination that took place in the sacristy of the old Saint Peter’s basilica in Rome. At first sight, these men do not seem to differ from the other 50 young men ordained at the same time. Their presence in the ordination is marked in the Libri formatarum,1 that is, in the records of the ordination, with just a few words: Petrus Chaffalt rector parochialis ecclesie de Aureavalle Nanetensis dioc. Petrus Profilt rector parochialis ecclesie de Burgomonasteriorum Nanetensis dioc.2

These entries in the Libri formatarum thus testify that Petrus Chaffalt or Pierre du Chaffault3 was ordained subdeacon and Petrus Profilt deacon. 4 1 The clerical ordinations at the Roman curia were recorded in the registration volumes known as Libri formatarum. Fourteen volumes of these covering the years 1426-1523 (with several lacunae, for example, the volume covering Pius II’s pontificate [1458-1464] has gone missing) survive and are kept in the Vatican Secret Archives. For further information, see Schmitz, ‘Die Libri formatarum’. The ordinations were carried out collectively in the general ordinations (Lat. ordines generales) performed six times a year. If one had a dispensation from the pope that allowed him to be ordained in other times, he could also receive his orders individually in a private ceremony. 2 ASV, Cam. Ap., Libri format. 4, fol. 34v: Petrus Chaffault, rector of the parish church of Orvault in the diocese of Nantes; Petrus Profilt, rector of the parish church of Burgomonasteriorum in the diocese of Nantes. 3 Petrus Chaffault is known in modern research literature as Pierre du Chaffault. Not all of the people mentioned in this chapter are similarly known from elsewhere; hence, I have decided to use the Latin name forms as they are encountered in the original sources instead of guessing their original French names. 4 Since the two Petruses were not ordained to the same clerical order, their names were not recorded in the Libri formatarum one after another: there are several names in between. The ordinations were recorded in groups in the following order: prima tonsura, IV minores ordines, subdiaconatus, diaconatus, and presbiteratus. Thus Petrus du Chaffault was recorded under the rubric Ad subdiaconatus, whereas Petrus Profilt was recorded under the rubric Ad diaconatus.

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One month later, on 5 April 1466, these two men were again ordained together at the Roman curia – this time both to priesthood.5 Looking more closely, one finds they share several common factors. Not only were the men both French, they both came from the diocese of Nantes and were already rectors of parish churches (Lat. rector parochialis ecclesiae): Pierre du Chaffault was rector of the parish church of Orvault on the north-west edge of the city of Nantes, while Petrus Profilt was rector of the parish church of Burgomonasteriorum6 of the same diocese. Pierre du Chaffault was not just any young priest; he was an ecclesiastical high-flyer, a man destined to important positions. He had the necessary noble background and connections. First serving as a canon of Nantes, his ecclesiastical career culminated on 10 March 1477 when Sixtus IV appointed him bishop of Nantes. He was still holding this office when he died in November 1487 at the bishop’s palace in Nantes.7 We know from various sources that Pierre du Chaffault was an important prelate (he was, to give but one example, present in Rome at the consistory held in the Apostolic palace in Rome on 20 December 1485, when Innocent VIII formally decided to canonize Duke Leopold of Austria). Petrus Profilt, in his turn, remains virtually unknown. He did not become a bishop or other significant person in church history, but remained one of the humble functionaries of the Roman curia. The life of the Roman (and Avignon) curia has been well studied and documented when it comes to the popes and cardinals. There are plenty of studies both in monograph and in article form on each of the fifteenthcentury popes. The same is true also of the most important cardinals, such as Bessarion, Domenico Capranica, or Nicholas of Cusa. However, the less important people, like Petrus Profilt, who lived and worked around the Roman curia, have received considerably less attention. We know very little about lesser curialists, workers, and artisans who circulated around the great prelates – unless they were truly famous artists such as Antoniazzo Romano, Pinturicchio, Michelangelo, or Raffaello. The lesser officials of the papal curia were, however, as important for the daily business of the papacy as the men in important positions and therefore worthy of study. This chapter takes a closer look at the lower curial servants 5 ASV, Cam. Ap., Libri format. 4, fols. 34v-35r and 42r-v. This means that Petrus Chaffault must have been ordained extra tempora to the deaconhood between these two general ordination days. However, such an ordination is not recorded in the Libri formatarum. Consequently, we do not know when, where, and by whom it was done. 6 I have not been able to find further information on this parish. 7 Eubel II, p. 198; Haureau, Gallia christiana, 14, p. 832.

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and their roles by concentrating on the life and career of one of them, Petrus Profilt. In this chapter, Petrus Profilt functions as an example of the larger group, namely those men living and working in the shadow of the richer, more influential, and more famous curialists. The piece is divided so that it first reconstructs what is known about Petrus Profilt as thoroughly as possible with the available sources.8 Then, on the basis of Petrus Profilt’s mini-biography, I make some general observations concerning the life, work, finances, connection networks, and culture of the rank and file curial civil servants. Finally, the chapter aims to answer the following questions at a more general level: What were the career opportunities of the minor curialists in the fifteenth century? What kind of contact networks did they have, and how did they make ends meet while living in the Eternal City? Why choose Petrus Profilt? Is there any acceptable reason to believe that his case is by any means representative of the less important curialists? On the basis of the studies on papal officials, Petrus Profilt’s case does not stand out as exceptional. He was not an extraordinary individual whose peculiarities provide us with a means of studying what was normal. He was rather a normal curialist, one that did not stand out of the crowd. It is his very ordinariness which makes him an interesting subject of study. The combination of Petrus’s normality and reasonably rich surviving sources makes him an excellent subject of a case study seeking to establish what the average minor curialists were like.

The Curialist and his Cursus Honorum The registration concerning Petrus Profilt’s ordination to deaconhood was not the first time his name was registered in Vatican sources; his name comes up in different contexts from the late 1450s until the 1470s. This chapter is as comprehensive as possible a re-construction of Petrus’s career as the surviving sources permit. It follows the career of one person within the papal curia, noting how he proceeded little by little while moving from the service of one papal office to another, providing a fine knowledge of the functioning of central ecclesiastical administration.

8 Salonen and Hanska, Entering the Clerical Career. While doing research for this volume, I collected prosopographical information on 1673 persons ordained at the Roman curia during the pontificate of Pope Paul II (1464-1471) and several interesting people emerged from the depths of the papal sources. This chapter revisits the material collected for that study.

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As is often the case with people found in the registers of the Vatican archives, we do not know with absolute certainty even the name of our protagonist. According to Thomas Frenz, an expert on papal administration and its personnel in the late Middle Ages, the person of our protagonist is encountered in different sources with different names: Petrus Profilt, Prosilt, Prolfit, or Probst. This is not surprising since the scribes recording information into the papal copybooks often spoke different languages than those mentioned in the documents. An Italian scribe could have had problems in deciphering Petrus’s French surname. Furthermore, sometimes reading the register volumes is difficult because some scribes’ handwriting is nearly illegible. This means that different editions of the documents may offer different readings. It is particularly difficult to make out the difference between ‘f’ and ‘s’ in Profilt/Prosilt. While it is impossible to decide which of the forms of Petrus’s name is the correct one, I have decided, for the sake of clarity, to adopt the version used in the Libri formatarum.9

Proctor at the Apostolic Penitentiary Petrus Profilt first appears in papal sources in a series of short notes mentioning him as a proctor in the register volumes of the Apostolic Penitentiary from 1459 and 1460.10 However, the registers of the Apostolic Penitentiary are very problematic when it comes to identifying individual proctors. First, the registration repeats only the family name of the proctor, in this case Profilt. This means that we cannot know for certain whether the proctor called Profilt in the Penitentiary records really is the same Petrus Profilt found in the Libri formatarum. There is some further evidence to support the assumption that the proctor mentioned in the Penitentiary registers was indeed our Petrus Profilt. It can be established with certainty that Petrus Profilt was at the Roman curia during the pontificate of Pius II. We know that he took minor orders and became subdeacon at Saint Peter’s basilica on 5 March 1463 and 9 April 1463 respectively. The records of these ordinations have not survived, as the Libri formatarum volume covering the pontificate of Pius II has gone missing. However, we know that these ordinations took place 9 I first encountered Petrus in the ordination lists of the Libri formatarum where he was called Profilt. This name is also used in Salonen and Hanska, Entering the Clerical Career, pp. 246-47, 259. 10 APA, Reg. Matrim. et Div. 8-9.

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and that Petrus Profilt participated in them because he asked for a formata letter on 11 June 1472, which testified about his presence in the two general ordinations. A formata letter was an official proof testifying that the person in question had been ordained at the Roman curia. It could be obtained from the Apostolic Chamber, which supervised the general ordinations and therefore kept registers. Once a formata letter was written, a copy of it was noted down in the Libri formatarum. Formata letters included dates and times of all ordinations taken at the curia by the person in question.11 Thus the text of the formata letter is a testimony that during the pontificate of Pius II there was a proctor called Profilt working at the Penitentiary and that someone called Petrus Profilt was ordained to four minor orders and subdeacon in the papal curia. Since the name Profilt is rather rare and both people were clearly at the papal curia at the same time, it stands to reason that these two were one and the same, especially since it is known that the latter Petrus Profilt was also curialist and worked later as a proctor. We do not know the length of time Petrus Profilt acted as a Penitentiary proctor, since the names of proctors were noted in the Penitentiary registers only until May 1460, or until the end of Volume 8. From Volume 9 onwards, the registration style changed and proctors’ names were no longer registered.12 The first Penitentiary entry mentioning Petrus as a proctor was recorded on 27 May 1459 in connection with a matrimony dispensation case from the northern Italian diocese of Albenga.13 Starting from that case, Petrus is mentioned as the proctor at the Penitentiary in 41 different cases. The last mention of him in this role dates from 8 April 1460.14 According to the Penitentiary records, Petrus’s clients came from various places. Taking a closer look at the provenance of his clients allows us to make observations about his linguistic skills and networks. The Penitentiary sources reveal that he served 41 clients originating from 21 different dioceses. The geographical division of Petrus Profilt’s clients is shown in Table 1.

11 ASV, Cam. Ap., Libri format. 6, fol. 66r. It would be interesting to know why Petrus Profilt chose to acquire the formata letter, having spent nearly fifteen years holding different offices at the Roman curia. The logical explanation is that he was seriously considering leaving Rome and needed a document to prove that he was regularly ordained priest. Leaving Rome would also explain why Petrus’s name disappears from the Vatican sources after the summer of 1473. 12 Repertorium Poenitentiariae Germanicum, IV, p. 381. 13 APA, Reg. Matrim. et Div. 7, fol. 20v. 14 APA, Reg. Matrim. et Div. 8, fols. 36v, 139v, 246v, 322v.

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Table 1 The geographical division of the known cases of Petrus Profilt as proctor at the Apostolic Penitentiary Provenance

Number of cases

France

17

Spain

11

Italy

8

Ireland

3

Switzerland

1

Unknown

1

Total

41

Source: APA, Reg. Matrim. et Div. 7-8

The geographical division of Petrus Profilt’s clients differs significantly from the overall picture of the geographical distribution of Penitentiary cases during the pontificate of Pius II, when 28% of all cases handled by the Penitentiary originated from France, 23% from Germany, 22% from Italy, 13% from the Iberian Peninsula, 8% from the British Isles, 4% from Eastern Europe, and 1% from Scandinavia; in 2% of the cases the origin could not be detected due to imperfect or erroneous registration.15 The most striking difference in the overall picture is that Petrus Profilt has not taken care of a single case from German-speaking Europe (the Swiss case was from the French speaking diocese of Lausanne), whose share in the overall Penitentiary statistics was 22%. The lack of German cases among those in which Petrus served as proctor cannot be simple statistical coincidence. The most likely explanation is that he could not speak or understand the German language. As a French speaker, Petrus was better equipped to understand Spanish and especially Italian, since he had spent some time at the Roman curia and must have learned at least some Italian. Looking at the individual dioceses, the greatest number of cases originated from the following: Palencia (5), Luçon (4), Saint-Malo (4), Bergamo (3), Cork (3), and Nantes, Rennes, Calahorra, and Zaragosa (two cases each).16

15 Salonen, ‘L’attività della Penitenzieria Apostolica’, pp. 66-67. 16 APA, Reg. Matrim. et Div. 7-8.

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Rota Notary Thomas Frenz mentions Petrus Profilt for the first time as notarius Rotae in 1464. This information is published on Frenz’s extremely useful website Repertorium officiorum romanae curiae.17 Further information about Petrus Profilt can be found in Martin Bertram’s article concerning the Repertorium Germanicum and the Rota documents. Bertram has analysed for this article several Rota manuals from the Vatican archives. He presents a very interesting passage, dated on 20 February 1464, from one of these manuals. We learn from this passage that the French Rota auditor Matheus de Porta 18 had ordered a certain Johannes Berelli to take over writing the notes on all of Petrus Profilt’s cases because Petrus was absent from the curia for an unspecified reason. Matheus de Porta’s entire team consisted of French clerics: Johannes Berelli and Petrus Profilt from the diocese of Saint-Malo, and two clerics from the dioceses of Besançon and Tournai respectively.19 We also learn from this document that Petrus Profilt held the title of notary on apostolic and imperial authority. This small detail is not mentioned in other sources, although it was to be expected that a person working as notary in the Sacra Romana Rota would have been an authorized notary. In fact, Pope Martin V had decreed in his constitution In apostolicae dignitatis the requirements for the position of Rota notary: candidates should be at least 25 years of age, have previous experience as notaries and impeccable moral qualities, and they must submit themselves to examination to prove they are up to the job.20 Furthermore, being able to draft Rota documents correctly demanded thorough familiarity with legal manuals and cases. Such skills would have been easily acquired by studying law, most likely in either of the universities 17 http://wwws.phil.uni-passau.de/histhw/RORC/littera_P.html. 18 Matheus de Porta was an auditor rotae well into the 1480s. He was also a doctor of canon law and canon of Clermont in France; see Thomas Frenz’s Repertorium officiorum romanae curiae. http://wwws.phil.uni-passau.de/histhw/RORC/littera_M.html. It is not known when Matheus de Porta became auditor. Frenz mentions him as an auditor in 1464. Furthermore, he was not mentioned as an auditor in any of the documents where the auditores were listed during the pontificate of Pius II; Cerchiari, Capellani papae, 3, pp. 157-70. 19 Quoted in Bertram, ‘Das Repertorium Germanicum’, p. 160. The name of the auditor in question is not mentioned on this occasion, but we know that the whole register was composed of the cases dealt with by the French auditor Matheus de Porta. 20 In apostolicae dignitatis, § 23, edited in Die päpstlichen Kanzleiordnungen, p. 141. As the original document referred to in Bertram’s article was dated in 1464, subtracting twenty-five years from that, one can conclude that Petrus Profilt was most likely born before 1439 (that is, if no special dispensation allowing Petrus to take the position under age was involved).

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of Rome (the Studium Urbis or the University of the Roman curia). Even if the sources concerning Roman studia are rather sporadic, it has been established that it was possible to study canon law in either of these universities.21 Sadly, with the existing sources, we cannot know where Petrus studied. However, we know other cases in which Rota notaries and proctors studied canon law at the University of the Roman curia. For example, a certain Jodocus Albrant from the diocese of Speyer is mentioned in October 1451 as both a student of canon law at the Roman curia and as a notary at the Rota.22 Similarly, a certain Derslaus Michaelis von Karnice from the diocese of Poznań studied civil law at the University of the Roman curia in 1456-1468. He is mentioned in 1462 and 1465 as a proctor in curia romana.23 It is known that Derslaus Michaelis continued to work as proctor occasionally during the later years. We know that he paid annates (that is, the tax paid for the Roman curia when receiving a new benefice) on behalf of another Polish priest on 22 March 1470.24 In the previously cited passage from the Rota manual, Petrus was mentioned as a cleric from the diocese of Saint-Malo in France, not of Nantes as in the documents concerning his clerical ordinations. Another document, registered in the Lateran Register series at the Vatican archives, clarifies this situation. It shows that after litigation at the Rota, Pope Pius II wanted to provide Petrus Profilt with a sine cura benefice in the diocese of Nantes. However, the pontiff died before the appointment process was concluded. Therefore, it was his follower Paul II, who eventually re-made the concession of the benefice on 14 September 1464. The benefice in question was the position of chaplain of the altar of Saint James in the chapel of Blessed Mary of Bonte in the parish church of Savenay in the diocese of Nantes, roughly forty kilometres northwest of Nantes.25 The dedication of the chapel to Saint James was understandable as the church was situated along one of the pilgrim roads to Santiago de Compostela. Judging from the wording of the appointment letter, it is clear that Petrus Profilt had managed to obtain this benefice from Pius II. Unfortunately, it seems that the proper documents were not formalized before the death of the Piccolomini Pope on 14 August 1464. When the pope died, all pending processes and decisions that were not formalized became null and void. It 21 Schwarz, Kurienuniversität und stadtrömische Universität, pp. 167-83. 22 Schwarz, Kurienuniversität und stadtrömische Universität. pp. 736-37. 23 Schwarz, Kurienuniversität und stadtrömische Universität. pp. 741-42. 24 ASV, Cam. Ap., Intr. et Ex. 479, fol. 144v. 25 ASV, Reg. Lat. 603, fols. 50r-52v.

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was the right of the new pontiff to decide whether or not he wanted to act according to the will of his predecessor. Therefore, Petrus Profilt received his new benefice only after Paul II had decided on the matter. This document is also important because it is the first one that links Petrus Profilt to the diocese of Nantes and explains why we can conclude that the Rota notary Petrus Profilt from the diocese of Saint-Malo, and Petrus Profilt from the diocese of Nantes are indeed the same person. Typically, a person’s diocese was defined on the basis of the location of his benefice, or if he had several, the location of his most important benefice. Thus, by receiving the chapel in Savenay, Petrus Profilt’s affiliation moved from Saint-Malo to Nantes, where it stayed until the end of his known curial career. We do not know when Petrus Profilt obtained the position as parish priest of the church of Burgomonasterium in the diocese of Nantes mentioned in the 1466 ordination record. However, it is possible to deduce that this must have happened sometime between the above-mentioned letter granting him the sine cura benefice (14 September 1464) and his ordination to deaconhood carried out in a general ordination that took place on 1 March 1466 at Saint Peter’s basilica in Rome. In September 1464, Petrus does not have the title of rector Burgomonasterium, but when he was ordained he gave it as his titulus.26 Petrus was also ordained to priesthood at the general ordination organized by the Apostolic Chamber. It took place at the chapel of Sancta sanctorum in Lateran on 5 April 1466.27 We see that when ordained to the deaconhood Petrus Profilt was already a rector of a parish church, whereas canon law stipulates that it should have been the other way round. In principle, one could not hold the position of parish priest if he had not received priestly orders, since a parish priest was responsible for distributing the sacraments to his parishioners and hearing their confessions, that is, for the cura animarum, a task denied from those with lower clerical orders. In practice it was possible to obtain a dispensation from this obligation and, for example, to have another priest (called vicar) take care of the spiritual needs of the parishioners, while personally staying in the papal curia. This was very common among curialists and is most likely what happened in Petrus Profilt’s case.28 As a curialist, his 26 ASV, Cam. Ap., Libri format. 4, fol. 34v. 27 ASV, Cam. Ap., Libri format. 4, fol. 42v: ‘Ad presbiteratus ordines sacros […] Petrus Profilt rector parochialis ecclesie de Burgomonasteriorum Nannetensis diocesis.’ (= To the Holy Order of priesthood […] Petrus Profilt, rector of the parish church of Burgomonasteriorum in the diocese of Nantes). 28 The Penitentiary archives do not hold a copy of such a dispensation for Petrus Profilt nor is it found in the Libri formatarum. However, there are numerous other register series where such

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benefices provided him steady income, but his work took place in Rome and therefore someone else took care of the actual duties of the parish priest.

Proctor in Audientia Litterarum Contradictarum According to Thomas Frenz, Petrus Profilt is first mentioned as a procurator in audientia litterarum contradictarum in April 1465. The Audientia was a special court within the Roman curia that dealt with litigations concerning the place and venue of ecclesiastical court processes; in other words, it decided which court or office had the competence to solve the litigation in question.29 He continued in this position at least until March 1472.30 The change from Rota notary to proctor meant changing a steady, fixed income for a position as a freelancer dependent on client fees. However, Petrus Profilt had a very good reason for leaving his notary position and becoming freelance: he had no choice in the matter. The constitution In apostolicae dignitatis promulgated by Pope Martin V in 1418 ruled that if a Rota notary becomes parish priest he is obliged to renounce his position.31 As noted above, in the beginning of March 1466 at the latest, Petrus had become the rector of the parish in the diocese of Nantes and consequently was obliged to renounce his position as Rota notary. We must remember, however, that it was possible to obtain a dispensation that would have allowed a notary to keep his office despite the ruling of Martin V’s constitution. Therefore, it is not absolutely certain that Petrus Profilt could not have continued to work at the Rota. The problem with the theory of dispensation is that there are no sources indicating that Petrus obtained such a dispensation nor are there any sources mentioning him continuing his work at the Rota. It therefore seems likely that he indeed resigned from his position as Rota notary. We can assume from this that Petrus’s income from his benefices and from the client fees he managed to obtain as freelance proctor produced enough income to make resignation from the Rota a sensible option.

a dispensation could have been recorded, so it may very well exist. 29 On the duties of the Audientia, see Herde, Audientia litterarum contradictarum. 30 See Thomas Frenz’s Repertorium officiorum romanae curiae web page. http://wwws.phil. uni- passau.de/histhw/RORC/littera_P.html. See also Frenz, Die Kanzlei der Päpste, no. 1929. 31 In apostolicae dignitatis, § 26, edited in Die päpstlichen Kanzleiordnungen, p. 141.

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Abbreviator at the Papal Chancery According to Thomas Frenz, Petrus reached the top of his career as curialist sometime between March 1472, when he was still mentioned as proctor, and May 1473, when he is encountered as abbreviator in parco maiori or in parco minori at the Apostolic Chancery;32 in which role, however, is not specified by Frenz.33 While the sources as such do not allow us to know whether Petrus Profilt was abbreviator in parco maiori or minori, it seems more likely that he belonged to the latter category. The college of the abbreviators had 72 members during the pontificate of Sixtus IV. Only twelve of them were abbreviators in parco maiori. They were generally doctors of canon law and highly learned men. As none of the surviving documents mention Petrus as doctor iuris canonici, it seems most likely that he was abbreviator in parco minori. Even in this position Petrus earned a considerable income, and indeed, one that demanded reasonable means to achieve. The price paid for this office, in the beginning of the pontificate of Paul II, was as high as 500 ducats; in 1479 it was an amount between 520 and 675 florins.34 The question of when Petrus obtained the position as abbreviator can be revisited with the above-mentioned formata letter that was given to him on 11 June 1472. In the left margin of the register volume is written: ‘Formata letter for Petrus Profilt, proctor of the Audientia litterarum contradictarum’ and in the right margin: ‘Without charge for proctor of the Audientia litterarum contradictarum Petrus Profilt with the consent of all fellows’.35 Thus we know that Petrus was still proctor in June 1472 and consequently his promotion to abbreviator must have happened between 11 June 1472 and May 1473. It is still possible that he could have worked as a freelance proctor after having secured the weighty position of abbreviator, but then one would expect that he would have been registered as abbreviator in the formata letter too. After 1473 we do not have any information on Petrus Profilt’s activities at the Roman curia. There are two possible explanations for this lack of information. Either Petrus had left the Roman curia or he had died. Petrus 32 Abbreviators were a college of writers at the Papal Chancery whose duty was to make short sketches of the contents of the papal letters before the actual scribes under their guidance would write them in extenso. The abbreviators in parco maiori were prelates and held consequently higher positions in the hierarchy than the in parco minori abbreviators. 33 Frenz, Die Kanzlei der Päpste, no. 1929. 34 Frenz, Die Kanzlei der Päpste, pp. 211-12. 35 ASV, Cam. Ap., Libri format. 6, fol. 66r: ‘Formata pro domino Petro Profilt procuratore contradictarum’ and ‘Gratis pro procuratore contradictarum Petro Profilt de consensu sociorum’.

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must have been born before 1439, although quite likely not too many years before that, since the Rota note from 20 April 1464 mentions him as notary, for which the minimum age requirement was 25 years.36 This means that he would have been in his late 30s or early 40s in 1473, more or less ruling out a death due to old age. Any person in the Middle Ages who survived the first ten years could have reasonably long life expectancy, especially if he, like Petrus Profilt, held a comfortable position and was reasonably wealthy. There is one piece of evidence to suggest that Petrus Profilt may at least have been contemplating leaving Rome. That is the above-mentioned formata letter he obtained on 11 June 1472. Formata letters were drawn to prove that the person in question had been ordained at the Apostolic Chamber. Sometimes they were needed to obtain the rest of the orders in partibus, sometimes they just served to prove that those carrying them were indeed legally ordained priests. As Petrus Profilt worked at the Roman curia and lived in Rome, he was well known to his collegues and other people that mattered. Therefore, he did not need a formata letter to prove his identity. However, if he was planning to leave Rome, things changed completely. In his own French diocese he would have been a stranger to most people, and consequently needed the formata letter to take over his work as a parish priest and to prove his qualifications for it. Therefore, the only logical reason for obtaining the letter in the summer of 1472 is that he was at least contemplating a move from Rome. Whether these plans were ever realized is not clear. The fact is that Petrus was still in Rome eleven months later in May 1473. If he was leaving, he certainly was taking his time to do so. The Secretary of the Bishop We last meet Petrus Profilt five years later. In the registers of the Roman confraternity of Santo Spirito in Sassia there is a short remark: On 10 May on the year of our Lord 1478 Lord Petrus, Bishop of Nantes, became a member [of the confraternity] through his proctor, Johannes Borrelli, rector of the parish church of Saint-Aubin de Castris of the diocese of Nantes, who was specifically ordered to take care of the matter.

36 See note 20.

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This is evident from the mandate he presented that carries the seal of the mentioned bishop and is signed by his secretary Petrus Profilt.37

This note thus testifies that by that time Petrus Profilt had indeed left the Eternal City and returned to France. There he had taken up the position as secretary to his old friend, Bishop Pierre du Chaffault of Nantes. Johannes Borelli, mentioned in this document as the Bishop’s proctor in Rome, could be the same person as Johannes Berelli (or Borelli) with whom Petrus Profilt was working in the Sacra Romana Rota. After all, both men were from the same diocese, that is, Saint-Malo in France. We know that Johannes Borelli was still working at the Rota in 1471.38 While it would be tempting to identify the Johannes Borelli of 1478 with the Rota notary of 1471, it’s best to remain cautious, as the name is not particularly rare and hence there is a chance of homonymy.39 Summa summarum, putting together all the information available (and given in more detail above) from the archival sources and the existing studies, one can summarize Petrus Profilt’s cursus honorum as follows: – procurator of the Apostolic Penitentiary 1459; – notarius rotae 1464; – procurator in audientia litterarum contradictarum 1465; – abbreviator in parco maiori or in parco minori 1473; – secretary of the bishop of Nantes 1478. Procurator and Private Banker As we have seen, there was a connection between Petrus Profilt and Pierre du Chaffault mentioned in the ordination document that started this chapter. They were ordained together at the Roman curia and worked twelve 37 ‘Liber fraternitatis di S. Spirito in Sassia’, p. 154: ‘Albin Die X mensis maii anno Domini 1478 dominus Petrus, episcopus Nannetensis, intravit per Iohannem Borrelli rectorem parochialis ecclesie Sancti Albini de Castris Nannetensis diocesis procuratorem suum ad hoc specialiter constitutum, prout de eius mandato constat eiusdem domini episcopi sigillo ac subscripto manu Petri Profilt eius secretarii.’ 38 Hilling, Die Errichtung des Notarekollegiums, p. 193. 39 For example, a certain Johannes Borrelli from the diocese of Rennes was ordained to priesthood on 20 September 1466; ASV, Cam. Ap., Libri format. 4, fol. 51v. This Johannes Borelli, however, was certainly a different person. Not only did he come from a different diocese, but the Rota notary Johannes Borelli is still titled as clericus in 1471, which would have been impossible had he been ordained to priesthood. Therefore, one must conclude that during the pontificates of Paul II and Sixtus IV, there were at least two persons called Johannes Berelli that appear in the Vatican archival sources.

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years later together as bishop and secretary in Nantes. There is evidence that the connection between these two men was maintained also during the intervening years. On 29 May 1467 Petrus Profilt paid the annates on behalf of Pierre du Chaffault for the church of Notre-Dame de La ChapelleBasse-Mer in the diocese of Nantes. 40 The parish of La-Chapelle-Basse-Mer is situated a bit less than twenty kilometers northeast of the city of Nantes. The fifteenth-century parish was actually a combination of two earlier parishes, as the nearby parish of Barbeshat had been annexed to it earlier. 41 The sum paid, that is, 49 gold florins, makes it clear that it was not a parish with modest revenues but a reasonably important one. Knowing a person such as Pierre du Chaffault was certainly very convenient for a freelance proctor such as Petrus Profilt. As a canon of Nantes, Pierre du Chaffault was in a position to put business in Petrus Profilt’s way with his recommendations. One could even speculate that the personal contacts between these two men had led to an even more formal relationship between Petrus Profilt and the diocese of Nantes. It is known that sometimes bishops and earthly rulers had their own proctors at the Roman curia to take care of their business in Rome should the need arise. For example, it is known that Jakob Ulvsson, canon of Uppsala in Sweden, resided in Rome between 1465 and 1469 working as the procurator for the Swedish church and the crown during this time. He only left Rome because he was elected archbishop of Uppsala in 1469 (a position he held for 46 years). Interestingly, Jakob Ulvsson was ordained deacon on 1 March and priest on 5 April 1466, that is, in the very same general ordinations that Petrus Profilt and Pierre Chaffault participated. 42 There is some further evidence that Petrus Profilt indeed had a more permanent relationship with the diocese of Nantes as a proctor. Pierre du Chaffault was not the only cleric from the diocese of Nantes who used Petrus’s services over the years. On 14 January 1469, he paid 43 florins of annates on behalf of a certain cleric from the diocese of Nantes. Similarly, on 18 March 1469 he paid another 53 florins of annates on behalf of another cleric from Nantes. I have found two further similar cases from the Introitus et Exitus volumes of the Apostolic Chamber (i.e. account books that register income and payments). 43 Thus, counting all these cases together, Petrus 40 ASV, Cam. Ap., Intr. et Ex. 467, fol. 76v. 41 Lesquen and Mollat, ‘Mesures fiscales’, p. 503. 42 Salonen and Hanska, Entering the Clerical Career, p. 244. 43 ASV, Cam. Ap., Intr. et Ex. 476, fol. 65v; 478, fol. 39r; 479, fols. 36r and 113v. On the annate payments recorded in Introitus et Exitus volumes concerning German speaking Europe, Cf. Schuchard, ‘Kirchliche Finanzen’.

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Profilt served as procurator for at least five different clergymen from the diocese of Nantes between May 1467 and February 1470. However, if Petrus Profilt indeed had some arrangement concerning the dealings of the Nantes diocese at the Roman curia, it was not exclusive. Searching through the Introitus et Exitus volumes, one discovers that he also served other clients as proctor. The following list is by no means complete, as I have not read through all the Introitus et Exitus volumes of Paul II’s pontificate and none of those of his successors. This information, however, provides us with some idea of what Petrus Profilt did besides being a proctor at the Penitentiary and at the Audientia litterarum contradictarum. 44 The list below includes cases of annate payments by Petrus on behalf of his clients found in the Introitus et Exitus volumes. It gives the date payments were made and the home diocese of the clients: – 26 February 1466 (Toul); – 28 February 1466 (Clermont); – 14 June 1466 (Rennes); – 4 July 1466 (Le Mans); – 13 May 1467 (Saint-Malo); – 26 May 1469 (Périgueux); – 16 February 1470 (Vannes). With the exception of Toul, all these dioceses are situated in the western part of France. However, since they were parts of different ecclesiastical provinces, it seems unlikely that this geographical closeness was anything more than coincidence. However, it was not a coincidence that all these clients came from the French-speaking dioceses. 45 It is natural that people who came to the Roman curia sought the services of those proctors who spoke their native language, even if members of the clergy could have spoken Latin to each other. Petrus Profilt was a professional freelance proctor at the Penitentiary and at the Audientia litterarum contradictarum. However, the cases listed above do not involve any litigation of the benefices, but are simply payments of annates from the benefices that were already secured by Petrus’s clients.

44 ASV, Cam. Ap., Intr. et Ex. 463, fols. 110r and 112r; 465, fols. 86v and 102v; 467, fol. 68r; 478, fol. 92v; 479, fol. 113r. 45 However, one needs to remember here that at the Penitentiary, Petrus worked as a proctor also for Spanish and Italian clients who, for some reason, are totally absent from his annate payment cases.

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It may very well be that Petrus had found at least some of these clients in connection with his activities in these offices of the Roman curia. Introitus et Exitus documents do not reveal whether his clients were personally present at the curia and paid the money to Petrus, who then simply carried it to the Apostolic Chamber. Another possibility is that his clients resided outside Rome and approached him via letters or messengers, providing him with further instructions. If the latter was the case, he also served them as a small time private banker, paying the annates out of his own money and being reimbursed later. In either case, Petrus carried considerable sums of money to the Apostolic Chamber. For example, just during the year 1466 he helped four different clerics to pay their annates. Together these made up a hefty sum of 148 gold florins. This sum can be compared to the monthly wages paid by the Apostolic Chamber to different dependents of the Roman curia. A carpenter received two florins a month and a blacksmith making weapons was given three florins a month. The Castellan of the papal castle in Ostia Antica was paid 36 florins during one month. 46 While paying annates on behalf of other people, Petrus found time to look after his own interests too. On 11 November 1470 he paid 38 florins of annates to the parish church of Sainte-Opportune-en-Retz in the diocese of Nantes. 47 Judging from the payment, it was a reasonably large parish and offered Petrus nice revenues. It is not clear from the context whether he had to give up his earlier benefices or if he obtained a dispensation allowing him to enjoy the revenues of two cura animarum parishes at the same time.

Network of Connections To survive and advance in one’s career, any curialist needed to have a good network of connections. In the case of foreign clerics, these connections can be divided into two spheres, namely the connections in partibus, that is, in the home diocese or in the diocese where their benefices were situated, and more importantly, connections in and around the curia itself. In the case of Petrus Profilt, we catch a glimpse of his connections with important ecclesiastical authorities of the diocese of Nantes. We have seen him ordained together with the future Bishop of Nantes, Pierre du Chaffault, and one year later taking care of the future Bishop’s annate payments at 46 ASV, Cam. Ap., Intr. et Ex. 467, fols. 154v, 164v, 190v. 47 ASV. Cam. Ap., Intr. et Ex. 484, fol. 159v.

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the Apostolic Chamber, finally becoming the Bishop’s secretary. It is clear that such a contact was useful for Petrus Profilt. It is most likely that it was at least partly due to these contacts that he managed to obtain reasonably profitable benefices in the diocese of Nantes. We also observe that Petrus had plenty of clients from the diocese of Nantes over the years when he was working as the proctor at the Roman curia. We cannot but speculate whether this was pure coincidence, or whether Petrus was not just the friend of Pierre du Chaffault, but also a permanent proctor for the diocese of Nantes in the Roman curia. Perhaps his services were recommended by Pierre du Chaffault for those Nantes diocese priests with interests to protect at the Roman curia. Those direct contacts and important connections in partibus were valuable for anyone making his living as a freelance proctor at the curia. Having contacts in a reasonably big diocese would help bring clients. Furthermore, if Petrus was ever to retire from the curia and start to take care of his benefices personally – which he did – it was useful to have a ready network of connections. In addition to the connections in partibus, a successful curialist needed to have a network of connections inside the curia itself. He would need friends who could help him to reach the upper levels of the cursus honorum, lend money to him if there was a need, and occasionally put work in his way by recommending him to clients. One of these networks in Petrus Profilt’s case seems to have been the network of French speakers. As we have seen above, all the cases in which he paid annates to the Apostolic Chamber on behalf of benefice holders concerned French dioceses. This means presumably that all his clients must also have been French speakers. It is known that the language groups in the curia gathered around their ‘national’ meeting points in Rome. Some of them resembled confraternities with common pious and charitable activities. A good example of this kind of informal organization was the German community that met at the church of Santa Maria dell’Anima. 48 Less is known about the French community in fifteenth-century Rome. It is known that the church of San Luigi dei francesi was built for them in 1518 and that before that they had a small national chapel close to Sant’Andrea della Valle. Nevertheless, such gatherings of the same language speakers were without doubt an important venue for the proctors for finding new connections and commissions.

48 Maas, The German Community, p. 33.

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Sadly, we know very little about Petrus Profilt’s personal network of connections. None of the documents analysed for this chapter present him as a familiaris of the pope or one of the cardinals, or even of any other high-ranking curia official. Therefore, it is likely that Petrus never reached the upper circles of the Roman curia. It seems that his activities continued to be of a private and freelance nature. There is, however, one exception to this rule, namely his relation to Matheus de Porta, the auditor for whom he worked at the Sacra Romana Rota. During the pontificate of Paul II, the Rota notaries were not employees of the Roman curia, but were hired directly by the auditors and consequently worked for them. While we do not know how Petrus Profilt came to be hired by Matheus de Porta, we can speculate that Matheus either knew him before, or that someone else had recommended Petrus to him. In either case, Petrus worked for some time in the group of four notaries in the service of Matheus de Porta. With the lack of sources, it is impossible to establish what exactly was the nature of the relationship between Petrus Profilt and Matheus de Porta. In any case, it was not enough to help Petrus’s career as curialist to really take off.

Conclusions This chapter has tried to establish the vita, morte, e miracoli (as the Italians say) of French small-time curialist Petrus Profilt as thoroughly as possible given the difficult situation with the sources. It is possible to establish Petrus’s career from proctor at the Penitentiary to the position of abbreviator in parco minori with reasonable certainty. Furthermore, we can reconstruct some of his activities as a procurator in curia romana. Such a reconstruction is, however, at its best an exercise of an academic nature unless we reflect on the implications of Petrus Profilt’s case for the life and career of small-time curialists in general. What then are the details that could have general interest? First of all, there is the question of establishing what would have been the typical career of a small time curialist. What were his education and background? What did he actually do in Rome and how did his career proceed? In this respect Petrus Profilt’s case is both representative and unique. Obviously, curialists made numerous different combinations of studies and careers. However, Petrus’s case still provides us with a view of what might be called a typical career in the sense that he did not make it to the absolute top. He did not become bishop, cardinal, or the chief of any important office, but lived and worked in the shadow of these

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more well known and powerful curialists. In this respect he belonged to a great majority of the people who worked at the Roman curia: only very few made it to the top. It is likely that many ordinary curialists did not have the ambition to become bishops or cardinals, but were completely satisfied with a position that guaranteed them a reasonably comfortable, carefree life. For some, the aim was not the Roman curia at all; studying and working in Rome was for them a preparatory stage before taking higher positions in partibus. Working as a proctor at the Roman curia would provide one with the necessary practise of canon law to take over a position as bishop, archdeacon, or bishop’s official. A good example is the above-mentioned Jakob Ulvsson who worked in the Roman curia until his election as archbishop of Uppsala in Sweden. For those who did not make it to the top in Rome or in partibus there remained two possibilities. They either carried on their careers at whatever level they managed to reach and eventually retired or died. The other possibility is that they obtained a benefice or several benefices and left the Roman curia to work as ordinary priests, living off the income produced by these benefices. Petrus Profilt belonged to this latter category. Sometime after the summer of 1473, he left the Roman curia for good and eventually ended up as a secretary for his old friend Bishop Pierre du Chaffault of Nantes. Secondly, there is the question of professional activities of the ordinary curialists. We have noticed that as a notary of the Sacra Romana Rota, Petrus worked in a team hired by a French auditor that consisted solely of French speaking junior members of the papal administration. Similarly, if we analyse Petrus’s career as a proctor paying annates at the Apostolic Chamber and organizing dispensations, we notice that all his clients came from French speaking dioceses, mostly from the western parts of France. Only as a proctor of the Penitentiary did he serve clients that were not French speakers, and even then they came mostly from the areas where Romance languages were spoken. This suggests the general idea that the people who came to the Roman curia sought the services of those proctors, confessors, penitentiaries, etc., who spoke their own language. If this was impossible, they sought people who could speak a language they could somehow understand. The speakers of rare languages would have had difficulties finding service in their own languages. Furthermore, we notice that even freelance proctors such as Petrus Profilt handled significant sums of money in their work. We see that in 1469 alone, he carried nearly 150 gold florins as different payments to the Apostolic Chamber. As it has not been possible to go through all the papal

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register series and as in some cases proctors and their payments were not recorded, it is impossible to determine if this sum is the grand total of his spending during one year. This means that with even reasonably modest commissions, Petrus would have made a decent living in the Roman curia. Indeed, he could afford to pay the considerable taxes needed for obtaining the position of abbreviator in parco minori in 1472 or 1473. This gives the impression that even those members of the Roman curia who did not achieve top positions enjoyed a relatively strong economic status.

Bibliography Unprinted Sources Archivio della Penitenzieria Apostolica, Vatican City (= APA) – Reg. Matrim. et Div. 7-9. Archivio Segreto Vaticano, Vatican City (= ASV) – Cam. Ap., Intr. et Ex. 463, 465, 467, 476, 478-79, 484. – Cam. Ap., Libri format. 4, 6. – Reg. Lat. 603.

Printed Sources Bartholomaeus Haureau, Gallia christiana, 14 (Paris: Fratres Firmin Didot, 1761). Hierarchia catholica medii aevi sive summorum pontificum, S. R. E. cardinalium, ecclesiarum antistitum series ab anno 1431 usque ad annum 1503 perducta, ed. by Conradus Eubel (Münster: Libraria Regensbergiana, 1914, 2nd edn) (= Eubel II). ‘Liber fraternitatis di S. Spirito in Sassia’, in Necrologi e libri affini della provincia romana, ed. by Pietro Edigi, Necrologi della città di Roma, 2 (Rome: Tipografia del Senato, 1914). Die päpstlichen Kanzleiordnungen von 1200-1500, ed. by Michael Tangl (Innsbruck: Wagnerschen Universitäts-Buchhandlung, 1894). Repertorium Poenitentiariae Germanicum IV: Verzeichnis der in den Supplikenregistern Pius’ II. der Pönitentiarie vorkommenden Personen, Kirchen und Orte des Deutschen Reiches, ed. by Ludwig Schmugge et al. (Tübingen: Niemeyer, 1996).

Literature Martin Bertram, ‘Das Repertorium Germanicum und die Akten der Sacra Romana Rota’, in Friedensnobelpreis und historische Grundlagensforschung. Ludwig Quidde und die Erschliessung der kurialen Registerüberlieferung, ed. by Michael Matheus, Bibliothek des Deutschen Historischen Instituts in Rom, 124 (Berlin: de Gruyter, 2012), pp. 115-190.

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Emanuele Cerchiari, Capellani papae et apostolicae sedis, auditores causarum sacri palatii apostolici seu Sacra Romana Rota ab origine ad diem usque 20 Septembris 1870, III, Relatio historica-iuridica (Rome: Typis polyglottis Vaticanae, 1919). Thomas Frenz, Die Kanzlei der Päpste der Hochrenaissance (1471-1527), Bibliothek des Deutschen Historischen Instituts in Rom, 63 (Tübingen: Niemeyer, 1986). Peter Herde, Audientia litterarum contradictarum. Untersuchungen über die päpstlichen Justizbriefe und die päpstliche Delegationsgerichtsbarkeit vom 13. bis zum Beginn des 16. Jahrhunderts, 1-2, Bibliothek des Deutchen Historischen Instituts in Rom, 31-32 (Tübingen: Niemeyer, 1970). Nikolaus Hilling, Die Errichtung des Notarekollegiums an der römischen Rota durch Sixtus IV. im Jahre 1477 (Münster: Aschendorff, 1904). G. de Lesquen and Guillaume Mollat, ‘Mesures f iscales exercées en Bretagne par les papes d’Avignon à l’époque du Grand Schisme d’Occident (suite et fin)’, Annales de Bretagne, 19:4 (1903), 474-541. Clifford W. Maas, The German Community in Renaissance Rome 1378-1523, Römische Quartal­ schrift für christliche Altertumskunde und Kirchengeschichte, 39. Supplementheft (Rome, Freiburg, and Vienna: Herder, 1981). Kirsi Salonen, ‘L’attività della Penitenzieria Apostolica durante il pontificato di Pio II (1458-1464)’, in La Penitenzieria Apostolica e il suo archivio, ed. by Alessandro Saraco (Vatican City: Libreria Editrice Vaticana, 2012), pp. 63-72. Kirsi Salonen and Jussi Hanska, Entering the Clerical Career at the Roman Curia 1458-1471, Church, Faith and Culture in the Medieval West (Farnham: Ashgate, 2013). Ludwig Schmitz, ‘Die Libri formatarum des Camera Apostolica’, Römische Quartalschrift, 8 (1894), 451-72. Christiane Schuchard, ‘Kirchliche Finanzen im Spiegel des Repertorium Germanicum’, in Friedensnobelpreis und historische Grundlagensforschung. Ludwig Quidde und die Erschliessung der kurialen Registerüberlieferung, ed. by Michael Matheus, Bibliothek des Deutschen Historischen Instituts in Rom, 124 (Berlin: de Gruyter, 2012), pp. 401-14. Brigide Schwarz, Kurienuniversität und stadtrömische Universität von ca. 1300 bis 1471, Education and Society in the Middle Ages and Renaissance, 46 (Leiden and Boston: Brill, 2013).

Website Thomas Frenz, Repertorium officiorum romanae curiae. http://wwws.phil.uni-passau.de/histhw/ RORC



A Criminal Trial at the Court of the Chamber Auditor An Analysis of a registrum from 1515-1516 in the Danish National Archives Per Ingesman

At the end of the Middle Ages, the papal supreme court in Rome, the socalled Roman Rota (Sacra Romana Rota, also known as the Audientia sacri palatii), was the most important ecclesiastical tribunal in the world. Its twelve judges, the auditores sacri palatii, handled several thousand cases from all over Western Europe each year. Each auditor was assisted by four notaries who noted all legal actions taking place in the cases that they had been assigned in court books called manualia. When an auditor died or resigned his post, both his legal cases and his four notaries, with their manualia, were taken over by his successor, so that a continuous handling of the cases brought before the Rota was secured. In principle this should mean that we would be able to find 48 parallel ‘series’ of manualia, one composed by each notary, from the late medieval and early modern period among the Rota holdings of the Vatican Archives. This is, however, not the case. Although the Rota was fully developed as a legal court at the beginning of the Avignon papacy in the fourteenth century, the actual repository of manualia only starts in 1464. It consists of considerably less than 48 series, and most of them have minor or major lacunae.1 Scholarly research in the Rota manualia started with a 1908 case study by Nikolaus Hilling, the German historian of ecclesiastical law. It examined suits brought before the Rota from the diocese of Hildesheim from 1464 to 1513.2 The Rota dealt almost exclusively with litigation between ecclesiastical institutions or individual clergymen, and Hilling showed that in the case of Hildesheim, 75% of the around 100 cases he found concerned litigation about benefices. The material produced as proof in the suits showed that the litigating parties in most cases substantiated their claims to the disputed 1 ASV, S. R. Rota, Manualia Actorum; Hoberg, ‘Die Protokollbücher’; Hoberg, Inventario, pp. 53-88. On the manualia series in general, see also Vatican Archives, ed. by Blouin, pp. 220-21. 2 Hilling, Die römische Rota.

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benefices with papal expectatives, provisions, and mandates. Hilling therefore saw the many benefice cases at the Rota as a direct consequence of the papal system of provisions. In 2003 I published a book on the Rota and its handling of Danish cases in the Middle Ages.3 My case study of Denmark was inspired by Hilling’s pioneering study, but I broadened the perspective substantially. I covered the whole Danish church province, consisting of eight dioceses. I examined the whole time period from the beginning of the fourteenth century when we have the first evidence of a Danish process for the Rota, to the end of the Middle Ages in Denmark at the Reformation of 1536. I was able to do this because I based my study not only on the manualia series, but included, on the one hand, material found in other parts of the Vatican Archives, especially in the large register series originating in the Apostolic Chancery, the Apostolic Chamber, and the Apostolic Penitentiary, and on the other hand, all material that had been preserved in Danish archives. Basically confirming the results of Hilling, my investigation of the Danish cases showed that the large bulk of cases at the Rota were beneficial cases that had to do with the intensified fight about the ecclesiastical benefices that characterized the later Middle Ages. The many benefice cases before the Rota was a consequence of the fact that the court was used as a means of obtaining a benefice by enforcing papal provisions. This was done by the same group of people who also received the papal provisions, first and foremost the curialists. But what about the Rota cases that did not deal with litigation over benefices? Because of the difficulties and costs connected to litigation in Rome, these cases had a fundamentally different character than the many benefice cases. They were predominantly cases of greater importance, often involving matters of principle. They were cases where the parties had the necessary resources to litigate in Rome. And finally, they were cases where the conflicts were so significant that none of the parties were willing to give in, at least not immediately. This chapter deals with one of these cases, the most interesting of all the approximately 150 Danish cases I documented to have been handled by the Rota in the fourteenth, fifteenth, and early sixteenth centuries. More than a hundred notices in volume nos. 91 and 92 of the present series officially called Manualia Actorum et Citationum in the Rota holdings of the Vatican Archives show that the Rota from January 1513 to June 1516 handled 3 Ingesman, Provisioner og processer. For a more recent study of the Rota, see Salonen, Papal Justice.

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a suit between the Bishop of Schleswig, Godske Ahlefeldt, and one of his parish priests, Didrik Brus. Source material from the conflict between the Bishop and the Priest has also survived locally, now preserved in the archive of the bishops of Schleswig in the Danish National Archives in Copenhagen. Among this material is a comprehensive record book, a so-called registrum, written by a scribe at the papal curia. What kind of source is that, why did it end up in an ecclesiastical archive in Denmark, and what does it tell us about the litigation in Rome? When the German archivist in the Vatican Archives, Hermann Hoberg, ordered and registered the series of manualia and the other parts of the archives of the Rota in the 1950s, he found out that besides the manualia the Rota notaries had produced another type of court record, the so-called registra. Whereas a manualia was an act book in which a notary at the Rota briefly recorded the legal acts in all the cases that he was entrusted to record, a registrum contained copies of the most important documents in a single case, including detailed renderings of depositions and other legal acts taking place in that case. According to Hoberg, registra were written down for the use of the litigating parties, and were normally brought home from the Rota by these parties. That a small number of registra – all of them from the fourteenth century – actually could be found in the Vatican Archives, Hoberg explained as a sheer exception to the rule. 4 Since Hoberg published the results of his findings in 1956, considerable interest has been shown towards registra from Rota processes that have survived locally, and a number of such record books have been identified in various European archives.5 When I came across a large record book from the conflict between Godske Ahlefeldt and Didrik Brus in the Danish National Archives, I was at first sure that I had found a Danish example of a surviving registrum from a Rota process.6 A closer examination of the record book showed, however, something different: It was a registrum, not from the Rota process, but from a criminal trial that was carried through against Didrik Brus before the court of the Chamber auditor in the winter of 1515-1516, after he had been accused of making use of falsified documents and dishonest witnesses in his conduct during the process at the Rota. The registrum in the Danish National Archives is unique, and for that reason alone it deserves a closer examination. It throws valuable light on 4 Hoberg, ‘Register von Rotaprozessen’. 5 A survey of those registra that have been either mentioned, published, or analysed in the scholarly literature, can be found in Dolezalek, ‘Reports of the “Rota”’, pp. 76-77. 6 I said this in an article mentioning my finding: Ingesman, ‘Danske processer’, pp. 179-80.

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the workings of an institution at the papal curia, the court of the Chamber auditor, about which hitherto only very little has been known. But the registrum is also invaluable in reconstructing the litigation process before the Rota between Bishop Godske and Priest Didrik Brus, of which the entries in the Rota manualia do not reveal that many details. Containing copies of some of the key documents from the suit between the Priest and the Bishop, as well as a series of testimonies and examinations which give information about the handling of a case at the Rota, the registrum from the criminal trial against Didrik Brus makes it possible to describe the course of a suit at the papal supreme court in greater detail than it has ever been done before.7 In this chapter I first introduce the lengthy and very complicated conflict between Godske Ahlefeldt and Didrik Brus.8 Thereafter I go into detail with the registrum, describing and analysing its account of the criminal trial against Didrik Brus. In my analysis I am especially interested in the new information to be won from this source about the workings of the Rota and of the court of the Chamber auditor. In conclusion, I underline in particular two points: Firstly, that litigation at the Rota was a very complicated matter, requiring close contact and cooperation between litigants coming from abroad, and the large number of professional people who thrived in the legal world of Renaissance Rome: from the auditors and notaries of the court to the advocates and proctors engaged by the litigating parties. Secondly, that the workings of both the Rota and the court of the Chamber auditor resulted in the production of an enormous amount of written material that might have survived either in the Roman context where it originated, or locally where it was brought by litigating parties.

Didrik Brus and the Beginning of the Conflict with Bishop Godske Didrik Brus was a parish priest in his hometown of Katharinenheerd in a part of the Duchy of Schleswig called Eidersted, a region of its own. This peninsula in the western marshland had its own law. Its inhabitants were a free and independent peasantry of Frisian origin, who knew no noble 7 I have done this in my book on the Danish Rota cases: Ingesman, Provisioner og processer, pp. 356-404. 8 The chapter is based on my treatment of the strife between Godske Ahlefeldt and Didrik Brus in Ingesman, Provisioner og processer, esp. pp. 381-404. Other presentations in English of results from my book can be found in Ingesman, ‘Appointment of Papal Auditors’ and Ingesman, ‘Border Warfare’.

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lords, and who also enjoyed an easy relationship with the Church and the ecclesiastical authorities. Also characteristic of Eidersted were numerous internal feuds, often developing into regular vendettas between different peasant families. Given this social context, it is very characteristic that we only meet Didrik Brus in the sources as a person involved in violent conflicts. He is mentioned for the first time in 1490, when three laymen from the diocese of Schleswig received a letter from the Apostolic Penitentiary in Rome, absolving them for the excommunication they had incurred by beating and wounding the Priest Didrik Brus.9 Didrik Brus is next mentioned in surviving sources in 1509 in connection with the first phase of his strife with Bishop Godske Ahlefeldt. In July, a series of episcopal accusations against Didrik Brus mention that his brother had killed a cleric with whom the Priest quarrelled over some meadows.10 And from 1 November is preserved a letter from the Duke of Schleswig to a local secular officer, stating that Didrik Brus and some of his friends personally had appeared at the episcopal castle of Svavsted to affix an appeal against the Bishop.11 One of the later accusations from the Bishop against Didrik Brus, put forward at the Rota in 1514, was that he had killed his own brother, Egidius.12 Although no further details are revealed about the various feuds and killings, the sources give a very clear picture of Didrik Brus as an integrated part of Eidersted’s strife-ridden kinship society. The first evidence of the strife between Bishop Godske Ahlefeldt and Didrik Brus is the above-mentioned indictment from July 1509, preserved in the episcopal archives. Under the heading Casus contra Theodericum Brus presbiterum Sleßuicen. diocesis anno domini 1509 de mense Julii (‘Case against Didrik Brus, priest in the diocese of Schleswig, in the month of July of Lord’s year 1509’), it gives an account of the crimes committed by the parish priest with legal comments on their character and the right way of prosecuting against them.13

9 APA, Reg. Matrim. et Div. 39, fol. 191r. 10 RA, Slesvig bisp, Biskop Gotskalks beskyldninger mod Theodor Brus, præst i Slesvig stift, 1509 juli. 11 RA, De Sønderjyske Fyrstearkiver. Hertug Frederik (1.). Sager på papir. A. Korrespondance 1505-23. 1. Hertug Frederiks registrant 1503-13, fol. 31v. 12 ASV, S. R. Rota, Manualia Actorum 92, fols. 320v-321r, 328r-v, 331v-332v. 13 Godske Ahlefeldt held a doctoral degree in canon law, but an examination of the handwriting shows that the text is not written by the Bishop himself. Therefore it is probably a responsum that the Bishop has required from a legal specialist. See Ingesman, Provisioner og processer, p. 366.

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According to the document, the whole case began with a dispute between Didrik Brus and another clergyman, Sander, concerning some meadows. Sander was killed by Didrik Brus’ brother, with Didrik as accessary. After the homicide, Didrik appropriated the contested meadows and also stole some money from the deceased. When rumours about this crime had circulated in public for a couple of years, and reached the ears of the Bishop, he ordered the Priest to come before him at a certain time. Didrik Brus appeared according to the Bishop’s mandate, but denied the charges and asked to have the accusations documented (pecijt sibi manifestarj accusatorum). To this the Bishop replied that he would not treat it as civil strife between two disagreeing parties, but as a criminal case that he should pursue as the Priest’s superior. Accordingly, he demanded that Didrik should clear himself of the accusations by means of compurgation (se canonice purgare). Didrik refused to do this, and when the Bishop asked him to provide guarantee (cautio fidejussoria) for himself, he declined. Therefore, the Bishop had Didrik arrested. According to later complaints by Didrik Brus at the Rota, the arrest was carried out by more than twenty men, who attacked him in his own house. As leaders of the gang who captured him he singled out especially the Bishop’s brother, Ditlev Ahlefeldt, another member of the same noble family, Otto Ahlefeldt, and two other people, Volmer von der Herberge and Erik Roer. Didrik Brus succeeded in escaping from his prison. Therefore, the Bishop had his property and possessions seized and pronounced as ordinary judge a sentence suspending him from office. According to the episcopal document, Didrik Brus responded to this by appealing against the Bishop and his authority. This must have been an appeal to a higher ecclesiastical authority, perhaps the Danish archbishop in Lund, but more likely the pope. The above-mentioned letter sent by Duke Frederik of Schleswig to his local official in Eidersted, the so-called staller, on 1 November 1509, tells us how this appeal took place. According to the Duke, Didrik Brus met with a number of his friends – no doubt an armed group that could protect the Priest from being arrested again – before the episcopal castle of Svavsted in the western part of Schleswig, where he affixed a written appeal (appellacio) against Godske Ahlefeldt. Obviously this made the Bishop ask Duke Frederik to react, and the Duke replied by sending this letter of 1 November, in which he asked the staller to ensure that Didrik Brus and his friends from Eidersted did not carry out anything violent against the Bishop, but instead would seek justice through the proper judges. A case for a local peasant community or for lords from outside? A case for the Duke as the secular power or for the Bishop as the ecclesiastical

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power? A case for the local bishop or for a higher authority, ultimately the pope in Rome? Possibly, several legal questions and fundamental matters of principle lay behind the strife between the Bishop and the parish priest, although no further details are revealed. We also don’t know the outcome of the first, local act in the feud between Godske Ahlefeldt and Didrik Brus. All we know is that the strife went on, and in 1513 Didrik Brus brought it before the Rota.

The Process Between Didrik Brus and Godske Ahlefeldt at the Rota A suit at the Rota started with the handing in of a supplication in which the plaintiff asked the pope to let the disputed matter be decided by one of his auditors. The approved supplication thus turned into a so-called commissio (‘commission’), which the pope entrusted to the appointed auditor. The commissio was handed over to the auditor and taken care of by one of his notaries. Since commissiones were not copied in the Register of Supplications and did not result in any papal bulls being issued, their texts are very often lost.14 This is also the case with the commissio with which Didrik Brus initiated his Rota process. For the start of the process we are therefore referred to the manualia series. In this we see that the first phase of the process between the Bishop of Schleswig and Didrik Brus was mainly handled by the auditor Johannesantonius Trivultius in his capacity as substitute (auditor surrogatus) for the auditor appointed by the pope to take care of the case, Laurentius Campegius.15 In the Rota manual no. 92, conducted for Laurentius Campegius, we find around 90 entries in the case, of which the first dates to 26 January 1513 and the last to 28 October 1515.16 In spite of the long duration, not very much was obtained in this phase of the process, since the laymen from Schleswig whom Didrik Brus had charged did not show up in Rome, whereas the Bishop was allowed not to meet in person 14 On procedure at the Rota, see Ingesman, Provisioner og processer, Chapter 5. 15 The use of an auditor surrogatus was a normal phenomenon at the Rota, necessary, for instance, if an appointed auditor had to leave the curia for a while, on a legation or on other business. The use of an auditor surrogatus did not imply the transfer of the case to him and his notaries, since the notaries of the originally appointed auditor continued their work with the case. 16 A survey of entries in the case, called Sleswicen. iniuriarum, can be found in Ingesman, Provisioner og processer, pp. 617-19.

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with reference to his participation in a legation on behalf of the Danish king.17 Most importantly, Didrik Brus obtained the issuing of an interdict over the town of Husum in western Schleswig that intended to force the four laymen to meet in Rome. The accusations later put forward in the criminal trial, that Didrik Brus had made use of falsified documents and untrue witnesses in his conduct during the process at the Rota, concerned details in this first phase, details we have to go into here to understand the later trial before the Chamber auditor. On 26 May 1514 Johannesantonius Trivultius passed a sentence, a socalled sententia declaratoria, in which Ditlev Ahlefeldt, Otto Ahlefeldt, Volmer von der Herberge, and Erik Roer were declared liable to ecclesiastical censures, because they had ignored a command from the auditor to appear before him and thus had shown ‘contempt of court’ (contumacia).18 The ecclesiastical censures, more and more severe after continued contempt, were described in so-called cedulones – documents in the form of a slip or note, meant to be affixed to a church door or some similar public place – that Didrik Brus obtained from the papal curia during June, July, and August 1514.19 The first of these cedulones, threatening excommunication, was published at the curia by Didrik Brus and one of his two proctors, Henricus Hovel, on 8 June. The succeeding cedulones, threatening first sharpened excommunication, then interdict, and finally demanding that the four people be handed over to ‘the secular arm’, that is the local secular power, were published by Henricus Hovel at the curia and locally by Didrik Brus, especially in Hamburg, Lübeck, and Schleswig.20 It is in connection with the publication of these cedulones that Didrik Brus and Henricus Hovel were accused of forgery. It was claimed that, in the first cedulonus, the words eorumque complices et adherentes (‘and 17 From other sources we know that Godske Ahlefeldt, together with two leading noblemen, in 1514 were sent by King Christian II on a legation to Emperor Maximilian in Linz, where they in April negotiated a marriage agreement between the Danish king and the Emperor’s granddaughter, Princess Elizabeth of Burgundy (Isabella of Austria), whereafter they went to Brussels where the wedding took place in June, with one of the noblemen acting as substitute for the King. Cf. Ingesman, Provisioner og processer, p. 363, note 486. 18 ASV, S. R. Rota, Manualia Actorum 92, fols. 346r-v. The sentence has been copied in the registrum from the criminal trial, RA, Slesvig bisp, Procesakter i sagen mod Theodor Brus, sognepræst i Katharinenheerd i Eidersted, 1514-1516, fols. 15r-16r and 166r. The structure and main contents of the document – henceforth cited as ‘the registrum’ – are described in an Appendix at the end of the chapter. 19 ASV, S. R. Rota, Manualia Actorum 92, fols. 381v, 400r, 404r, 405r-v. 20 The registrum, fols. 16r-19r, 22r-v, 41r, 63r-v, 133r-134r, 147r.

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their conspirators and adherents’) were added after the names of the four laymen from Schleswig, so that a wider group of people would be affected by the ecclesiastical censures. Didrik Brus and Henricus Hovel should have obtained this by persuading the notary in the case, Andreas Budetti, to make this addition, in spite of the fact that a discussion of the number of persons to be declared liable to ecclesiastical censures among the auditors in the Rota had resulted in a refusal to declare other than the four named persons declarati. The persuasion took place at a visit paid by Didrik Brus and Henricus Hovel in Andreas Budetti’s office between the passing of the sentence on 26 May and 4 June 1514.21 From the first cedulonus, personally written by the notary, the words added went on to later copies. While the cedulones were posted in public at the curia and in partibus, the process in Rome stood still for eight months. However, from April to July 1515 there were new developments. While Didrik Brus was absent from Rome, Henricus Hovel presented a number of new witnesses. Chief among these were a servant and nephew of Didrik Brus by the name of Claus Mommensen and a clergyman from the diocese of Bremen who came before the Rota and declared that it had been impossible for them to publish an interdict over the four laymen in the parish of Svavsted, where the Bishop and his brother Ditlev lived in the episcopal castle together with the other conspirators. The two witnesses declared that there was not secure access to the parish church, since the episcopal castle nearby made it highly dangerous to affix the interdict to the church door. Although the proctor on the episcopal side objected that his clients neither lived at nor came from the place, the proctors of Didrik Brus obtained a special interdict (interdictum speciale) over the parish of Husum, a nearby town.22 This meant a very serious sharpening of the sanctions, since the interdict now hit not only the four laymen who had refused to meet before the Rota, but the whole parish of Husum, leading to a total stop of all ecclesiastical services to the population there. At the Rota it was possible to appeal the final sentence of an auditor to a second auditor, and after his final judgement even to a third one, but a litigating party could also ask the pope to let another auditor investigate and eventually change intermediate decisions taken by the originally appointed auditor during his handling of a case. In reaction to the interdict ordered by Johannesantonius Trivultius, Godske Ahlefeldt now used this option. In a supplication to the pope he asked for the interdict over Husum to be 21 The registrum, fols. 113r-v. 22 ASV, S. R. Rota, Manualia Actorum 92, fols. 557v, 582v, 591v.

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annulled and the case to be handed over to another auditor at the Rota.23 According to the Bishop, the interdict over Husum because of the contempt of court shown by the four laymen had been obtained by Didrik Brus on false grounds. The approved supplication, the commissio, was presented to the new auditor appointed, Guillermus Cassador, on 2 July 1515. In manual no. 91, conducted for this auditor, we find 20 entries in the case covering the period from 2 July 1515 to 25 June 1516.24 They show that the Bishop’s proctor with a number of witnesses immediately proved that the interdict was unfounded since the persons that the interdict intended to hit did not reside in Husum or at Svavsted, the episcopal castle nearby. This caused Guillermus Cassador to issue a prohibition against putting the interdict into effect and against further dealing with the case, which was presented to Johannesantonius Trivultius on 28  October 1515 and which caused him to refrain from any further handling of the case from Schleswig.25 But it must also have made it clear to Godske Ahlefeldt and his legal advisors that there was basis for a criminal procedure against Didrik Brus because of the way he had conducted his process before Johannesantonius Trivultius.26 Therefore, the legal procedure before Guillermus Cassador came to a temporary stop, and instead a criminal procedure at the court of the Chamber auditor was initiated. It took place from 5 December 1515 to 25 January 1516 and is lavishly documented in the large registrum preserved from the trial. Before we go into the analysis of this record book, it is necessary, however, to give a short introduction to the court of the Chamber auditor.

The Court of the Chamber Auditor It is well known that the Apostolic Chamber was an office of the curia that took care of the financial side of the papal administration. It is less 23 The supplication has been preserved and is printed in Acta pontificum Danica, no. 6356. 24 A survey of the entries can be found in Ingesman, Provisioner og processer, pp. 616-17. 25 ASV, S. R. Rota, Manualia Actorum 92, fol. 644v; The registrum, fols. 83v, 47r. 26 During the fall of 1515, Godske Ahlefeldt had come to Rome himself, with the main purpose of presenting the traditional oath of loyalty, the obedientia, from Duke Frederik of Schleswig to Pope Leo X, who had been elected two years before. A remark in a letter home from a Danish royal envoy in Rome tells, however, that the Bishop also had ‘his own special cases’ to take care of – without doubt a reference to the ongoing process with Didrik Brus. Acta pontificum Danica, no. 4538; Ingesman, Provisioner og processer, pp. 363 and 378, note 585. Cf. also Ingesman, ‘Den danske konges repræsentanter’, p. 171.

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well known that it also comprised a law court or tribunal, called the curia camere apostolice, ‘the court of the Apostolic Chamber’.27 It was headed by the so-called Chamber auditor, officially entitled curie causarum camere apostolice generalis auditor. The office of Chamber auditor can be traced back to the end of the thirteenth century, and it can be assumed that it was originally intended to handle crimes within the economic field, the Chamber’s special domain. During the Middle Ages, a considerable extension of the Chamber auditor’s field of responsibility took place, so that he and his court around 1500 also adjudicated civil and criminal cases at the curia and cases of appeal from the Papal States.28 It is even possible that the court of the Chamber auditor also could treat criminal cases from more distant parts of the Western Church.29 The Chamber auditor had his own notaries and issued documents in his own name. A document with a series of complaints from the 1390s over conditions at the court of the Chamber auditor in Avignon that has been preserved seems to show that its way of working was exactly the same as at other ecclesiastical courts. Not least important is that the notaries at the court of the Chamber auditor obviously kept act books and drew up registra of the same type and in exactly the same way as the notaries at the Rota.30 Since the Chamber auditor especially handled criminal cases, the prison attached to his law court played an important role in his activities. The complaints from the 1390s are comprehensive on this aspect, mentioning, for instance, prison guards who robbed the prisoners and charged the inmates too much for board and lodging. The use of torture at the law court is also evidenced by these complaints. If we could parallel the court of the Chamber auditor and the Rota, three sorts of written material should have been produced by the court: act books, registra, and various single documents, like writs, mandates, sentences, etc. The parallel also would suggest that act books should have been preserved at the curia, to be found in the present day Vatican Archives, while registra and single documents issued by the court preferably should be found in ecclesiastical archives outside the curia, that is in partibus.31 No act books or similar material recording the various cases treated by the court in the 27 The following is based on Göller, ‘Der Gerichtshof’ and Mollat, ‘Contribution à l’histoire’, esp. pp. 897-928. 28 Cf. Partner, The Papal State under Martin V, pp. 147-53. 29 See Ingesman, Provisioner og processer, p. 382, note 605. 30 The document is printed in Mollat, ‘Contribution à l’histoire’, pp. 908-28. On the registra of the notaries, see esp. pp. 921-28. 31 On preserved material from the Rota, see Ingesman, Provisioner og processer, pp. 191-215.

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medieval period can be found among the archival holdings of the Vatican according to the most recent inventory of these holdings.32 Could record books originating in and documents emanating from the court be found in partibus? The existence of the registrum in the Danish National Archives suggests that it would be worth looking more systematically for material from the court of the Chamber auditor in the ecclesiastical collections of local and national archives of Western Europe, but so far our registrum is unique.33

The Beginning of the Criminal Trial for the Chamber Auditor The Chamber auditor at the time of the criminal trial against Didrik Brus was Hieronimus de Ghinuciis, who held the office from 1511 to 1535.34 It was, however, not he, but his substitute (locumtenens), Calixtus de Amadeis, who handled the trial.35 Calixtus de Amadeis was the judge, but almost equally important in the trial was Marius de Peruschis, who held the office of the official accuser at the papal curia (procurator fiscalis) from 1513 to his death in 1528.36 The procurator fiscalis could represent the interests of the Apostolic See at all curial law courts, but played an especially important role at the court of the Chamber auditor. The reason for this is that his main field was criminal cases. When he became aware that a crime had been committed, it was his task to accuse and provide evidence and, in short, proceed against the suspected person.37 To start an inquisitorial process – that allowed a judge to use harsh means against a person and to deprive him of many of his normal legal rights – it 32 Vatican Archives, ed. by Blouin, pp. 269-70, cf. pp. 213-25, 308-09. 33 The manuscript containing the registrum from the criminal process against Didrik Brus has at some stage in its history come seriously out of order, but luckily it is possible from inner criteria to reconstruct a meaningful text. This is done in the Appendix at the end of the chapter where a detailed description of the manuscript, its structure, and content is given. The analysis in the following is based on the reconstructed text. 34 See on him v. Hofmann, Forschungen zur Geschichte der kurialen Behörden, II, p. 91; Frenz, Die Kanzlei der Päpste, pp. 347-48. 35 According to the registrum he was doctor juris utriusque, but I have not been able to find any additional information about him. 36 v. Hofmann, Forschungen zur Geschichte der kurialen Behörden, II, p. 95. Frenz, Die Kanzlei der Päpste, p. 405 mixes him up with his predecessor, Marianus de Cuccinis. Cf. also Sohn, Deutsche Prokuratoren, p. 280, note 77. 37 On the procurator fiscalis – the officer who later came to be called promotor iustitiae – see first and foremost Göller, ‘Der Gerichtshof’.

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was necessary that there was either proof or reasonable suspicion that a crime had been committed. In the criminal procedure against Didrik Brus we see how the basis for an inquisitorial procedure is provided through a so-called process of denunciation. This was a special way of starting a criminal procedure, during which it was shown that the accused was diffamatus, that is, accused by public rumours.38 In our case the procurator fiscalis first presented the judge a series of accusations, listed in a number of articles, which he documented with written documents and calling of witnesses. Thereafter followed the actual inquisitorial procedure, where the accused, with the use of imprisonment in isolation and, if necessary, torture, through repeated interrogations was forced to confess his crime. In the following we will look first at the process of denunciation, then proceed to the inquisitorial procedure. The procurator fiscalis Marius de Peruschis initiated the process against Didrik Brus before Calixtus de Amadeis as substitute for the Chamber auditor Hieronimus de Ghinuciis on 5 December 1515.39 He appeared in court, saying it was publicly known that Didrik Brus had committed a crime (excessus) at the publication of a number of cedulones, both at the curia and in partibus, against the Bishop of Schleswig Godske and some others, and at the examination of some witnesses in the Rota process called Sleuicen. iniurijs et excessum ([diocese of] Schleswig, [case concerning] injury and crime). 40 Since it was his office to investigate and punish such crimes at the curia as well as outside it, the public prosecutor handed in eighteen articles in which he asked that the notary Tranquillus de Romanlis be ordered to produce proof ( jura), that is, the written evidence in the case. The notary then presented the registrum in the case drawn up and signed by the Rota notary, Andreas Budetti. Furthermore, the accuser asked that the notary of the Chamber auditor should be ordered to examine the witnesses that he would produce to verify his articles and to copy from the registrum the declaratory sentence (sententia declaratoria) that had been passed in the Rota process and all ecclesiastical censures, including the handing over to the secular power for punishment. After the notary had done this, the procurator fiscalis requested that another notary, Andreas de Portiis, be ordered to produce a total of eight cedulones, which thereafter can be found 38 See on this procedure Fournier, Les officialités, pp. 256-62, cf. p. 233. 39 The registrum, fols. 46bis r-v, 2r-19v. 40 Each process at the Rota was assigned a heading, or name, in the manualia, giving first the name of the diocese in the case, then the object of litigation. The process here was initially called Sleswicen. iniuriarum, cf. Ingesman, Provisioner og processer, pp. 617-19.

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copied together with the eighteen articles and the sententia declaratoria passed by Johannesantonius Trivultius. It would be too time-consuming to repeat all eighteen articles here, so instead their content according to the registrum shall be summarized in short form:41 In his Rota process before Johannesantonius Trivultius against Godske, the Bishop of Schleswig, and the four laymen Ditlev Ahlefeldt, Otto Ahlefeldt, Volmer von der Herberge, and Erik Roer, Didrik Brus on 26 May 1514 obtained a sententia declaratoria, which imposed ecclesiastical censures vsque ad brachium seculare inclusiue (‘including the handing over [of the accused person] to the secular power’). These censures he published with cedulones, first on 8 June 1514 at the Roman curia and on the Campo dei Fiori, later also in various places in partibus. In these cedulones he added to the name of Ditlev Ahlefeldt the words frater episcopi Sleuicen. (‘brother of the Bishop of Schleswig’) and to the names of the four laymen the formulation eorumque complices et adherentes, despite the fact that these formulations were not to be found in the sententia declaratoria passed. He did the same to the later published cedulones about sharpened censures, of which he himself wrote some. He took part in the publication of these cedulones at the curia on 8 and 23 June 1514, later taking care that many of the forged cedulones were hung up locally. 42 Later Didrik Brus acquired from Johannesantonius Trivultius an interdictum speciale over the town of Husum in the vicinity of Svavsted, maintaining that Ditlev Ahlefeldt and the other laymen lived at Svavsted, to which there was not secure access (tutus accessus) to publish the ecclesiastical censures imposed. This was, however, false since none of the four laymen at that time stayed at Svavsted or were in the service of the Bishop of Schleswig. He obtained the interdict by producing false witnesses about the stay of the four laymen at Svavsted. All of this was publicly well known and testified by credible public rumours. The examination of the witnesses presented by Marius de Peruschis to verify his articles took place on 11, 12, and 13 December. There were a total of six witnesses, of whom four also had been called by the proctor for the Bishop of Schleswig in the Rota process before Guillermus Cassador during the summer. The best informed witness was a canon of Schleswig by the name of Johann Schuldorp. 43 He could tell that he personally had been present in the assembly of Rota auditors, when the notorious sententia 41 The articles are copied in the registrum, fols. 4v-14v. 42 It was later made clear that he only was present at the publication of the first cedulonus on 8 June, since he left the curia on 10 June. 43 The registrum, fols. 62r-68v, 84r-v, 69r-70r.

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declaratoria had been passed at the request of Didrik Brus. Therefore he also knew that the formulations frater episcopi Slesuicen. and complices et adherentes were not to be found in the sentence. After having presented his six witnesses to substantiate his articles, Marius de Peruschis on 15 December asked to present witnesses especially concerning the alleged use of false witnesses in the Rota process. 44 On this a clergyman by the name of Kjeld Nielsen from the diocese of Schleswig was examined on 16 December. To prove that Didrik Brus’s witnesses had given false testimony about the four laymen’s residence in Svavsted, and their claim that there was not secure access to this place, the clergyman told what he knew about the laymen, their residences, and their princely service relations, questions the first six witnesses had also been answering.45 The evidence given by the witnesses about the four laymen varies somewhat, but the main point is that although all of the four men were or might have been in the service of the Bishop of Schleswig at the time Didrik Brus was imprisoned, they were not in 1514, when the interdict over them was to be published at Svavsted, and in 1515, when Didrik Brus obtained his special interdict over Husum due to the unsecure access to Svavsted. Based on the documents presented and the witnesses produced, Marius de Peruschis asked the Chamber auditor’s substitute to imprison Didrik Brus on the very same day, 16 December. From 20 December 1515 to 25 January 1516 the Chamber auditor’s substitute, assisted by the procurator fiscalis, carried through a series of interrogations of Didrik Brus and his proctor (sollicitator) Henricus Hovel and of the Rota notary Andreas Budetti and his substitute Johannes Roderche. The interrogations of Didrik Brus – and later of Henricus Hovel, after he also had been imprisoned – took place in the Castel Sant’Angelo, while the interrogations of the others took place in the house of the judge. The interrogations were based on the information already provided, but apart from this the judge used statements from those involved against themselves and against each other. 46 For an impression of the method of interrogation used by the judge, a detailed account shall be given of the two very comprehensive interrogations that Didrik Brus was exposed to on 20 and 24 December 1515.

44 The registrum, fols. 74v-76r. 45 The registrum, fols. 76r-81v, 25r-27r. 46 The registrum, fols. 30r-46v, 85r-165v.

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The Interrogations of Didrik Brus At the interrogation on 20 December, the judge first asked Didrik Brus whether he knew why he had been imprisoned. 47 He answered that he did not. He knew that Bishop Godske of Schleswig had had him imprisoned back home on the pretext that he had killed his brother Egidius, and he guessed that he perhaps had been imprisoned at the curia for this fratricide. Through a series of questions he was thereafter brought to tell about the process for the Rota. He came to Rome on 11 November 1513 and was there until June the following year. Asked why he came to the curia he said that he did so because he had been, in his own house, in his own native town, attacked, wounded, and imprisoned by many persons and noblemen. It had happened in the presence of the Bishop of Schleswig and with his assistance. Thereafter he sued the assailants before the Rota auditor Johannesantonius Trivultius. Here he had acquired a writ to personally appear before the court (citatio monitoriale ad comparendum personaliter) against the Bishop and some noblemen and he had taken care that they had been summoned in the diocese of Bremen. He had returned to this neighbouring diocese after having been at the curia since he did not dare go home to his native country because of the power of the Bishop of Schleswig. Asked who had been mentioned in the commissio, in which he requested the writ (monitorium) and in the monitorium obtained, he answered that the people mentioned were Bishop Godske Ahlefeldt, Ditlev his brother, Otto Ahlefeldt, Johannes Plix, Volmer von der Herberge, and Erik Roer. He added that in the commissio nobody else was mentioned in particular; but the sententia declaratoria, which he obtained, listed all the aforementioned people including complices et adherentes, except, however, the Bishop, who had obtained a mandate that freed him from appearing personally in the court. 48 Didrik Brus said that he had stayed permanently at the curia from the presentation of the executed monitorium to the passing of the sententia declaratoria (26 May 1514). Thereafter he left the curia with an official copy of the sentence made by an authorized notary called instrumentum sentencie declaratorie six days after Whitsun 1514 (10 June 1514). Asked whether he brought some cedulones with him to publish them locally, he answered that he didn’t bring anything else than the instrumentum 47 The registrum, fols. 30r-46v, 85r-100r. 48 That the legation (described in note 17 above) was the Bishop’s excuse for not being able to meet we know from a later supplication to the pope from Didrik Brus. Acta pontificum Danica, no. 4630.

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sentencie already mentioned, but that he commissioned his proctor Paulus de Alexis to send him some. While he was staying in Hamburg, he later received six cedulones, announcing the ecclesiastical censures over the four laymen, brought to him by a canon of that city. Asked who had appeared for him in court from Martinmas 1513 to Whitsun 1514, he answered that Paulus de Alexis was his proctor, Henricus Hovel and Johannes Burum his sollicitatores, and Angelus de Cesis his advocate, and to all of them he had paid fees. After having told that he had seen the original sententia declaratoria, signed by Johannesantonius Trivultius, in the office of Andreas Budetti and knew the text of it well, he was asked, who was declared liable to ecclesiastical censures (declarati) in the sentence. He answered that Ditlev Ahlefeldt, Otto Ahlefeldt, Volmer von der Herberge, and Erik Roer et eorum complices et adherentes were, while Johannes Plix did not become declaratus, because he was dead. Asked whether he knew the content of the six cedulones brought back to him, he answered that they stated that Ditlev Ahlefeldt, Otto Ahlefeldt, Volmer von der Herberge, Erik Roer eorumque complices et adherentes were declared excommunicated and declarati, because they had not obeyed the monitorium requesting them to meet in Rome. He personally affixed the instrumentum sentencie declaratorie already mentioned and the aforementioned cedulones on the door of Saint Mary’s church in Hamburg, where they hung for two months and more, so that they could be seen and read by all. Furthermore he had drawn up more than 20 cedulones with the same text as the six and published them in various places. Further, Didrik Brus stated that thereafter he obtained first the declaration of the ecclesiastical censures and later an interdictum speciale to the parish church in Husum. He was not himself present at the curia when these letters were ordered, but in Hamburg. There he received a letter on parchment with the ultimate censure, the handing over to the secular power, with matching cedulones, signed by Andreas Budetti. About half a year later, while he stayed in Eidersted, the interdict was sent to him. He published the cedulones in various places, but did not publish the documents announcing the interdict, because it had been revoked at the curia at the request of Bishop Godske. Asked whether he remembered the content of the cedulones, he answered that they contained the statement that Ditlev Ahlefeldt, Otto Ahlefeldt, Volmer von der Herberge, Erik Roer eorumque complices et adherentes were declared liable to all the ecclesiastical censures that he had obtained against them from excommunication to interdict and the handing over to the secular power. Asked why a special interdict was laid on Husum, he replied that it was because Ditlev Ahlefeldt and the other

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noblemen resided at Svavsted, to which there was not secure access. Two witnesses had proved this for the auditor. Questioned whether he had given his proctors and solicitors any information about access and declaratio of his adversaries to the town of Husum, he did not answer, but was silent for a long time while the colour in his face came and went. Thereafter he admitted that he only told his proctors and solicitors about it after the passing of the sententia declaratoria. After that, the other censures and the handing over to the secular power were issued. When they had no effect he sent his servant, Claus Mommensen, with letters and money to his proctor, Paulus de Alexis, to obtain an interdictum speciale, which his servant Claus thereafter brought back to him. Asked the identity of the two witnesses, those who proved the lack of secure access to Svavsted, he answered that he did not know them, but that he thought one of them was his servant Claus. Asked how the two witnesses knew that Ditlev Ahlefeldt and the others came from Husum or Svavsted, he said that they did not. Ditlev Ahlefeldt came from and lived in a village called Bollingsted, two miles from Husum; Otto Ahlefeldt, Volmer von der Herberge, and Erik Roer were at that time Bishop Godske’s daily servants (continui familiares) and were living either in Husum or at Svavsted, while he did not know where they originally came from. Asked why the interdict was revoked he answered that it was because the adversary proved that Ditlev Ahlefeldt and the other declarati et censurati were not parishioners of Svavsted church. The interrogator then said that this did not correspond to the commission regarding interdict, which mentions that they lived together in Svavsted castle. Didrik Brus was shown a copy of this commissio and did not know what to answer, only what he had said already. Didrik Brus was then asked whether the cedulones that had been published in partibus agreed with the notarial copies of the sentence and the invocation of the secular power, or if there was a discrepancy between them. To this he answered that he did not know anything else than that they were in agreement with each other. He was thereafter presented with the sententia declaratoria and with four cedulones, announcing the declaratoria and the gradually aggravated ecclesiastical censures to follow. He answered that the sententia declaratoria read aloud was in accordance with the original sentence passed by Johannesantonius Trivultius, and that also the four cedulones conformed to the original cedulonus. The original cedulonus was not, he says, written with his hand and he did not know who wrote it. Two cedulones were written, on his request, in Hamburg by the priest Henricus Hoz from the diocese of Bremen. They corresponded to the originals he brought with him back home, except that the originals did not contain the

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words about Ditlev Ahlefeldt being the brother of Reverend Father, Bishop Godske of Schleswig ( frater reuerendj patris dominj Golchalchi episcopi Slesuien.). These words Didrik Brus commanded Henricus Hoz to insert to make it possible to distinguish the person mentioned in the document from the several other men in that province with the name Ditlev Ahlefeldt. Didrik Brus was then asked which complices et adherentes his adversary had had apart from those mentioned by name. He answered that his opponents were many, more than twenty. He and his proctors and lawyers had wanted the words eorumque complices et adherentes to be inserted in the sententia declaratoria, since he did not know all their names. The auditor in the case had always promised that this should be done, and Didrik Brus did not know anything else than that also complices et adherentes were declarati. Thereafter he was asked how it could be explained that although the words frater reuerendj patris dominj Golschalchi episcopi Sleuicen. and eorumque complices et adherentes obviously were not in the sententia declaratoria, they were nevertheless later added to the previously mentioned cedulones, also to those that had been written at the Roman curia by the notary in the case. He answered that he did not know anything else than that they were included in the sentence. The public prosecutor then requested that justice (i.e. the correct legal procedure leading to an appropriate punishment) would be done and that Didrik Brus would be forced to tell the truth. The substitute for the Chamber auditor ordered Didrik Brus to be led to the torture chamber (ad locum tormentorum). He was taken there and the judge urged him to tell the truth. When Didrik Brus maintained to have told the truth and did not know anything else to answer, the substitute decided that he should be bound and tortured. As Didrik Brus said that also the notary Andreas Budetti, his proctor Paulus de Alexis, and his sollicitator Henricus Hovel ought to be interrogated, and since it was late, the judge decided that he should be let loose and not tortured, but taken to his cell and that his interrogation should continue later. On the 24 December 1515 the judge continued his interrogation of Didrik Brus in Castel Sant’Angelo with the assistance of the public accuser. 49 The threat of torture during the previous interrogation seems to have had an effect, since a weeping Didrik Brus started to confess that the first cedulonus had been changed contrary to the content of the sententia declaratoria passed, and that he was to blame. He then revealed the truth that he and Henricus Hovel one day at noon went to Andreas Budetti’s house near Santa Maria della Pace, where they found Andreas and his substitute Johannes. In 49 The registrum, fols. 107r-122v.

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the presence of Johannes they asked Andreas if he would make a cedulonus super sententia declaratoria and insert in it the words et eorum complices et adherentes. Andreas answered that he couldn’t write these words in the cedulonus, since they were not in the sententia declaratoria. Didrik Brus and Henricus Hovel, however, continued to ask him and, among other things, mentioned that besides the persons mentioned specifically in the sentence there were many other adversaries, twenty in all. After having refused several times Andreas finally gave in and wrote a cedulonus with the addition of the notorious words et eorum complices et adherentes.50 This he handed out to Didrik Brus and Henricus Hovel; thereafter Henricus Hovel had it published in the curia and on the Campo dei Fiori. After this, Didrik Brus was asked if he would tell the truth about the testimony given in the Rota by his servant Claus and another witness concerning Ditlev Ahlefeldt’s and the other persons’ stay at Svavsted and the unsecure access to it. He answered that he sent his servant Claus with money and letters to Rome to obtain an interdictum speciale. He commanded the servant to do what was necessary, including testifying about it. If more witnesses were required, he should find them at the curia where many of his countrymen were present. Asked whether he knew at that time that Ditlev and the other persons did not reside at Svavsted, that there was secure access to it, and that his servant Claus therefore could not speak the truth, he answered that he was unaware whether Ditlev and the others stayed at Svavsted, but that he knew there was no secure access to the castle. He was aware that Claus knew nothing about Ditlev’s and the other person’s residence at Svavsted, but in spite of this he commanded him to say that they lived there, and that there was no secure access. This took place in his hostel in Hamburg, and Claus promised to do it. In that way an interdict was obtained from the auditor, and Claus brought it back with him from Rome. Asked why he had not confessed this in his earlier interrogation, Didrik said that today he has said the full truth and admitted his guilt. He begged for mercy and that justice would not be done for the sake of the sufferings of Jesus Christ. On 2 January 1516, Didrik Brus was again questioned by the judge in a very short examination to make clear whether he stood by his confession 50 It is said that he wrote vnus cedulonus non jn grossis sed jn mediocribus litteris super declaratoria predicta cum dictis verbis ‘et eorum complices et adherentes’. The explicit reference to the size of the letters indicates that the notary wrote the cedulonus in a way he shouldn’t, thus trying to conceal or diminish the importance of the fact that he was doing something wrong. The way the notaries should write registra and other documents was prescribed in detail in a basic papal regulation concerning the Rota, Ratio iuris from 1331. Die päpstlichen Kanzleiordnungen, pp. 83-91.

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in the earlier interrogation.51 It was read aloud to him, and he declared that it was the truth, and that he approved it. At the same time he again begged for mercy, whereas the procurator fiscalis asked for justice to be done.

The Result of the Criminal Trial With his confession the interrogation of Didrik Brus in principle was over. Now those accused in Didrik’s confession were up for interrogation, first Henricus Hovel, then Andreas Budetti. The registrum gives a full testimony about these interrogations, which, however, is too comprehensive to be repeated here. In summary, Henricus Hovel had to be subjected to torture twice, before he finally gave an explanation similar to the one Didrik Brus had confessed by being only threatened with torture.52 Andreas Budetti was also very unwilling to admit that he had done what Didrik Brus had confessed. After several examinations, during the last of which the judge urged him to tell the truth, since an interrogation of him under torture ought not to take place, he finally gave in and on 23 January delivered a confession, which was inserted in the registrum.53 In this the notary admitted to have written with his own hand in the original cedulonus the words eorum complices et adherentes, about which a criminal investigation (inquisitio) had been undertaken against Didrik Brus and Henricus Hovel and then also against himself. He admitted that he had done it knowingly and deliberately to satisfy a plea from Henricus Hovel and, if he remembered correctly, from Didrik Brus, but underlined that he did it without any evil intent or for money, solely to please them. We can guess that he did it especially to please Henricus Hovel who – according to information given by him during one of the interrogations – knew Andreas Budetti well, for two years being an assistant scribe to the notary.54 A constitution of Pope Martin V from 1423, Romani pontificis providentia, stipulated that a notary who wrote something other than that which had taken place in a process should be deprived of his office.55 In spite of this, it looks like Andreas Budetti was let off after his voluntary confession 51 The registrum, fols. 122v-125r. 52 The registrum, fols. 125r-134r, 136r-148v, 148v-150r. 53 The registrum, fol. 166v. The examinations of him are to be found in the registrum, fols. 100v-106v, 153r-159v, 159v-163v. 54 See the interrogation of him on 2 January 1516: The registrum, fols. 125r-134r. 55 Romani pontificis providentia § 21, ed. in Die päpstlichen Kanzleiordnungen, p. 154. Cf. In apostolicae dignitatis § 27, ed. in Die päpstlichen Kanzleiordnungen, p. 142.

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and shortly afterwards he appeared again in the Rota.56 At the same time, sentences were passed on Didrik Brus and Henricus Hovel on the basis of the confessions compelled at the interrogations. Prior to the pronouncing of the sentences, the two men came for the last time before the judge on 25 January.57 They both maintained what they had said under their interrogations and were thereafter given ten days to prepare their defence, to appoint proctors and lawyers, etc. The sentences for the two, which are copied in the registrum, were then presumably passed in the beginning of February 1516. It is evident that Didrik Brus was singled out as the instigator of the crime. His sentence states that Didrik shall be deprived of all his benefices, offices, and dignities because he falsified a cedulonus and produced false witnesses in the Rota process.58 According to the sentence, crowned with a paper crown, he shall be subjected to a humiliating public exhibition on the steps of old Saint Peter’s basilica. Thereafter he shall be taken to the Rota, where he shall stand the whole day.59 Finally he shall be led to imprisonment for life. The costs defrayed by the procurator fiscalis he must also pay. The corresponding sentence for Henricus Hovel stated that Henricus, for his assistance in falsifying a cedulonus in the Rota process, shall be deprived of all his benefices, offices, and dignities and be sentenced to imprisonment for life. He too shall defray the costs of the public prosecutor.60 That the sentences really were carried out are evidenced by two supplications from the spring and summer of 1516 showing that other clergymen were given papal provision on the benefices vacant after Didrik Brus and Henricus Hovel. The way the curia functioned is revealed in the fact that the people who received the benefices had first-hand knowledge of the trial and its outcome, namely those who themselves had witnessed in the process. The curialist Paulus Hinseman, who witnessed against Didrik Brus both in the Rota process and in the criminal trial, received in April 1516 provision on the parish church in Katharinenheerd, formerly held by Didrik Brus.61 56 ASV, S. R. Rota, Manualia Actorum 91, fols. 877v, 941v-942r. 57 The registrum, fols. 163v-164v (Didrik Brus) and 164v-165v (Henricus Hovel). 58 The registrum, fols. 169r-v. 59 Whereas the Rota in the Avignon period had its fixed meeting room in the papal palace, this was not the case in Renaissance Rome. Here the Rota auditors held their meetings in various churches. It is, however, possible that the S. Eustachio church, between Piazza Navona and Pantheon, became a more permanent meeting place at the beginning of the sixteenth century. See the discussion in Sohn, Deutsche Prokuratoren, p. 286. 60 The registrum, fols. 171r-v. 61 Acta pontificum Danica, no. 4572.

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And scribe in the papal archives Ditlev Reventlow, who had witnessed in the criminal trial, received in July 1516 provision on two perpetual vicariates said to be vacant because the Chamber auditor Hieronimus de Ghinuciis ‘or his substitute’ had deprived Henricus Hovel of them by the sentence he had passed in the curia.62

The Continuation of the Strife While the criminal case before the substitute of the Chamber auditor was proceeding, auditor Guillelmus Cassador did not move forward in the process of the Bishop of Schleswig against Didrik Brus. A few hearings took place before the auditor only after the end of the criminal process, from 30 January until June 1516.63 But these hearings did not bring the case closer to conclusion. According to the information in the manualia notices, the representatives of the Bishop of Schleswig intended, among other things, to have Andreas Budetti hand over the registrum from the process before Johannesantonius Trivultius. Didrik Brus’s proctor Paulus de Alexis, in his turn, seems to have intended to initiate a new offensive, where he tried to have Godske Ahlefeldt himself speak in the Rota, and made an accusation of false evidence against four of the Bishop’s witnesses from earlier on, Ditlev Reventlow, Paulus Hinseman, Johann Schuldorp, and Hans Hansen, against whom he obtained a monitorium cum arresto, a mandate which forbade them to leave Rome under threat of arrest. Before Guillermus Cassador passed a final sentence, Didrik Brus managed to have the case assigned to Cardinal Antonius de Monte of Santa Prassede for a decision as apostolic commissary (commissarius apostolicus), that is, an ad hoc judge appointed by the pope to decide a specific case on his behalf. The commissio transferring the case to the Cardinal has not been preserved, but the assignment of the case to him is confirmed by the last entry in the case in the manualia series no. 91. It says that Guillermus Cassador on 25 June 1516 was presented with a letter from Cardinal Antonius de Monte of Santa Prassede, who as commissarius in the case forbade the Rota auditor to have further to do with it.64

62 Acta pontificum Danica, no. 6366. 63 ASV, S. R. Rota, Manualia Actorum 91, fols. 877v, 887v, 890r, 890v-891r, 895v, 902v-903r, 941v-942r, 993v. 64 ASV, S. R. Rota, Manualia Actorum 91, fol. 993v.

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Obviously, the Cardinal did not need very much time to handle the case, since he was able to pass a sentence as early as 8 August 1516. The sentence was an acquittal deciding that Didrik Brus and Henricus Hovel should be released from prison and have their benefices returned. There is unfortunately no reference to the arguments behind the acquittal in the sentence, which is copied at the end of the registrum, but is seriously damaged.65 We do not know what happened after the acquittal of Didrik Brus, but the case had certainly not yet come to an end at that time. A year later we hear again about the litigation between the Bishop and Didrik, which then was referred to be adjudicated locally by papal judges delegate. At the request of the priest Didrik Brus from the diocese of Schleswig, the pope entrusted on 7 August 1517 the settling of the strife between Didrik and the Bishop of Schleswig, Godske, to the abbot of the Saint Mary monastery in Stade, the provost in the Saint George monastery in Stade, and the chanter in the Saint Mary church in Hamburg.66 The text of a supplication approved by the pope on that date repeats the main points of the previous litigation process: The Bishop without any reason had imprisoned Didrik and robbed him of money, horses, and other possessions, whereupon Didrik had applied to the Apostolic See – ‘the refuge of all oppressed’ (omnium oppressorum refugium) – and had his case of appeal assigned to one of the auditors at the Rota. He obtained a writ of the Bishop and some of his co-conspirators, but the Bishop was freed from appearing personally because he was on a legation, while his conspirators failed to meet and therefore incurred ecclesiastical censures because of their contumacia. After the Bishop had accused Didrik and some others of false informing, they were convicted at the request of the curia’s procurator fisci. They were, however, rehabilitated by Cardinal presbyter Antonius de Monte of Santa Prassede. As a result of Didrik’s request, the pope declared him exempt from the ordinary jurisdiction of the Bishop, as long as the Bishop would live, and the parts of the case not yet closed were turned over to be decided by the three judges mentioned. From this handling of the case in partibus no material has been preserved, so we know nothing about its outcome. As a matter of fact, we cannot even be sure that it really occurred. The papal letter of August 1517 is the last time we hear about Didrik Brus and his conflict with Bishop of Schleswig, Godske Ahlefeldt.

65 The registrum, fols. 172r-v. The Cardinal has personally signed the sentence in the registrum. 66 Acta pontificum Danica, no. 4630.

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Conclusions The preserved material from the long-drawn-out strife between Didrik Brus and Godske Ahlefeldt leaves many questions unanswered. The conflict’s details handled in partibus are especially obscure. As regards the processes at the curia in Rome, the material is much more revealing. First and foremost the comprehensive registrum from the criminal trial against Didrik Brus gives a wealth of information about the workings of both the Rota and the court of the Chamber auditor in the beginning of the sixteenth century. Thanks to the exhaustive renderings of examinations and interrogations in the registrum, we get a vivid and detailed picture of a legal world in Renaissance Rome crowded with auditors and notaries, advocates and proctors, litigants and witnesses. We find information about the work of the Rota notaries that is either new or at least confirms things about which we only had loose suppositions. We can see that a notary at the Rota had his office in his own house, had subordinate scribes as assistants, and kept his court books and registra in his office.67 We can also see that a Rota notary drew up a registrum for each of the cases entrusted to him, and that these registra were part of the court material lying in his own house. This is contrary to Hermann Hoberg’s opinion that registra normally were drawn up at the request of the parties and were brought home with them from the curia. Our material instead shows that the original registra were regarded as belonging to the Rota notaries in Rome, but could be either handed out to or copied for one of the litigating parties after the end of a case – if, of course, he was willing to pay the notary writing costs for it. There are also new insights to be gained, or old suppositions to be confirmed, about the situation of the litigating parties. It is well known that litigations at medieval ecclesiastical courts were primarily directed by the litigating parties themselves.68 What this meant in practice can clearly be seen in the case of Didrik Brus: It was up to him – and that is of course natural – to acquire a commissio from the pope who entrusted his case to a particular judge, and present the commissio to this judge, but also, in the course of the process following, for instance, to copy and publish the writs and mandates he obtained at the Rota, be it at the curia or in partibus, and to produce the witnesses that could substantiate his case. In Didrik Brus’s 67 This was obviously normal for notaries in Italian cities, as can be seen from Meyer, Felix et inclitus notarius. 68 See especially Steins, ‘Der ordentliche Zivilprozeß’, pp. 217-21; Helmholz, Marriage Litigation, p. 113.

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case, we are even told that Didrik himself paid for the travel expenses and the stay in Rome for a rather large number of witnesses from his home tract. This situation makes it clear why advocates, lawyers, and proctors in Rome were indispensable for litigating parties, especially people like Didrik Brus, who came from abroad and had no preceding experience with the papal curia. Concerning the court of the Chamber auditor, the registrum gives us the first known example of the workings of this tribunal. We see that the case against Didrik Brus was handled by a substitute for the Chamber auditor in close cooperation with the procurator fiscalis, whose task it was to proceed against crimes committed at the curia. We see that an inquisitorial procedure was used in a criminal trial, like the one against Didrik Brus, but that the use of this procedure had to be justified through a preceding process of denunciation. With this way of starting a criminal prosecution, it was proven, with written documents and the calling of witnesses, that Didrik Brus seemed to be guilty in a number of crimes. This made it legally correct to imprison him, and later on also his accomplice Henricus Hovel, in the Castel Sant’Angelo and subjected to torture as part of the interrogation. The last, but definitely not the least important result of our examination of the criminal trial against Didrik Brus, as evidenced in the preserved registrum from the trial, is the information about the production of written material at the court of the Chamber auditor. It is well known that since a decision at the Fourth Lateran Council in 1215, all procedures at ecclesiastical courts were to be written down, and this was clearly also followed at the court of the Chamber auditor in early sixteenth-century Rome. We hear about written articles handed in to the court, about original documents being copied and witness testimonies being written down, about written confessions and sentences being produced and presented. As at the Rota, there was a notary who recorded all the proceedings during a process. We knew beforehand that the notaries at the court of the Chamber auditor kept act books and drew up registra in exactly the same way as the notaries at the Rota. Now we have seen that such registra can have survived in partibus. Although this may be highly unusual, it is hard to believe that the Danish example is the only one from the whole of Western Europe, and the whole of the later Middle Ages. A first obvious task for future research in the activities of the court of the Chamber auditor in Rome would therefore be to search for preserved act books and other written material in Roman archives and for registra in local ecclesiastical archives in the various countries of Western Europe.

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Appendix: The Manuscript – Description, Structure, and Content The manuscript analysed in this chapter is located in the archive of the bishops of Schleswig in the Danish National Archives in Copenhagen. Here it is catalogued as ‘Procesakter i sagen mod Theodor Brus, sognepræst i Katharinenheerd i Eidersted, 1514-1516’. It was not given a correct identification, as a registrum from a criminal case at the court of the Chamber auditor in Rome, before my close examination of it in Ingesman, Provisioner og processer (2003). This can be explained by ignorance among Danish archivists about this court in distant Rome, but to a certain degree also by the fact that the manuscript at some stage in its history has come seriously out of order, thus making it difficult to identify. Containing 176 leaves, the manuscript consists of nine gatherings that earlier were bound; the binding is now removed. The gatherings are all the same size, approximately 22.5 x 29.5/30.0 centimetres, but differ in respect to the number of leaves. As the manuscript looks now, and has been paginated, the content of the nine gatherings is as follows: Gathering 1: fols. 2-23; gathering 2: fols. 24-46bis; gathering 3: fols. 47-68; gathering 4: fols. 69-82; gathering 5: fols. 83-84; gathering 6: fols. 85-106; gathering 7: fols. 107-30; gathering 8: fols. 131-54; gathering 9: fols. 155-76. The text as it is makes no sense, but from inner criteria it is possible to reconstruct a meaningful text. To form this text, the gatherings should be put together in the following way: The leaf with fol. 24 + 46bis, now the outer leaf in gathering 2, should be turned around and placed around gathering 1. The leaf with fols. 83 + 84, now identical with gathering 5, should be placed around gathering 3. After that, gatherings 3 and 4 should be placed between gatherings 1 and 2. The correct text thus appears like this: Gathering 1: fols. 46bis + 2-23 + 24; gathering 3: fols. 83 + 47-68 + 84; gathering 4: fols. 69-82; gathering 2: fols. 25-46; gathering 6: fols. 85-106; gathering 7: fols. 107-30; gathering 8: fols. 131-54; gathering 9: fol. 155-76. This reconstruction of the text is used for the analysis in this chapter. The main text of the registrum is written throughout by the same hand, which presumably was that of the notary in the case, Georgius Tormelli (fol. 166v). The content is as follows: Procurator fiscalis Marius de Peruschis commenced the process for Calixtus de Amadeis as substitute for the Chamber auditor Hieronimus de Ghinuciis on 5 December 1515, as he appeared and delivered eighteen articles, on which he requested to call witnesses (fols. 46bis r-v + 2r-19v). The examination of the witnesses took place on 11, 12, and 13 December. There was a total of six witnesses: Paulus Hinseman (fols. 19v-24v + 83r-v + 47r-50r), Johannes Humborch (fols. 50r-57r), Ditlev Reventlow (fols.

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57r-62r), Johann Schuldorp (fols. 62r-68v + 84r-v + 69r-70r), Johannes Baptista de Cortona (fols. 70r-70v), and Hans Hansen (fols. 70v-74v). On 15 December, Marius de Peruschis requested to call witnesses particularly on the alleged use of false testimonies in the Rota process (fols. 74v-76r). On this, the clergyman Kjeld Nielsen from the diocese of Schleswig was examined on 16 December (fols. 76r-81v + 25r-27r). On the very same day Marius de Peruschis asked the judge, based on the documents presented and the witnesses examined, to imprison Didrik Brus (fols. 27r-30r). From 20 December 1515 to 25 January 1516, the substitute for the Chamber auditor, assisted by the procurator fiscalis, thereafter conducted a series of interrogations, partly using torture, of Didrik Brus and his sollicitator Henricus Hovel and of the Rota notary Andreas Budetti and his substitute Johannes Roderche (fols. 30r-46v + 85r-165v). These interrogations led to confessions by the first three people. To the text of the registrum proper are added a copy of Rota auditor Johannesantonius Trivultius’ sententia declaratoria of 26 May 1514 (fol. 166r), Andreas Budetti’s confession of 23 January 1516 (fol. 166v), a copy of the first cedulonus from the original Rota process (fol. 167r), the Chamber auditor’s substitute’s sentence on Didrik Brus (fol. 169r-v), the equivalent sentence on Henricus Hovel (fol. 171r-v), Cardinal Antonius de Monte’s sentence of acquittal of 8 August 1516 (fol. 172r-v), and various legal notes (fol. 173r). These additions are all written in other hands. The confession of Andreas Budetti is said to be written with his own hand. In the sentence of acquittal by Antonius de Monte the Cardinal has signed A. Car. S. Prax. psbr. with his own hand at the end. Fols. 167v-168v, 170r-v, and 173v-176v contain no text.

Bibliography Unprinted Sources Archivio della Penitenzieria Apostolica, Vatican City (= APA) – Reg. Matrim. et Div. 39. Archivio Segreto Vaticano, Vatican City (= ASV) – S. R. Rota, Manualia Actorum 91-92. Rigsarkivet, Copenhagen (= RA) – Slesvig bisp, Biskop Gotskalks beskyldninger mod Theodor Brus, præst i Slesvig stift, 1509 juli. – Slesvig bisp, Procesakter i sagen mod Theodor Brus, sognepræst i Katharinenheerd i Eidersted, 1514-1516 (= The registrum). – De Sønderjyske Fyrstearkiver. Hertug Frederik (1.). Sager på papir. A. Korrespondance 15051523. 1. Hertug Frederiks registrant 1503-1513.

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Printed Sources Acta pontificum Danica. Pavelige Aktstykker vedrørende Danmark 1316-1536, 1-7, ed. by L. Moltesen, Alfr. Krarup, and Johs. Lindbæk (Copenhagen: Gad, 1904-1943). Die päpstlichen Kanzleiordnungen von 1200 bis 1500, ed. by Michael Tangl (Innsbruck: Wagner, 1894).

Literature Gero Dolezalek, ‘Reports of the “Rota” (14th-19th centuries)’, in Judicial Records, Law Reports, and the Growth of Case Law, ed. by J.H. Baker, Comparative Studies in Continental and Anglo-American Legal History/Vergleichende Untersuchungen zur kontinentaleuropäischen und anglo-amerikanischen Rechtsgeschichte, 5 (Berlin: Duncker & Humblot, 1989), pp. 69-99. Paul Fournier, Les officialités au Moyen Âge. Étude sur l’organisation, la compétence et la procédure des tribunaux ecclésiastiques ordinaires en France de 1180 a 1328 (Paris: E. Plon, 1880). Thomas Frenz, Die Kanzlei der Päpste der Hochrenaissance (1471-1527), Bibliothek des Deutschen Historischen Instituts in Rom, 63 (Tübingen: Niemeyer, 1986). Emil Göller, ‘Der Gerichtshof der päpstlichen Kammer und die Entstehung des Amtes des procurator fiscalis im kirchlichen Prozessverfahren’, Archiv für katholisches Kirchenrecht, 94 (1914), 605-19. Richard H. Helmholz, Marriage Litigation in Medieval England (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1974). Nikolaus Hilling, Die römische Rota und das Bistum Hildesheim am Ausgange des Mittelalters (1464-1513). Hildesheimische Prozeßakten aus dem Archiv der Rota zu Rom, Reformationsgeschichtliche Studien und Texte, 6 (Münster: Aschendorff, 1908). Hermann Hoberg, ‘Die Protokollbücher der Rotanotare von 1464 bis 1517’, Zeitschrift der SavignyStiftung für Rechtsgeschichte. Kanonistische Abteilung, 39 (1953), 177-227. Hermann Hoberg, ‘Register von Rotaprozessen des 14. Jahrhunderts im Vatikanischen Ar­chiv’, Römische Quartalschrift für christliche Altertumskunde und Kirchengeschichte, 51 (1956), 54-69. Hermann Hoberg, Inventario dell’Archivio della Sacra Romana Rota (sec. XIV-XIX), a cura di Josef Metzler, Collectanea Archivi Vaticani, 34 (Vatican City: Archivio Segreto Vaticano, 1994). Walter v. Hofmann, Forschungen zur Geschichte der kurialen Behörden vom Schisma bis zur Reformation, 1-2, Bibliothek des Königlich Preussischen Historischen Instituts in Rom, 12-13 (Rome: Loescher, 1914). Per Ingesman, ‘Danske processer for den romerske Rota. Omkring et fund i Vatikanarkivet’, Arkiv. Tidsskrift for arkivforskning, 12:3 (1989), 170-82. Per Ingesman, ‘Den danske konges repræsentanter ved renæssancepavernes hof’, in Danmark og Europa i Senmiddelalderen, ed. by Per Ingesman and Bjørn Poulsen (Aarhus: Aarhus Universitetsforlag, 2000), pp. 160-82. Per Ingesman, Provisioner og processer. Den romerske Rota og dens behandling af danske sager i middelalderen (Aarhus: Aarhus Universitetsforlag, 2003). Per Ingesman, ‘Appointment of Papal Auditors in the Fifteenth Century’, in Omnia disce. Medieval Studies in Memory of Leonard Boyle, O.P., ed. by Anne J. Duggan, Joan Greatrex, and Brenda Bolton (Aldershot: Ashgate, 2005), pp. 79-88. Per Ingesman, ‘Border Warfare between King and Pope in Late Medieval Denmark: A Case Study of Royal Politics towards Ecclesiastical Benefices and Papal Provisions c.1350-1525’,

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in Denmark and Europe in the Middle Ages, c.1000-1525: Essays in Honour of Professor Michael H. Gelting, ed. by Kerstin Hundahl, Lars Kjær, and Niels Lund (Farnham: Ashgate, 2014), pp. 215-34. Andreas Meyer, Felix et inclitus notarius. Studien zum italienischen Notariat vom 7. bis zum 13. Jahrhundert, Bibliothek des Deutschen Historischen Instituts in Rom, 92 (Tübingen: Niemeyer, 2000). Guillaume Mollat, ‘Contribution à l’histoire de l’administration judiciaire de l’église romaine au XIVe siècle’, Revue d’histoire ecclésiastique, 32 (1936), 877-928. Peter Partner, The Papal State under Martin V: The Administration and Government of the Temporal Power in the Early Fifteenth Century (London: British School at Rome, 1958). Kirsi Salonen, Papal Justice in the Late Middle Ages: The Sacra Romana Rota, Church, Faith and Culture in the Medieval West (London: Routledge, 2016). Andreas Sohn, Deutsche Prokuratoren an der römischen Kurie in der Frührenaissance (1431-1474), Norm und Struktur. Studien zum sozialen Wandel in Mittelalter und früher Neuzeit, 8 (Vienna: Böhlau, 1997). Achim Steins, ‘Der ordentliche Zivilprozeß nach den Off izialatsstatuten. Ein Beitrag zur Geschichte des gelehrten Prozesses in Deutschland im Spätmittelalter’, Zeitschrift der Savigny-Stiftung für Rechtsgeschichte. Kanonistische Abteilung, 59 (1973), 191-262. Vatican Archives: An Inventory and Guide to Historical Documents of the Holy See, ed. by Francis X. Blouin, Jr. (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1998).

II Saints and Miracles



The Power of the Saints and the Authority of the Popes The History of Sainthood and Late Medieval Canonization Processes1 Gábor Klaniczay

Thinking of the power of the saints, let me first recall the final chapter, entitled Potentia, of Peter Brown’s magnificent book on the cult of the saints, written in 1981.2 After reviewing how the praesentia of the saints in their relics allowed the emergence of a new type of episcopal power which claimed to be the visible representative of these invisible patrons, thus providing a redefinition of late Roman patron-client relations and the boundaries of the civic community, Peter Brown concludes with observations on the nature of the power of the saints. The quintessence of this power, he states, is to be found in the ‘noisy and frightening experience of healing’ at their shrines, where their ‘clean power’ triumphs over demons, magicians, illness, and death. They act, according to the expression of Gregory of Tours, as ‘the healing right hand of the divine power’ (medicabilis divinae potentiae dextera).3 On closer examination, the exorcism of the possessed stands out as the most paradigmatic of this power. The potentia of the saint confronts the unclean power of the demon, who is submitted to an interrogation with ‘heavy judicial overtones’. In this spectacular drama of healing, after being constrained to reveal his true identity, the demon is forced to recognize the saint’s superior potentia and leave the convulsing body of the possessed, who is thus reintegrated into the human community. Such a delivery from possession may be performed by a living ‘holy man’, 4 but the possessed can 1 This is the updated text of my unpublished plenary lecture at the International Medieval Congress, Leeds, delivered in 2004. Christian Krötzl was there, I remember. When I heard him, ten years later, in September 2014, lecture on a similar subject at the 4th Hagiotheca Conference in Zadar, I thought that in the name of our continuing mutual interest in this subject, I would offer this study for his anniversary Festschrift. I thank Judith Rasson for reviewing the English of this chapter. 2 Brown, The Cult of Saints, pp. 106-27 3 Brown, The Cult of Saints, p. 107. 4 Brown, ‘The Rise and Function of the Holy Man in Late Antiquity’, pp. 103-52.

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also be healed in a similar manner near a shrine where a martyr-saint is claimed to be present. This second case allows further insight. The martyr was originally the victim of an unclean power, and by virtue of his passio he now becomes a judge invested with divine power. An oppressive judicial mechanism is thus transmuted into its reverse: In the exorcism of the possessed the demons will be tortured, forced to confess and repent, and the domination of divine power will be secured. And the power of the saints not only stands against that of the demons, but also corrects the evils of unjust secular power. It frees the prisoners and the condemned and prevents further persecution of the just. The second principal aspect of the healing power of the saint is to be perceived in relation to the religious rivals of Christendom. The miracles proved the superiority of his potentia over that of the representatives of paganism – shrines, magicians, natural cult sites such as holy trees or springs – and thus convince their clients to convert to Christianity. This triumph of the reverentia paid to the saints had far-reaching consequences in man’s relation to the natural world. One witnesses the imposition of human administrative structures and an ideal potentia linked to invisible human beings and to their visible human representatives, the bishops of the towns, at the expense of traditions that seemed to be part of the structure of the landscape itself. A power operating through ‘quintessentially human relationships’ of friendship and intercession, patronage and dependence, imposing new rhythms of work and leisure according to ‘purely human time’, structured by the feasts of the saints, replaced a preceding set of religious certainties based on cosmic and natural determinations. The allpervasive praesentia of the saints, concludes Peter Brown, led to a gradual ‘humanization’ of the natural world. A third characteristic feature to be emphasized among the consequences of the miracle-working and healing power of the saints is the vertical model of dependence it establishes. The beneficiaries of the healing miracles frequently change their social status and come to be part of the familia of the saint, either at the shrine or at the estate related to it. The saint becomes a caring patron, heir to the ‘invisible companion’ figure (daimon, genius) of the pagans, and source for a new Christian identity conferred by baptism. The network of individual and personal dependences develops into a wider ecclesiastical and secular system of patronage. The praesentia and potentia of the saints is soon used in the political domain; throughout the early Middle Ages saints were called to provide victory in battles, protection against enemies, power to abbeys, bishoprics, cities, royal dynasties, and well being to entire kingdoms.

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I suggest keeping in mind the ramifications and the structural peculiarities of this original late antique and early medieval model of the power of saints when turning to the evolution and the transformation of the cult of the saints occurring in the later Middle Ages, when the identification and confirmation of new saints came to be determined by an institutional control mechanism unknown to any other world religion, the canonization process. The establishment of this new procedure was related, in fact, to an emerging conflict of authority around the saints: the increasing ambition of the papacy to reserve the right to authorize the establishment of new cults. In previous centuries this right was in the hands of the bishops, who could decide about the elevatio and translatio of the relics of saint candidates on the basis of the vox populi, the first signa, the first miracles indicating their supernatural status, and institute a cult around them by having their legends written, inscribing their names into the local catalogue of saints, and celebrating their feasts in their dioceses throughout the liturgical year. This procedure was in perfect harmony with the original mechanisms of power, which came to be embodied in the cult of the saints. The invisible patron was represented and made accessible to his community by the bishop and the immediate local beneficiaries of this patrocinium took an active part in shaping and supporting the new cult. The eventual long-distance radiation of the cult depended on additional ecclesiastical relationships, the translation of relics, and the fame of becoming a successful pilgrimage site.5 All this was robustly questioned around 1171 in a famous letter by Pope Alexander III, addressed to a Swedish king whose name began with the letter ‘K’.6 After dealing with a number of other issues, the pope writes: ‘We have heard about something that made us greatly horrif ied (quiddam audiuimus quo magno nobis fuit horrori) […] lead astray in a diabolical way, some Swedes, inclined to paganism, have begun to venerate as a saint a certain man who was slain while he was drunk.’ After quoting the Apostle’s scriptures that ‘the drunk will not enter the Kingdom of Heavens’, he makes an important statement: ‘Even if many signs and miracles were to happen through him, it shall be forbidden to you to openly venerate him as a saint unless the Roman church has authorized

5 On the formation of this first phase of the cult of saints now see Bartlett, Why Can the Dead Do Such Great Things?, pp. 3-57. 6 Kuttner, ‘La réserve papale du droit de canonization’, pp. 172-228; Kemp, Canonization and Authority.

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it’ (non liceret vobis pro sancto absque auctoritate Romane ecclesie eum publice venerari).7 Even though the implementation of this demand still needed several more decades, Alexander III clearly states the emerging new principle; the authority of the pope is required to authenticate the power of the saints. In this chapter I propose three historical contexts for interpreting the late medieval interdependence and interaction of these two rather different types of religious power and authority. Let me enumerate them in a brief outline of my reasoning. First I will try to make sense of the hypothesis that Pope Alexander III may have voiced this challenging claim in connection with the emerging cult of a royal saint. According to some – although contested – interpretations, the person called drunkard here was none other than King Erik Jedwarsson, who died in 1160, and became the patron saint of Sweden.8 I will also consider the fact that this demand was made in connection with a remote country on the northernmost periphery of Latin Christendom. Secondly, while briefly describing the historical process of the establishment of the new canonization procedures, the chapter considers how the growing papal authority hurt itself in the field of canonization processes against the power of an emerging new type of saint, the ‘living saints’: Bernard of Clairvaux, Francis of Assisi, Elizabeth of Hungary, Catherine of Siena, and their followers. Special consideration is given to the unexpected new empowerment of female sante vive in the thirteenth and fourteenth centuries. Finally, the chapter provides a brief overview of how late medieval canonization processes contributed to remodelling the beliefs concerning the power of the saints or, better said, the complex power relations encapsulated in their cult. Since all of these topics are vast, I will have to remain on the level of broad generalities, hoping, however, that a longue durée consideration can bring some suggestions for further research.

7 Alexandri III papae epistolae et privilegia, PL 200, col. 1261; Kemp, ‘Pope Alexander III and the Canonization of the Saints’, pp. 13-28. 8 There are contradicting opinions about who the addressee and the ‘drunkard’ were in this papal invective. The candidates for the addressee are Knut Eriksson (1167-1196) or Kol, a prominent member of the rival Sverkerian dynasty recognized as king for a couple of years after 1167; the ‘drunkard’ might have been King Erik himself, killed by a rival claimant in c. 1160, or King Sverker, killed in c. 1156, or his son, King Karl Sverkersson, killed in 1167. Cf. Tunberg, ‘Erik den helige, Sveriges helgonkonung’; Hoffmann, Die heiligen Könige, pp. 277-324; Harrison, ‘Quod magno nobis fuit horrori’, pp. 39-52.

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Royal Sainthood and Canonization Processes The central idea in my studies related to this medieval and Christian version of ‘sacral kingship’9 is the following: the canonization of earthly rulers was an anomaly, or rather an abuse, of the ‘original’ model of sainthood that developed from the cult of the martyrs who, among others, refused to honour the statutes of the divinized Roman emperor and bravely confronted all kinds of representatives of earthly power. The glory of sainthood was not destined for rulers, however virtuous a few of them may have been, for their duties included being victorious in bloody battles, pronouncing death sentences to punish the guilty, and upholding their dynasties by generating heirs, if necessary by ending sterile marriages. How then can one explain how, despite all this, royal sainthood (as studied by Robert Folz10 and many others) became a distinct and popular medieval type of sanctity? In the emerging medieval saint cults around royal figures, many historians saw a survival and a metamorphosis of pagan (Germanic, Nordic, Anglo-Saxon, and Turkic) concepts of sacral kingship. In my book I agreed instead with the important observations of the Czech, František Graus,11 who denied that there was continuity with this pagan ‘charismatic’ kingship and argued that the Merovingian and early Anglo-Saxon royal saints became saints rather despite their royal rank (for abdicating, being weak, insignificant rulers), and not because of it. It took several centuries until ecclesiastical hostility could be overcome in this domain. Royal sainthood was first accepted in mitigated forms, first by the sainthood of queens (Pulcheria, Clotilde, Radegund, Bathilde, and Aetheltryth) who complemented the crude power of the kings by showing a gentle, merciful, religious face of power;12 and then by the sainthood of martyr rulers, like Saints Oswald, Edmund, Edward, Venceslas, and Olaf, who could be likened to Christ in their passiones.13 A third type of indication that the full-fledged image of royal saints could only triumph gradually can be detected in the fact that even these mitigated cults of royal martyr saints were emerging on the peripheries of medieval Christendom, among recently converted peoples, first among 9 Klaniczay, Holy Rulers and Blessed Princesses. 10 Folz, Les saints rois du Moyen Âge en Occident. 11 Graus, Volk, Herrscher und Heiliger. 12 Folz, Les saintes reines du Moyen Âge en Occident; Klaniczay, ‘Pouvoir et idéologie dans l’hagiographie’, pp. 423-46. 13 Rollason, ‘The Cult of Murdered Kings and Princes’, pp. 11-22; Hoffmann, Die heiligen Könige; Antonsson, St. Magnús of Orkney.

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the seventh- and eighth-century Anglo-Saxons, then among the tenth- and eleventh-century Czechs, Norwegians, Russians, and Hungarians. In these areas, there may have been less tradition-based resistance against this anomaly.14 Saint Stephen of Hungary, canonized in 1083, is the first royal saint to be elevated to this glory without having died a martyr’s death, purely by virtue of his strong-handed apostolic work of converting the Hungarians and being their rex iustus.15 What counted earlier as a handicap on the road to sanctity, and justified cruelty against the enemies of faith, now became a virtue. When the power originating from the sainthood of a predecessor started to be considered an additional element among other sacral attributes of royal power, much of the sophisticated symbolic construct developed by Peter Brown loses its significance. A quotation from the late eleventh-century Legenda minor of Saint Stephen says: The king spoke to them, saying: ‘Why did you transgress the law ordained by God? Why did you punish the innocent and know no mercy? […] As you have done, so shall the Lord do unto you through my person.’ Having received their sentence, they were led away, and perished, hanged two by two along the roads of every province of the country. Thus it was that he wanted to make people understand that the same would be done to whoever did not abide by the just law promulgated by God. The people of the earth heard the judgement that the king had passed, and were filled with fear.16

14 This observation was first made in 1969 by the Pole, Karol Górski, ‘Le roi saint’, pp. 370-76. I also argue for it in my book, Holy Rulers, pp. 99-113. Although the use of the notion of ‘periphery’ has been put in doubt in various forms in past decades, I believe it is still relevant for describing the position of eastern Central Europe and Scandinavia from the point of view of the conversion process and Latin Christianity. Christianization and the Rise of Christian Monarchy, ed. by Berend; Klaniczay, ‘Conclusion: North and East European Cults of Saints’, pp. 283-304. 15 Klaniczay, ‘Rex iustus. The Saintly Institutor of Christian Kingship’, pp. 14-31; on Saint Stephen now see Zsoldos, The Legacy of Saint Stephen; de Cevins, Saint Étienne de Hongrie. 16 ‘Rex […] inquit, legem preceptorum dei transgredientes non intellexistis misericordiam et viros innocentie condempnastis? Non enim auditores legis sed transgressores feriendi sunt. Sicut fecistis, ita faciet dominus hodie vobis coram me. Accepta sententia educti sunt et per omnem regionem in ingressu viarum duo et duo suspendio perierunt. Per hoc denique volens intelligi, ut quicunque non acquiesceret iudicio iustitie, quod a domino proposuerat, sic fieret illi. Audierunt habitatores terre iudicium, quod iudicasset rex et timuerunt’, Legendae Sancti Stephani, pp. 398-99.

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This fear-inspiring turning point in the medieval evolution of royal and dynastic sainthood, this relentless claim of royalty and empire for the power of sacrality, is not independent from contemporary debates between the Holy Roman Empire and the papacy and the new religious glory opening to secular rulers with the crusades. In the twelfth century the archetypal image of victorious sacred rulers such as Alexander the Great, King Arthur, and Charlemagne was not only celebrated in chansons de geste but also in legends of early medieval royal saints remodelled to chivalrous milites Christi. A case in point is Saint Oswald, styled as athleta Christi invictissimus by Reginald of Coldingham in his legend written in 1165.17 All this is complemented by the emerging cults of a series of new royal saints, the Danish Saint Canute, Emperor Henry II, Edward the Confessor, and Saint Ladislas, the Hungarian Athleta Patriae. The most conspicuous act in this self-assertion of belligerent royal saints was of course the canonization of Charlemagne in the year 1165. Frederick I Barbarossa and Rainald of Dassel, his influential chancellor, paved the way for this event by probably arranging for the theft from Milan of what were alleged to be the relics of the Three Magi, called ‘three kings’ in German (die heilige Dreikönige) in 1164.18 Solemnly translated to Cologne, the relics were meant to support the revived notion of sacral kingship, or rather, the Sacrum Imperium19 concept, with the requisite symbolic underpinning. Antipope Paschal III celebrated the elevation of Charlemagne’s relics.20 Two sentences from his twelfth-century legend are an apt comment: He patently declared that he would never turn back his bow; his shield would never shy away from battle, nor would he let down his spear. With utmost vigilance and sublime devotion to God, he would brave every danger to spread the name of the holy faith and to defeat the enemies of God’s holy Church, for Christ’s name.21

17 Cf. Klaniczay, Holy Rulers, pp. 168-69. 18 Trexler, The Journey of the Magi, pp. 78-79. 19 Dempf, Sacrum Imperium. 20 Folz, Le souvenir et la légende de Charlemagne; Petersohn, ‘Die päpstliche Kanonisationsdelegation des 11. und 12. Jahrhunderts’, pp. 163-206. 21 ‘patenter declaratur, qualiter sagitta eius nunquam retorsum abierit, nec declinavit clipeus eius a bello et hasta non sit aversa, cum tamen ipsius vigilantissima et deo devota sublimita pro Christi nomine nullum subterfugerit periculum vel sancte fidei nomen propagare, vel hostes sancte dei ecclesie expugnare’, Rauschen, Die Legende Karls der Grossen, p. 67.

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The notorious letter of Pope Alexander III, which was integrated into the Decretal of Pope Gregory IX under the title Audivimus in the 1230s, as the foundational statement of the papal monopoly on canonizations,22 was written to K., King of Sweden, a few years after the institution of the cult of Charlemagne and during the formation of yet another new royal cult, that of Saint Erik, King of Sweden, who had shown his chivalric mettle in the war against the Finns, referred to as ‘enemies of the faith’.23 What is relevant here is to observe that the papal initiative to elaborate a new regulation in the field of canonization was formulated in connection with a distant country probably of remote significance for the pope, but important as a territory where a new scheme of papal authority could be imposed without the same resistance it would meet in the Empire, France, or England. Similar papal ‘investments’ were made in these same years in other ‘peripheries’ of medieval Christendom, such as Denmark, Poland, or Hungary. Looking just at the problem of royal canonizations, this pontifical attentiveness is reflected in the probable papal assistance in the canonizations of the Danish King Canute IV (1100) and Prince Canute Lavard (1147).24 This could explain the emergence of the unfounded claim, voiced in the third Saint Stephen’s legend by Bishop Hartvic, written after 1100, that the 1083 Hungarian canonizations would have been initiated by a pontifical mandate and assisted by a papal legate.25 There was indeed a papal legate at the canonization of King Ladislas I of Hungary in 1192,26 some years before this became the exclusive rule during the pontificate of Innocent III. The subsequent late medieval evolution of royal sainthood confirms the observation that one of the targets of the papal reservation of the right to canonization was precisely to get rid of this anomaly. The thirteenth century saw the end of the twelfth-century sanctification of kings and emperors. The role of providing the halo of sainthood to royal and princely dynasties was secured again by saintly queens and princesses from Blanche of Castile to Hedwig of Silesia, Elizabeth of Thuringia, Agnes of Bohemia, and Margaret

22 Cf. notes 8-10. 23 On his cult see Nyberg, ‘Eskil av Lund och Erik den helige’, pp. 5-22; Oertel, ‘Heiliger Vorfahr und rex perpetuus?’, pp. 87-111. 24 Cf. Hoffmann, Die heiligen Könige, pp. 127-75. 25 Thoroczkay, ‘Anmerkungen zur Frage der Entstehungszeit der Hartvik-Legende’, pp. 107-31; Klaniczay, Holy Rulers, pp. 123-31. 26 Klaniczay, Holy Rulers, pp. 173-94.

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of Hungary.27 The attempts to initiate a cult around Philip Augustus II were doomed to failure.28 The only major exception to this new trend, the canonization of Saint Louis King of France (so magnificently analysed by Jacques Le Goff29) could be explained by the fact that he was perhaps the most pious of all the saintly rulers. He reigned under the influence of his deeply religious mother and his mendicant confessors, reforming his country according to the new principles expounded by the mendicant writers of mirrors of princes, and went twice on crusade, dying in the second. Even with all these merits it took sixteen years to carry his canonization process to a successful conclusion in 1297, and even then this was due more to a political deal between Pope Boniface VIII and King Philip the Fair, than to the indubitable merits of his sainthood.30 The Angevin prince Saint Louis of Toulouse reverted to the early medieval type of royal person recognized as saint because he abdicated from his royal rank to lead a religious life.31 Finally, the other late medieval attempts to initiate the canonization of a royal or princely saint, those of Leopold III of Babenberg,32 Charles of Blois,33 Peter of Luxemburg, and King Henry VI34 achieved success (if at all) only in the late fifteenth century or early modern times.

Papal Authority and the Power of Mendicant Living Saints The second question I will examine in this chapter is to what extent the evolution of canonization processes, and the increasingly conclusive formulations on papal authority, were determined by the new type of power represented by the mendicant living saints. Analyses of the papal centralization of canonization procedures achieved by the beginning of the thirteenth century have been conducted by André 27 For the discussion of this transformation see Klaniczay, ‘Pouvoir et idéologie’, pp. 434-46. 28 Baldwin, The Government of Philip Augustus, pp. 389-93. 29 Le Goff, Saint Louis. 30 Gaposchkin, The Making of Saint Louis; Gaposchkin, Blessed Louis, the Most Glorious of Kings. 31 Cf. Pásztor, Per la storia di san Ludovico d’Angiò; Gaglione, ‘Il San Ludovico di Simone Martini’, pp. 9-125. 32 Röhrig, Leopold III. der Heilige. Markgraf von Österreich; Wetzstein, Heilige vor Gericht, pp. 525-26; Finucane, Contested Canonizations, pp. 71-116. 33 Vauchez, ‘Canonization et politique au XIVe siècle’, pp. 381-404. 34 The Miracles of King Henry VI, ed. by Knox and Shane.

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Vauchez,35 Michael Goodich,36 Christian Krötzl,37 the conference at the Collegium Budapest in 2001,38 Thomas Wetzstein,39 Otfried Krafft, 40 and Roberto Paciocco. 41 As they have shown, this was the outcome of a gradual evolution. The popes’ reservation of the right to canonize saints was prepared for by their continued interventions in canonization matters from the end of the tenth century, sometimes acting personally in these matters, at other times ‘delegating’ their canonizing right to locals (which amounts to claiming it in principle). 42 In the process of a systematic broadening and restructuring of papal authority, relying upon the thorough work of Gratian and Decretists such as Huguccio or Johannes Teutonicus, Innocent III was the pope who defined, in the canonization bulls of Saint Homobonus of Cremona (canonized 1199) and Saint Cunegond (canonized 1200), that ‘this sublime judgement pertains to that person, who is the successor of the Blessed Peter’ (hoc sublime iudicium ad eum tantum pertineat, qui est beati Petri successor et vicarius Jesu Christi). 43 All this was confirmed at the Fourth Lateran Council, where Canon 62 ruled that no newly discovered relic can be venerated publicly without previous approval by the authority of the pope (nisi prius auctoritate Romani pontificis fuerint approbate).44 The prescribed course of the canonization process was refined in the course of numerous canonization investigations during the pontificate of Innocent III (six processes), Honorius III (nine processes), Gregory IX (fourteen processes), and Innocent IV (ten processes), all of whom kept intervening in the processes, dissatisfied with the accuracy of local investigators. The 1234 Decretal collection compiled by Gregory IX contains the decisive regulation in its chapter De reliquiis et veneratione sanctorum. The famous Audivimus passage, extracted from the letter of Alexander III to the Swedish 35 Vauchez, La sainteté en Occident. 36 Goodich, Vita Perfecta: The Ideal of Sainthood in the Thirteenth Century; Goodich, Miracles and Wonders. 37 Krötzl, Pilger, Mirakel und Alltag; Krötzl, ‘Vulgariter sibi exposito. Zu Übersetzung und Sprachbeherrschung im Spätmittelalter’, pp. 111-18; Krötzl, ‘Prokuratoren, Notare und Dolmetscher’, pp. 119-40. 38 Procès de canonization, ed. by Klaniczay. 39 Wetzstein, Heilige vor Gericht. 40 Krafft, Papsturkunde und Heiligsprechung. 41 Paciocco, Canonizzazioni e culto dei santi. 42 Petersohn, ‘Die päpstliche Kanonisationsdelegation’; Head, ‘The Genesis of the Ordeal of Relics by Fire’, pp. 19-31. 43 Kuttner, ‘La réserve papale’, p. 208; cf. Vauchez, ‘Saint Homebon (†1197), patron des marchands et artisans’, pp. 43-56. 44 Kuttner, ‘La réserve papale’, p. 209.

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king, became the foundation stone of the new doctrine. 45 The detailed rules for the investigations into the sanctity of the recognized candidates were based on experience emerging from the recent canonization processes. Briefly, the procedures started with an official request accompanied by the description of the vita and the miracula (based on the emerging local fama sanctitatis and eventually a first rudimentary investigation by local ecclesiastical authorities). Then a committee, usually consisting of three papal legates (possibly one of them a bishop), was nominated. They were asked to make an inquisitio in partibus at the places where the saint was active and hear the testimony de vita et miraculis. Later, in the fourteenth century, de revelationibus were also included. A famous letter written by Gregory IX to Conrad of Marburg, confessor of Saint Elizabeth and the principal driving force in her canonization investigation (which started in 1232), defines the regulations. The investigators were to question the testes legitimi about their statements on miracles: How did the witness come to the information? When (which month and day, and at what hour), where exactly, in whose presence did the miracle happen, and with what invocation? Legates were also advised to gather independent information on the length and seriousness of the illness in question and the persistence of the miraculous cure. Notaries and, if necessary, interpreters had to record the witnesses’ words as faithfully as possible in the order they were presented. This would then subsequently be further examined in the papal curia, criticized, analysed, and, if accepted, could lead to canonization. The procedures were further refined in the times of Innocent IV, who introduced the principle of putting the questions according to a specific series of previously established articuli interrogatorii based on preliminary information from the first-hand accounts and miracle lists contained in the petition. The testimonies also bore evident traces of learned hagiographic concepts and the frequent changes in canonization criteria at the papal court. An impressive mechanism, indeed, to reach a discreet judgement in the name of the authority of the pope. It might be surprising that Gregory IX, the very pope who contributed the most to the elaboration of these rules and initiated the most canonization processes in the whole Middle Ages (fourteen), started his canonizing activity by making a noteworthy exception from the emerging new rule. In 1228, the second year of his pontificate, after a very quick, almost hasty and rudimentary procedure and an exceptional personal participation in the investigation in Assisi, together with the whole 45 X 3.45.1; Vauchez, ‘Les origines et le développement du procès de canonization’, pp. 845-56.

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consistory of the cardinals, he declared the canonization of Saint Francis of Assisi with the following argument: ‘The holy life of this holy man […] does not require the evidence of the miracles for we have seen with our eyes and touched it with our hands, and tested with truth as our guide.’46 Personal relations explain this exception quite well; before being elected pope, Gregory IX (Ugolino d’Ostia) was the cardinal-protector of the new order of the Franciscans and undoubtedly he was one of Francis’ greatest admirers. Therefore the Pontiff was certainly in no need of other witnesses’ statements on the vita et conversatio of Francis. Yet, this neglect of proper procedure, especially the absence of any investigation into the miracles of Saint Francis (a few of which were recorded before the arrival of the Pope) has to be looked into in a more thorough manner because it is surrounded by a number of paradoxes (recently analysed by Roberto Paciocco). 47 The off icial standpoint, the signa of healing miracles, continued to be strictly required. Innocent III clearly stated this principle in the 1202 canonization process of Gilbert of Sempringham:48 merits without signs and signs without merits are not sufficient. It is well known, however, that Francis himself was rather sceptical of these traditional indices of sainthood; he must have deemed them superfluous and vain: he strongly deplored the miracles occurring at the tomb of one of his first companions. 49 Did Gregory implicitly accept this opinion? The paradox continues; although not required during the precipitated canonization, and probably considered superfluous by the true disciples of Francis, who were content to see in their stigmatized saint an alter Christus, the cult of Saint Francis did not fail to produce these signa. Besides some spectacular new-style miracles, like the sermon to the birds, the taming of the wolf of Gubbio, and several exorcisms – following the tradition of late antique holy men, reinvigorated by the first great ‘living saint’ of the twelfth century, Bernard of Clairvaux50– a torrent of traditional healing miracles continued to occur at the grave of Saint Francis. They were duly recorded and later reported in the Tractatus de miraculis by Tommaso da Celano.51 46 Tommaso da Celano, Vita Prima, III, 124; English translation in Francis of Assisi: Early Documents, p. 293. 47 Paciocco, Sublimia negotia, pp. 95-118. 48 ‘Non enim a merita sine miraculis aut miracula sine meritis plene sufficiunt ad perhibendum inter homines testimonium sanctitatis.’ The Book of St. Gilbert, ed. by Foreville and Keir, p. 246. 49 Vauchez, La sainteté en Occident, p. 115. 50 Chave-Mahir, L’exorcisme des possédés, pp. 210-22, 260-79. 51 Tommaso da Celano, Tractatus de miraculis, English translation in Francis of Assisi: Early Documents, pp. 397-468.

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Finally, to add yet another twist to this paradox, the most distinctive sign of the election of Saint Francis, the reception of the stigmata on Mount La Verna, this ‘new and unheard-of signum except for the ones in the Son of God, Christus Deus’ (as described by Elias),52 perhaps precisely because of its novelty and uniqueness, remained challenged, was not included in the canonization bull, and had to be further defended by facts, proofs, visions, and interpretations. Pope Gregory IX himself only took a positive stand on it in 1237, referring to a recent confirming dream-vision of his own.53 The sanctity of Saint Francis of Assisi certainly stood out, but so did that of other saints of this new type. Although the canonization of Saint Anthony of Padua (1232)54 and Saint Dominic were supported by carefully prepared and argued canonization investigations (however much Gregory IX knew them personally as well), the initiation of the procedure of the latter was obtained, not by humble petitions to the papacy, but by the mass explosion of the religious movement known as ‘Alleluia’ in 1233, headed by the friar John of Vicenza, demanding the sanctification of Dominic in the name of that movement.55 A similar tumultuous scene followed the translation of the earthly remains of Umiliana dei Cerchi, an early representative of the Franciscan Third Order, to Santa Croce after her death in 1246: her body was virtually ripped to pieces.56 There was no immediate official initiative to start a canonization trial for her, nor for other female penitents affiliated with the Franciscans, such as Rose of Viterbo, Margaret of Cortona, and Angela of Foligno. Nevertheless, the Minor Brethren kept popularizing the sanctity of all of their followers, like Thomas of Pavia in his Dialogus de gestis sanctorum fratrum minorum (1244-1246).57 This statement was not unrelated to the emerging popularity of Joachimite prophecies. Similar things could be said about the Dominicans who, besides carrying to success the canonization of Peter Martyr (1253),58 publicized ample collections of

52 Analecta Franciscana 10, pp. 526-27. 53 André Vauchez, ‘Les stigmates de Saint François et leurs détracteurs’, pp. 595-625; Schmucki, The Stigmata of St. Francis of Assisi, pp. 273-77; Frugoni, Francesco e l’invenzione delle stimmate. 54 Paciocco, Sublimia negotia, pp. 156-62. 55 Thompson, Revival Preachers and Politics in Thirteenth-century Italy, pp. 52-62; Canetti, L’invenzione della memoria, pp. 21-154. 56 Benvenuti Papi, “In castro poenitentiae”: Santità e società femminile, pp. 76-88. 57 Paciocco, Da Francesco ai “Catalogi sanctorum”; Dialogus de Gestis Sanctorum Fratrum Minorum. 58 Prudlo, The Martyred Inquisitor.

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their saintly followers, like Vitae Fratrum by Gerard Fraschet (c. 1260),59 and Bonum universale de apibus by Thomas of Cantimpré (1257-1263).60 The mendicant living sainthood continued to be an explosive and increasingly caution-inspiring factor of late medieval religious life. The papacy, as André Vauchez observed, after an initial receptiveness was more and more restrictive in the canonizations from the second half of the thirteenth century. It instituted an increasing distance between ‘official’ sainthood and ‘local’ sainthood.61 The mendicant orders and the saintly laypersons loosely attached to them regained the urban ground of the cult of the saints in Italy with a series of living saints more impressive than ever before, a phenomenon analysed by Aviad Kleinberg,62 Michael Goodich,63 Jacques Dalarun,64 and Gabriella Zarri.65 Nearly every city had a living saint within its walls66 and the new, community-bound role of these mendicant saints is well exemplified by the fact that they all bear the name of their city. While these new types of living saints did not necessarily require the authentication of the papacy, their local cults followed the traditional paradigm of miracle-working saintly power, supported in equal measure by the local community and the mendicants – and sometimes in rivalry, as shown, for example, by the study of André Vauchez and Joanna Cannon on the conflict over the patronage of the cult of Margaret of Cortona.67 A digression is useful here to consider the fact that this mendicant and partly lay sainthood was also, to a very large measure, a female sainthood, discussed at length by scholars like Caroline Walker Bynum,68 Barbara Newman,69 Nancy Caciola,70 and Dyan Elliott71 during the past decades. With a remarkable twist of argument, women, the weaker vessel, previously considered to be less able to reach religious perfection and convey intimate divine messages, were now regarded as privileged mediators precisely because of their weaker position in society. As already mentioned, under 59 Boureau, ‘Vitae fratrum, Vitae patrum’, pp. 439-91. 60 Thomas de Cantimpré, Les exemples du “Livre des abeilles”. 61 Vauchez, La sainteté en Occident, pp. 163-489. 62 Kleinberg, Prophets in Their Own Country. 63 Goodich, Violence and Miracle in the Fourteenth Century. 64 Dalarun, Claire de Rimini: Entre sainteté et hérésie. 65 Zarri, Le sante vive. 66 Una santa, una città, ed. by Casagrande and Menestó. 67 Cannon and Vauchez, Margherita of Cortona and the Lorenzetti. 68 Walker Bynum, Holy Feast and Holy Fast; Walker Bynum, Fragmentation and Redemption. 69 Newman, From Virile Woman to WomanChrist; Newman, Gods and Goddesses. 70 Caciola, Discerning Spirits. 71 Elliott, Proving Women; Elliott, The Bride of Christ Goes to Hell.

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the spiritual direction of their mendicant confessors, pious princesses – Elizabeth of Thuringia, Hedwig of Silesia, Agnes of Bohemia, Margaret of Hungary, Isabelle of France, Elizabeth of Portugal – made heavenly courts and new-style power centres of their hospitals and convents in Central Europe, France, and Spain.72 In a similar manner, the circle of devout disciples surrounding the female mystic, the dolce mamma in the Italian cities, listening to her revelations and prophecies, became a new centre of power, soon interfering in theological debates, political and ecclesiastical affairs, and illustrating in a conspicuous manner the religious power of the weak. This mystical-prophetical sainthood related to the institutional authority of the papacy is exemplified by the conflicts around the lives and the canonizations of two of the greatest female visionaries of the fourteenth century: Saint Birgitta of Sweden73 and Saint Catherine of Siena,74 two living saints who used their charismatic power to intervene in politics at the highest level and put pressure on the pope to return to Rome.75 All this provides some explanation as to why Birgitta’s sanctity stirred such a debate after her death. After three popes (Gregory XI, Urban VI, and Boniface IX) had declared her revelations orthodox, they became the object of a lengthy discussion at the Council of Constance (1414-1418); Jean Gerson had to take a stand on them, then two popes (John XXIII, 1415 and Martin V, 1419) declared them to be canonic, but the debates surfaced again at the Council of Basel (1431-1443). A commission headed by Cardinal Juan de Torquemada had to clear Birgitta of the charge of having made 123 statements of a heretical nature. The sainthood and the revelations of Catherine of Siena, a Dominican tertiary, were less problematic, but her case was complicated by the claim of her having been stigmatized like Saint Francis. Her canonization thus met unexpected obstacles, and her discepolo prediletto, Stefano Maconi, and her compatriot Tommaso ‘Caffarini’, only managed to organize an episcopal investigation (Processo castellano).76 It was only the patriotism 72 Cf. Klaniczay, ‘Pouvoir et idéologie’, pp. 434-46. See also Field, Isabelle of France: Capetian Sanctity and Franciscan Identity; Klaniczay, ‘Elisabeth von Thüringen und Ungarn. Zur “Europäisierung” des Elisabeth-Kultes’, pp. 167-76. 73 Jelsma, ‘The Appreciation of Bridget of Sweden’, pp. 163-76. 74 Virgo digna coelo – Caterina e la sua eredità, ed. by Cinelli, Piatto, and Bartolomei-Romagnoli. 75 Dinzelbacher, ‘Das politische Wirken der Mystikerinnen’, pp. 265-302; Blumenfeld-Kosinski, Poets, Saints, and Visionaries, pp. 31-96. 76 Il processo castellano, ed. by Laurenti; Thomas Antonii de Senis ‘Caffarini’, Libellus de supplemento legende; Ferzoco, ‘The Processo Castellano and the canonization of Catherine of Siena’, pp. 185-203.

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of the Sienese pope, Pius II, which subdued the adversities concerning her canonization in 1461. Once again, as had happened in the case of Saint Francis, the bureaucratic procedures of proper canonization processes were disregarded.77 However difficult these late medieval mendicant canonizations were rendered by the inertia of papal bureaucracy, some spectacular new affirmations of the power of sainthood in this period do exist, related to the achievements of the Franciscan and Dominican Observants. Besides the cases of Saint Catherine and the Clarisse Colette of Corbie,78 their influential new living saints were again male saints, and above all influential preachers. They gave new vigour to this cult form, a kind of prelude to what came after Trient in early modern times: Bernardino of Siena (canonized in 1450), Vincent of Ferrer (canonized in 1455), and John of Capestrano (who died in 1456, and was the object of a large-scale collection of miracles from 1458 in the southern Hungarian market-town Újlak (Ilok)). These fifteenth-century canonization trials have recently become the object of closer scrutiny: Letizia Pellegrini has worked on Bernardino,79 Laura Ackerman Smoller on Vincent Ferrer,80 and Stanko Andrić on John of Capestrano.81 These thorough investigations show the canonization procedures in transition again, more or less beyond the reach of papal authority, but firmly in the grasp of the representatives of mendicant living sainthood. The way Capestran organized the canonization campaign for Bernardino, and his zeal working thousands of miracles with the relics of his master and companion in his hand, was barely distinguishable from the process in which he built his own image as an equally powerful living saint. In fact, these miracles by Bernardino were also inserted into one of the miracle-lists used for promoting John’s canonization. Late medieval canonization processes indeed contributed to remodelling beliefs concerning the power of the saints.

Canonization Processes and the Powers Invested in Sainthood Based on the impressive series of canonization documents studied and also analysed with refined statistical overviews, André Vauchez came to 77 Krafft, ‘Many Strategies and One Goal’, pp. 25-46. 78 Lopez, Culture et sainteté: Colette de Corbie. 79 Il Processo di canonizzazione di Bernardino da Siena, ed. by Pellegrini. 80 Ackerman Smoller, The Saint and the Chopped-Up Baby. 81 Andrić, The Miracles of St. John Capistran.

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the conclusion that papal authority taking command of the field of canonized sainthood developed towards an increasing refusal of local, popular initiatives for founding new saints’ cults after the initial receptivity of the first half of the thirteenth century. In the Middle Ages, only about half of the cases officially proposed were accepted as objects of such an investigation, and, subsequently, less than half of these investigations resulted in canonization. The 71 investigations ordered between 1198 and 1431 led to 35 canonizations.82 Meanwhile, as the mendicant orders demonstrate, ‘uncanonized’ sainthood did flourish all over Europe with a greater or lesser degree of local recognition. So did older cults, some of which maintained their immense popularity unchanged throughout the Middle Ages, such as those of Saint James, Saint Nicholas, and the major female saints from Antiquity: Saint Catherine of Alexandria, Saint Margaret of Antiochia, Saint Agnes, and Saint Barbara. The recognition of others increases with the inventions of new relics, such as those of Mary Magdalen in the time of Charles II of Anjou.83 The emergence of the immense series of new cults dedicated to the Virgin Mary84 and to the Eucharist85 must be added, both of which were exempt from the complicated authentication procedures prescribed by the papacy for new saints. Does all of this mean that the papal authority failed to achieve what it intended when it introduced canonization processes? Some historians, like Aviad Kleinberg, have come to this conclusion.86 Although the papacy’s ambition to attain all-pervasive authority in this field did indeed encounter many obstacles, in the end it did not leave the sphere of sainthood without impacts and changes. Studying the judicial procedures of the canonization trials in detail, one discovers a singular historical mechanism. The papal legates, examining the testimonies of those who came to be healed with the relics of would-be saints, were participating in a circular process. They took all legal precautions to find the ‘true testimony’ about the supernatural power of the saint, but never seemed to recognize that their presence was part of the reason people came with good expectations of being healed. The investigations themselves produced a more intensive dynamique miraculeuse (as Pierre-André Sigal87 says) than was usual at the shrines. The legates multiplied its effect by concentrating 82 Vauchez, La sainteté en Occident, pp. 71, 294-300. 83 Jansen, The Making of the Magdalen. 84 Rubin, Mother of God; Rubin, Emotion and Devotion. 85 Rubin, Corpus Christi. 86 Kleinberg, ‘Canonization Without a Canon’, pp. 7-18. 87 Sigal, L’homme et le miracle, pp. 165-226.

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it into a short time period when they were there, by ‘advertising’ the new shrine in closer or more remote regions, by giving the expected healing an immediate finality of ‘proving’ the sainthood of the new candidate. The joyful proclamations of healings were thus immediately accompanied by the solemn commentaries of preachers and eternalized by the diligent recording work of the investigators, interpreters, and scribes. The whole procedure, in fact, was largely responsible for producing the proofs it intended to discover. Seen from the point of view of the evolution of beliefs related to saints, one could say that the canonization procedures, instead of submitting this sphere to papal authority, at first constituted a true ‘popular referendum’ for what was considered to be the power of the saints: to characterize, describe, and authenticate them by the individual experience of countless witnesses. Instead of abolishing the old principle of vox populi, the canonization processes actually took this vox into a real consideration. This is also illustrated by the fact that these modern saints were indeed patronized by various social groups; besides the religious orders and the urban communities, many forces promoted these new cults, from family and neighbourhood ties to the realm of high politics. And the more the papacy imposed its rigid canonical authority to resist such pressures ‘from below’, the more intensive these pressures became. I mentioned the impact of popular explosions, such as the 1233 Alleluia, for achieving the opening of a new canonization procedure; soon kings started to compete with archbishops and the representatives of religious orders in selecting and promoting their own saints. As André Vauchez has demonstrated, canonizations ultimately became a highly political matter with only the most influential dynasties, those who were the closest to the papacy, such as the late thirteenth- and early fourteenth-century Angevins, able to get their protégés canonized. Even Saint Thomas Aquinas, the ultimate ‘official saint’, needed to have the patronage of the Angevins of Naples to succeed. Finally, however irregularly the grid of official investigating criteria affected the various spheres of Latin Christianity, where local sainthood developed according to local criteria and the needs of the local supporters, it did have various significant effects on the structure of miracle belief itself. Based on the recent historiographic attention dedicated to the massive and rich data provided by canonization processes88 and other unofficial miracle lists (thousands and thousands of miracle accounts), one sees a singular, 88 Not the least thanks to the research group around Christian Krötzl. See e.g. KatajalaPeltomaa, Gender, Miracles, and Daily Life.

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very important change from the thirteenth to the fifteenth century. At the beginning of the period, in the thirteenth century, ‘relic-miracles’ were in the majority, where the people had to be in the physical proximity of the relic to be healed: make a pilgrimage to its location, touch it, kiss it, sleep by it, and/or circumambulate it. Only a few, mostly those who were unable to reach the relic in time (for saving a drowned child or for being liberated from captivity) were healed in consequence of a mere vow, only making the pilgrimage later. Two centuries were enough to reverse this proportion completely. In fifteenth-century trials one finds from 80% to 90% of cases made up of distance miracles and only a few archaic relic miracles. I will not elaborate now on this point, to which Christian Krötzl drew the attention of researchers.89 Its far-reaching implications for the power of the saints are self-evident. This power, which used to be present principally in the relic, residing inside the institution and the community which hosted these relics, was treated in a more diffuse, universal manner, mediated by prayers, vows, and images towards the end of the Middle Ages. While the authority of the popes continued to decline, the power of the saints reached new heights before it collapsed with the Reformation.

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Florence Chave-Mahir, L’exorcisme des possédés dans l’Église d’Occident (Xe-XIVe siècle) (Turnhout: Brepols, 2011). Christianization and the Rise of Christian Monarchy: Scandinavia, Central Europe and Rus’ c. 900-1200, ed. by Nora Berend (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2007). Jacques Dalarun, Claire de Rimini: Entre sainteté et hérésie (Paris: Payot, 1999). Alois Dempf, Sacrum Imperium. Geschichts- und Staatsphilosophie des Mittelalters und der politischen Renaissance (Munich and Berlin: Oldenburg, 1929). Peter Dinzelbacher, ‘Das politische Wirken der Mystikerinnen in Kirche und Staat: Hildegard, Birgitta, Katharina’, in Religiöse Frauenbewegung und mystiche Frömmigkeit im Mittelalter, ed. by Peter Dinzelbacher and Dieter R. Bauer (Vienna: Böhlau, 1988), pp. 265-302. Dyan Elliott, Proving Women: Female Spirituality and Inquisitional Culture in the Later Middle Ages (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 2004). Dyan Elliott, The Bride of Christ Goes to Hell: Metaphor and Embodiment in the Lives of Pious Women, 200-1500 (Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 2011). George Ferzoco, ‘The Processo Castellano and the Canonization of Catherine of Siena’, in A Companion to Catherine of Siena, ed. by Carolyn Muessig, George Ferzoco, and Beverly Mayne Kienzle (Leiden: Brill, 2012), pp. 185-203. Sean L. Field, Isabelle of France: Capetian Sanctity and Franciscan Identity in the Thirteenth Century (Notre Dame, IN: University of Notre Dame Press, 2006). Ronald Finucane, Contested Canonizations: The Last Medieval Saints (Washington: Catholic University of America Press, 2011). Robert Folz, Le souvenir et la légende de Charlemagne dans l’Empire germanique médiéval (Paris: Belles Lettres, 1950) [Genève: Slatkine, 1973, repr.]. Robert Folz, Les saintes reines du Moyen Âge en Occident (VIe-XIIIe siècles), Subsidia Hagiographica, 76 (Brusselles: Société des Bollandistes, 1984). Robert Folz, Les saints rois du Moyen Âge en Occident (VI°-XIII° siècles), Subsidia Hagiographica, 68 (Brusselles: Société des Bollandistes, 1984). Chiara Frugoni, Francesco e l’invenzione delle stimmate. Una storia per parole e immagini fino a Bonaventura e Giotto (Turin: Einaudi, 1993). Mario Gaglione, ‘Il San Ludovico di Simone Martini, manifesto della santità regale angioina’, Rassegna storica salernitana, 58 (2012), 9-125. Cecilia M. Gaposchkin, The Making of Saint Louis (Ithaca: Cornell University Press, 2008). Cecilia M. Gaposchkin, Blessed Louis, the Most Glorious of Kings (Notre Dame, IN: University of Notre Dame Press, 2012). Michael Goodich, Vita Perfecta: The Ideal of Sainthood in the Thirteenth Century. Monographien zur Geschichte des Mittelalters, 25 (Stuttgart: Hiersemann, 1982). Michael Goodich, Violence and Miracle in the Fourteenth Century: Private Grief and Public Salvation (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1995). Michael Goodich, Miracles and Wonders: The Development of the Concept of Miracle, 1150-1350 (Aldershot: Ashgate, 2007). Karol Górski, ‘Le roi saint. Un problème d’idéologie féodale’, Annales E.S.C., 24 (1969), 370-76. František Graus, Volk, Herrscher und Heiliger im Reich der Merowinger. Studien zur Hagiographie der Merowingerzeit (Prague: Nakladatelstvi Ceskoslovenské akademie ved, 1965). Dick Harrison, ‘Quod magno nobis fuit horrori… Horror, power and holiness within the context of canonization’, in Procès de canonization au Moyen Âge: Aspects juridiques et religieux – Canonization Processes in the Middle Ages: Legal and Religious Aspects, ed. by Gábor Klaniczay, Collection de l’École française de Rome, 340 (Rome: École française de Rome, 2004), pp. 39-52.

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Thomas Head, ‘The Genesis of the Ordeal of Relics by Fire in Ottonian Germany: An Alternative Form of “Canonization”’, in Procès de canonization au Moyen Âge: Aspects juridiques et religieux – Canonization Processes in the Middle Ages: Legal and Religious Aspects, ed. by Gábor Klaniczay, Collection de l’École française de Rome, 340 (Rome: École française de Rome, 2004), pp. 19-31. Erich Hoffmann, Die heiligen Könige bei den Angelsachsen und den skandinavischen Völkern. Königssheiliger und Königshaus (Neumünster: Wachholtz, 1975). Katherine Ludwig Jansen, The Making of the Magdalen: Preaching and Popular Devotion in the Later Middle Ages (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 2000). Auke Jelsma, ‘The Appreciation of Bridget of Sweden (1303-1373) in the 15th Century’, in Women and Men in Spiritual Culture, XIV-XVII Centuries: A Meeting of South and North, ed. by Elisja Schulte van Kessel (The Hague: Netherland’s Government Publishing Office, 1986), pp. 163-76. Sari Katajala-Peltomaa, Gender, Miracles, and Daily Life: The Evidence of Fourteenth-Century Canonization Processes (Turnhout: Brepols, 2009). Eric Waldram Kemp, ‘Pope Alexander III and the Canonization of the Saints’, Transactions of the Royal Historical Society, 4th ser., 27 (1945), 13-28. Eric Waldram Kemp, Canonization and Authority in the Western Church (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1948). Gábor Klaniczay, ‘Rex iustus: The Saintly Institutor of Christian Kingship’, The Hungarian Quarterly, 41 (2000), 14-31. Gábor Klaniczay, Holy Rulers and Blessed Princesses: Dynastic Cults in Medieval Central Europe (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2002). Gábor Klaniczay, ‘Elisabeth von Thüringen und Ungarn. Zur ”Europäisierung” des ElisabethKultes’, in Elisabeth von Thüringen: Eine europäische Heilige, Katalog, ed. by Dieter Blume and Mathias Werner (Berlin: Michael Imhof Verlag, 2007), pp. 167-76. Gábor Klaniczay, ‘Conclusion: North and East European Cults of Saints in Comparison with EastCentral Europe’, in Saints and their Lives on the Periphery: Veneration of Saints in Scandinavia and Eastern Europe (c. 1000-1200), ed. by Haki A. Antonsson and Ildar Garipzanov (Turnhout: Brepols, 2010), pp. 283-304. Gábor Klaniczay, ‘Pouvoir et idéologie dans l’hagiographie des saintes reines et princesses’, in Hagiographie, idéologie et politique au Moyen Âge en Occident, ed. by Edina Bozoky, Hagiologia, 8 (Turnhout: Brepols, 2012), pp. 423-46. Aviad M. Kleinberg, Prophets in Their Own Country: Living Saints and the Making of Sainthood in the Later Middle Ages (Chicago: The University of Chicago Press, 1992). Aviad Kleinberg, ‘Canonization without a Canon’, in Procès de canonization au Moyen Âge: Aspects juridiques et religieux – Canonization Processes in the Middle Ages: Legal and Religious Aspects, ed. by Gábor Klaniczay, Collection de l’École française de Rome, 340 (Rome: École française de Rome, 2004), pp. 7-18. Otfried Krafft, Papsturkunde und Heiligsprechung, Die päpstlichen Kanonisationen vom Mittelalter bis zur Reformation. Ein Handbuch, Archiv für Diplomatik, Beiheft, 9 (Vienna: Böhlau, 2005). Otfried Krafft, ‘Many strategies and One Goal: The Diff icult Road to the Canonization of Catherine of Siena’, in Catherine of Siena, The Creation of a Cult, ed. by Jeffrey F. Hamburger and Gabriela Signori (Turnhout: Brepols, 2013), pp. 25-46. Christian Krötzl, Pilger, Mirakel und Alltag. Formen des Verhaltens in skandinavischen Mittelalter (12.-15. Jahrhundert), Studia Historica, 46 (Helsinki: Suomen Historiallinen Seura, 1994). Christian Krötzl, ‘Vulgariter sibi exposito. Zu Übersetzung und Sprachbeherrschung im Spätmittelalter am Beispiel von Kanonisationsprozessen’, Das Mittelalter, 2 (1997), 111-18.

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Christian Krötzl, ‘Prokuratoren, Notare und Dolmetscher. Zur Gestaltung und Ablauf der Zeugeneinvernahmen bei spätmittelalterlichen Kanonisationsprozessen’, Hagiographica, 5 (1998), pp. 119-40. Christian Krötzl, ‘Miracles au tombeau – miracles à distance. Approches typologiques’, in Miracle et karāma. Hagiograhies médiévales compares, ed. by Denise Aigle (Turnhout: Brepols, 2000), pp. 557-76. Stephan Kuttner, ‘La réserve papale du droit de canonization’, Revue Historique de Droit Français et Étranger, 4e série, 17 (1938), 172-228. Jacques Le Goff, Saint Louis (Paris: Gallimard, 1996). Elisabeth Lopez, Culture et sainteté: Colette de Corbie, 1381-1447 (Saint-Etienne: Publications de l’Université de Saint-Etienne, 1994). Barbara Newman, From Virile Woman to WomanChrist: Studies in Medieval Religion and Literature (Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 1995). Barbara Newman, Gods and Goddesses: Vision, Poetry and Belief in the Middle Ages (Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 2003). Tore Nyberg, ‘Eskil av Lund och Erik den helige’, in Historia och samhälle. Studier tillägnad Jerker Rosén, ed. by Anders Grönvall (Malmö: Studentlitteratur, 1975), pp. 5-22. Christian Oertel, ‘Heiliger Vorfahr und rex perpetuus? Quellenkritische Gedanken zum Kult des heiligen Erik im Schweden des späten zwölften und frühen 13. Jahrhunderts’, NORD­ EUROPAforum, 22 (2012), 87-111. Roberto Paciocco, Da Francesco ai “Catalogi sanctorum”: Livelli istituzionali e immagini agio­ grafiche nell’Ordine Francescano (secoli XIII-XIV) (Assisi: Edizioni Porziuncola, 1990). Roberto Paciocco, Sublimia negotia. Le canonizzazioni dei santi nella curia papale e il nuovo Ordine dei frati Minori (Padova: Centro Studi Antoniani 1996). Roberto Paciocco, Canonizzazioni e culto dei santi nella christianitas (1198-1302) (Assisi: Edizioni Porziuncola, 2006). Edith Pásztor, Per la storia di san Ludovico d’Angiò (1274-1297) (Rome: Istituto Storico Italiano per il Medio Evo, 1955). Jürgen Petersohn, ‘Die päpstliche Kanonisationsdelegation des 11. und 12. Jahrhunderts und die Heiligsprechung Karls des Großen’, in Proceedings of the Fourth International Congress of Medieval Canon Law. Toronto, 21-25 August 1972, ed. by Stephan Kuttner, Monumenta Iuris Canonici, Series C: Subsidia, 4 (Vatican City: Biblioteca Apostolica Vaticana, 1976), pp. 163-206. Procès de canonization au Moyen Âge: Aspects juridiques et religieux – Canonization Processes in the Middle Ages: Legal and Religious Aspects, ed. by Gábor Klaniczay, Collection de l’École française de Rome, 340 (Rome: École française de Rome, 2004). Donald Prudlo, The Martyred Inquisitor: The Life and Cult of Peter of Verona (Aldershot: Ashgate, 2008). Floridus Röhrig, Leopold III. der Heilige. Markgraf von Österreich (Vienna: Herold, 1984). David W. Rollason, ‘The Cult of Murdered Kings and Princes in Anglo-Saxon England’, AngloSaxon England, 11 (1983), 11-22. Miri Rubin, Corpus Christi: The Eucharist in Late Medieval Culture (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1991). Miri Rubin, Emotion and Devotion: The Meaning of Mary in Medieval Religious Cultures (Budapest: Central European University Press, 2009). Miri Rubin, Mother of God: A History of the Virgin Mary (New Haven: Yale University Press, 2009).

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Octavian Schmucki, The Stigmata of St. Francis of Assisi: A Critical Investigation in the Light of Thirteenth-Century Sources (New York: The Franciscan Institute, St. Bonaventure University, 1991). Pierre-André Sigal, L’homme et le miracle dans la France médiévale (XIe-XIIe siècle) (Paris: Cerf, 1985). Laura Ackerman Smoller, The Saint and the Chopped-Up Baby: The Cult of Vincent Ferrer in Medieval and Early Modern Europe (Ithaca: Cornell University Press, 2014). Augustine Thompson, Revival Preachers and Politics in Thirteenth-Century Italy: The Great Devotion of 1233 (Oxford: Clarendon Press and Oxford University Press, 1992). Gábor Thoroczkay, ‘Anmerkungen zur Frage der Entstehungszeit der Hartvik-Legende des Stephan des Heiligen’, Specimina Nova. Pars prima. Sectio mediaevalis, 1 (2001), 107-31. Richard C. Trexler, The Journey of the Magi: Meanings in History of a Christian Story (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1997). Sven Tunberg, ‘Erik den helige, Sveriges helgonkonung’, Fornvännen. Meddelanden från K. Vitterhets Historie och Antikvitets Akademien, 36 (1941), 257-78. Una santa, una città. Atti del convegno storico nel V centenario della venuta a Perugia di Colomba da Rieti, Perugia 10-11-12 novembre 1989, ed. by Giovanna Casagrande and Enrico Menestò (Spoleto: Centro Italiano di Studi sull’alto Medioevo, 1991). André Vauchez, ‘Les stigmates de Saint François et leurs détracteurs dans les derniers siècles du moyen âge’, Mélanges de l’École Française de Rome, 80 (1968), 595-625. André Vauchez, ‘Canonisation et politique au XIVe siècle, Documents inédits des Archives du Vatican Relatifs au procès de canonisation de Charles de Blois, du de Bretagne (†1364)’, in Miscellanea in onore di Monsignor Martino Giusti Prefetto dell’Archivio Segreto Vaticano, 2. Collectanea Archivi Vaticani, 6 (Vatican City: Archivio Vaticano, 1978), pp. 381-404. André Vauchez, La sainteté en Occident aux derniers siècles du moyen âge. D’après les procès de canonization et les documents hagiographiques, Bibliothèques des Écoles françaises d’Athènes et de Rome, 241 (Rome: École française de Rome, 1981). André Vauchez, ‘Les origines et le développement du procès de canonization (XIIe-XIIIe siècles)’, in Vita Religiosa im Mittelalter. Festschrift für Kaspar Elm zum 70. Geburtstag, ed. by Franz J. Felten and Nikolas Jaspert (Berlin: Duncker & Humblot, 1999), pp. 845-56. André Vauchez, ‘Saint Homebon (†1197), patron des marchands et artisans drapiers à la fin du Moyen Âge et à l’époque moderne’, Académie royale de Belgique, Bulletin de la classe des Lettres, 6e s., 15 (2004), 43-56. Virgo digna coelo – Caterina e la sua eredità, ed. by Luciano Cinelli, P. Piatti, and Alessandra Bartolomei-Romagnoli (Vatican City: Libreria Editrice Vaticana, 2013). Thomas Wetzstein, Heilige vor Gericht. Das Kanonisationsverfahren im europäischen Spätmittelalter (Vienna: Böhlau, 2004). Gabriella Zarri, Le sante vive. Profezie di corte e devozione femminile tra ’400 e ’500 (Turin: Rosenberg & Sellier, 1990). Attila Zsoldos, The Legacy of Saint Stephen (Budapest: Lucidus Kiadó, 2004).



Velut Alter Alexius The Saint Alexis Model in Medieval Hagiography 1 Paolo Golinelli

The legend of Saint Alexis is certainly one of the most studied hagiographies in the last century.2 It had many medieval versions in different languages, ancient and vernacular, which testify to its widespread diffusion in the Middle Ages and afterwards.3 The legend of Saint Alexis is the story of the son of an infertile noble Roman couple, Eufemianus and Aglaes, who prayed God to grant them the grace of a child, and as the answer to their prayers, Alexis was born. Alexis grew with his parents and, when he was seventeen years old, he married a young Roman girl. On the wedding night, Alexis spoke to his bride and convinced her that they should both safeguard their chastity. After having abandoned his chaste wife, intactam sponsam relinquens, he embarked for Edessa. There, for seventeen years, he lived as a beggar in front of a church dedicated to the Virgin Mary, until the image of Mary spoke and said: ‘Look for the man of God, who is in front of this church.’ To escape the wiles and lures of the world, Alexis embarked on a voyage to Tarsus, but a storm diverted the ship to the harbour of Ostia. Alexis then walked to Rome, along the way meeting his father, who did not recognize him. The holy man asked him for hospitality, pauper sum et peregrinus, and the father received him incognito, lodging him under the stairs of his palace, where he lived for seventeen years without anyone recognizing him. Alexis was made an object of scorn by the servants. When he felt his death approaching, he asked for a piece of parchment and writing materials. He wrote the story of his life, after which he died. Suddenly, a mysterious voice announced his death, while a divine light wafted from the stairs of the house of Eufemianus. Then all the Romans discovered the body of the Saint, who held in his hands the 1 I wish to thank Rita Severi for the translation of my text from Italian. 2 Current bibliography risks being outdated by the constant output of new research and studies: cf. Storey, An Annotated Bibliography; Perugi, ‘Bibliographie’, pp. 265-80; Engels, ‘The West European Alexius Legend’, pp. 93-124. Recently the journal Mélanges de l’École française de Rome – Italie et Méditerranée modernes et contemporaines dedicated the second part of its volume 124:2 to the theme ‘Saint Alexis à l’époque moderne’: MEFRIM, 124:2 (2012), pp. 607-728. 3 Cf. among others: Golinelli, La leggenda di sant’Alessio; Klaniczay, ‘La fortuna della leggenda di sant’Alessio’, pp. 1-20; Crostini, ‘Il culto di sant’Alessio nell’undicesimo secolo’, pp. 17-31.

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scroll of parchment. At this point, the various versions of his legend differ from each other: according to the Roman version, Alexis leaves the writing to the pope; according to the eastern version, he gives it to the Emperors Arcadius and Honorius; and in the popular versions he leaves it to his wife, who had remained faithful to him. At the end, there is a vigil during which all members of the family mourn for the holy man: some grieve for the death of the son and of the husband; some for not having recognized him. In general, critics agree that the life of Saint Alexis was formed by the convergence of other legends, like the Syrian legend that deals with the man of God, ‘Mar riscia’4 and the Latin hagiography of Giovanni Calibita, a hermit who lived in the fifth century,5 among other similar texts.6 These earlier examples, together with the recurrence of well known topoi,7 made the legend of Saint Alexis particularly interesting to the general public: the faithful attended churches on his feast day, 17 July, 8 so eagerly that Saint Peter Damian (1007-1072) said they were attracted by the legend’s unusual novelty.9 The legend became so popular that joculatores (‘players’) represented it in the market squares, as we know from Lyon, when Valdes made his life choice.10 I have earlier demonstrated, by following Vladimir Propp’s categories from his Morphology of the Folktale, the recurrence of some functions in the legend that are attributed to fables dealing with magic.11 Most of the scholarly attention to the legend of Saint Alexis has focused on the different versions of the legend, particularly on the one translated into Old French and on the manuscript that transmitted it.12 Nevertheless, it seems that little or nothing has been conveyed about the fact that the legend became, during the Middle Ages and afterwards, the model or standard of an exemplary life for saints and hagiographers. Saints’ legends, as with that 4 Amiaud, Le légende syriaque de Saint Alexis; Stebbins, ‘Les origines de la légende de S. Alexis’, pp. 497-507. 5 Chiesa, ‘La Vita di Giovanni Calibita’, pp. 45-102. 6 Cf. Golinelli, La leggenda di Sant’Alessio, pp. 15-22. 7 De Gaiffier, ‘Intactam sponsam relinquens’, pp. 157-95; Gieysztor, ‘“Pauper sum et peregrinus”. La légende de saint Alexis’, pp. 125-39; for classical influences, see also Adkin, ‘Juvenal’s Fourteenth Satire in Walter of Châtillon’s “Vita Sancti Alexii”’, pp. 207-10. 8 Sckommodau, ‘Alexius in Liturgie, Malerei und Dichtung’, pp. 164-93. 9 Petrus Damianus, Sermones, no. XXVIII, col. 655. 10 See Chronicon universale anonymi Laudunensis, pp. 20-22; Golinelli, ‘Il pubblico dei santi: uno sconosciuto inconoscibile? Discorso di apertura’, pp. 7-22; Vincent, ‘Fortunes médiévales du culte de saint Alexis’, p. 629. 11 Golinelli, ‘Struttura narrativa e fruizione popolare nella leggenda di sant’Alessio’, pp. 107-24. 12 La Chanson de saint Alexis.

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of Saint Alexis, are full of details, some of which become standards for an exemplary life in hagiographic sources. For example, the noble birth seems irrelevant among the topoi that characterize the legend of Saint Alexis. Noble birth was, obviously, common to almost all medieval hagiographies with very few exceptions.13 Respectively, the birth to sterile parents does not seem to be particularly significant because it is of biblical origin. On the other hand, appearances of miraculous signs of death, especially when there are more than one, are of interest in order to establish probable derivations. This chapter focuses on the two most important points in the legend of Saint Alexis, which can be found repeated in the legends of other medieval saints: the motif of abandonment of one’s bride and the miracles that take place on the deathbed of the Saint. The chapter aims to illustrate how the text of the legend of Saint Alexis – here called ‘the Alexis model’ – has left traces in other medieval saints’ legends. I will analyse examples starting with those texts that explicitly refer to the Alexis model drawn from the Latin Vita14 and from its further representation in the Legenda Aurea by Iacopo da Varazze,15 including all its versions.

The Motif of Abandonment of the Bride ‘Who could be similar and even better than Saint Alexis?’ (Cui melius similem quam sancto Alexio dixerim?) asked the hagiographer of Saint Simon, Count de Crépy-en-Valois (c. 1047-1082).16 This question is closely tied to the motif of a saint abandoning his bride. The concept of the sainthood of a man who chooses to live chastely by abandoning his wife has been handed down through an old tradition. The legend of Saint Simon makes him a better man than even Alexis: after leaving his spouse, Saint Simon goes a step further and takes care of his bride, making her enter the monastery of La Chaise Dieu. The similarity between the legends of the two saints is, however, limited only to the episode of bride abandonment on the night of 13 It was much more common for members of the ruling class to be sanctified: cfr. Delooz, Sociologie et canonisations. 14 Vita s. Alexii (BHL 286), from the end of the tenth century in AASS, Julii IV, pp. 251-53; another version (BHL 287), originally from Montecassino, is from the eleventh century in Miscellanea Cassinese I (1897), pp. 10-18. The first has been reprinted by Engels, ‘Alexiana Latina Medii Aevi III’, pp. 373-441. 15 Iacopo da Varazze, Legenda aurea, pp. 621-26. 16 Vita s. Simone (BHL 7757), in AASS, Sept. VIII, p. 746; cf. Hunt, ‘The Life of St Alexis, 475-1125’, p. 228.

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the nuptials, which includes the speech that the saint proffers to his wife. As for the other relevant elements which characterize the Alexis model – such as his birth to old (or sterile) parents, the pilgrimage, his return incognito to the paternal home, the mysterious voice, the life written on parchment, the death toll of bells – none of them is included in the life of Saint Simon, except the choice of the hermitical life. Saint Simon only accepts this life after undergoing the experience of the monastic life following the Regula sancti Benedicti. Certainly the topos of the abandoned bride is the most significant in this legend; in the eleventh century it also appears in another legend, which has not been mentioned earlier by scholars.17 The legend in question is that of Saint Symeon of Polirone (d. 1016), written just a few years after the holy man’s death. In the legend, after his noble birth, we read of his unwillingly accepted marriage, licet invitum; after wrangling with his troubled conscience, we learn of Symeon’s departure from the paternal home, leaving his wife behind with her virginity preserved, servata integritate.18 Another example of the abandoned bride can be found in the hagiography of Valentine of Griselles (Bourgogne), which probably dates back to the eleventh century. In this account, the saint abandons his bride between the desponsatio and the nuptials.19 According to his vita, Valentine was the son of a noble Roman, who persuaded him to choose a military career and a marriage. Valentine, however, ran away, becoming a hermit and then a priest until his death around 547. This historical personage was presumably born around 519, but the dates are uncertain. For his life choice, he was called the ‘French Saint Alexis’, which indicates that the legend of Saint Alexis was widespread and well known in France. We know relatively little of the circulation of the legend of Saint Alexis in France, but it is sure that it took place after the foundation of the abbey of Cluny. Therefore, we can assume that this hagiography belongs to that period, especially if we 17 This detail is not mentioned by De Gaiffier, ‘Intactam sponsam relinquens’. 18 Golinelli, ‘La “Vita” di s. Simeone monaco’, pp. 709-88, esp. p. 751. 19 De s. Valentino prebyt. conf (BHL 8457) in AASS, Julii II, p. 41: ‘Qui cum viginti esset annorum, coactus a parentibus, filiam Palladii cujusdam nobilis Tricassinæ urbis, sibi despondit, eo pacto, ut post quinquennium foret ejus nuptias petiturus. Jamque expleto quinquennio, instabat dies nuptiarum: parentes vero secundum generositatem sui parabant omnia, quæ in talibus obsequiis adhiberi solent, convocatis propinquis, & necessariis amicis. At vero egregius juvenis, cui ingratæ nuptiæ parabantur, ulterius propositum animi dissimulate non valens, nec tamen parentibus fateri præsumens, fugam iniit, nullo conscio in domo paterna: atque in quadam spelunca, quam vulgo Furnum calcis vocitant, sese abdens delituit.’ The saint is supposed to have lived in the sixth century, but his hagiography contains quite a few contradictions, as the Bollandist J.B. Sollier has pointed out, and which A. Lavielle (Saint Valentin de Griselles) tries to amend.

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consider the particular presence of Cluniac dependencies in the region of Molesme (Central Bourgogne), where the cult of Saint Valentine of Griselles was established.20 When interpreting the story of Saint Alexis and its later parallels, it is important to remember that the story about a refusal of marriage is closely connected to the choice of the monastic life; thus, there is not necessarily a link between the legend of Valentine and the Alexis model. However, the connection to Saint Alexis is attributed to Saint Valentine by local tradition, which argues for the influence of the legend of Saint Alexis. De Gaiffier has listed many other hagiographies that include the refusal to marry, but the Alexis narrative is not explicitly or even implicitly referred to in many of them. So, it seems inappropriate to state that they derive from it. An example can be found in the life of Saint Emerald (c. 640-720), an abbot of the abbey of Aindre,21 an island on the Loire, near Nantes. Abandoning the bride was part of his legend, too: ‘By divine inspiration, abandoning all the temptations of the world, leaving the bride, despising the wedding, the athlete of Christ took upon his naked self the naked cross of Christ, to fight against the vices of the spirit.’22 In this instance the most explicit reference to Saint Alexis is the ascetic saying ‘follow naked the naked Christ’ (nudus nudum Christum sequi),23 which was very common in monastic hagiography. Much closer to the Alexis model is the abandonment of the bride linked to the choice of monastic life of Desiderius, abbot of Montecassino, the later Pope Victor III.24 The epitaph the Montecassino monks dictated for his sepulcher remembers him: ‘You Desiderius, and you Cassino we honour / Abandoning the inviolate bride, your mother, your homeland, your neighbours / You came here and became a monk.’25 The wording intanctam sponsam (‘inviolate bride’) repeats the exact expression found in the earlier Latin version of the Vita s. Alexii (BHL 286), and appears to be very close to the text of Peter Diacon (monk of Montecassino, c. 1107-1159): ‘He left the 20 Cf. Mölk, ‘La Chanson de saint Alexis’, pp. 339-55. 21 Bibliotheca hagiographica latina antiquae et mediae aetatis (henceforth BHL) 3851, see Gobry, L’Europa di Cluny, p. 133. 22 Vita s. Hermelandi in AASS, Mart. III, p. 577: ‘Diuino autem fretus spiramine, spretis cunctis seculi oblectamentis, sponsam relinquens, nuptias renuens, nudus terrenis actibus nudam Christi crucem, contra spiritualia nequitiæ dimicaturus, athleta Christi arripuit.’ 23 Grégoire, ‘L’adage ascétique “Nudus nudum Christum sequi?”’, pp. 395-409; Grégoire, ‘Saeculi actibus se facere alienum’, pp. 251-87. 24 De Rosa, Vittore III. 25 Catalogus Pontificum Romanorum in AASS, Maii I, p. 199: ‘Est Desiderius, tuque Casine decus. / Intactam sponsam, matrem, patriamque, propinquos / Spernens, huc propero, monachus efficior.’

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bride during the wedding, he sought the hermitage, and there he took the habit of the holy religion.’26 An explicit reference to Saint Alexis can also be found in the Vita s. Ruperti ducis Bingae (BHL 7388), written in the second half of the twelfth century by Hildegard of Bingen. In this legend, Hildegard attributes the will to emulate the Roman saint to Rupertus, who lived in the first half of the eight century.27 Through Hildegard, the legend of Saint Alexis becomes an important frame of reference for other late medieval women mystics. For example, the French life of Delphine of Sabran (1284-1360) cites the legend as a plea for a chaste marriage.28 Another explicit indication to the legend of Saint Alexis can be found in the Vita of Saint Francesca Romana (1384-1440), who, married against her will, becomes ill and is cured only by the apparition of Saint Alexis.29 The Blessed Colomba of Rieti (1467-1501) is compared to Alexis for she, too, had to bear offences from the servants in her paternal home.30 In the case of Saint Pietro Nolasco (1180/82-1245), the Alexis exemplum is taken very seriously. He came from a rich and noble family, but his father died when he was fourteen. His mother and fellow citizens urged him to marry, but after a long deliberation with his conscience, he chose to embrace chastity, ‘like a dove of Christ, and the turtle dove of loneliness’.31 It is interesting to note that the comparison evokes two birds, the dove and the turtle-dove, both always symbols of purity. In the Vita s. Alexii, the wife 26 Petrus Diaconus, De viris illustribus Casinensibus opusculum, cols. 1028-29: ‘in nuptiis sponsam suam relinquens, eremum petiit, ibique sanctae religionis habitum sumpsit’. 27 Vita ss. Ruperti et Berthae in AASS, Maii III, p. 506: ‘Et quoniam in pompa seculi per multas divitias & familiam pollebat, quibus se ad seculum trahi videbat; apud se tandem tractare cœpit, quomodo B. Alexius patrem & matrem, domum ac divitias seculi peregrinatus reliquit; & se illum in hoc imitari omnino elegit, quatenus Deo tanto liberius servire in quiete posset.’ Hildegard of Bingen, Opera minora. 28 Cambell, Vies occitanes de Saint Auzias et de Sainte Dauphine, p. 157. 29 Ippolito da Roma (d. 1460), Vita 2, ed. by Mazzuconi, pp. 122-23: ‘cum magna indignatione repellitur, & nocte sequenti beatus sibi Alexius Romanus apparuit, eique dixit: Vis salua fieri? quæ cum responderet & diceret: Volo solummodo quod Domino placetur statim de lecto surrexit, & mane facto ad ecclesiam sui Confessoris accessit’; cf. Grégoire, ‘Le biografie olivetane antiche di santa Francesca Romana’, p. 151. 30 Vita b. Columbae Reatinae Virginis in AASS, Maii V, p. 343: ‘Quemadmodum enim nobilissimus ille Romanus Alexius, contempta felicitate seculari, mirabili quodam discessu, in despecto tandem loco paternæ domus, post vilipendia servorum, patientia (ut ita dixerim) inerrabili & humilitate de superbissimo. Satana triumphavit: sic & tu pia Virgo, in despecto loco domus tui Patriarchæ Dominici, conservorum stimulis ac despectu quasi contusis aromatibus, indivisa Columba te Christo cremasti in odorem holocausti, perseveranti sanctitate consummatum.’ 31 Vita s. Petri Nolasci in AASS, Ian. II, p. 982: ‘veluti Christi Columba, & turtur solitudinis’.

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of the hermit is also compared to the turtle-dove; she says: ‘compare me to the turtle dove’ (similabo me turturi). The dove recurs in many hagiographies of female saints, such as Saint Walpurga,32 Saint Birgitta of Sweden or Vadstena,33 and even in the vita of Hegumen Theophanis (d. 818).34 The dove is likened to the bride in the Song of Songs (1:9) and medieval commentators have interpreted this similitude as the symbol of the Church.

Miraculous Signs of Death Other details in the legend of Saint Alexis which appear in others are connected to the description of his death. In the Alexis legend we read about the premonition of death, the parchment on which the saint writes his life, the mysterious voice that announces his passing away, the spontaneous tolling of bells,35 and the celestial light that envelops the body of the Saint. These symbols were recently analysed by Pierre Boglioni, who writes that light and the tolling of bells appear more frequently in hagiographic material.36 The voice speaking from heaven occurs particularly in the passiones martyrum; the bells that toll spontaneously also recur in many hagiographies.37 Close descriptions of the Alexis model can be found in several hagiographical sources: in the Vita of Saint Frank of Assergi,38 who died at the beginning of the thirteenth century after fifteen years of hermitical life;39 in the legend of the Blessed Albert Brentatore [‘wine-seller’] (1214-1279),40 one of those saints (as Antonio Pellegrino and Armanno Pongilupo) on whom Salimbene de Adam distils his irony;41 and in the legend of the Blessed Henry of Bozen, 32 Vita auctore Philippo Episcopo Eystettesi (BHL 8771), AASS, Febr. III, p. 554: ‘vox turturis audita est in terra nostra, vox, inquam, turturis, hoc est castissimæ Walpurgæ Virginis’. 33 De s. Birgitta vidua in AASS, Oct. IV, p. 393; for her cult, see Krötzl, Pilger, Mirakel und Alltag, pp. 82-87. 34 Vita Theophani in AASS, Mart. II, p. 219. 35 The motif of the spontaneous tolling of bells at the moment of death does not appear in the oldest Latin version (BHL 286), but it becomes widespread, especially in the versions of the modern age. Cf. Nanni, ‘Sant’Alessio e Roma’, pp. 611-28. 36 Boglioni, ‘Le merveilleux autour de la mort dans le folklore pieux’, pp. 45-76, esp. pp. 65-66, 57, 73. 37 For a list of cases, see Bagatta, Admiranda christiani orbis, pp. 347-49. 38 Vita s. Franci eremita (BHL 3143), in AASS, Iunii I, p. 555. 39 Which can be seen as a reminder of the seventeen years that the saint spent under the stairs in the paternal palace in the Vita s. Alexii. 40 On this saint, see Ginami, Il Beato Alberto di Villa d’Ogna. 41 Salimbene de Adam, Cronica, p. 103.

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who died in Treviso on 10 June 1315.42 The life of Henry of Bozen also contains reference to a story of a voice that resonated openly in the piazza of the commune and in the lanes at the moment of the Saint’s death.43 Though similar, this is not exactly the same as the voice from heaven in the legend of Saint Alexis. The two lives share other details, however: Henry of Bozen was first a simple Tyrolese woodsman, then, having abandoned his wife, he became a hermit, living for years under a holy image in a corner of a street in Treviso. The bells rang spontaneously even at the death of the Blessed Bertold, oblate in the monastery of Saint Alexander in Parma, in the first decades of the twelfth century. As in the legend of Saint Alexis, a parchment was found in the hands of the Saint. Instead of the autobiography of the man of God, it holds a sort of certification of Bertold’s healing powers: ‘By the virtue of the glorious Saint Alexander, to this confessor-saint is granted by God the grace to fight the labour pain, the quartan fever, and the falling illness.’44 All these afore-mentioned saints and blessed men and women are considered as minor figures of the Church who, nevertheless, enjoyed great popular cults, precisely with the same level of diffusion as the cult of Saint Alexis, whose folkloric dimension is also confirmed. All these elements – the miraculous light, the celestial voice, and the parchment on which the saint is supposed to have written his life – are present also in the legend of Saint Pilgrim of the Appennines (Pellegrino dell’Alpe), which dates back to the end of the twelfth century. 45 Other motifs from the life of Saint Alexis also recur: although Saint Pilgrim is originally a Scotsman, his noble father is called ‘Romanus’; at the beginning his parents are sterile and they invoke the Lord to grant them a son. During her pregnancy, the mother has a dream-premonition in which she foresees 42 Vita b. Henrici Baucenensis in AASS, Iunii II, p. 373. 43 Vita b. Henrici Baucenensis in AASS, Iunii II, p. 373: ‘vox aperte platae communis et callis maioris insonuit’. 44 Vita s. Bertholdi in AASS, Oct. IX, p. 413: ‘Cum tempus appropinquasset, quo Domino Deo fidelem et strenuum equitem remunerare placuit, undecimo kalendas Novembris media pernoctans nocte iste dulcissimus vir in mentali oratione, uti suus erat mos, Domino suo dulcedine et jucunditate spiritum reddidit. […] Qua de re in illa hora, qua ad Dominum migravit, omnes dicti monasterii campanæ humanis sine viribus pulsare cœperunt, et minime cessarunt, quousque illud sanctum corpus conditum fuit. Unde monachæ ex tantæ rei novitate admirantes, mater cum aliis sororibus celeri gradu in ecclesiam properavit, et in Bertoldi cella maximam cernebant claritatem et introeuntes suavissimum odorem perceperunt […]. Et illud corpus sanctum genua flectere invenerunt, unam in manibus tenens chartam. […] Et charta illa verba infrascripta continebat: “Meritis gloriosi sancti Alexandri, isti sancto confessori puerperarum morbum, febrim quartanam, morbumque caducum effugandi gratia a Deo concessa est.”’ 45 (BHL 6630) ed. in Angelini, Storia di San Pellegrino dell’Alpe, pp. 170-91.

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her son fighting the devil; when Saint Pilgrim is fifteen and his parents are already dead, the barons want him as their king, but he starts on his pilgrimage. At this point the story is embellished by many legendary elements: the capture of the Saint by bandits whom he converts; pilgrimages to the Holy Sepulchre, to the tomb of Saint Catherine on Mount Sinai; diabolic temptations; navigation on his own mantle transformed into a vessel;46 a guiding star that leads him along the way; and the taming of wild animals. At the end of his life, Saint Pilgrim writes ‘on bark and on wood shavings’, 47 but when his body is discovered, the writing becomes paper membrane (‘parchment’), 48 which is brought to the Bishop of Modena, Geminianus.

Conclusions The legend of Saint Alexis was read, narrated, represented, and recited in many different versions during the Middle Ages. The legend emerged at the time of Church reform in the eleventh century, offering new standards of life to the clergy and to the population at large.49 Hence, the Alexis model could not but influence the behaviour of the people and the later hagiographic narrations during the many centuries of its circulation throughout Europe. As demonstrated in this chapter through the two examples, the abandoning of one’s bride and the miraculous signs at the time of death of the Saint, the adoption of the Alexis model in the legends of other saints’ composed by various authors was never complete, but their narrations followed the topoi and motifs of the legend of Saint Alexis; the contents were modulated by the interpretations of different hagiographers and circumstances. The partial use of the Alexis model in other hagiographic sources is not a surprise, but the function of the Alexis model – as with that of other widespread hagiographic topoi – was to adopt what was attractive at the time. At the same time the use of details from the Alexis model helped to spread the ideals of reform at a popular level, and thereby also to oppose contemporary heretical proposals. 46 De Gaiffier, ‘Un thème agiographique: Mer ou fleuve traversés sur un manteau’, pp. 5-15. 47 ‘in scorcia et in spolia ligni’, Angelini, Storia di San Pellegrino, p. 181. 48 ‘carta membrana’, Angelini, Storia di San Pellegrino, p. 183; the expression ‘tomum chartæ, & calamarem’ of BHL 286, Vita s. Alexii in AASS, Julii IV, p. 252, becomes in the Vita metrica (BHL 293) of Marbodo of Rennes ‘Membranam nactus’, Vita metrica s. Alexii in AASS, Julii IV, p. 256. 49 I agree with Catherine Vincent, who links the legend of Saint Alexis to Gregorian reform: Vincent, ‘Fortunes médiévales du culte de saint Alexis’.

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Bibliography Printed Sources Acta Sanctorum quotquot toto orbe coluntur vel a Catholicis Scribtoribus celebrantur, ed. by Société des Bollandistes, vols. 1-68 (Brussels and Antwerp: Société des Bollandistes, 1863-1887) (= AASS). De s. Birgitta vidua, Oct. IV, pp. 368-495. De s. Valentino prebyt. conf., Julii II, pp. 39-42. Victor Tertius, in Catalogus Pontificum Romanorum (BHL 8393), Maii I, p. 199. Vita b. Columbae Reatinae Virginis, Maii V, pp. 320-97. Vita b. Henrici Baucenensis, Iunii II, pp. 365-70. Vita metrica s. Alexii, Julii IV, pp. 254-56. Vita s. Alexii, Julii IV, pp. 251-53. Vita s. Bertholdi, Oct. IX, pp. 411-14. Vita s. Franci eremita, Iunii I, pp. 553-56. Vita s. Hermelandi, Mart. III, pp. 576-86. Vita s. Petri Nolasci, Ian. II, pp. 982-88. Vita s. Simone, Sept. VIII, pp. 744-51. Vita s. Valentini, Julii II, pp. 41-42. Vita ss. Ruperti et Berthae, Maii III, pp. 504-06. Vita Theophani, Mart. II, pp. 210-25. Vita V S. Valburgis auctore Philippo Episcopo Eystettensi, Febr. III, pp. 553-63. Salimbene de Adam, Cronica, ed. by Guiseppe Scalia, trans. by Berardo Rossi (Parma: Cassa di Risparmio, 2007). Arthur Amiaud, Le légende syriaque de Saint Alexis l’Homme de Dieu (Paris: Émile Bouillon, 1889). Giovanni Bonifacio Bagatta, Admiranda christiani orbis, quae ad Christi fidem formandam, christianam pietatem fovendam, obstinatamque perfidiam destruendam (…) aut praeteritis extitere saeculis aut adhuc vigent (…), 2 vols. (Venice: n.p., 1680). La Chanson de saint Alexis. Fac-similé en couleurs du ms. de Hildesheim publié avec introduction et bibliographie, ed. by Ulrich Mölk (Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1997). Paolo Chiesa, ‘La Vita di Giovanni Calibita’, Analecta Bollandiana, 121 (2003), 45-102. Chronicon universale anonymi Laudunensis, von 1154 bis zum Schluss 1219, ed. by Alex Cartellieri and rev. by Wolf Stechele (Leipzig: Dyskschen Buchhandlung, 1909). Petrus Damianus, Sermones, no. XXVIII, in Patrologiae Cursus Completus. Series Latina, 144, ed. by J.-P. Migne (Paris: Garnier, 1867), cols. 652-60. Petrus Diaconus, De viris illustribus Casinensibus opusculum, in Patrologiae Cursus Completus. Series Latina, 173, ed. by J.-P. Migne (Paris: Garnier, 1895), cols. 1010-50. Hildegard of Bingen, Opera minora, ed. by Hugh Feiss, Christopher Evans, Beverly Mayne Kienzle, Carolyn Muessig, Barbara Newman, and Peter Dronke, Corpus Christianorum Continuatio Mediaevalis, CC CM 226* (Turnhout: Brepols, 2007). Ippolito da Roma (d. 1460), Vita 2, ed. by Daniela Mazzuconi, in Una santa tutta romana. Saggi e ricerche nel VI centeario della nascita di Francesca Bussa dei Ponziani (1383-1984), ed. by Giorgio Picasso (Siena: Monte Oliveto Maggiore 1984), pp. 122-64. Iacopo da Varazze, Legenda aurea, ed. by Giovanni Paolo Maggioni (Florence: SISMEL, Tavernuzze, 1998).

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Literature Neil Adkin, ‘Juvenal’s Fourteenth Satire in Walter of Châtillon’s “Vita Sancti Alexii”’, Mittellateinisches Jahrbuch, 42 (2007), 207-10. Lorenzo Angelini, Storia di San Pellegrino dell’Alpe (Lucca: M. Pacini Fazzi, 1996). Bibliotheca hagiographica latina antiquae et mediae aetatis, ed. by Société des Bollandistes, (Bruxelles: Société des Bollandistes, 1898-1901) (=BHL). Pierre Boglioni, ‘Le merveilleux autour de la mort dans le folklore pieux de l’Occident: inventaire des thèmes’, in Agiografia e culture popolari – Hagiography and popular cultures. In ricordo di Pietro Boglioni, ed. by Paolo Golinelli (Bologna: Clueb, 2012), pp. 45-76. Jacques Cambell, Vies occitanes de Saint Auzias et de Sainte Dauphine (Rome: Pontif icium Athenaeum Antonianum, 1963). Barbara Crostini, ‘Il culto di sant’Alessio nell’undicesimo secolo tra Oriente ed Occidente’, in Il monachesimo d’Oriente e d’Occidente nel passaggio dal primo al secondo Millennio. Atti del Convegno Internazionale (Grottaferrata, 23-25 settembre 2004) (Rome: Monastero esarchico, Grottaferrata, 2009), pp. 17-32. Baudouin De Gaiffier, ‘Intactam sponsam relinquens. A propos de la Vie de S. Alexis’, Analecta Bollandiana, LXV (1947), 157-95. Baudouin De Gaiff ier, ‘Un thème agiographique: Mer ou fleuve traversés sur un manteau’, Analecta Bollandiana, IC (1981), 5-15. Daniela De Rosa, Vittore III. Un riesame critico (Rome: Aracne, 2008). Pierre Delooz, Sociologie et canonisations (Le Haye: Martinus Nijhoff, 1969). Louk J. Engels, ‘Alexiana Latina Medii Aevi III: The Relationship Between the Prose Vitae BHL 286, 287 and the 290’, Sacris Erudiri, 38 (1998-1999), 373-441. Louk J. Engels, ‘The West European Alexius Legend: With an Appendix Presenting the Medieval Latin Text in its Context (Alexiana Latina Medii Aevi, I)’, in The Invention of Saintliness, ed. by Anneke Beitske Mulder-Bakker, Routledge Studies in Medieval Religion and Culture (London: Routledge, 2002), pp. 93-124. Aleksander Gieysztor, ‘“Pauper sum et peregrinus”. La légende de saint Alexis en Occident: un ideal de pauvreté’, in Études sur l’histoire de la pauvreté (Moyen Age - XVe siècle), ed. by Michel Mollat, Publications de la Sorbonne. Série ‘Etudes’, 8 (Paris: Université de Paris IV, Paris-Sorbonne, 1974), pp. 125-39. Luigi Ginami, Il Beato Alberto di Villa d’Ogna. Esempio di santità laica nell’Italia dei Comuni (Milan: Paoline, 2000). Ivan Gobry, L’Europa di Cluny. Riforme monastiche e società d’Occidente, ed. by Giovanni Spinelli (Rome: Città Nuova, 1999). Paolo Golinelli, ‘La “Vita” di s. Simeone monaco’, Studi medievali, ser. 3, XX (1979), 709-88. Paolo Golinelli, ‘Struttura narrativa e fruizione popolare nella leggenda di sant’Alessio’, Ricerche di storia sociale e religiosa, 21-22 (1982), 107-24. Paolo Golinelli, La leggenda di sant’Alessio in due inediti volgarizzamenti del Trecento e nella tradizione letteraria italiana (Siena: Cantagalli, 1987). Paolo Golinelli, ‘Il pubblico dei santi: uno sconosciuto inconoscibile? Discorso di apertura’, in Il pubblico dei santi. Forme e livelli di ricezione dei messaggi agiografici, ed. by Paolo Golinelli (Rome: Viella, 2000), pp. 7-22. Reginald Grégoire, ‘Saeculi actibus se facere alienum. Le “mépris du monde” dans la littérature monastique latine médiévale’, Revue d’ascétique et de mystique, 41 (1965), 251-87. Reginald Grégoire, ‘L’adage ascétique “Nudus nudum Christum sequi?”’, in Studi storici in onore di O. Bertolini, I (Pisa: Pacini, 1972), pp. 395-409.

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Reginald Grégoire, ‘Le biografie olivetane antiche di santa Francesca Romana’, in La canonizzazione di santa Francesca Romana, ed. by Alessandra Bartolomei Romagnoli and Giorgio Picasso, La Mistica cristiana tra Oriente e Occidente, 20 (Florence: SISMEL, 2013), pp. 139-57. Tony Hunt, ‘The Life of St Alexis, 475-1125’, in Christina of Markyate: A Twelfth-Century Holy Woman, ed. by Samuel Fanous and Henrietta Leyser (New York: Routledge, 2005). Gábor Klaniczay, ‘La fortuna della leggenda di sant’Alessio, ovvero L’antichità cristiana nell’Ungheria del Medioevo’, in L’eredità classica in Italia e Ungheria fra tardo Medioevo e primo Rinascimento, ed. by Sante Graciotti and Amedeo Di Francesco (Rome: Il Calamo, 2001), pp. 1-20. Christian Krötzl, Pilger, Mirakel und Alltag. Formen des Verhaltens in skandinavischen Mittelalter (12.-15. Jahrhundert), Studia Historica, 46 (Helsinki: Suomen Historiallinen Seura, 1994). Auguste Lavielle, Saint Valentin de Griselles. Sa vie. Son culte. Essai historique. Document pour servir à l’histoire du village de Griselles Châtillon-sur-Seine, Cahiers Châtillonnais, 112 (Châtillon: Association des amis du Châtillonnais, 1996). Ulrich Mölk, ‘La Chanson de saint Alexis et le culte du saint en France aux XIe et XIIe siècles’, Cahiers de Civilisation Médiévale, XXI (1979), 339-55. Stefania Nanni, ‘Sant’Alessio e Roma’, Mélanges de l’École française de Rome – Italie et Méditerranée modernes et contemporaines, 124:2 (2012), 611-28. Maurizio Perugi, ‘Bibliographie’, in La Vie de Saint Alexis, édition critique (Geneve: Droz, 2000), pp. 265-80. ‘Saint Alexis à l’époque moderne’, Mélanges de l’École française de Rome – Italie et Méditerranée modernes et contemporaines, 124:2 (2012), 607-728. Hans Sckommodau, ‘Alexius in Liturgie, Malerei und Dichtung’, Zeitschrift für romanische Philologie, LXXII (1956), 164-93. Charles E. Stebbins, ‘Les origines de la légende de S. Alexis’, Revue Belge de philologie et d’histoire, 51 (1973), 497-507. Christopher Storey, An Annotated Bibliography and Guide to Alexis Studies (Geneve: Droz, 1987). Catherine Vincent, ‘Fortunes médiévales du culte de saint Alexis’, Mélanges de l’École française de Rome – Italie et Méditerranée modernes et contemporaines, 124:2 (2012), 629-42.



Judicium Medicine and Judicium Sanctitatis Medical Doctors in the Canonization Process of Nicholas of Tolentino (1325): Experts Subject to the Inquisitorial Logic1 Didier Lett

Medical doctors often appear in late medieval canonization processes: sometimes they give testimony to miracles they have assisted or from which they benefited themselves; sometimes they testify to fama sanctitatis. Most often, however, they are professionals verifying the symptoms of a patient. The process to evaluate the sanctity of Augustinian hermit Nicholas of Tolentino (1245-1305) is no exception to this.2 Medical doctor was the most represented profession. These canonization records are a written outcome of an enquiry of papal commissioners; they are preserved in two manuscripts.3 The commissioners were appointed by Pope John XXII; the hearing took three months and it was carried out in five cities of the Marches of Ancona (Tolentino, Macerata, Camerino, San Ginesio, and San Severino). To pursue the canonization of Nicholas of Tolentino, men and women testified to his pious life as well as miracles performed by him. Altogether, 365 witnesses (196 men and 169 women) were interrogated and 371 depositions recorded. According to the witnesses, Nicholas had performed 26 miracles in vita and 280 post mortem. The depositions formed a large record, which reached the papal curia in Avignon on 5 December 1326. In this process, the word medicus occurs 205 times, eight times more often than notarius. In addition, there are 35 occurrences of the word medicina (referring to remedy or cure, but also to medicine), six occurrences of medicamentum, and two of medicalus. Medicus is associated with magister in 32 cases, and the terms consilio, auxilio, rogare, mandare, curare, volere, and diffidare define its lexical environment. These terms reveal the 1 I wish to thank Sari Katajala-Peltomaa for the translation of my text from French. 2 The records of the hearings have been edited and published: Processo. For a profound analysis of this source as well as the surrounding society, see Lett, Un procès de canonisation; on gendered religious practices in this process, see Katajala-Peltomaa, Gender, Miracles, and Daily Life. 3 The manuscripts are preserved in Siena. One of the two manuscripts is edited by Nicola Occhioni in Processo.

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hoped-for function of a doctor’s presence in canonization processes; he is a witness, but particularly a practitioner, who tried – in vain – to cure the patient. 4 The marked presence of doctors testifies to the highly elaborate management of medicine in the episcopal cities of Camerino and Macerata, as well as the quasi città, villae, terrae, or castra of the area in the first half of the fourteenth century. Respectively, it also testifies to the elevated social position of the witnesses in this process.5 This enables the measuring of the gains of these doctors. It would be much harder, however, to estimate their competence, since in canonization processes – contrary to many other contemporary sources – their work ends in failure. The doctors are unsuccessful because in canonization processes the only effective doctor and medicine is the saint. In this material, the practitioner’s task was not to cure the patient, but to give extra and obvious proof of miracles performed.

A Large Number of Doctors Certifying Illness, Infirmity, or Death Above all, in southern Europe, it was customary for doctors to actively participate in canonization processes and to be summoned as witnesses.6 For example, in the canonization process of Peter of Luxemburg in 1390, the witness number 45 was Jean of Tournemire, a doctor of the pope and chancellor of the University of Montpellier, which was well known for its high level of medical study.7 Among the witnesses of the canonization process of Nicholas of Tolentino were four doctors.8 One of them was magister Petrus magistri Johannis (Salvastie) of Tolentino (witness number 222) testifying on 24 July. He was 40 years old in 1325; he was already practicing medicine twenty years earlier during the illness of Nicholas. The 26-year-old dominus Symon Pauli (witness 281) was from San Ginesio and he testified on 12 August.9 Dominus Amadasius magistri Mercatantis (witness 283) was 4 Romano Ruffini (‘Sanità privata’, p. 115) and Joseph Ziegler (‘Practitioners and Saints’, p. 214, note 52) have listed and commented on the doctors of the canonization process of Nicholas of Tolentino. 5 For the elevated social status of the witnesses of this process, see Lett, Un procès de canonisation, chapter 10, pp. 197-218. 6 Ziegler, ‘Practitioners and Saints’, pp. 222-23. 7 Ziegler, ‘Practitioners and Saints’, pp. 201-05. 8 Respectively, three wives of doctors were interrogated in the process (witnesses 236, 294, 308). 9 This is not noted in the section describing the summoning of witnesses (citationes et juramenta testium), which preceded the major section of the process (depositiones testium). His deposition is, however, situated among the testimonies of witnesses who testified on 12 August.

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25 and he was also interrogated on 12 August in San Ginesio. Magister Jacobus Gentilis Gaydani (witness 307) gave his deposition on 13 August;10 he was 40 years old, originally from Sant’Angelo in Pontano, but living in San Ginesio at the time of interrogation. He was a nephew (nepos consobrinus) of Nicholas of Tolentino, who was also originally from Sant’Angelo. Lexicographically, these four depositions show marked characteristics. They contain numerous important hapaxes of a medicinal nature. Hence, Petrus magistri Johannis (witness 222) explains that the menstruation (mestrualem) of his patient is ‘against the usual flow and against the nature’ (contra debitum assuetum et cursum nature). He depicted the amelioration of his patient after a miracle by using the verbs asserare, reinpinguare, and restaurare.11 The majority of the doctors were, however, present in the records, since they were mentioned by witnesses. In the depositions, a total of seventeen people were listed as medicus and seven as ciruicus.12 In the late Middle Ages, these terms could have been used interchangeably.13 This is clearly seen in the case of Maccharellus Jacobucii Philippi, laicus of Urbisaglia (witness 274), who suffered from a fistula for twenty years; the five doctors (medici) taking care of him were also defined as ciruici.14 Names of four of these five were given and magister Matheus of Corridonia was mentioned in another context in the process as well; there, he was listed solely as a doctor.15 Sometimes a collusion of these two titles can be found; for example, Franciscus of Tolentino was defined as medicus ciruicus.16 The term medicus appears to be generic; some of the doctors were also qualified as ciruicus. The notaries – and undoubtedly also the people of 10 With Contutius Mathey of Macerata, Jacobus Gentilis Gaydani represented the commune of San Ginesio in a papal register of incomes and payments concerning Marches of Ancona. The register was dated 26 April 1321. Thus, he, the nephew of Saint Nicholas, acted as a connection between San Ginesio and papal curia just a few years before opening the canonization hearing. ASV, Cam. Ap., Intr. et Ex. 46, fol. 5r. 11 Processo, p. 490. 12 One can refer here to the list of Ruff ini, ‘Sanità privata’, p. 115, adding two doctors not mentioned there: Sandagnus (Processo, p. 476) and Johannes of Tolentino (Processo, p. 96), a doctor accompanying Berardus Appillaterre (witness 16) when he visited Nicholas during his illness. Respectively, repetitions should be erased from the list: Matheus of Corridonia and Guadambius of Macerata are mentioned twice. 13 Naso, ‘L’assistenza sanitaria’, pp. 282-83. 14 Processo, p. 569. Maccharellus could remember the names of four of them: magister Matheus of Corridonia, magister Pasquale of Corridonia, magister Matheus of Culmurano, and magister Bartholus of Pérugia. 15 Processo, p. 411. 16 Processo, p. 559.

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Marches – recognized thus a distinction between those who were engaged on the exterior of the body (medicus) and those who took charge of the interior (ciruicus).17 Be that as it may, a remarkable number of patients in the canonization process of Nicholas resorted to professional medical help. Some of the witnesses did not hesitate to consult several doctors. Maccharellus met five of them and ser Venturinus (witness 32) met three doctors and they were able to give the names of the doctors consulted.18 Augustinian friar Franciscus (witness 13) was asked to identify doctors having taken care of his brother Gentilus, who had been ill for twelve years. He mentioned magister Gadambius, a doctor from Macerata, and many others (pluribus aliis) whose names he did not remember.19 After having been blind for more than two months in 1307, Alluminata from San Ginesio (witness 135) consulted ‘numerous doctors’ (multi medici) of San Ginesio.20 Around 1308, domina Morindella (witness 23) received several doctors’ advice (multa consilia medicorum) when her son, Berardus, was ill.21 Grimaldiscus (witness 120), a canon of San Severino, recounted how his brother Carbonus had had a continuous fever for more than a month back in 1316. In order to cure him, Grimaldiscus had invited ‘numerous and good doctors of the neighbourhood’ (multi medici et boni de contrata) to examine him.22 The depositions of the process reveal a high number of doctors in every small terra or castrum or small urban quarter. Frequently, men and women called their personal practitioners for help. For example, Franciscus Raynaldi Bernardi (witness 128) spit large amounts of blood during an illness that lasted for more than four months. The doctor of the witness’ (medicus ipsius testis), that is magister Mercatante, told him that he could never get well since only one in a thousand would be cured from that disease.23

17 Jole Agrimi and Chiara Crisciani, Malato, medico e medicina nel Medioevo, p. 38. 18 Ser Venturinus mentioned dominus Bartholus of Civitanova, dominus Philippus domini Bevenuti of Macerata, and magister Guadanbius (or Sandagnus according to the deposition of Colucia, Processo, p. 476), also from Macerata. 19 Processo, p. 106. 20 Processo, p. 341. 21 Processo, p. 143. 22 Processo, p. 318. 23 Processo, p. 334.

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An Abundance of Doctors The process reveals or, to put it in other words, is in accordance with the evident medicalization of society. During that era, medical care was institutionalized and professionalized; the beginning of the fourteenth century was marked by an increasing number of doctors. This phenomenon was more evident in the Mediterranean areas where truly high averages – one practitioner for 500 inhabitants – could be found.24 Doctors were increasingly educated in the universities and took over the social life of communities.25 In the dioceses of Camerino and Macerata, many communities signed contracts with doctors.26 In 1284, the community of Treia (approximately seventeen kilometres north of Tolentino) hired a doctor, dominus Fredericus magistri Giberti of San Ginesio, for 40 Ravennian livres. In 1306, the community of Fabriano signed a contract with magister Raynuccius of Serra Comictis. On 1 September 1309, the community of Matelica hired for one year Franciscus of San Severino, who was described as providus et discretus vir magister. For the salary of twenty livres, he promised to faithfully ( fideliter) practice the art and knowledge of medicine (ars et scientia medica) in the area of Matelica.27 In Esanatoglia, a small castrum in the western parts of the Marches six kilometres west of Matelica, the communal statutes of 1324 reminded the inhabitants to pay off the doctors’ fees at each consultation.28 Bonjacobus Jacobi was hired for three months by the community of San Severino on 31 October 1336; he served the city of San Severino as a head official, prior, for three months and his spouse, Angelucia (witness 294), testified in the canonization process of Nicholas of Tolentino in 1325.29 In 1359 the city council ordered ‘the community to hire a doctor, physician (medicus, fisicus) who would stay and reside in terra of San Severino; he should scrupulously and exclusively take care of all the people of the terra and of his district’. The council and the head officials reserved the right to choose the doctor, fix his salary, and the duration of the position.30 24 Shatzmiller, Médecine et justice, pp. 18-19. For the first half of the fourteenth century, see also McVaugh, Medicine before the Plague; Naso, Medici e strutture sanitarie. 25 Shatzmiller Médecine et justice; Naso, ‘L’assistenza sanitaria’, pp. 278-79. 26 See Ruffini, ‘Sanità privata’, p. 113; Ruffini, ‘Medici e guaritori forestieri nella Marca anconitana’, p. 236. 27 Matelica, Archivio comunale, Fondo pergamenaceo, perg. 848. 28 Gli statuti del comune di S. Anatolia, LXXXII, p. 198: ‘Statuimus quod omnes Medici de castro Sanctae Anatholiae et habitantes in ipso castro eximeantur ab omni obsequio personali.’ 29 Cardonna, Scuola e sanità, pp. 176-77. 30 Cardonna, Scuola e sanità, pp. 149-50 (referring to Riformanze 4, c, 65v).

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In the Marches, the doctors were often itinerants, travelling from town to town and hired for a short term.31 Men with medical knowledge were occasionally summoned in tribunals; the chief officials, podestà, may have wanted to hear their opinions concerning the cause of death or the gravity of wounds of assault victims. A doctor’s opinion could affect the amount of compensation fees in court processes.32 Such medico-judicial experts appear during the second half of the thirteenth century in communities of northern Italy; on certain occasions the officials appealed to experts, the men periti in arte medicandi.33 It remains unknown where and how these doctors were trained. In the canonization process of Nicholas, there is no information for such an analysis. Theoretically, to be able to practice medicine, a doctor should have received a licence, licencia practicandi, but ‘to practice medicine […], it was not absolutely indispensable to have studied in a university;34 on the other hand, it was necessary to show sufficient professional skill.’35 The University of Bologna was not far away from the Marches. Presumably, the majority of educated practitioners received a basic knowledge of medicine there. One may mention, as an example, an act from the communal archives of Matelica. This document, dated 20 February 1325, informs us of the loan of 22 Ravennan livres borrowed by a certain magister Puccius, son of dominus Mathiolus Tardutii of Matelica, from notary Johannes domini Bonaventure of Matelica. Puccius studied medicine in Bologna and he had to mortgage one of his houses to pursue his studies.36 It should be noted that none of the doctors mentioned in the process – either as a witness to a miracle or as a 31 Jansen, ‘Médecine publique et peste en Italie au Moyen Âge’, pp. 116-17. 32 For example, in trial records (Liber maleficiorum) of Tolentino in 1424, before condemning Cola Filippi of San Angelo (in the district of Visso) for stabbing Petrus Pensanicti of Tolentino, the judge summoned magister Angelus magistri Bonaventure de Tolentino, medicus salariatus de dicto comune. The judge read the part of the statutes defining armed attack and injuries ‘in fatie cum sanguine seu remansura cicatrice perpetuo vel signum victuperabile’ so that the doctor could state whether or not the assault would leave a scar. Tolentino, Archivio comunale, Liber maleficiorum, no. 155. On the role assigned to doctors for their medical experience, see Cavallar, ‘Le “benefundata sapienta” dei periti’, pp. 215-28. 33 Finally, see Chandelier and Nicoud, ‘Les médecins en justice’, pp. 149-60; for Provence, see also, Shatzmiller, ‘Médecins et expertise médicale dans la ville médiévale’, pp. 105-17. 34 Even in Bologna, the off icial medical experts were recruited by the city more for their public reputation ( fama publica) than for their university degree. Chandelier and Nicoud, ‘Les médecins en justice’, p. 152. 35 Naso, Medici e strutture, p. 153. At the end of the Middle Ages, the Piedmontese communes favoured know-how, experience, and renown over university degrees. 36 This document is briefly described by Giustiniano Degli Azzi in Gli Archivi della Storia d’Italia, p. 302.

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person called in at a sickbed scene or at a scene of an accident – was listed as phisicus. This title was typically reserved for those practitioners with a university degree in medicine.37

Well-Paid Doctors in the Canonization Process If it was expensive to study medicine, it was also costly to resort to the services of a doctor: all witnesses could not afford professional consultation while sick. Doctors may have played an eminent role in the canonization process of Nicholas, but that is because the higher levels of society emerge in this material. Domina Bruna (witness 272) explained that during the three or four months of her blindness (between 1303 and March 1306) Alixia ‘had paid a great deal for remedies and doctors (in medicinis et medicis), or that is what she had heard, since she had not been present when Alixia compensated them. She had spent a lot of money for these things.’38 Alixia had the means to pay. She lived with her husband Mercatante (witness 78) in San-Catervo, the richest quarter of Tolentino situated just by the church of Augustinians. Alixia was also well connected to other prosperous members of the community. Her brother-in-law, the husband of her sister Imilla, Manfredinus (witness 81), was in 1312 one of the 25 richest inhabitants of that quarter of Santa-Maria, which was another affluent part of the city of Tolentino.39 When Thomas of Baregnano’s (witness 141) whole body was swollen (totus inflatus) for four years ‘his father spent an extensive sum of money (maxima pecunia) in medicines and remedies to cure him but without any success (et nil proderat eidem)’. Finally, he wanted to offer one hundred Ravennan and Anconian livres to a doctor to cure his son. The doctor was paid but could not cure him. 40 The amount of payment may have been exaggerated in the deposition; nevertheless, it was a substantial sum. In 1325, in Tolentino, ‘a young and beautiful ox, with big tail, white skin, and of good price’ was valued to be of five livres and two sous, six or seven 37 Chandelier and Nicoud, ‘Les médecins en justice’, p. 158. 38 Processo, p. 566. 39 Manfredinus was in fifth place in this list of 25. Tolentino, Archivio comunale, Fondo riformanze, no. 1, fol. 2.The list is published in Lett, Un procès de canonisation, annexes, photography 15, p. 416. Manfredinus was also an official witness in some of the communal documents of Tolentino. Tolentino, Archivio comunale, 26 April 1313, 28 April 1313, 16 May 1314, and 12 February 1315. 40 Processo, p. 347.

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times less than the money Thomas’s father spent to cure his son. 41 In this region, the price for a mill could vary between 30 and 155 livres and dowries are estimated to have been between 70 and 240 livres. 42 Thus, Nicholas’s thaumaturgical powers enabled a good bargain for those beneficiaries who did not first – unsuccessfully – turn to the help of doctors. By way of comparison, it was more affordable to offer a wax figure to the shrine as a sign of gratitude after a miracle.

To Propose a ‘Prognosis of Death’ The presence of doctors is undoubtedly emphasized in the process to validate the sanctity of Nicholas; by the time of the hearing (1325), the church expected scientific proof for a miracle before it would pronounce a person a saint. The four testimonies of doctors are relatively short: an average of 306 words. This is much below the average length of deposition in the process (548 words). One could even see these testimonies as insignificant when compared to the most important depositions in the process. The notables of these five communities – Tolentino, San Ginesio, Camerino, San Severino, Macerata – visited by the inquisitorial committee or Augustinians of Tolentino were more verbose; their depositions vary between 1000 and 5800 words.43 But the doctor’s presence as such was a guarantee: in the search for proof, the indispensable role of doctors as witnesses was to proclaim their impotence in curing certain infirmities and give evidence to the inferiority of human acts when compared to divine work. 44 During the last years of his life, Nicholas himself gave an example of this mode of thought; he refused doctoral aid (repulsis consiliis medicorum) and continued to fast despite his infirmity and fragility. 45 After auscultation of Cischus, Franciscus of Tolentino, medicus ciroicus, had to admit that he could not do anything to cure the fifteen-month-old 41 Processo, p. 501. 42 See Baldeschi, ‘Vita pubblica e privata maceratese nel duecento e trecento’, pp. 156-60 for a long list of prices in 1280, 1342, and 1365 in Macerata. 43 410 occurrences for the witness 222; 281 for the witness 123; 283 for the witness 285; 307 for the witness 407. 44 A useful scrutiny of doctors as witnesses in late medieval canonization processes is Ziegler, ‘Practitioners and Saints’, pp. 191-225. Jacques Paul has noted (‘Miracles et mentalité religieuse populaire à Marseille’, p. 66) that in Liber miraculorum of Louis of Anjou at the end of the thirteenth century the inability of doctors to cure is asserted in approximately sixteen percent of the cases. 45 Article 14, Processo, p. 19.

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infant suffering from an eye infection. The mother, Monaldisca Johannis Accursi (witness 270), understanding that the doctor affirmed the loss of the eye, went with devotion to the shrine. 46 After little Nanczus (puerilis aetas) had climbed up a wall, fallen, and was exhibiting no signs of life, the parents consulted doctors. They said that ‘the child was like dead and no doctor in the world could help him – only God’. 47 In this material, the inactivity of doctors at the sickbed of the gravely ill, the refusal to intervene at all or after a period of time, was not for medical reasons. In desperate situations, it was not the experience that made doctors unwilling to act, but rather the nature and the purpose of the source, the canonization process. In the canonization process nearly all the doctors propose ‘a prognosis of death’, which was quite rare before the Black Death. 48 The doctors of the canonization process did not hesitate to give news of a fatal condition to the patient and his family.49 For example, Petrus de Tolentino (witness 222), medicus, clearly affirmed that the infirmity of Dunzella was incurable. Generally, medieval doctors hesitated in this kind of situation; they did not want to or could not state a prognosis of fatal condition: ‘For a medieval doctor, it was more shameful to announce a death which did not happen than to convince of recovery those who did not survive.’50 Contrary to this custom, the doctors in Nicholas’s canonization process clearly expressed their despair and inability – either to the commissioners, their companions at the sickbed, or to the patients themselves. In resurrection miracles, the doctors even declared a state of clinical death. All the witnesses to the miraculous resurrection of Venturinus affirmed that the three doctors present at the deathbed scene did just that. Dominus Bartholus from Civitanova, dominus Philippus domini Bevenuti, and magister Guadanbius of Macerata specified the symptoms of death: ‘Ser Venturinus lost the use of speech, sight, and senses of hearing, taste, and touch; he did not anymore see, speak, or hear. He did not have a pulse in any part of his body. His nose and feet were ice cold.’ Doctors gave an immediate final verdict: ‘Start the necessary preparations for he is dead.’ This proclamation started the process of mourning since immediately after, Giliolus Johannis of Parme, Venturinus’s father, got the wax for funeral preparations and bought black mourning clothes for his daughter-in-law, domina Nicolucia of Perugia.51 46 47 48 49 50 51

Processo, p. 559. Processo, pp. 309, 354. Jacquart, ‘Le difficile pronostic de mort’, pp. 11-22. Jacquart, ‘Le difficile pronostic de mort’, p. 13. Jacquart, ‘Le difficile pronostic de mort’, p. 16. Processo, pp. 152-53.

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Resurrection miracles were the most valued, particularly if there were many witnesses to them. The miracle of Venturinus was listed as the first of post mortem miracles in the abbreviatio for its high number of witnesses. Abbreviatio was a shortened version of the records of the process, a curial document of crucial importance since its content impelled the decision of official canonization to be declared by the pope and cardinals.52 One can understand the importance of doctoral diagnosis in this case. The chaplains and cardinals taking care of abbreviations adhered occasionally to medical knowledge and stressed miracles certified by doctors. In a curial report composed between 1318 and 1320 of the life and miracles of Thomas Cantilupe, a critical analysis of 26 miracles can be found; medical arguments are particularly important in this document. For example, the symptoms of death are listed in a detailed manner in the resurrection miracle of a small girl.53 Next to the text cum igitur anima non uniatur corpori pluribus modis, this curialist has marked in the margin: hoc asserunt auctores medicine.54 The officials taking care of the processes knew well the importance of doctoral diagnosis for the curial decisions of sanctity and hence for the successful end of the project.

Portrait of a Saint in Medicine In the canonization process of Nicholas, the medicaments proposed by the doctors are rarely successful. Soror Franciscucia (witness 21), a nun from the monastery of Santa Lucia in San Ginesio, suffered from a terrible abscess in her stomach for twelve years. Franciscucia followed the counsel of doctors (consilia medicorum), repeatedly putting remedies (medicine) on the wound, but they had only a minimal effect (minimea prevalebant).55 One father – an experienced doctor – was unable to cure his son Manfredus, who was paralysed in his right arm. The mother, Angelucia (witness 294), claimed ‘his father, Boniacobus was a doctor and despite his experience in medicine (experimenta medicinalibus) he could not help his son’.56 Magister Matheus of Corridonia was the doctor taking care of dompnus Fredericus (witness 52 For the abbreviationes of Nicholas’s process, see Lett, ‘De la dissemblance à la ressemblance’, pp. 119-45. 53 On signs of death of children in hagiogprahy, see Lett, ‘Dire la mort de l’enfant qui va ressusciter’, pp. 137-55. 54 Vauchez, La sainteté en Occident, p. 642. 55 Processo, p. 138. 56 Processo, p. 586.

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175), the chaplain of a church of Saint-Georges in Macerata suffering from six abscesses in his left leg for three years. Magister Matheus stated clearly his difficulties: ‘He said he could not or did not believe he could cure the leg since it was impaired.’57 Philippucia (witness 263) had suffered from violent tremors for a year and ‘according to the comprehension of doctors (conscientia medicorum) the disease was unknown’.58 Also, the doctor dominus Amadasius magistri Mercatantis (witness 283) explained that he could not cure nobilis vir Buctius of San Maroto, who suffered from repeating fever (duplex quartana) and other discomforts (accidentalia). According to him, the medicine had minimal effect in this case (medicinalia minime proficiebant). All three doctors taking care of the said Buctius were desperate while giving their diagnosis ( judicium medicine). The witness was trying to cure his patient, but became aware that in this case (ibi) medical science was not effective, hence he turned to divine medicine (divina medicina).59 In this case, a doctor recognized his incapability and invoked Nicholas, as a result of which his patient received the cure. The expression ‘in this case’ (ibi) is very useful, since it highlights the superiority of divine medicine over secular, but does call into question the need and efficacy of doctors on a general level. The contrast between divine and human medicine was a well known topos in hagiography.60 In Nicholas’s canonization process, as in many others, the saint became a doctor. This analogy is striking, particularly since some witnesses chose to offer to the shrine the sum they would have spent on doctors, presumably in vain. For example, Sanus Scambii (witness 305) promised in exchange for a cure to offer Nicholas, ‘in silver the same sum he would have given to a doctor for a cure’.61 During his lifetime Nicholas himself used this metaphor of saint as a doctor, advising Margarita to obtain a cure for her daughter Ceccha by praying to Saint Blaise ‘since, he said, the Blessed Blaise is a better doctor (melior medicus) than all the others here’.62 57 Processo, p. 411. 58 Processo, p. 541. 59 Processo, p. 579. 60 See, for example, this contrast in the life and miracles of Laurent of Subiaco, Vauchez, La sainteté en Occident, p. 383. On corresponding language of medical treatment of the soul, see Bériou, ‘La confession dans les écrits théologiques et pastoraux’, pp. 261-82, and esp. p. 269 for reference to William of Auvergne explaining that the Church was entrusted with the ‘pharmacy of spiritual medicament’. 61 Processo, p. 597. 62 Processo, pp. 126, 237, 245. This was undoubtedly Biagio, an eight-century bishop from Verona, to whom a chapel was dedicated in a parish church in Tolentino.

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When one-hundred-year-old Forensis was miraculously cured of a hernia in his testicles, and the commissioners asked his son Gemelucius (witness 321) if he ‘was cured by medicine (opere medicinali) or by other human action, he replied no. In addition, he was interrogated if that disease could have been cured in a natural way (secundum naturam) or spontaneously (per se) so fast, he replied no’.63 Based on these questions, the commissioners wanted to know whether other human action than doctoral aid was used during the twelve years of this old man’s illness. Superstitious practices were undoubtedly their major concern and they may have suspected that the elderly son of the patient – Gemelucius himself was already 90 years old at the time of interrogation – had assisted in such an ‘unnatural’ cure.

Judicium Medicine, ‘Judicium Inquisitione’, and ‘Judicium Sanctitatis’64 Dunzella had suffered from a continuous haemorrhage for four years when she was miraculously cured ten or twelve days before the death of Nicholas.65 Four witnesses gave their depositions in the case. In chronological order, they are: on 23 July the Augustinian friar Angelus of Santa-Victoria (witness 10); on 24 July another friar of the order, brother Johannucius (witness 221) and doctor Petrus of Tolentino (witness 222), who was brother-in-law of the patient and personal doctor of Nicholas; and, finally, on 30 July magister Jacobus magistri Johannis (witness 80), the husband of Dunzella. Petrus was interrogated differently than the rest of them; the traditional questions were not posed to him, but rather ones requiring real scientific expertise indicating his professional competence. Between typical questions: ‘interrogated if he knew said brother Nicholas’ (interrogatus si cognovit dictum fratrem Nicolaum) and ‘interrogated about the miracles’ (interrogatus super miraculis), the first question posed by the commissioners was: ‘interrogated if he knew that Dunzella, the wife of magister Jacobus magistri Johannis, had suffered from blood flow before the death of friar Nicholas’. Petrus was summoned only to verify the illness and the miracle, and the commissioners asked him highly technical questions about the origin of the blood 63 Processo, p. 609. 64 The first formulation is found in the process hence, it is used without quotations marks. On the other hand, quotations marks are used for the two other terms since they are my constructions. By these Latin formulations, my intention is to show that medical diagnosis was used in the process in order to enhance the inquisitorial analysis and evaluation of sainthood. 65 Processo, p. 486.

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flow – he replied that it originated in menstruation. They continued their interrogation: ‘It is known that such a state is natural in a woman’, and they asked how this condition manifested in her. Petrus replied that Dunzella had severe illness; the flow was unusual and against the course of nature. He was asked if he knew for how long Dunzella had suffered this unnatural state. ‘It seemed to him that more than a month’, as he replied. He was also asked if the illness was curable and if she could regain a natural flow. He replied, ‘No, since he thought so and another doctor, dominus Johannes of Tolentino, had also given his diagnosis ( judicium) of incurability’. When asked if this woman was cured by divine act, by the life, merits, and prayers of Brother Nicholas, he said that he thought so. When he was asked if this cure could be ascribed to the merits of Nicholas, he replied, ‘Yes, as he had been able to figure that out by his expertise (secundum artem suam) […] and by his expertise, he recognized the signs of a cure in her, and Dunzella affirmed this herself, she had gained weight, regained her health, and lived several years after the incident.’66 When interrogating a doctor, the commissioners were not as interested in finding proof through faith as through his professional experience. One of the four doctors testifying in the process, dominus Amadasius magistri Mercatantis (witness 283), ended his deposition in a personal way, stating, ‘It is certain, according to his knowledge, that [Buctius, his patient] was cured from his illness miraculously by the divine power rather than by the skill of humans.’67 Thus, doctors in the process testified to verify a miracle – not because they believed in it, but because they discerned it by their experience. In the hierarchy of evidence of the inquisitorial perspective, knowledge based on experience was superior to belief based on faith. During the reign of Pope John XXII, the regulations for sanctity became stricter; the increasing importance of doctors in canonization processes was in accordance with them.68 A rational and critical approach emerged; human actions or natural reasons were increasingly thought to explain the phenomena, as shown by the questions posed by the commissioners.69 Inquisitorial logic needed doctors’ competence: judicium medicine was added to judicium inquisitione for triumph of judicium sanctitatis.

66 67 68 69

Processo, p. 490. Processo, p. 579. See Vauchez, La sainteté en Occident, p. 87. See Boureau, ‘Miracle, volonté et imagination’, pp. 159-72.

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What about the doctors? Did their role as incapable men of science – ascribed to them in their own testimony or in that of other witnesses – damage their careers? Did not their inefficacy in these occasions render them vulnerable to collective criticism and diminish their local renown? Quite the contrary: The miracle and fama sanctitatis protected them from such a disgrace. Miraculous cure was seen as a proof; they were considered to be good doctors since they had pushed their expertise to the ultimate limit, to the edge authorized by humans; after that, only God could help. Thus, from this perspective, it is understandable for the doctors of Tolentino or surrounding regions to be keen to have their names listed in the records of canonization hearings, which formed a book of memory. Before leaving their patient at the mercy of invocation, the doctors presented themselves or are presented by others as good professionals respecting the limits of their expertise; they observed the situation, gave counsel, and carefully avoided giving consilium in absentia, meaning they did not assign a diagnosis without observing the patient or touching the body.70 The patients did not denigrate or complain about them. Their presence in the process did not work against them or call their competence into question, since it was also a proof of their faith and their humility; after all, they could admit the limits of their knowledge.71 Furthermore, the presence of several doctors at a sickbed scene only increased their professional prestige. To be a good doctor was to ask for colleagues’ opinions in serious cases, not deciding alone. Therefore, magister Petrus magistri Johannis (witness 222) referred to the diagnosis of his colleague dominus Johannes of Tolentino before giving his own medical prognosis of haemorrhage for Dunzella.72

Conclusions Numerous doctors are mentioned in the canonization process of Nicholas of Tolentino because many doctors were active in communities of the Marches of Ancona at the beginning of the fourteenth century. According to the process records, they appear to have respected nearly all the norms they were supposed to respect ‘in reality’, as well. In the depositions, they immediately placed themselves near the patient, observing, touching the body of the patient, working together with others, asking for advice, receiving a 70 Crisciani, ‘Éthique des consilia et de la consultation’, p. 36. 71 See Ziegler, ‘Practitioners and Saints’, pp. 224-25. 72 Processo, p. 490.

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salary, etc. Nevertheless, they were not ‘real’ doctors in the records since they were always incapable of curing; at the very best, they could soothe their patients for a while. Furthermore, according to the process acts, the role of a doctor was always limited to that of giving the prognosis of evident death or diagnosing the illness as incurable. The strong presence – and inefficacy – of medical doctors in the process was an important means to verify the sanctity of Nicholas; these elements became all the more important during this period, which required scientific proof for a miracle. The context and the purpose of the document made them only ‘doctors of the process’. The medical diagnosis ( judicium medicine) they stated served the diagnosis of sainthood ( judicium sanctitatis). In the canonization processes, two different systems of truth were present: the truth of doctors and their experiences and that of divine power; the first was unquestionably subordinated to the latter. Therefore, the persons mentioned in the process, their words, acts, and gestures, submitted to the only true doctor, God or his servant Nicholas, the only one who could, by his intercessory powers, bring forth the cure. Therefore, the exclamation of devotion of domina Berardescha (witness 84) was not dishonest: she had known Nicholas from her childhood and was a member of an elite family knowing well how to best profit from the incidents around Nicholas during the summer of 1325.73 She explained that her devotion to the Saint was so firm that ‘whenever she was ill, she would rather turn to Saint Nicholas than consult any other doctor’.74

Bibliography Unprinted Sources Archivio comunale, Matelica – Fondo pergamenaceo, perg. 848. Archivio comunale, Tolentino – Liber maleficiorum, no. 155. – Fondo riformanze, no. 1. – Fondo delle pergamene (document non-classified). Archivio Segreto Vaticano, Vatican City (= ASV) – Cam. Ap., Intr. et Ex. 46. 73 For examples of the Apillaterre family’s methods of distinguishing itself as ‘serving the saint’, see Lett, Un procès de canonisation, pp. 392-97. 74 Processo, p. 241.

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Printed Sources Gli Archivi della Storia d’Italia, serie II, vol. 2, ed. by Giustiniano Degli Azzi (S. Casciano: L. Capelli, 1911). Gli statuti del comune di S. Anatolia del 1324 e un frammento degli statuti del comune di Matelica del sec. XIV (1358 ?), ed. by Gino Luzzatto. Livre V (De Benefitiis) LXXXII (Ancona: Presso la R. Deputazione di Storia Patria, 1909). Il Processo per la canonizzazione di S. Nicola da Tolentino, ed. by Nicola Occhioni (Rome: École Française de Rome, 1984) (= Processo).

Literature Jole Agrimi and Chiara Crisciani, Malato, medico e medicina nel Medioevo (Turin: Loescher, 1980). Luigi Colini Baldeschi, ‘Vita pubblica e privata maceratese nel duecento e trecento’, Atti e memorie della Deputazione di Storia Patria per le Marche, 6 (Ancona: La Deputazione di Storia Patria per le Marche, 1903), pp. 107-336. Nicole Bériou, ‘La confession dans les écrits théologiques et pastoraux du XIIIe siècle: médication de l’âme ou démarche judiciaire’, in L’aveu, Antiquité et Moyen Âge, Actes de la table ronde organisée par l’École française de Rome, 28-30 mars 1984, Collection de l’École française de Rome, 88 (Rome: École française de Rome, 1986), pp. 261-82. Alain Boureau, ‘Miracle, volonté et imagination: La mutation scolastique (1270-1320)’, in Miracles, prodiges et merveilles au Moyen Âge, XXVe Congrès de la SHMES (Orléans, juin 1994) (Paris: Publications de la Sorbonne, 1995), pp. 159-72. Silvia Cardonna, Scuola e sanità pubblica a San Severino Marche nei secoli XIV e XV (Macerata: University of Macerata, Unpublished Masters Thesis, 1997-1998). Osvaldo Cavallar, ‘Le “benefundata sapienta” dei periti: Feritori, feriti e medici nei commentari e consulti di Baldo degli Ubaldi’, Jus Commune. Zeitschrift für Europäische Rechtsgeschichte, XXVII (2000), 215-28. Joël Chandelier and Marilyn Nicoud, ‘Les médecins en justice (Bologne, XIIIe-XIVe siècles)’, in Experts et expertises au Moyen Âge. Consilium quaeritur a perito, XLII Congrès de la SHMESP (Oxford, 31 mars-3 avril 2011), ed. by Société des Historiens Médiévistes de l’Enseignement Supérieur Public (Paris: Publications de la Sorbonne, 2012), pp. 149-60. Chiara Crisciani, ‘Éthique des consilia et de la consultation: À propos de la cohésion morale de la profession médicale (XIIIe-XIVe siècles)’, in Éthique et pratiques médicales aux derniers siècles du Moyen Âge, ed. by Laurence Moulinier-Brogi and Marilyn Nicoud, Médiévales, 46 (Paris: Médiévales, 2004), pp. 23-44. Danièle Jacquart, ‘Le diff icile pronostic de mort (XIVe-XVe siècles)’, in Éthique et pratiques médicales aux derniers siècles du Moyen Âge, ed. by Laurence Moulinier-Brogi and Marilyn Nicoud, Médiévales, 46 (Paris: Médiévales, 2004), pp. 11-22. Philippe Jansen, ‘Médecine publique et peste en Italie au Moyen Âge’, in Cadre de vie, équipement, santé dans les sociétés méditerranéennes, Actes du colloque du CRHISM, 26 novembre 1999, ed. by Jean-Marcel Goger et Nicolas Marty (Perpignan: Presses Universitaires de Perpignan, 2005), pp. 105-17. Sari Katajala-Peltomaa, Gender, Miracles, and Daily Life: The Evidence of Fourteenth-Century Canonization Processes (Turnhout: Brepols, 2009).

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Didier Lett, ‘Dire la mort de l’enfant qui va ressusciter dans quelques récits de miracles des XIIe-XIIIe siècles’, in L’enfant et la mort, ed. by Pierre Ellinger (Reims: Presses Universitaires de Reims, 1997), pp. 137-55. Didier Lett, ‘De la dissemblance à la ressemblance. Construction sociale et métamorphoses des récits de miracles dans le procès de canonisation et l’abbreviatio maior de Nicolas de Tolentino (1325-1328)’, in Miracles, vies et réécriture dans l’Occident médiéval, ed. by Monique Goullet and Michel Heinzelmann, Beihefte der Francia, 63 (Ostfildern: Thorbecke, 2006), pp. 119-45. Didier Lett, Un procès de canonisation au Moyen Âge. Essai d’histoire sociale. Nicolas de Tolentino, 1325 (Paris: Presses Universitaires de France, 2008). Michael McVaugh, Medicine before the Plague: Practitioners and Their Patients in the Crown of Aragon, 1285-1345 (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1993). Irma Naso, Medici e strutture sanitarie nella società tardo-medievale. Il Piemonte dei secoli XIV e XV (Milan: Franco Angeli, 1982). Irma Naso, ‘L’assistenza sanitaria negli ultimi secoli del Medioevo. I medici ‘condotti’ delle comunità piemontesi’, in Città e servizi sociali nell’Italia dei secoli XII-XV, Dodicesimo convegno di studi, Centro italiano di studi di storia e d’arte, Pistoia, 9-12 ottobre 1987 (Pistoia: Centro italiano di studi di storia e d’arte, 1990), pp. 277-96. Jacques Paul, ‘Miracles et mentalité religieuse populaire à Marseille au début du XIVe siècle’, in La Religion populaire en Languedoc du XIIIe siècle à la moitié du XIVe siècle, Cahiers de Fanjeaux, 11 (Toulouse: Privat, 1976), pp. 61-90. Romano Ruffini, ‘Medici e guaritori forestieri nella Marca anconitana’, in Stranieri e Forestieri nella Marca, XXX Convegno del Centro di Studi Maceratesi, Macerata 19-20 novembre 1994 (Macerata: Centro di Studi storici maceretesi, 1996), pp. 233-383. Romano Ruffini, ‘Sanità privata e pubblica a Macerata tra medioevo e rinascimento’, in Scienza tecnica e tecnologia, Atti del XXXVI Convegno di studi maceratesi (2000), Studi maceratesi, 36 (Macerata: Centro di Studi storici maceratesi, 2002), pp. 93-202. Joseph Shatzmiller, ‘Médecins et expertise médicale dans la ville médiévale: Manosque, 12801348’, in Vie privée et ordre public à la fin du Moyen Âge. Etudes sur Manosque, la Provence et le Piémont (1250-1450), ed. by Michel Hébert (Aix-en-Provence: Université de Provence, 1987), pp. 105-17. Joseph Shatzmiller, Médecine et justice en Provence médiévale. Documents de Manosque, 1262-1348 (Aix-en-Provence: Publications de l’Université de Provence, 1989). André Vauchez, La sainteté en Occident aux derniers siècles du moyen âge d’après les procès de canonisation et les documents hagiographiques, Bibliothéque des Écoles Françaises d’Athènes et de Rome, 241 (Rome: École Française de Rome, 1981). Joseph Ziegler, ‘Practitioners and Saints: Medical Men in Canonization Processes in the Thirteenth to Fifteenth Centuries’, Social History of Medicine, 12:2 (1999), 191-225.



Heavenly Healing or Failure of Faith? Partial Cures in Later Medieval Canonization Processes1 Jenni Kuuliala

For the past decades, canonization processes and miracle collections have provided a treasure trove for the historians of everyday life. Using them as source material, topics such as family life, childhood, and gender roles have been covered by many scholars, in addition to the study of the veneration of saints and the canonization process itself.2 Healing miracles, with their basis in the Bible, were the fundamental type of miracle performed by saints. For medieval people, the miracles performed by Christ provided the models for subsequent miracles, which continued to be conducted after his life on earth.3 A high proportion of recorded miracles cured blindness, deafness, speech disorders, and various conditions impairing a person’s mobility. Therefore, they also provide a very unique source type for the study of medieval illness and health, as well as dis/ability. 4 1 This essay has been funded by the University of Bremen and the European Commission 7 th framework programme. 2 For studies concerning the canonization procedure and its technical and practical features, see e.g. Goodich, ‘The Politics of Canonization’; Klaniczay, ‘Speaking about Miracles’; Krötzl, ‘Prokuratoren, Notare und Dolmetscher’; Paciocco, Canonizzazioni e culto dei santi; Vauchez, La sainteté en Occident. An extensive compilation on canonization processes is Procès de canonisation au Moyen Âge, ed. by Klaniczay. Children, family life, and gender have been covered in the studies by Finucane, The Rescue of the Innocents; Katajala-Peltomaa, Gender, Miracles, and Daily Life; and Krötzl, Pilger, Mirakel und Alltag and ‘Parent-Child Relations’. For a comprehensive historiographical analysis of canonization processes, see Katajala-Peltomaa, ‘Recent Trends in the Study of Medieval Canonizations’. For studies concerning the veneration of saints, see e.g. Finucane, Miracles and Pilgrims; Katajala-Peltomaa, Gender, Miracles, and Daily Life; Goodich, Miracles and Wonders; Goodich, Vita perfecta; Krötzl, ‘Miracles au tombeau – miracles à distance’; Sigal, L’homme et le miracle; Wittmer-Butsch and Rendtel, Miracula. Wunderheilungen im Mittelalter. 3 On biblical miracles as the model for medieval conceptions of a miracle, see Finucane, Miracles and Pilgrims, pp. 49-50; Goodich, Miracles and Wonders, pp. 8-12; Metzler, Disability in Medieval Europe, pp. 134-36; Ward, Miracles and the Medieval Mind, pp. 20-24. 4 Among the miracles curing what we would label as ‘physical impairment’, the most commonly cured conditions were various mobility impairments, while approximately one-third of recorded cures were healings of blinding conditions. Deafness and muteness, on the other hand, are much rarer. On the proportions of healing miracles, see Krötzl, Pilger, Mirakel und Alltag, pp. 188-89; Metzler, Disability in Medieval Europe, pp. 130-31; Sigal, L’homme et le miracle, p. 256; Vauchez, La sainteté en Occident, p. 547; Wittmer-Butsch and Rendtel, Miracula.

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Although many of the healing miracles included in later medieval canonization records, as well as in other types of miracle collections, are sudden, often even showy cures, a large proportion of the recoveries of particularly physical impairments and long-term illnesses were gradual.5 Additionally, hagiographic sources include a group of miracles that were somehow partial. By ‘partial cure’, I mean healing miracles, after which some milder symptoms of the previous illness or impairment remained. The term is a modern one; although the sources record the possible ‘incompleteness’ of the cure, there is variation in the labelling and phrasing of them. Cures that can be defined as partial were, in any case, scrutinized relatively rarely in the canonization hearings. Those scholars who have paid attention to their existence have explained this lack of coverage by interpreting them as failed miracles, or uninteresting to the commissioners. For example, Maria Wittmer-Butsch and Constanze Rendtel write that partial cures were most often rejected because they were considered rather as healings, not miracles, and thus no longer interesting for the process,6 and Stanko Andrić places partial cures in the category of failed, or ‘not-quite-successful’ miracles.7 When thinking of miracles as source material for the conceptions and everyday life of the laity, miracles with remaining symptoms provide an interesting sub-type of a healing miracle. Medieval conceptions of what counted as ‘healthy’ or ‘ill/impaired’ were by no means unambiguous or univocal, or compatible with the often equally vague modern definitions and ideas.8 It rather seems that functionality and the ability to fulfil social Wunderheilungen im Mittelalter, pp. 101, 111, 113. On physical disability in canonization hearings, see also Kuuliala, Childhood Disability and Social Integration. There are some differences in the methods of categorizing the cures; for example, Vauchez has counted fractures and other such accidents as a separate group. This does not, however, significantly alter the proportions. 5 The authorities occasionally expressed scepticism towards slow cures because these were more likely to have been brought about by medical means: Goodich, Miracles and Wonders, pp. 20-21, 84. There are also notions about suddenness being a vital proof for the miracle itself. See Bartlett, Why Can the Dead Do Such Great Things?, pp. 660-61. At the same time, sudden cures could also be considered dubious. See Lappin, The Medieval Cult of Saint Dominic of Silos, p. 243. Pierre-André Sigal, L’homme et le miracle, p. 69, has calculated that in the earlier miracle collections, thirteen per cent of the beneficiaries had to wait for a week or more before receiving the cure. 6 Wittmer-Butsch and Rendtel, Miracula. Wunderheilungen im Mittelalter, p. 66. 7 Andrić, The Miracles of St. John Capistran, p. 268. 8 The term ‘disability’ has been defined by the World Health Organization as ‘an umbrella term, covering impairments, activity limitations, and participation restrictions. Impairment is a problem in body function or structure; an activity limitation is a difficulty encountered by an individual in executing a task or action; while a participation restriction is a problem experienced by an individual in involvement in life situations. Disability is thus not just a

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expectations were the primary defining factors for physical health.9 Therefore, it is indeed open for discussion whether the contemporaries viewed partial or incomplete cures as lesser miracles. This chapter examines cures with remaining symptoms from the point of view of impairment/illness and the miraculous. The cases analysed come from eleven canonization processes from the time period between 1235 and 1400:10 although the surviving documents of the inquisitiones in partibus from this period all include a significant amount of healing miracles, partial ones appear only as sporadic cases here and there, and several processes lack such cases altogether.11 The chapter asks what types of partial cures ended up being recorded in later medieval canonization processes, and what the accounts tell us about medieval ideas concerning miraculous cure, health, and the lack of it. First, we will take a look at cures in which the beneficiary received a miraculous healing, but a milder version of the previous condition remains. Secondly, cases in which a partial cure can be explained as a relapse are examined. We move on to narratives in which it appears that partial cure was the expected result. Finally, ‘full’ cures with some remaining physical marks and their significance for sanctity are scrutinized.

health problem. It is a complex phenomenon, reflecting the interaction between features of a person’s body and features of the society in which he or she lives.’ ‘WHO | Disabilities,’ http:// www.who.int/topics/disabilities/en/. Therefore, the number of different types of impairing conditions – whether an illness, a traumatic, incurable injury, or a (congenital) impairment – greatly depends on the person’s living conditions, social network and personal characteristics. This idea is called the ‘social model of disability’. See Linton, Claiming Disability, pp. 11-12. For criticism of the model see e.g. Shakespeare, Disability Rights and Wrongs, esp. pp. 29-53 and for medieval studies, Eyler, ‘Introduction’, p. 8. 9 Gentilcore, Healers and Healing in Early Modern Italy, pp. 185-86. The diverse vocabulary and conceptions of impairment/disability in the Middle Ages have been discussed by several scholars. See e.g. Frohne, Leben mit “kranckheit”, pp. 18-24; Goetz, ‘Vorstellungen von menschlicher Gebrechlichkeit’; Kuuliala Childhood Disability and Social Integration, pp. 32-48; Metzler, Disability in Medieval Europe, pp. 4-5. 10 I have chosen the process of Saint Elizabeth of Hungary (1235) as the earliest one to analyse, because it is the first case in which appear several characteristics essential for the legal side of the inquest. See e.g. Goodich, Miracles and Wonders, pp. 72-73; Klaniczay, ‘Proving Sanctity’, pp. 128-29; Wetzstein, Heilige vor Gericht, p. 538. 11 For a complete list of the medieval canonization processes, see Vauchez, La sainteté en Occident, pp. 655-64.

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Cures with Remaining Impediments A five-year-old girl, Alicia de Lonesdale, was on a pilgrimage to Santiago de Compostela with her father Willelmus, when she suddenly fell on the street, injuring herself and becoming completely unable to walk as a result. The two halted in London, where they supported themselves by begging. Ten years after the accident, Willelmus took his daughter to Thomas Cantilupe’s shrine in Hereford. She stayed there with her stepmother, saw a vision of the Saint in her dream, and woke up cured.12 The healing, however, remained partial: after the miracle, Alicia walked with a stick or limping without one. In 1307, during Thomas Cantilupe’s canonization inquest, Willelmus was reported as testifying that Alicia was cured of all her impediments, Alicia herself stated that after the miracle she limped or walked with a stick, and the other four witnesses made similar comments. Yet all of them were of the opinion that the girl was indeed miraculously cured, and the miracle was publicized in the church,13 which was an essential aspect of the pattern of a proper miracle.14 The commissioners also recorded Alicia’s continuing walking problems, which they witnessed when interrogating her. Their statement provides an interesting description of what constitutes as healing, for they wrote that she was ‘cured of all her aforementioned infirmities […] and she was so perfectly cured that she could walk on her own feet […] and she soon walked in the presence of the lord bishops, and in the presence of us notaries with a cane and without a cane, limping, because the nerves of her foot are withdrawn, and big scars and cavities are apparent on the foot of the said girl’.15 Thus, the commissioners appear to have shared Willelmus’s view that she was 12 The testimonies about Alicia’s case are in BAV, Vat. lat. 4015, fols. 64v-71r. On Alicia’s vision, see Katajala-Peltomaa, Gender, Miracles, and Daily Life, pp. 142-44, and on visions in medieval miracles, e.g. Goodich, Miracles and Wonders, pp. 100-16. 13 BAV, Vat. lat. 4015, fol. 67v. 14 Publicizing a miracle, which was seen as a means to strengthen the faith and to turn sinners to penance, was an important hagiographic topos. Failure to follow this rule after receiving saintly help could even result in a relapse of the previous condition as a punishment from the offended saint. Craig, Wandering Women, pp. 108-09; Goodich, Miracles and Wonders, pp. 32-33; Ackerman Smoller, ‘Defining the Boundaries of the Natural’, pp. 354-56. On punishment miracles in general, see Klaniczay, ‘Miracoli di punizione e maleficia’; Krötzl, ‘“Crudeliter afflicta”’, pp. 124-28; Sigal, L’homme et le miracle, pp. 276-82. 15 BAV, Vat. lat. 4015, fol. 65r: ‘fuit […] curata ab omnibus predictis infirmitatibus suis […] et fuit ita perfecte curata quod potuit propris pedibus ire, […] et modo vadit et iuit coram dominis Episcopis, et coram nobis notariis cum baculo et sine baculo claudicando, quia nerui pedis sunt retracti, et cicatrices et concauitates magne apparuit in pede dicte puelle’.

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cured of everything that had troubled her – despite the fact that there still remained visible, albeit significantly milder, symptoms. The curialist, who evaluated the miracles after the hearing, was more reserved, coming to the conclusion that Alicia’s healing was alleviation rather than a cure. This is also a rare example of a medieval notion of a miraculous cure being specifically labelled partial.16 Interestingly, the curialist’s reasoning includes the statement that Alicia did not want to stay at the shrine long enough to receive a perfect cure. This further shows how the gradual nature of miraculous healings were often expected yet fluid, as many other beneficiaries continued getting better after a vow or a pilgrimage.17 Consequently, Alicia’s cure was excluded from the summary of Thomas Cantilupe’s miracles,18 but it is nevertheless mentioned in the canonization bull – apparently being in the end considered a display powerful enough for his sainthood.19 Alicia’s case is not unique among miracle testimonies: these types of incomplete healings appear, albeit sporadically, in other canonization dossiers as well, portraying the beneficiaries walking with mobility aids or limping after the cure.20 A few cases of remaining traces of a cured condition, worth examining in more detail, are also recorded in the miracles of Saint Louis IX of France. He was officially canonized in 1298, but the documents of the hearing, except for the testimonies of three miracles, are lost.21 Fortunately, around 1303 Franciscan friar Guillaume de Saint-Pathus, the confessor of Louis’s widow Margaret of Provence, compiled Vie et miracles de Saint Louis (Life and Miracles of Saint Louis) based on the canonization testimonies on the request of their daughter Blanche. Comparing his text with the surviving fragments of the hearing, as well as his own notions about the 16 Edited in Vauchez, La sainteté en Occident, p. 645: ‘Que postmodum apparente sibi in visu beato Thoma in parte est curata. Probatur per testes sed quia curata non invenitur in pede plene nec vulnera in tot clausa nec voluit morari usque ad plenam curationem, illi non est insistendum. Potius enim videtur quedam aleniatio quam curatio.’ 17 Saints were also thought to appreciate persistence. See Bartlett, Why Can the Dead Do Such Great Things?, p. 362. 18 Vauchez, La sainteté en Occident, p. 572. 19 Sancti canonizatio facta per Joannem XXII Papam in AASS, Oct. I, p. 597: ‘Quaedam insuper puella annorum quinque, quae pedem unum habebat annis pluribus quasi totum ex fistulis putrefactum, ita quod nec stare nec ire poterat, nisi se super femur trahendo per terram, portata ad dicti Sancti tumulum per patrem, fuit ibidem a dicta infirmitate curata.’ 20 A parallel case to that of Alicia in Thomas Cantilupe’s hearing concerns the cure of a woman called Agneta, who was completely unable to move. After her cure at Thomas’s shrine she walked on crutches for a year and with a cane after that. The case was not investigated as meticulously as that of Alicia, and is not included in the curialist’s report. BAV, Vat. lat. 4015, fols. 238r-v. See also BAV, Vat. lat. 4025, fols. 165v-166v; Quellenstudien, pp. 175-76, 178, 205-06, 222-23. 21 Edited in ‘Fragments de l’enquête faite à Saint-Denis’.

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writing process, it has been concluded that Guillaume remained rather faithful to his original source.22 In the collection, a few miracle benef iciaries were cured of severe impairments but had small symptoms left. A girl called Eidelot had been unable to walk, but after a pilgrimage she reportedly limped very little. The narrative resembles that of Alicia de Lonesdale’s case, stating that she ‘felt nothing of the malady’.23 In his description of two cures of severely disabling conditions, Guillaume de Saint-Pathus makes it clear that even though some symptoms are left after the miracle, the beneficiaries were able to take care of their everyday tasks.24 The fourth case in this category leaves it somewhat unclear whether Guillaume de Saint-Pathus meant the cure to be complete or simply gradual. Guillot dit le Potencier, who had for years been unable to walk with his other leg, received a miraculous cure at Louis’s shrine. Afterwards he reportedly walked with a cane for about four months because of his feebleness. Then the apertures of his foot were closed, and he could walk without a cane if he wanted, but he limped a bit. Guillaume, however, goes on to end the narrative by stating that Guillot was totally healthy of the said malady with no further references to the remaining limp.25 That we only have Guillaume’s summaries and interpretations of the original witness accounts makes the text very interesting for our current topic. Guillaume’s motive for writing the collection was to promote the cult of the saintly king,26 and although he was faithful to his original source, sometimes apparently transcribing parts of the hearing verbatim,27 this 22 Farmer, Surviving Poverty, pp. 7-9; Gaposchkin, The Making of Saint Louis, pp. 37-39. On Louis IX’s canonization, see Gaposchkin, The Making of Saint Louis, pp. 19-65; Goodich, Vita perfecta, pp. 186-91. 23 Guillaume de Saint-Pathus, Les Miracles de Saint Louis, p. 37: ‘ne puis de cele maladie riens ne senti, et aloit de ça et de la comme une autre saine pucele, et nonporquant ele clochoit un bien petitet’. 24 Guillaume de Saint-Pathus, Les Miracles de Saint Louis, pp. 133-34, 187. The first one of these examples, concerning Jehenne de Serris, has been extensively analysed in Farmer, Surviving Poverty, pp. 119-24, 130-31, 152-54. Similarly, in Philip of Bourges’s hearing a presbyter called Petrus testified that after a vow to the saint, his gutta was first alleviated and then, within a month, he was able to ride. Eventually, he became so healthy that he often felt the infirmity a bit, but it did not burden (grauare) him. BAV, Vat. lat. 4019, fol. 86r. 25 Guillaume de Saint-Pathus, Les Miracles de Saint Louis, p. 26. 26 As pointed out by M. Cecilia Gaposchkin, these hagiographic writings did not, however, construct Louis’s sanctity and memory for the public at large; that was done through the use of liturgical texts. Gaposchkin, ‘Louis IX and Liturgical Memory’. 27 See Gaposchkin, The Making of Saint Louis, p. 39.

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purpose must have affected the way he summarized the accounts.28 After all, he was writing at royal request, having himself a Franciscan background. Other cases in the collection where the cures are thought to be somewhat partial will be discussed below, but if indeed the partial nature of some of these cures had lessened the powers of the saint, there is the possibility that he would not have included so many of them in his text. On the other hand, Guillaume emphasized carefully the insignificance of such remaining impediments, thus underscoring the wondrous nature of the events, relegating the remaining limps or weaknesses to the background. While this may be Guillaume’s rhetorical means to emphasize his own message, it is likely that a similar tone appeared in the original hearings – perhaps even more often than Guillaume’s narrative mentions, as is suggested by the comparison between the surviving testimonies for the cure of a curved woman and Guillaume’s narrative.29 It is apparent that the dossiers of the inquest were exceptionally lengthy and detailed,30 and many accounts include detailed information on the gradual nature of the cure, with the beneficiaries residing at the shrine for several days, and the process of healing itself being meticulously examined. An old man called Gilbert de Sens suffered from badly trembling hands. He was cured at Louis’s shrine so that only a small trembling remained; it later disappeared. At the time of the inquest, the commissioners wanted to know if he was well-healed, and this was tested by Gilbert drinking wine from a goblet without any spilling or trembling of the hands.31 Whether or not a cure was partial was, therefore, not insignificant. On the contrary, the exact nature of it had to be carefully scrutinized for proving the miracle real. As these examples already show, a vast majority of partial cures concern various conditions impairing mobility, while partial cures of blindness are much rarer. Miracles curing blindness are, in general, more scarce in 28 This aspect is perhaps even more essential when it comes to Louis’s vita. All its versions carefully describe Louis’s saintly virtues according to the mendicant ideals of the time. Gaposchkin, The Making of Saint Louis, pp. 40-41. On the importance of the vitae for the canonization proceedings, see e.g. Goodich, Vita Perfecta, pp. 21-47. 29 Robertus de Cantrage testif ied that after the cure, she performed her tasks like other healthy women, although her thighs remained a bit curved. ‘Fragments de l’enquête faite à Saint-Denis’, p. 26. Guillaume de Saint-Pathus did not repeat this remark, perhaps because the other six witnesses for the miracle did not mention it. Guillaume de Saint-Pathus, Les Miracles de Saint Louis, pp. 18-20. 30 This has been noted by, for example, Sharon Farmer, who states that the miracle collection ‘gives us more detail about poor people’s strategies for surviving long-term disability than any other source yet to be exploited by a medieval historian’. Farmer, ‘Manual Labor’, p. 266. 31 Guillaume de Saint-Pathus, Les Miracles de Saint Louis, p. 32.

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the canonization hearings; this may explain the low number of partial cures.32 Another reason may be that blindness has fewer visible symptoms, although the beneficiary may reportedly have had a white cover over his or her eyes. Presumably, the different levels of vision were also harder to detect and prove. Needing to be guided by another person was a typical way to demonstrate blindness in the miracle depositions, which sometimes added details about the inability to take care of some everyday tasks. Besides such details, the complete cure may have been harder to demonstrate. Some of the definitions concerning healing, like that of recognizing objects,33 do not necessarily mean ‘perfect’ vision. Two examples from the canonization process of Saint Yves of Tréguier further demonstrate the ambiguity of the concept of a ‘cure’. In one of them, the mother considered her daughter’s blindness in one eye a grave condition, praying that she would die rather than live with it.34 Another woman had a completely blind daughter and she also wished for her death. This time, the result of the vow was that the girl recovered vision in one eye, bringing great joy to the family.35

Relapse and Alleviation It has been suggested that of the beneficiaries whose cures were recorded at shrines, quite a few actually suffered from a relapse later. There are also recorded statements of pilgrims returning to the shrine after the illness returned.36 However, people who testified in the canonization hearings often did so years, even decades, after the witnessed or experienced miracle. Most canonization processes were conducted based on a questionnaire (formula interrogatorii), which could be of varying length, but always included a question asking for the length of time the witness has been healthy or has

32 See note 4 above. 33 Guillaume de Saint-Pathus, Les Miracles de Saint Louis, p. 182: ‘Car des donques puis cel flu de cel sanc, ele connoissoit et devisoit les choses que ele veoit.’ 34 ‘Processus de vita et miraculis Sancti Yvonis’, pp. 168, 210. 35 ‘Processus de vita et miraculis Sancti Yvonis’, pp. 269-70. 36 See Finucane, Miracles and Pilgrims, pp. 75-78; Park, ‘Medicine and Society’, p. 74. Robert A. Scott goes as far as to write that ‘the great majority of miracles recorded at medieval shrines involved partial recoveries and temporary improvement of health’. Scott, The Gothic Enterprise, p. 201. Unfortunately, he does not refer to any specific collection or scholarship here. Whether relapses were recorded, depended, in any case, also on the scribe. For example, William of Canterbury, who wrote down Thomas Becket’s miracles, was reluctant to record such instances and, when he did, he provided explanation. See Koopmans, Wonderful to Relate, pp. 197-98.

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seen the miraculé being healthy.37 This is a significant difference compared with miracles recorded at shrines, which did not have such ‘follow-up’. Miracle narratives in canonization hearings, which include mentions of relapse, are, therefore, very rare – the only exception being those cases where the ill deeds of the person who made the vow resulted in the return of the condition as a punishment.38 In such cases, the protagonist virtually always realizes his or her mistake and finally receives a complete cure.39 In the hearing of Saint Nicholas of Tolentino, there is a rare account portraying the miraculous cure as alleviation, or even as a series of temporary cures. Andreas Accursi, regius Roberti (Robert of Anjou, 1277-1343, King of Naples) milex (sic) et iuris professor, was asked if he knew anything of Nicholas’s miracles, to which he replied no, but that sometimes he himself had experienced temporary help for his infirmity, which he pleaded from the Saint. 40 The commissioners then wanted to know what Andreas’s infirmity was, and he informed them it was podagra, which is a version of gutta, affecting mainly legs and causing pain and/or fever. 41 Andreas’s deposition does not specify his symptoms, but he reported that he had been ill for about four years. The commissioners then asked if he was completely cured of his condition, to which he replied no, but that he only felt the aforementioned temporary alleviation. Andreas is an extremely rare example of a witness who does not count the help received as a miracle. The testimony thus acts as one of the few instances in which some kind of pre-evaluation of whether or not the healing was a miracle was done by the miraculé. Most likely, his education has an effect here. As a university-trained man, Andreas was probably aware of the thirteenth-century scholastic theology of miracle, and the on-going 37 See e.g. Goodich, Miracles and Wonders, pp. 88-89; Klaniczay, ‘Proving Sanctity’, pp. 128-29; Vauchez, La sainteté en Occident, pp. 58-59. 38 The most typical reason for such a punishment was the failure to fulfil the promise made to the saint. Krötzl, ‘“Crudeliter afflicta”’, pp. 124-28; Sigal, L’homme et le miracle, pp. 276-82. Asking for the help of medical professionals after making the vow could also result in a relapse, though this was not always so. See Ackerman Smoller, ‘Defining the Boundaries of the Natural’, pp. 347-48. 39 A rare example was recorded in the hearing of St Dorothea of Montau in 1404-1406. A cleric defaming Dorothea’s sanctity was blinded, his mouth became curved, and he became unable to speak. After an invocation to the saint he was otherwise cured, but his mouth remained a bit cured and his speech somewhat unclear. Die Akten des Kanonisationsprozess Dorotheas von Montau, 27, 128, 154, 289. 40 Il Processo per la canonizzazione di San Nicola, p. 606: ‘dixit quod in sua persona aliquando sensit iuvamina temporalia de infirmitate sua, cum ipsum fratrem Nicolaum pro se ipso rogavit’. 41 ‘Indice voci scienza medica’, in Il Processo per la canonizzazione di San Nicola, p. 673.

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attempts to limit the number of phenomena understood as miracles. Following the views of Thomas Aquinas, several theologians were of the opinion that a true miracle was an event contrary to nature, for God and saints could act outside the normal laws and patterns of nature. In De potentia Aquinas divided miracles into three different types: those that were above (supra), against (contra), or apart from nature (praeter naturam). Cures initiated by saints and not occurring through the gradual work of nature belonged to the last group. Moreover, Albertus Magnus (d. 1280) made a distinction between miracula and mirabilia, while Gervase of Tilbury (d. 1235) defined mirabilia as phenomena which do not appear natural to people, but which can, nevertheless, be initiated by a saint. 42 Presumably, Andreas Accursi understood his experiences as something like mirabilia, being less wondrous by nature than a proper miracle. That his case ended up recorded in Nicholas of Tolentino’s hearing in the first place is explainable by him testifying about Nicholas’s fama and his high social status, as elite men were considered to be the most trustworthy witnesses. 43 At the time of the hearing, Andreas was a professor in Naples and the judge of appeal of King Robert. 44 He was, however, originally from Camerino, where his witness account was recorded, which may have influenced his summons to testify. The other explanation is that a preceding witness, Conellus Actonis, notarius et mercator, also from Camerino, testified that Andreas had once told him that Saint Nicholas liberated him from a serious bout of infirmitatem flancorum. There is a rather striking difference between the diagnoses given by Conellus and Andreas, as according to Conellus, the next morning Andreas showed him the kidney stone which had caused the pain. 45 42 Goodich, Miracles and Wonders, pp. 20-22; Wilson, Miracle and Medicine, pp. 64-67, 121-22; Wittmer-Butsch and Rendtel, Miracula. Wunderheilungen im Mittelalter, pp. 66-67. 43 The preference given to wealthy witnesses was ordered in the decretals of Gregory IX. Krötzl, ‘Prokuratoren, Notare und Dolmetscher’, pp. 122-23. See also Farmer, Surviving Poverty, pp. 50-56. On the selection of witnesses, see Golinelli, ‘Social Aspects in Some Italian Canonization Trials’; Katajala-Peltomaa, Gender, Miracles, and Daily Life, pp. 23-70; Lett, Un procès de canonisation, pp. 140-60. 44 Lett, Un procès de canonisation, p. 319. 45 Il Processo per la canonizzazione di San Nicola, p. 310: ‘Et ostendit sibi testi unum lapidem quod eicerat illa nocte per virgam.’ There is another witness in the hearing mentioning morbus flancorus, but she did not describe the symptoms. Il Processo per la canonizzazione di San Nicola, p. 193. In the ‘Indice voci scienza medica’, in Il Processo per la canonizzazione di San Nicola, p. 666, her condition is labelled as arthritis. Based on Conellus’s testimony, this, however, does not seem plausible, especially as flancus refers to the flank area of the back where the kidneys are located. See du Cange, et al., Glossarium, t. 3, col. 519b.

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A comparable case was briefly recorded in the hearing of Saint Philip of Bourges in 1265, during which a cleric called magister Gerardus related that he was frequently troubled by gutta, which was alleviated by prayers to the Saint. 46 Here too the reasons for the case’s recording can be found elsewhere: Gerardus was primarily testifying about another miracle he had experienced, in which he had doubted Philip’s sanctity and fallen ill as a punishment. He himself interpreted that illness as gutta as well, whereas the other four testifying churchmen did not report Gerardus’s continuing health issues.47 Obviously, here Gerardus’s earlier experiences had an influence on his interpretation of the later gutta, which, however, was not interesting for the commissioners. 48 A different type of alleviation, where the saint was allegedly involved only once, was investigated in the canonization hearing of Dauphine of Puimichel (1284-1358), the Countess of Sabran, conducted in 1363. Bertranda Bartholomea, who lived in Dauphine’s household for a long time, testified about several of her miracles in vita. One of them concerns the cure of Francisca de Mari, who resided in the castle of Robert of Anjou. For five years Francisca had suffered from a headache so severe that it made her unable to see or hear anything, until Dauphine’s touch healed her. The commissioners wanted to know how long Bertranda had seen the said Francisca after the cure, to which she replied she had seen her without the headache for three or four months and heard from her that she did not experience the aforementioned pain, but that during those months she felt some pain, only it was not as severe as before. 49 Francisca de Mari is mentioned several times in Dauphine’s process: she was a companion and a distant relative of King Robert’s second wife, Sancha of Majorca (1285-1345), moving in the same circles as Dauphine and her husband Saint Elzéar of Sabran. She did not, however, give a deposition in the hearing, nor does any other witness mention her cure.50 Perhaps it had not become well known in their circles because it was not complete, but it 46 BAV, Vat. lat. 4019, fol. 71r. 47 The other depositions are on BAV, Vat. lat. 4019, fols. 71r-73v. 48 The other witnesses were not asked about Gerardus’s second miracle, nor is it recorded in the summary of Philip’s miracles in BAV, Vat. lat. 4020. 49 Enquête pour le procès de canonisation de Dauphine de Puimichel, p. 309: ‘non sencierat dolorem predictum; sed lapsis dictis mensibus, audivit dici ab eademmet quod dolorem predictum senciit, sed non tantum graven ut solebat, ante curacionem factam per tactum dicte domine Dalphine, ut supra deposuit.’ Dauphine’s process includes other cases too where she has cured a person’s severe headache. See ibid., pp. 358-59, 367-69. 50 Enquête pour le procès de canonisation de Dauphine de Puimichel, pp. 56, 164, 174, 339.

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is also typical of Dauphine’s hearing that many of the miracles, especially those not included in the articles, only have one witness. Due to the scarcity of such miracle accounts we can only make guesses, but it seems plausible that the cures or alleviations like those of Andreas, Gerardus, and Francisca – even if not labelled as miracles – were more common than the records tell. Even if one does not wish to diagnose medieval miracle beneficiaries, many illnesses do have relapses or remissions, and some heal or at least improve with no medical intervention.51 And no matter what the actual physical or psychological mechanisms between the narratives are, it seems evident that alleviation was already a great personal relief, which saints could bring about. Smaller relapses and returns of the condition were also not necessarily given that much emphasis. Alicia de Lonesdale, for example, reported briefly that one night after the cure she felt pain in the parts of her body that had been paralyzed.52 In the process of Saint Elizabeth of Hungary, a poor woman called Heideradis testified about the cure of her epileptic son, saying that no signs of the earlier illness appeared in him, except that once a rigidity (rigor) struck him, but he remained seated and did not fall.53

Expected Partial Cures It is also noteworthy in the testimony of Andreas Accursi that he specified that the occasional alleviation of his podagra was exactly what he had asked for, instead of praying to receive a full cure. In the hearing of Saint Nicholas of Tolentino, there is another case where the protagonist similarly invoked the saint hoping to get better instead of getting cured. A youth called Mathiolus Angeli was unable to walk for two years and moved around sitting on a small cart, asking for alms. One of the witnesses of his miracle, magister Mercatante Iohannis Adambi, testified that he saw Mathiolus lying on a cart in front of the house of Pucius Johannis. Mercatante Iohannis then said to Pucius that it would be a beautiful miracle if Saint Nicholas cured that cripple. Hearing this, Mathiolus responded that he wished Saint Nicholas would give him a great grace so that he could walk on his own on 51 For the occasional attempts to explain medieval miracles by modern scientific standards, see e.g. Finucane, Miracles and Pilgrims, pp. 54-65, 78; Scott, Miracle Cures, pp. 74-46, 122-27, 129-30, 146-48. For criticism of such an approach, see e.g. Van Dam, Saints and Their Miracles in Late Antique Gaul, p. 84; Yarrow, Saints and Their Communities, pp. 10-11. 52 BAV, Vat. lat. 4015, fol. 68r. 53 Quellenstudien, p. 245.

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crutches. Mercatante Iohannis and other men helped Mathiolus to Pucius’s house, where they commended him to Saint Nicholas, asking the Saint to cure him so that he could walk on crutches, and adding that he did not wish for a major grace, but that would suffice.54 In her deposition, Mathiolus’s sister said her brother wanted to be cured just so that he would not have to sit on that cart, which he would donate to the Saint.55 Mathiolus’s wish was granted, and soon he indeed was able to walk on crutches. Interestingly, Pucius Johannis, who testified about Nicholas’s vita and another miracle, did not mention Mathiolus at all.56 Mercatante Iohannis Adambi, on the other hand, gave a lengthy testimony including passages about the Saint’s life as well as three other miracles.57 It is possible that otherwise the miracle would not have received attention in the hearing. Here again, we get a glimpse of the ambiguous scale of ‘disability’ in the hagiographic sources: many protagonists asked for the cure of a situation similar to that of Mathiolus’s cured state. Interestingly, when interrogating the witnesses about the stability of Mathiolus’s cure, the commissioners used the word sanus, healthy.58 His partial cure was also called a miracle, which is perhaps less surprising, considering that it happened as an immediate result of the vow. Moreover, Mathiolus’s sister informed the commissioners that he walked well or healthily on his own, although on crutches.59 Unusual as it is, Mathiolus’s case is a fine example of what Ronald Finucane writes about the medieval perception of illness or health being social generalizations, and that ‘whether someone was cured [was] little better than a consensus

54 Il Processo per la canonizzazione di San Nicola, p. 215. The division between ‘miracle’ and ‘grace’ was still somewhat hazy at this point, although it appears that Mathiolus and perhaps the others present as well made some difference between the two concepts. The distinction started to develop in the sixteenth century. See Finucane, Contested Canonizations, p. 24, note 31. 55 Il Processo per la canonizzazione di San Nicola, p. 270: ‘per se nollet maiorem gratiam: solummodo quod non esset sibi necesse iacere et sedere in dicta carrecta, et dictam carrectam portaret ad archam suam.’ 56 Pucius’s testimony is on Il Processo per la canonizzazione di San Nicola, pp. 228-31. 57 Il Processo per la canonizzazione di San Nicola, pp. 213-18. 58 Il Processo per la canonizzazione di San Nicola, p. 216: ‘Interrogatus quanto tempore post miraculum factum vidit eum sanum, dixit quod per duos menses et ultra ire cum croceis et non in carretta ut consueverat.’ 59 Il Processo per la canonizzazione di San Nicola, p. 271: ‘Interrogata quanto tempore post miraculum factum vidit eum sanum, dixit quod ab inde postea nunquam vidit eum protractum, immo per se ambulabat optime, licet cum crociis.’

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of opinion’.60 In other words, health or the lack of it was defined primarily by the community, as was a miraculous cure.61 The personal viewpoint, albeit connected with the communal one, is equally crucial in this case. It is noteworthy that the initiative to ask only for a partial cure came from Mathiolus himself and that the Saint did not give him more than he asked. It is possible that Mathiolus indeed thought that not asking for a ‘major grace’, as the account puts it, might help his cause. In general, saints rarely gave the petitioners more than they prayed for. These cases could be compared with those where a newborn child is in danger of dying without baptism, and a vow is made asking that the saint would let the infant live so that it could be baptized.62 In a majority of such cases the child indeed dies in infancy after baptism, although there are occasional exceptions.63 It is of course possible that at least some of the witnesses interpreted the partial nature of the miracle afterwards by adjusting their own wishes accordingly. It has also been proposed that one reason for why partial cures are so rare in the dossiers is that they were considered to be caused by the lack of personal devotion or not confessing one’s sins beforehand,64 which, if prevalent, may have made people unwilling to report such cases. On the other hand, it is probable that for most medieval people, the sense of complete physical well-being was rare overall.65 Moreover, according to David Gentilcore, in the early modern era – presumably also pertaining to the Middle Ages – a full recovery was not even necessarily the main wish or expectation of a sick person.66 The limits of the curing methods 60 Finucane, Miracles and Pilgrims, p. 73. 61 This aspect of health and illness with regard to Ancient Greece has been thoroughly analysed in Grmek, Les maladies à l’aube de la civilization occidentale, who writes (p. 12) that instead of being constituent elements of reality, diseases are explanatory models of it. In other words, illness or disease is a culturally defined phenomenon rather than a physical one. 62 On these miracles, see Finucane, The Rescue of the Innocents, pp. 42-46 and also Arnold, Belief and Unbelief, pp. 134-36. 63 Such a case is, for example, recorded in ‘Processus de vita et miraculis Sancti Yvonis’, pp. 256-57. The mother was sure the foetus in her womb was dead and prayed to the saint that it could be baptized. The child was still alive at the time of the investigation, eleven years later. 64 Wittmer-Butsch and Rendtel, Miracula. Wunderheilungen im Mittelalter, p. 66. Confession was, in principle, a pre-requisite of a miraculous cure. See e.g. Yarrow, ‘Narrative, Audience and the Negotiation’, p. 70. Except for Les Miracles de Saint Louis, our sources are, however, quite silent about the matter. 65 See e.g. Scott, Miracle Cures, pp. 11-12. 66 Gentilcore, Healers and Healing, p. 186. In her study on medieval leprosy, Carole Rawcliffe writes that the cure of the illness was mostly defined by becoming well enough ‘to walk again in public without shame’. Rawcliffe, Leprosy, p. 251.

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were known, and the personal relief, even if the cure was partial, could be immense.67 After all, Mathiolus Angeli had been forced to ask for alms while unable to walk at all, and Alicia de Lonesdale also briefly mentioned that at the time of the inquiry she was living by the work of her hands and not forced to beg for survival.68 This kind of viewpoint is also visible in one of the most peculiar partial cures of later medieval miracle testimonies, recorded in Pope Urban V’s hearing conducted in Avignon in 1376-1379.69 The case concerns the time of a battle between the ruler of Milan, Galeazzo II Visconti (c. 1320-1378), and the Marquis of Montferrat (presumably John II, 1321-1372). When Galeazzo’s troops were conquering a village called Locarno, local nobleman Jacobus de Farmentono continuously spoke against them. As a punishment, they cut his tongue, destroyed his eyes, and cut his arm, presumably seeing it as a powerful threat for other inhabitants of the town.70 Jacobus remained in that state for 43 days, when Franciscan brother Anthonius de Morosio told him to make a vow to Urban V. In his heart, Jacobus promised to build a chapel in the saintly Pope’s honour if he gave him back his speech. From then on, Jacobus was able to talk without a tongue.71 Although Jacobus eventually received a miraculous cure, he certainly continued his life as an impaired person, for the account says nothing about the possible cure of his eyes or hand. Re-growth of amputated limbs is generally missing from medieval canonization records, with the exception of some tongues,72 but that Jacobus remained also blind is somewhat 67 See also Finucane, Miracles and Pilgrims, p. 75. 68 BAV, Vat. lat. 4015, fol. 68r. 69 The text most likely consists of the articles based on which the inquest was supposed to be conducted. See Vauchez, La sainteté en Occident, pp. 369-72, 660. 70 Mutilation was not an exceptional punishment in medieval Europe, although how prevalent it actually was is somewhat unclear. It is known, however, that in the late Middle Ages, it was gradually favoured over other punitive measures. It appears unclear whether the punishment Jacobus faced was regulated by the law, for as Irina Metzler writes, ‘juridical’ is a rather ambivalent term, but during wartime the victors undoubtedly thought they were acting judiciously when assailing the vanquished. Metzler, A Social History of Disability, pp. 11-35. 71 Actes Anciens, pp. 432-33. 72 In Thomas Cantilupe’s process there are three tongueless boys: Johannes, Philippus, and Hugo. The information given about Hugo is very sparse, but on Philippus and Johannes we have lengthier depositions and they are both also mentioned in the Hereford proctors’ list of the miracles. BAV, Vat. lat. 4015, fols. 90r-v, 105r-v, 186r-188r, 204r-209v, 242r-v, 274r, 291r. Moreover, Thomas Cantilupe’s miracula in Exeter College Manuscript 158 describes the cure of a mute man whose tongue had been torn out by thieves. Goodich, ‘Miseries of Dulcia St. Chartier (1266) and Cristina of Wellington (1294)’, p. 111. Saint Francis of Assisi also cured a boy with no tongue. Vita Prima S. Francisci Assisiensis, pp. 113-14. Nicholas of Tolentino’s hearing also includes a

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surprising. It has been concluded that aural and speech impediments were among the most severe in medieval society, and they could also cause legal problems for those in possession of wealth or those who were potential heirs, even though losing one’s ability to stipulate after the inheritance did not make the person lose it.73 As Jacobus’s promise to build a chapel shows, he was a man of some means, and therefore the legal issues may at least partly explain the nature of his wish. In addition to Andreas Accursi, Mathiolus’s and Jacobus’s cases are the only ones I have found where the protagonists so clearly articulate their wishes for a partial cure. The fourth vow that can be read as not asking for a perfect cure comes from the Breton hearing of Charles of Blois from 1371. Iohannes le Maignen had been unable to see with his left eye from his youth until his mid-twenties, when he also lost the sight of his right eye. During the following thirteen years, he made futile pleas to several saints, until he finally heard about the miracles of Charles and made a vow, asking to be cured so that he would at least be able to walk without being guided.74 Iohannes indeed got the sight back in his left eye and completed his vow by making a pilgrimage. Iohannes stated that he walked there without a guide and, furthermore, that he walked better than his wife who had two seeing eyes, which further illustrates the ambiguousness of ‘non-blindness’ in medieval society.75 It is possible that Iohannes was aware that a partial cure could be considered as a lesser miracle, because he specified that he walked better than his wife. Presumably, he used ‘walking well’ as a synonym for seeing well, because being able to walk alone was an established manifestation of being cured of blindness.76 rather curious case in which an amputated finger is re-attached to the hand. Il Processo per la canonizzazione di San Nicola, pp. 464-66, and the Hereford proctors’ list of Thomas Cantilupe’s miracles lists the cure of a man whose thumb was ‘horribly amputated’. BAV, Vat. lat. 4015, fol. 270r. 73 See e.g. Metzler, ‘Reflections on Disability’. 74 BAV, Vat. lat. 4025, fol. 178v: ‘mihi visum dare velitis in tantum ad minus quod valeam sine ductore per vias incedere, et promitto vobis quod sepulchrum vestrum visitabo.’ 75 For example, eye-glasses were in general use in northern Italy by the turn of the fourteenth century, but not available to everyone. Frugoni, Books, Banks, Buttons, pp. 14-16. Then again, even today blindness is legally defined differently in different countries, from severely reduced eyesight to complete blindness. See e.g. Pereira and Conti-Ramsden, Language Development, p. 3 76 Being unable to walk alone and needing a guide was the most common way of proving blindness in canonization testimonies. Kuuliala, Childhood Disability and Social Integration, pp. 55-57. Similar expressions are common also in earlier miracle stories, and the miracles of blind people recorded at shrines often include mentions of the pilgrims arriving with a guide. Metzler, Disability in Medieval Europe, pp. 175-76.

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As mentioned above, the conceptions of what was ‘natural’ were essential for the scholastic discussion of miracles. The views are visible in the thirteenth-century miracle collections recorded at saints’ shrines and often in the witness accounts of canonization hearings, as well as occasionally also when the original condition of the miraculé is described as ‘unnatural’.77 There are two cases in Les Miracles de Saint Louis, which, however, show the other side of the coin, and are also related to our current topic.78 The first example concerns a woman called Hodierne, who was limping (boiteuse) since birth. She was around 40 years of age when she was struck by a condition which made her unable to walk at all if she did not use something for support. After two years she made a pilgrimage to Saint Louis’s shrine and was cured. According to the narrative, before the illness she had been a healthy woman, walking on her own without a cane, and performing her other tasks like any other healthy woman, although she ‘limped by nature’. After the cure she was again described as healthy and capable of carrying out her tasks like other healthy women.79 The other case portrays the cure of Marguerite, a sister at the Parisian convent of the Filles Dieu. A condition struck her left hand and her left leg, which she could no longer put on the ground. She had to walk with a cane, which she was not used to. According to the narrative, before that she had been making silk purses and had walked well and freely, and although she was limping (boisteuse) on her left side, she had been able to put her left foot on the ground. After making a pilgrimage to Saint Louis IX’s shrine in Saint-Denis, she was again able to do her tasks, walk without the cane, and put her foot on the ground, although she was limping.80 The final words of the records of Hodierne’s and Marguerite’s cases come from the pen of Guillaume de Saint-Pathus, but there is no reason to assume that similar notions about their ‘natural’ limping and ability to take care of everyday tasks would not have been made in the original witness accounts. 77 This aspect has been thoroughly studied in Wilson, Miracle and Medicine. 78 Medieval theologians and philosophers wrote about the origins and naturalness of especially congenital malformations with varying views. According to Thomas Aquinas, a mutilated body is ugly, for all things must have the parts which belong to them. On the other hand, some writers shared Augustine’s views expressed in City of God, stating that even monsters are divine creatures and belong to the order of nature. See Metzler, Disability in Medieval Europe, pp. 49-51 and also Jaritz, ‘“Young, Rich, and Beautiful”’, pp. 61-63. 79 Guillaume de Saint-Pathus, Les Miracles de Saint Louis, pp. 96-97. For further discussion about Hodierne and Marguerite, see Kuuliala, Childhood Disability and Social Integration, pp. 45-47. 80 Guillaume de Saint-Pathus, Les Miracles de Saint Louis, pp. 101-04. See also Farmer, Surviving Poverty, p. 129.

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These narratives finely demonstrate the ambiguousness of what, in the end, was ‘impairment’ or ‘disability’ in the Middle Ages. As stated by Miri Rubin, binary classifications such as health/sickness or sanity/madness do not function properly when discussing medieval bodies,81 as these two miracles illustrate. As long as the two women were able to fulfil their social roles and do their work, they had no infirmity to be healed; that only began when they were disabled by their conditions. And although the condition to be cured seems to have been an aggravation of earlier states, it is questionable whether these miracles can even be read as partial ones. A miraculous cure healed the one condition or problem for which the saint was asked for help; it did not change what was considered ordinary for the person in question, or conditions for which the cure was not asked.82 As was the case with many other beneficiaries in Louis IX’s miracles, the emphasis on them being able to function like ‘other healthy women’ defined their cures in the eyes of the writer, and most likely also in the eyes of the community, as is suggested by the two such mentions in the surviving depositions.83 After all, it has been argued that the whole concept of ‘normal’ did not exist before the nineteenth century. The prime concept was that of ‘ideal’, which no human is ever able to achieve.84 There is the possibility that cases like Hodierne’s and Marguerite’s were more common than one would think when reading medieval miracle narratives. The descriptions of cures in Guillaume de Saint-Pathus’s collection are exceptionally rich. However, in the other, much more summarized record of Louis IX’s miracles compiled at the royal court before the actual hearing by Guillaume de Chartres, Hodierne’s original or remaining limp is not 81 Rubin, ‘The Person in the Form’, p. 115. 82 There is an interesting remark pointing this out in Peter of Morrone’s hearing. A boy called Francesco had been deaf and mute since birth. After his father took him to visit the saint, he gradually got his hearing and speech back. According to the father, at the time of the investigation the boy heard well and spoke intelligibly, except that he did not produce the words in a distinctive manner due to an impediment caused by fire when the child was an infant. ‘Die Akten des Kanonisationsprozess’, p. 220. The other two witnesses for the miracle (pp. 221-23) did not mention the remaining impediment. On the contrary, one of them stated that the boy grew well. Another case showing this is recorded in Saint Yves of Tréguier’s process, where a blind man fell into a well and was rescued by the saint. He was not, however, cured of the blindness. ‘Processus de vita et miraculis Sancti Yvonis’, pp. 235, 281-82, 284-90. Charles of Blois’s dossier also depicts a case where a man is in danger of dying without confessing a mortal sin. The saint revives him so that a priest can be fetched, and the man dies after confession. BAV, Vat. lat. 4025, fols. 134v-137v. 83 ‘Fragments de l’enquête faite à Saint-Denis’, pp. 26, 30. 84 Davies, Bending over Backwards, p. 105. See also Wells, ‘The Exemplary Blindness of Francis of Assisi’, pp. 69-70.

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mentioned (Marguerite’s miracle is not included in that collection).85 The same holds true for both miracles in a fifteenth-century version of Louis’s miracula.86 Although Guillaume de Chartres’s version was recorded before the hearing and before Guillaume de Saint-Pathus’s re-telling, this suggests that at least occasionally, when the miracle story was narrated in a simpler form, the original, mild infirmity was not essential for proving the miracle or the powers of the saint.87

Marks of Impairment – Marks of the Miraculous As the miracles of Hodierne and Marguerite show, there is a fine line between a ‘partial’ and a ‘full’ miraculous cure. First, as has been mentioned, gradual cures were common in all types of miracle collections, and occasionally it is difficult to define which was in question. In Saint Louis IX’s miracles, there are two cases in which a person is cured of childhood muteness; one in his twenties, the other as a child. Both of these beneficiaries received a sudden, physical cure – the first had been deaf as well and the cure manifested in him suddenly hearing voices. Both were taught, little by little, to speak after the miracle.88 The saint thus gave them the physical ability to speak, but not the ‘mental’ ability that is learned as a result of childhood socialization. In this sense these examples can be compared to the gradual cures of physical impairments, which resemble our notion of physical therapy.89 One may also speculate that whether or not the cure was ‘complete’ at the time of the hearing depended on the time span between the miraculous events and the inquest. A youth cured of gutta by the merits of Saint Yves of Tréguier was, for example, recorded as having weak limbs due to the recently cured infirmity.90 Secondly, there is a large number of miraculous cures in which the protagonist receives a full miraculous cure, but small marks of the condition 85 Guillaume de Chartres, ‘De vita et actibus inclytatae recordationis regis Francorum’, p. 40. 86 BNF, MS Fr. 2829, fols. 93r, 120r-v. 87 For the changes in the re-telling of miracles in their later forms, see Hanska, ‘From Historical Event to Didactic Story’. 88 The miracles are in Guillaume de Saint-Pathus, Les Miracles de Saint Louis, pp. 50-54, 108-12. 89 See Metzler, Disability in Medieval Europe, p. 183. 90 ‘Processus de vita et miraculis Sancti Yvonis’, pp. 247-48. The inquest was held in summer 1330, between Midsummer and the feast of Saint Peter in Chains (1 August), and the said miracle had occurred a week before Midsummer. For a similar remark, see Guillaume de Saint-Pathus, Les Miracles de Saint Louis, p. 50.

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remain. The mildest version of these marks are various scars that appear after a condition with fissures or wounds was cured,91 and sometimes the remaining scars were mentioned when the commissioners added their own comments after examining the miraculé.92 That such marks were actually expected to remain is suggested by the testimonies regarding the cure of a girl called Francesse in Peter of Morrone’s (later Pope Celestine V) inquiry from 1306. The girl’s mother and uncle stated that it was impossible to remain without scars, both being consoled by the marks’ small size.93 Francesse’s family seems to have been of the opinion that scars are an inevitable result of being cured of fistulas, even if the cure was attained by saintly intervention, which had its limits too. At the same time, such marks were often seen exactly as proofs and signs of a miracle. In addition to the remaining scars as marks of cured fistulas, wounds and apertures, protuberances or lumps, or even an inclined head, could act as such proofs.94 Sometimes the wordings used underline the idea. After being cured of a severely disabling condition by the merits of Urban V, a nobleman called Johannes de la Garda reported that only his right index finger remained curved, bent, and deformed as a sign of his inpotentia.95 In the same way, when Franciscan brother Ricardus de Insula testified in Thomas Cantilupe’s hearing about his cure of warts that covered his whole body, he reported that one small wart remained on his left index finger. Ricardus had taken holy orders after the cure, and because he had to celebrate the mass, he was troubled by the wart. Ricardus tried to remove it, but it simply changed its location to a hardly discernible spot – ad commendacionem dicti sancti Thomae.96 In many cases there was a question as to whether the remaining marks after the miraculous event would count as still ‘impairing’ the miraculé 91 See e.g. ‘Processus canonizationis S. Ludovici’, p. 228: ‘nichil remansit de dicta infirmitate in tibiis suis nisi cicatrices dumtaxat, nec post aliquid sensit de dicto morbo.’ 92 BAV, Vat. lat. 4015, fol. 65r; Enquête pour le procès de canonisation de Dauphine de Puimichel, p. 504; Guillaume de Saint-Pathus, Les Miracles de Saint Louis, p. 70; Quellenstudien, p. 231. 93 ‘Die Akten des Kanonisationsprozess’, pp. 247, 251. See also Guillaume de Saint-Pathus, Les Miracles de Saint Louis, p. 50. Obviously, such remarks were not a norm. As an example, in the hearing of Charles of Blois, hot polenta burns the legs of the son of a nobleman. The depositions, however, state that no scars or marks remained. BAV, Vat. lat. 4025, fols. 93v-95v. 94 ‘Processus de vita et miraculis Sancti Yvonis’, pp. 212, 246. 95 Actes Anciens, pp. 288-89: ‘in signum sue inpotentie remansit digitus suus manus dextra curvus, plicatus et difformis’. 96 Ricaruds’s testimony is in BAV, Vat. lat. 4015, fols. 62v-64r. The reason the remaining wart burdened him presumably derives from the rules concerning the bodily faultlessness of the clergy. Deformations in hands, especially if they hindered handling the Eucharist, were among the most severe impediments. See Salonen and Hanska, Entering a Clerical Career, pp. 9, 123.

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somehow.97 However, no matter the level of severity of the remaining symptoms, even partially cured beneficiaries reinforced the fama of a cult.98 The remaining symptoms are by far the most common in the case of long-term impairing conditions, but there is sometimes mention of physical marks after resuscitations.99 These beneficiaries, who often were children, were equally living examples of the miraculous.100 In his discussion on the matter, Ronald Finucane interprets the remaining marks as the stigmata of the nonprivileged groups.101 However, as shown by some of the examples discussed above concerning those from higher social ranks, these marks were not the sole privilege of the less affluent but could be carried by the elite as well. When writing about Thomas Becket’s miracles curing leprosy, Carole Rawcliffe has noted that in quite a significant number of them, the Saint performed a partial cure to ‘keep his votaries in a state of abject repentance, to punish them for residual sins, or, more charitably, to leave behind some small proof of a greater miracle’.102 The cures discussed here have somewhat different connotations due to the source type and the special cultural 97 See BAV, Vat. lat. 4019, fols. 59r-60r for a girl whose eyes remained sensitive to fire and light, and Guillaume de Saint-Pathus, Les Miracles de Saint Louis, pp. 168-71, for another girl who did not grow as strong and tall as other women. 98 For fama in canonization dossiers, see Krötzl, ‘Fama sanctitatis’, and Lett, Un procès de canonisation, pp. 357-78. 99 As an example, a French boy Giefrein, who had died after falling into a cellar, remained pale, and his eyes were cloudy, but unfortunately the narrative does not elaborate on how the boy’s vision was affected. Guillaume de Saint-Pathus, Les Miracles de Saint Louis, p. 67. Paleness, or lack of good colour, was also recorded in the canonization hearing of Thomas Cantilupe. See BAV, Vat. lat. 4015, fols. 141v-142v, 155v-157r. The physical signs of resuscitation could vary. The mother of a boy had closed his nostrils when testing if he was really dead. After he was revived, he lived for twelve years, having a nostril closed. ‘Processus de vita et miraculis Sancti Yvonis’, p. 125, and a Breton girl once resuscitated said that she felt occasional pain in her kidneys. BAV, Vat. lat. 4025, fol. 92r. One may speculate that after such near-death experiences some symptoms would have been relatively common due to the lack of oxygen. This was possibly the case with a boy called Nicholas, resuscitated by the merits of Thomas Cantilupe. The commissioners recorded that at the time of the hearing, some eight years after the incident, Nicholas was languidus (‘weak, dull’) and they asked after his health. Nicholas stated that after the miracle he often felt heavy. He was described as very simple-minded (simplex erat multum); therefore, the commissaries decided not to investigate him further. BAV, Vat. lat. 4015, fols. 158v, 160r-165r. 100 The most obvious example of this kind of thinking is the resuscitation of Johanna la Schirreue in Thomas Cantilupe’s hearing. At the age of 25, almost twenty years after the miracle, Johanna still refused to marry against her parents’ wishes, and was generally called virgine sancti Thome. The testimonies, which are in BAV, Vat. lat. 4015, fols. 123r-140v, have been edited in Finucane, The Rescue of the Innocents, pp. 169-206, and extensively analysed in KatajalaPeltomaa, Gender, Miracles, and Daily Life, pp. 60-61, 76-82, 90-91, 169-70, 277-79. 101 Finucane, The Rescue of the Innocents, pp. 139-40. 102 Rawcliffe, Leprosy, p. 177.

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meanings of leprosy. The punishing aspect therefore remains absent,103 but the physical marks recorded in the canonization dossiers – and undoubtedly the many such cases which did not end up being officially recognized – continued to deliver the message of the miraculous, making the beneficiaries’ bodies surfaces on which the saint’s power were visible. How this affected the beneficiaries’ self-image and status in their social sphere, especially if the remaining symptoms still hindered their functional abilities, can only be speculated. We may get some idea, however, of Guillot dit le Potencier’s case. As a result of the miracle, he had gotten rid of his crutches, and yet, twelve years later, he was still going by the nickname deriving from the aids he once used. This does not have to be solely a result of his miraculous, possibly partial cure, as nicknames deriving from physical characteristics were generally common and not stigmatizing.104 It may nevertheless be seen as an example of the life-long influence of not just the cure but also its aftermath, which could define people for the rest of their lives, making them live on as someone both miraculously cured and impaired at the same time.

Conclusions Miracles resulting in partial cures were rarely investigated in canonization documents, but a closer look at the sources unravels quite a large number of cases in which some traces of the preceding condition are still visible at the time of the inquest. The occasional sources we have of the evaluation of such miracles show that from a theological point of view, they were not necessarily considered to be ‘real’ miracles. This, however, does not lessen their significance for the people experiencing them, for whom alleviation was a great relief, allowing them to fulfil their social roles again. For the beneficiaries and their social sphere, ‘healthy’ could mean ‘non-disabled’, and ‘miracle’ was something that resulted in this hoped-for situation. Despite their rarity, the most obvious partial cures do not seem to have been futile from the hagiographers’ point of view either. This is demonstrated by the narratives of Guillaume de Saint-Pathus, as well as Alicia de Lonesdale’s cure mentioned in the canonization bull. Even though in the latter case the partial nature of the miracle was omitted, it was recognition of the miraculous nature of her cure, despite the curialist’s opinion. What is 103 Leprosy miracles are extremely rare in later medieval canonization documents; therefore, comparisons are not possible. 104 See Metzler, ‘What’s in a Name?’.

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more important for our current topic, however, is that everyone testifying about her cure called it a miracle, and it was publicized in the Hereford cathedral. At the grassroots level, therefore, the personal relief and the contrast between the original situation and the result of the invocation were what constituted a miraculous cure, as was the case with Mathiolus Angeli in Saint Nicholas’s hearing. In both these cases, the commissioners and/or notaries of the hearing recorded the cures as miracles, making no distinction from full recoveries. At the same time, the possibility of a gradual cure, as well as the necessity of traces remaining after fissures and wounds, was recognized. The commissioners of the hearings seem to have had a rather matter-of-fact attitude towards the mechanisms of healing. Whether a miracle was partial or not appears often relatively equivocal. Much more common than clear partial cures are full recoveries after which some minor traces of the original condition remain. These marks can be compared to the stigmata, acting as potent signs of God’s power on Earth. However, the line between a ‘partial cure’ and a ‘mark’ was at best wavering. Especially when thinking of all the miracles experienced by people, not just those that ended up officially recorded, it is plausible that the bodies of most of the ‘partially’ cured beneficiaries were equally considered to carry the marks of the miracle. From a communal point of view, miraculous cure was, in the end, defined within the social sphere. Sainthood was equally constructed in a community, in which the ‘health’ or ‘healing’ of individual bodies played a crucial role.

Bibliography Unprinted Sources Biblioteca Apostolica Vaticana, Vatican City (= BAV) – MS Vat. lat. 4015: Inquisitio de fide, vita et moribus et fama et miraculis recolende memorie domine Thome de Cantilupo quondam episcope dicte ecclesie Herefordensis. – MS Vat. lat. 4019: Testes super uita et conuersatione Philippi quondam Bituricensis archiepiscopo. – MS Vat. lat. 4020: Rubrica examinis canonizationis Archiepiscopo Bituricensis. – MS Vat. lat. 4025: Liber Canonizationis dominis Karoli ducis Bretanie. Bibliothèque nationale de France, Paris (= BNF) – MS Fr. 2829: Le Livre des faiz monseigneur saint Loys, composé à la requête du cardinal de Bourbon et de la duchesse de Bourbonnois.

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Anthony Lappin, The Medieval Cult of Saint Dominic of Silos (Leeds: Maney Publishing, 2002). Didier Lett, Un procès de canonisation au Moyen Âge. Essai d’histoire sociale. Nicolas de Tolentino, 1325, Le Nœud gordien (Paris: Presses Universitaires de France, 2008). Simi Linton, Claiming Disability: Knowledge and Identity (New York: New York University Press, 1998). Irina Metzler, Disability in Medieval Europe: Thinking about Physical Impairment during the High Middle Ages, c.1100-1400, Routledge Studies in Medieval Religion and Culture (London: Routledge, 2006). Irina Metzler, ‘What’s in a Name? Considering the Onomastics of Disability in the Middle Ages’, in The Treatment of Disabled Persons in Medieval Europe: Examining Disability in the Historical, Legal, Literary, Medical, and Religious Discourses of the Middle Ages, ed. by Wendy J. Turner and Tory Vandeventer Pearman (Lewiston: The Edwin Mellen Press, 2010), pp. 15-50. Irina Metzler, ‘Reflections on Disability in Medieval Legal Texts: Exclusion – Protection – Compensation’, in Disability and Medieval Law: History, Literature, Society, ed. by Cory James Rushton (Newcastle upon Tyne: Cambridge Scholars Publishing, 2013), pp. 19-53. Irina Metzler, A Social History of Disability: Cultural Considerations of Physical Impairment, Routledge Studies in Cultural History (London: Routledge, 2013). Roberto Paciocco, Canonizzazioni e culto dei santi nella christianitas (1198-1302) (Assisi: Edizioni Porziuncola, 2006). Katharine Park, ‘Medicine and Society in Medieval Europe, 500-1500’, in Medicine in Society: Historical Essays, ed. by Andrew Wear (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1992) pp. 59-90. Miquel Pérez Pereira and Gina Conti-Ramsden, Language Development and Social Interaction in Blind Children (Philadelphia: Psychology Press, 1999). Procès de canonisation au Moyen Âge: Aspects juridiques et religieux religieux – Canonization Processes in the Middle Ages: Legal and Religious Aspects, ed. by Gábor Klaniczay, Collection de l’École française de Rome, 340 (Rome: École Française de Rome, 2004). Carole Rawcliffe, Leprosy in Medieval England (Woodbridge: Boydell & Brewer, 2006). Miri Rubin, ‘The Person in the Form: Medieval Challenges to Bodily ‘Order’’, in Framing Medieval Bodies, ed. by Sarah Kay and Miri Rubin (Manchester: Manchester University Press, 1994), pp. 100-22. Kirsi Salonen and Jussi Hanska, Entering a Clerical Career at the Roman Curia, 1458-1471, Church, Faith and Culture in the Medieval West (Aldershot: Ashgate, 2013). Robert A. Scott, The Gothic Enterprise: A Guide to Understanding the Medieval Cathedral (Berkeley and Los Angeles: University of California Press, 2003). Robert A. Scott, Miracle Cures: Saints, Pilgrimage, and the Healing Powers of Belief (Berkeley and Los Angeles: University of California Press, 2010). Tom Shakespeare, Disability Rights and Wrongs (London: Routledge, 2006). Pierre-André Sigal, L’homme et le miracle dans la France médiévale (XIe-XIIe siècle) (Paris: Les Éditions du Cerf, 1985). Laura Ackerman Smoller, ‘Defining the Boundaries of the Natural in Fifteenth-Century Brittany: The Inquest into the Miracles of Saint Vincent Ferrer (d. 1419)’, Viator, 28 (1997), 333-60. Raymond Van Dam, Saints and Their Miracles in Late Antique Gaul (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1993). André Vauchez, La sainteté en Occident aux derniers siècles du moyen âge d’après les procès de canonisation et les documents hagiographiques, Bibliothèque des Écoles Françaises d’Athènes et de Rome, 241 (Rome: École Française de Rome, 1981). Benedicta Ward, Miracles and the Medieval Mind: Theory, Record and Event 1000-1215 (London: Scholar Press,1982).

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Scott Wells, ‘The Exemplary Blindness of Francis of Assisi’, in Disability in the Middle Ages: Reconsiderations and Reverberations, ed. by Joshua R. Eyler (Aldershot: Ashgate, 2010), pp. 67-80. Thomas Wetzstein, Heilige vor Gericht. Das Kanonisationsverfahren im europäischen Mittelalter (Cologne: Böhlau, 2004). Louise Wilson, Miracle and Medicine in Medieval Miracula ca. 1180-ca. 1320 (Cambridge: University of Cambridge, Unpublished PhD Thesis, 2011). Maria Wittmer-Butsch and Constanze Rendtel, Miracula. Wunderheilungen im Mittelalter. Eine historisch-psychologische Annäherung (Cologne: Böhlau, 2003). Simon Yarrow, ‘Narrative, Audience and the Negotiation of Community in Twelfth-Century English Miracle Collections’, in Elite and Popular Religion, ed. by Kate Cooper and Jeremy Gregory, Studies in Church History (Woodbridge: Boydell & Brewer, 2006), pp. 65-77. Simon Yarrow, Saints and Their Communities: Miracle Stories in Twelfth-Century England, Oxford Historical Monographs (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2006).

Website ‘WHO | Disabilities,’ http://www.who.int/topics/disabilities/en/

III Crusades and Conversion



Servi Beatae Marie Virginis Christians and Pagans in Henry’s Chronicle of Livonia Jüri Kivimäe Ecce Dei mater, quam mitis circa suos, qui fideliter ei deserviunt in Lyvonia, qualiter ipsa semper defendit eos a cunctis inimicis suis, quamque crudelis circa illos, qui terram ipsius invadere sive qui fidem et honorem filii sui in terra ipsa conantur impedire! Henry’s Chronicle of Livonia XXV, 21

At the origins of the written history of the eastern Baltic lands stands Henry’s Chronicle of Livonia, a text recorded in Latin in c. 1224-1227.2 If there is any single old historical text about the Baltic region that might correspond to modern concepts such as metanarrative, that grand récit of medieval Baltic history would doubtless be Henry’s chronicle.3 It would be impossible to imagine the beginning of the recorded history of modern Latvia and Estonia without Henry’s chronicle, in view of its rich treasury of information about the way of life of the native peoples, the Christian mission, bloody conquests, names of persons and places, topoethnonyms, etc. The facts, events, and people – named and unnamed – that live on the chronicle’s pages have been so deeply sedimented into the canon of the early history of the Baltic peoples that it would be unseemly to cast doubt on them, even in scholarly writings. Yet the backbone of Henry’s chronicle is a deep conflict: on the one hand, there are those who are being baptized, conquered, and killed; on the other, those who baptize, conquer, and kill. As is typical of metanarratives, there are more than two sides involved, and the resultant oppositions are nowhere near as clear as those in the trenches 1 Behold how the Mother of God, so gentle to Her people who serve Her faithfully in Livonia, always defended them from all their enemies and how harsh She is with those who invade Her land or who try to hinder the faith and honour of Her Son in that land! 2 Heinrici Chronicon Livoniae, ed. by Arbusow and Bauer, is the best critical edition of the chronicle (henceforth: HCL). All English quotations are from the English translation – The Chronicle of Henry of Livonia, trans. and notes by Brundage. 3 Cf. the introduction to the chronicler and his work: Brundage, ‘Introduction: Henry of Livonia, The Writer and His Chronicle’.

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of the Great War of the twentieth century. Thus, in a medieval text, making distinctions between ‘us’ and ‘them’ can often be difficult. When analysing Henry’s ethnonyms, we have observed that in addition to the extensive catalogue of names of peoples and tribes and the principal actors referred to by name, the narrative of the chronicle is held together by several other general concepts such as Christians and pagans, warriors, pilgrims, merchants, neophytes, etc. 4 The main field of discussion of this chapter is focused on the question of how Henry recorded and constructed the history and image of the new Christian society conquered, claimed, and ruled by Germans at the edge of the Latin world.5 This study takes a particular interest in the cult of the Virgin Mary in Livonia and the rhetoric of Mary’s land (Terra Mariana) in crusading ideology.

The Renaissance of Henry’s Chronicle of Livonia The discovery of Henry’s metanarrative is a never-ending process. Discussions of Henry’s chronicle deriving from the second half of the nineteenth and the beginning of the twentieth century, mostly in German historical writings, have been forgotten; attempts to ‘nationalize’ Henry – dubbing him Henry the Latvian (Henricus Lettus) – have been overturned and subsequently faded from view. However, in the last few decades Henry’s Chronicle of Livonia has undergone its own kind of ‘renaissance’, first and foremost in scholarly literature in the English language, as well as in the context of in-depth research into the crusades, resulting in new and supplementary interpretations. Christian Krötzl has been one of the first medievalists in the Baltic region to introduce a broader view of papal politics in the northern Baltic area in the twelfth and thirteenth centuries, offering a convincing account of the larger plan for the entirety of the Christian mission, conversion, and violent Christianization.6 He connected the popes’ project to extend Christendom (christianitas) northwards and eastwards with the emergence of a united Europe, while emphasizing the complexity of relations between the Christian mission and the violent crusades carried out particularly in the Baltic territories.7 4 Kivimäe, ‘Henricus the Ethnographer’. 5 Schmieder, ‘Edges of the World – Edges of Time’. 6 Krötzl, ‘Finnen, Liven, Russen’. 7 Krötzl, Pietarin ja Paavalin nimissä; cf. also Krötzl, ‘Die Cistercienser und die Mission ‘ad paganos’.’

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Considering the most important contemporary directions within this broader discourse, Danish historians have clearly provided the most significant stimulus to the reconceptualization of the history of the crusades in northern Europe.8 A distinguished achievement of international cooperation among Baltic medievalists was the publication of two volumes edited by Alan V. Murray.9 These studies resituated the Baltic crusades (and one of the most relevant primary sources) in the centre of scholarship in medieval studies. The revitalization of this research culminated in a Companion to the Chronicle of Henry of Livonia.10 Fundamental political changes in the Baltic region have had a palpable impact on the ideology and practices of history-writing. The Baltic peoples now belong to the European Union, and interwar anti-German attitudes have been forgotten. In historical culture the old rhetoric of the ‘Danish-German conquest’ has been replaced by inevitable union with the Latin world – albeit at the cost of the crusades.11 Nevertheless, these shifts cannot change the course of real history of the thirteenth century. Rereading Henry’s Chronicle of Livonia as a metanarrative continues to generate questions and ideas, some of which may be old and forgotten, but which nevertheless call for rethinking in a modern context.

Christians, Pagans, and Neophytes Almost all of our knowledge concerning the native peoples of the Baltic territories in the first decades of the thirteenth century derives from Henry’s Chronicle of Livonia. The text contains a rich treasury of information about the social organization of the pagan Livs, Latvians, and Estonians, their customs and beliefs. If we read the chronicler’s descriptions of the natives and raise questions about the reliability of these narratives – whether regarding baptizing missions or crusading expeditions – several circumstances pertaining to source criticism must be taken into account. One should neither overestimate nor unwittingly modernize a missionary priest’s capacity to understand the particularities of the dialects of the 8 Most remarkably in Lind, Jensen, Jensen, and Bysted, Danske korstog; cf. also Estonian translation: Taani ristisõjad and English translation: Jerusalem in the North; Fonnesberg-Schmidt, The Popes and the Baltic Crusades; on the later crusades see: Jensen, Denmark and the Crusades. 9 Crusade and Conversion on the Baltic Frontier, ed. by Alan V. Murray; The Clash of Cultures, ed. by Alan V. Murray. 10 Crusading and Chronicle Writing, ed. by Tamm, Kaljundi, and Jensen. 11 See Bombi, ‘The Debate on the Baltic Crusades and the Making of Europe’.

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languages of the Baltic peoples, nor his understanding of native culture and pagan belief.12 Such critical remarks are difficult to verify from reading the chronicle, but one should therefore not conclude that the chronicle as a whole is unreliable. We are concerned with Henry’s – a Christian missionary’s construction understanding of the native peoples of the new colony.13 In the first chapters of his narrative, Henry finds it difficult to articulate an appropriate style and to set forth certain general concepts. Despite the fact that, close to the end of the chronicle, Henry postulates that ‘Nothing has been put in this account except what we have seen with our own eyes; what we have not seen with our own eyes, we have learned from those who saw it and who were there’,14 there is still a palpable difference in the text when the chronicler writes about the time before his arrival in Livonia in 1205 and the events that happened during his own experiences there.15 At the beginning of the chronicle, it seems that Henry is searching for terms with which to designate nostri (‘us, those who are ours’), that is the Germans, who were certainly not present in great numbers at the time of the ‘discovery’ of Livonia (the later German term Aufsegelung).16 In addition, though Henry, as a missionary priest, is reproached for his dislike of merchants, after all, it is in the company of these very German merchants (Theutonici […] mercatores) that the first German missionaries and their assistants arrive in Livonia.17 Only when the first Bishop, Meinhard, makes plans to leave Livonia for Gotland in 1195 or 1196 does the Chronicler attribute to the Livs18 the suspicion that perhaps this will entail an attack by Christian army (christianorum […] exercitum, as they are first mentioned).19 When, after Meinhard’s death, the new Bishop, Berthold, arrives in Livonia in 1196, Henry writes of his coming to Üxküll, where he has assembled the most reputable 12 See in particular Murray, ‘Henry the Interpreter’. 13 The author’s viewpoint on medieval Livonia as a colony and colonized landscape requires further investigation; cf. old and new historiography like Höhlbaum, ‘Die Gründung der deutschen Kolonie an der Düna’; Schiemann, ‘Überblick über die Geschichte der deutschen Kolonie an der Ostsee’; Prawer, The Crusaders’ Kingdom: European Colonialism in the Middle Ages; Pluskowski, The Archaeology of the Prussian Crusade; cf. also Tamm, ‘Inventing Livonia: The Name and Fame of a New Christian Colony on the Medieval Baltic Frontier’. 14 HCL XXIX, 9, p. 215; Brundage, pp. 237-238. 15 Cf. Selart, ‘Iam tunc … The political Context of the First Part of the Chronicle of Henry of Livonia’. 16 Cf. Johansen, ‘Die Legende von der Aufsegelung Livlands’. 17 HCL I, 2, p. 2; Brundage, p. 26. 18 The author of this chapter prefers the ethnic name ‘Livs, Livish’ to that of ‘Livonian, Livonians’, as the latter denotes primarily all the peoples of Livonia. 19 HCL I, 11, p. 5; Brundage, p. 28.

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pagans and Christians (meliores tam paganos quam christianos).20 In this place in the text, ‘pagans’ definitely refers to the Livs, while meliores signifies the best of them, that is, their chieftains. To distinguish the baptized from the yet-to-be-baptized Livs, Henry constructs an opposition between pagans and Christians, or the newly baptized. Thus it is understandable that the opening lines of the chronicle proclaim the revelation of divine providence, the goal of which is to waken the idolatrous Livs ‘from the sleep of idolatry and sin’.21 Henry does not deny the pagan gods, but according to the missionary, it is important to convince the pagans to relinquish their idols and turn to the worship of the one Christian God. In 1206 when Priest Daniel was sent to baptize the Livs of Lennewarden (modern Lielvārde), he run against the local custom of predicting the future, specifically the designation of the Lithuanians’ attack as ‘an image growing out of a tree from the breast upwards’; on this occasion, the Priest cursed their idolatry, but, behold, the attack of the Lithuanians did not take place.22 There is also the well known story from 1220, when Henry, along with Priest Theoderic, was baptizing in Vironia/ Virumaa and began chopping down holy trees, presumably on Ebavere hill, from where the great god of the Oeselians, Tharapita, had taken flight for Saaremaa. The Estonians had been astonished that blood did not flow when ‘the images and likenesses which have been made there of their gods’ were cut down, and thus they were more inclined to believe in the priest’s sermons.23 In the chronicle, both of these occurrences served a specific function, the confirmation of the power and truth of the Christian faith. In 1208 Bishop Albert besieged the fort of Selones, and the terms for surrender and peace were reneging idolatry.24 In the same way, when the fortress of Sontagana was conquered in 1216, Priest Godfried demanded of the Estonians, ‘Will you renounce idolatry and believe in the one God of the Christians?’ to which the Estonians replied ‘We will.’25 In fact, the picture Henry painted of the conversion of the pagans was not so optimistic. When the baptized Livs had risen up against the new order and the new faith, and were forced, after their subjugation, to come to Riga to make peace, Bishop Albert demanded that they ‘renounce the worship of false gods […] 20 21 22 23 24 25

HCL II, 2, p. 8; Brundage, p. 31. HCL I, 1, p. 2; Brundage, p. 25. HCL I, 1, p. 2; Brundage, p. 25. HCL X, 14, p. 45; Brundage, p. 66; see also Sutrop, ‘Taarapita – the Great God of the Oeselians’. HCL XI, 6, p. 54; Brundage, p. 74. HCL XIX, 8, p. 133; Brundage, p. 153.

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and return whole-heartedly to the worship of one God’.26 The Bishop even accused the Livs of wishing to drag all of Livonia back into idolatry. The uncertainty of the baptism was clearly shown when in 1225 papal legate William of Modena visited the Livs of Lennewarden and Ascheraden, ‘where he no less recalled the Livs from idolatry and diligently taught them the worship of the one God’.27 The chronicler thus betrays himself: in the span of twenty years the baptism of the Livs of Lennewarden had been no particular use. Instead, there are numerous reports in the chronicle about the baptized Livs, Latvians (Letts), and Estonians backsliding from the new faith. There is no need to rehearse this evidence point by point, since over the course of decades, national historiography has carefully documented them. Nevertheless, in many places in the chronicle’s text there is reason to doubt veracity, since the direct speech attributed to the chronicle’s heroes and antiheroes is, as a rule, rhetoric constructed by the author. The general concept of pagani (‘the pagans’), relentlessly repeated in Henry’s text has a wide range of meaning, and can be quite ambivalent. Henry’s Lithuanians (Letthones) are pagans par excellence, ferocious and ‘the enemies of the name of Christ’ (inimicos nominis Christi).28 However, in like manner the chronicle extends the label of ferocity against the Christian name (ferocitas contra nomen christianum), as was also evinced by the Semigallians and Curonians. Yet this state of affairs did not stand in the way of the Rigans’ military cooperation with the pagan Semigallians, who had already come to the aid of the Rigans on multiple previous occasions ad expugnandos alios paganos (‘in overcoming other pagans’). Vesthard, the leader of the Semgals, had summoned the Rigans to join a military campaign against the Lithuanians in 1208, for the reason ‘that the lots of his gods had fallen in a manner favourable to this war’.29 Though the Rigans paid no heed to the Semgals’ drawing of lots, which in itself was nothing but a pagan ritual, they refused to take part in the military expedition because of their small numbers.30 The fact remains that the Germans were willing, when necessary, to engage local pagans as their military allies. The long saga of the baptism of the Livish tribes ended with their subjugation, but their conversion did not only entail the acceptance of the Christian faith, the mystery of holy baptism (sacri baptismatis misteriis). 26 27 28 29 30

HCL XVI, 4, p. 109; Brundage, p. 127. HCL XXIX, 5, p. 212; Brundage, p. 234. Cf. Kivimäe, ‘Henricus the Ethnographer’, p. 102. HCL XII, 2, p. 59; Brundage, p. 79. HCL XII, 2, p. 59; Brundage, p. 79; cf. Krötzl, Pilger, Mirakel und Alltag, pp. 302-03.

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Henry tells the story of how in the winter of 1206-1207, the Livs of Turaida appealed to their priest, Alabrand, that even their secular matters of justice be resolved according to the principles of Christian law (iura christianorum), as was done in clerical legal procedure.31 With respect to the justification for this wish, Henry adds: ‘The tribe of the Livs (gens Lyvonum) was formerly most perfidious and everyone stole what his neighbor had, but now theft, violence, rapine, and similar things were forbidden as a result of their baptism.’32 Whether or not the structure of this narrative corresponds to the truth is hard to confirm, but what does correspond to the truth is the introduction of Christian law. In 1210 the Germans, Livs, and Latvians besieged the fortress of Viljandi (castrum Viliende) in Sakala (Saccala), Estonia. On the sixth day of the siege, the Estonian leaders were willing to negotiate with the Germans, and Henry allows them to make a public confession: ‘We acknowledge your God to be greater than our gods. […] We beg therefore, that you spare us and mercifully impose the yoke of Christianity (iugo christianitatis) upon us as you have upon the Livonians and Letts.’33 Thereafter the Estonians were promised all the laws of Christianity, peace, and brotherly love. When the Estonians besieged the fortress of Beverin in 1208, Henry put the same words about the yoke of the Christian faith (iugo christianitatis et pacis perpetue) in the mouths of the Latvians.34 The yoke of the Christian faith – or, more properly speaking, the yoke of Christ is a religious or spiritual concept, based on Jesus’ words: ‘Take my yoke upon you, and learn from me; for I am meek and lowly in heart, and you will find rest for your souls’ (Matt. 11:29). In Christian teaching this means that one becomes a Christian by coming to Christ, but one learns how to live as a Christian, by taking Christ’s yoke. It is impossible to assume that the Latvians in Beverin or the Estonians in Viljandi would have known and expressed such fine nuances of the Christian faith; thus, what we have before us is Henry’s own biblically based construction. Many of the realities of Christianization are violent, and they reflect the real relationship between Christians and pagans during the crusades. In 1215, the Germans, along with the Livs and Latvians, besieged the Estonian chief Lembitu’s fortress of Leole in Sakala. The Estonian chiefs who had surrendered vowed that they would allow themselves to be baptized, but they were taken to Livonia, where they were freed only on condition of 31 32 33 34

See the interesting discussion by Leimus, ‘Iura christianorum’. HCL X, 15, p. 46; Brundage, p. 67. HCL XIV, 11, p. 85; Brundage, p. 107. HCL XII, 6, p. 64; Brundage, p. 85.

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handing over their sons as hostages. In 1217, the Rigans, along with the Livs and Latvians, announced their next military expedition to Järva (in Gerwam) in Estonia. After a week of looting and burning, the elders (seniores) of Järva came to the village of Kareda and pleaded for peace, which they were granted, on condition that they adhere to baptism and agree to pay a perpetual tax (censum); in addition to the baptism of some of them, their sons were taken hostage.35 For centuries, the taking of hostages has belonged to the measures of military actions. The imprisonment of the sons of native chiefs, or of those who had backslidden from the faith had many goals: first, to neutralize the chiefs’ resistance to the Germans; second, to attempt to train and teach the young natives in the spirit of Christianity. Such violent methods of Christianization and Christian warfare may create a considerable feeling of estrangement today; when rereading the chronicle, the force and intensity of such methods clearly seem questionable. Lembitu, the abovementioned leader of the Sakala Estonians, continued to fight against the Germans, and fell in the Battle of Saint Matthew’s Day on 21 September 1217, which proved particularly costly to the Estonians. How was it possible to win the natives over to Christianity, when this intention was preceded by a military campaign; when the villages of the Estonians and Latvians (who had been labelled as pagans) were pillaged and burned down; when their women and children were taken prisoner, and the native chieftains were thereafter constrained to take a vow to witness to the Christian faith? Indeed, this is the very substance of the crusades, of which the chronicle provides ample descriptions. The baptism of the natives was often a question of sheer power. Let us return once more to Henry’s account of the 1220 baptismal missions, during which the priests arrived in the village of Reinevere at the edge of Vironia (Viru) county. The elder of the Estonians ostensibly answered the priests that they had already been baptized: ‘Since we were in the village of Jalgsema when a priest of the Danes performed the sacrament of baptism there, he baptized some of our men and gave us holy water. What more should we do? Since we have been baptized once, we will not receive it again.’36 One might imagine the crestfallen faces of the priests; ostensibly, they smirked and shook the dust from their feet and hurried on to baptize the next villages. Given that Henry himself participated in this verbal exchange, there is no reason to doubt the trustworthiness of his narrative. 35 HCL XX, 6, p. 138; Brundage, p. 158; cf. also the detailed discussion by Ghosh, ‘Conquest, Conversion and Heathen Customs’, p. 99. 36 HCL XXIV, 5, p. 175; Brundage, p. 193.

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As is evident from the narrative of the village elder, the formality of baptism is not the Danes’ only sin, but it can be extended to all of the mass baptisms of which the chronicle speaks. The lack of loyalty on the part of the baptized Livs or Estonians that is often mentioned by Henry is the consequence of the formality of baptism. One can also raise questions about how many noteworthy Christians there were among the natives besides the well known Livish chief Caupo?37 Talibald, the elder of the Letts of Beverin, who was baptized in the early years and whose residence was in the fort of Trikata, is mentioned quite often in the chronicle. Estonians often plundered his possessions, but obviously there were reciprocal raids, which were even continued by Talibald’s sons. The Lithuanians captured Talibald and his son Waribule in 1213; however, the Elder managed to escape and reached home ‘after eating no bread for ten days’.38 In 1215, the Estonians mounted a new raid against the Latvians. When they reached Trikata, they captured Talibald, who had emerged from his place of refuge. Ostensibly, the Estonians tortured Talibald by fire and tried to extract money from him. When he had agreed to pay 50 oserings, the Estonians continued to torture him and burned him to death. Since Talibald was a Christian, who belonged to the faithful Latvians, Henry emphasizes that he died a martyr’s death.39 Henry has recorded a similar Estonian hero in his chronicle. In 1219, when the Sword Brethren carried out a military campaign against Vironia, in the company of the Livs, the Latvians, and other Rigans, they met an elder named Tabelinus in the Pudiviru parish of Vironia, ‘who had once been baptized by our people in Gotland’. A second Estonian named Kyriawan ‘begged just to give him the good God, saying that up to now he had had the bad god’, and after being baptized he became a very happy man. When the priests were on the point of anointing him with holy oil, panic broke out, since the pagan forces attacked the Sword Brethren. 40 The following year Henry was on a baptismal expedition to Estonia and baptized fourteen villages in the parish of Pudiviru. Their chieftain Tabelinus was also baptized; Henry knows that the Danes later hanged him, since he had accepted the baptism of the Rigans as rivals and handed over his son as a hostage to the Sword Brethren. 41 The case of Tabelinus is quite instructive in showing 37 38 39 40 41

For more on Caupo, see Nielsen, ‘Mission and Submission’. HCL XVII, 2, p. 113; Brundage, p. 133. HCL XIX, 3, p. 125; Brundage, p. 144. HCL XXIII, 7, p. 161; Brundage, p. 179. HCL XXIV, 1, p. 170; Brundage, p. 188.

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how baptism served the cause of political power struggles rather than the interests of religious conversion. Henry’s text is overdetermined by the subjugation of the unfaithful Livs, Latvians, and Estonians; the rhetorical concept neophyti (‘neophytes’) keeps these specific nominations in the background of his text. Alternatively, neophyti may lack all positive content, being, as it were, an empty term. 42 In Henry’s first year in Livonia, a liturgical drama was performed in Riga in Winter 1205/1206. The content of the play of the prophets was explained to both converts and pagans (neophitis quam paganis) through an interpreter (perhaps Henry himself). 43 Obviously, the elders of local Livic people were among the audience. A bit later, Henry writes about the martyrdom of two Livs recently baptized in Üxküll – Kyrian and Layan. Later, he desists from enumerating individual neophytes. Perhaps the Chronicler was disturbed by the fact that many of the baptized natives, including the Livs and Estonians he baptized himself, had backslidden from the faith, and had to be compelled by means of violence to submit themselves again to the yoke of the Christian faith. Thus in Henry’s time, the concept of the neophyte had quite an ambivalent meaning, despite the fact as a missionary priest, Henry did not want to admit that his work was of dubitable gain to the Church of the new colony. The consequentiality of the conversion of the native peoples of Livonia and Estonia is hard to assess. Subjugation by means of military force; the imposition of Christian (feudal) law and taxation are indisputable realities, but the acceptance of the new religious worldview was an extremely lengthy process, which is almost impossible to date. There is still no genuine proof for the opinion that by the second half of the thirteenth century, these changes had been fully accepted. 44 One of the crucial factors in the superficiality of the conversion of the pagans was the language barrier. Despite Henry’s unique linguistic abilities, the chronicle often exhibits hesitations that the author has not adequately comprehended the events he described; that he has not understood the language of the baptized nor that of the pagans who are fighting on the opposite side. Let us not forget that in those days the Latvian, Livic, and Estonian languages as we know them today contained many dialectical

42 See in general Kala, ‘Rural Society and Religious Innovation’. 43 HCL IX, 14, p. 32; cf. also Petersen, ‘The Notion of a Missionary Theatre’. 44 Eesti ajalugu II. Eesti keskaeg, ed. by Selart, p. 80.

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differences, and the mastery of these clearly exceeded Henry’s linguistic capacities. 45 Returning to the concept of colonial society, it is important to affirm that the linguistic barrier – in other words, the multilinguality of Livonian society – persisted for centuries, maintaining the gap between the minority of German immigrants and the majority of non-German-speaking native inhabitants.

Henry and the Cult of Mary In the developing colonial society of Livonia, the subjection of the majority to the minority took place under the banner of Christianization and the form of violent conquest. The baptism of the Livs, Latvians, and Estonians was fundamentally their conversion to the Christian faith. Reading Henry’s chronicle instead convinces the reader of the opposite, namely how few and unstable the results of this process were. In order to render the justification of the crusade and its destination more attractive, Anu Mänd and later Marek Tamm used the explanatory concept of the sacralization of Livonia – representing this region as a new ‘promised land’, and the transformation of this land ‘into the domain of the Mother of God – Mary’s Land’. 46 Jensen has discussed the sacralization of landscape both in terms of pagan lands and the homeland of the crusaders. 47 Such an interpretation is justified, especially if one considers that Henry’s chronicle may have had the function of a kind of report to the Roman curia, as a summary narrative of the things that transpired in Livonia; as many scholars have argued, the writing of such an account was overtly encouraged by the papal legate, William of Modena. However, attributing far-reaching political and ideological intentions to Henry leads to the danger of overinterpreting the text, finding messages in it that correspond to the questions we want to ask. But Henry wrote his text in Livonia, not in Rome, Lübeck, or Magdeburg. The res gestae Alberti Episcopi, which the chronicle predominantly represents, first and foremost required local legitimation, not only the legitimation appropriate for the Roman curia. Henry, hardened by the Baltic crusades, an attentive observer with a superb memory, had to understand that the conflicts between the 45 Cf. Raun and Saareste, Introduction to Estonian Linguistics, p. 57. 46 Mänd, ‘Saints’ Cult in Medieval Livonia’, p. 195; Tamm, ‘How to Justify a Crusade’, p. 445; cf. the conference paper by Nielsen, ‘Virgin Mary for the Sake of Livonia’. 47 Jensen, ‘Sacralization of the Landscape’.

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Germans or the Rigans and the newly baptized could be overcome only by means of the sword, and that even this was no guarantee of peaceful cooperation within the Christian community for the greater glory of God. Similarly, Henry had to admit, albeit with bitterness, that there were differences among the ruling powers of the new colony, which became particularly apparent during the Livonian mission of the papal legate William of Modena. Indeed, it has been argued that some kind of conflict impeded the advancement of Henry’s own career in Livonia, and that at the end of his life he withdrew to his own parish at Pappendorf-Rubene. These facts and opinions do not constitute sufficient basis for a secularization of Henry’s worldview. Quite to the contrary, Henry remained faithful to the Christian church that he served selflessly, and to the teaching of Christianity, the seeds of which he sowed as a missionary in the new colony. This is far from an invented metaphor; rather, it rests on the richness of allusions within the chronicle itself, such as to the Lord’s new vineyards, etc.48 Biblical metaphors may distract us from the main question of finding a common denominator for the new colony sufficient to persuade us, at least with respect to the text, of the unity of the Livonian church and community. The Latin world of the twelfth and thirteenth centuries experienced the extraordinary popularity of the cult of the Virgin Mary. 49 The crusades intensified the spread of this cult. The scholarly literature has particularly emphasized the role of the Cistercians in transmitting the cult of the Virgin Mary, and this should of course be considered in relation to medieval Livonia.50 In the early decades of the thirteenth century, during the subjugation of the eastern Baltic territories, veneration of the Virgin Mary was transmitted by the missionaries and the organizers of the crusade. Likewise, Paul Johansen has called attention to the fact that Segeberg, the home church of the first missionary, Bishop Meinhard, was dedicated to Mary, and that the corresponding first church at Üxküll in Livonia bore Mary’s name.51 After his ordination, Bishop Albert transferred the Üxküll church to Riga. According to Henry’s chronicle, he dedicated the episcopal cathedral (cathedram episcopalem) and all of Livonia along with it to Mary, the Mother of God.52 Unfortunately, Riga’s first cathedral burned down in 1215, but most likely 48 Cf. Kaljundi, ‘Young Church’. 49 Cf. Rubin, Mother of God; McNelly Kearns, The Virgin Mary; Pelikan, Mary Through the Centuries; Jensen, ‘How to Convert a Landscape’, pp. 164-68; Bartlett, The Making of Europe, pp. 279-80. 50 Bourgeois, ‘Les Cisterciens et la croisade de Livonie’. 51 Johansen, ‘Die Chronik als Biographie’, p. 19. 52 HCL VI, 3, p. 17; Brundage, p. 40.

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was soon rebuilt. Furthermore, in the chronicle’s rhetoric, Mary’s Church has yet another connotation. When the prince of Gercike comes to Riga in 1209 to make peace, the chronicle, in the words of Bishop Albert, legitimizes the use of Mary’s Church as a synonym for the Christian church of Livonia. Albert’s terms of peace are that the prince donate his state as a permanent gift to the church of the Blessed Mary. The prince proceeded to confirm this, vowing henceforth to always remain true to the church of the Blessed Mary.53 This passage is a striking example of how the Chronicler constructs the image of Livonia as dedicated to the Virgin Mary. Significantly, the cult of Mary spread in Livonia in the context of a crusade carried out by military orders. The German religious and military order of the Teutonic Knights, founded in the 1190s, bears the name of Mary – Ordo fratrum hospitalis Sancte Marie Theutonicorum in Hierusalem (‘Order of the Brothers of the House of Saint Mary of the Germans in Jerusalem’). As Johansen has pointed out, the churches of the knights of the Teutonic Order as well as those of the merchants of the Hanseatic League bore the name Sancta Maria Teutonicorum, and in Johansen’s view this was high fashion, as well as a sign of the zenith of the medieval cult of Mary.54 Even though the military order founded by Albert, Bishop of Riga, Fratres militiæ Christi Livoniæ (The Militia of Christ of Livonia) – the Livonian Brothers of the Sword or the Sword Brethren – represented itself as an association of the knights of Christ, it also served the cult of Mary, the Mother of God.55 The banner of the Blessed Virgin Mary (vexillum beate Virginis) is often mentioned in Henry’s text, both in its general meaning and with specific reference to military sieges. In his 1208 narrative, the chronicler writes with pathos of how the Livs, Latvians, and Germans bore the banner of the Blessed Virgin Mary to Ugandi, that is, to the territories of southern Estonia. Such wording is symbolic and signifies the beginning of the conquest of the Estonian territories. However, when the Germans besieged the fortress of the Livs at Sattesele, the Bishop sent his banner into the fort amidst the surge of battle ‘in order to persuade them to return to the sacrament of faith’. When the Livs finally surrendered, Blessed Mary’s

53 HCL XIII, 4, p. 104; Brundage, p. 92. 54 Johansen, ‘Die Chronik als Biographie’, p. 19; cf. also The Chronicle of Prussia by Nicolaus von Jersoschin, passim; Helm and Ziesemer, Die Literatur des Deutschen Ritterordens, pp. 41-44; Pluskowski, The Archaeology of the Prussian Crusade, pp. 159-61; Dygo, ‘The Political Role of the Cult of the Virgin Mary in Teutonic Prussia’. 55 The magisterial work by Benninghoven, Der Orden der Schwertbrüder, however, omits the question of the relationship of the Sword Brethren to the cult of Mary.

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banner was raised on high and (they) bowed their necks to the Bishop.56 This narrative itself is not particularly reliable, but it does indicate that the banner of the Virgin Mary was carried along during military campaigns; it remains an open question whether it was the banner of the bishop’s entourage or held in common with the Sword Brethren. In the last part of the chronicle, the banner functions rather as a symbol of a triumphant crusade. In 1220 Henry states emphatically that the Rigans had subjugated all of Estonia, with the exception of the province of Revala and the island of Oesel/Saaremaa, to the yoke of the Christian faith, under the banner of the Virgin Mary.57 Elsewhere the chronicle writes metaphorically that this vineyard has been planted under the banner of the Blessed Virgin through the enthusiasm of the crusaders and the labours of the Rigans.58 Henry comes to like the image of the banner, as when he ironically mentions the Swedes, who invaded the parishes of Rothel/Ridala, which had already been subjugated to the standard of the Blessed Virgin (read: conquered by the Rigans), but were defeated quite soon, leaving the impression that this was a particularly sinful deed on the part of the Swedes, because the Mother of God only showed gentleness toward her own.59 In Henry’s words, this privilege of first conquest is also defended by papal legate William of Modena, when he claimed in Vironia in 1225, ‘that this land had first been made subject to the Christian faith by the Livonians with the banner of the Blessed Virgin’.60 From here Henry derived his jealous understanding that the standard of the Virgin Mary could only be borne and fought under by Germans – the crusaders of Bishop Albert and the Sword Brethren.

Inventing Terra Mariana The cult of the Virgin Mary in Livonia becomes primarily bound to the Fourth Lateran Council in 1215. Pope Innocent III summoned the ecumenical council with the bull of 19 April 1213 to meet in November 1215. The Pope’s invitation to Rome included all bishops and abbots, representatives of the chapters and religious orders, as well as all kings and princes of the Christian world. Henry mentions this news when narrating the beginning of Bishop 56 57 58 59 60

HCL XVI, 4, p. 109; Brundage, p. 128. HCL XXIII, 10, p. 167; Brundage, p. 186. HCL XXIV, 2, p. 170; Brundage, p. 189. HCL XXV, 2, p. 180; Brundage, p. 198. HCL XXIX, 6, p. 212; Brundage, p. 234.

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Albert’s sixteenth year (1214): ‘Bishop Albert journeyed once again to Germany so that in the following year he could more easily attend the Roman council (concilium Romanum) which had already been announced for two years.’61 Perhaps the papal invitation was extended to only two dignitaries of the new German colony – Bishop Albert and Theoderic, Bishop of Estonia, both of whom were seeking papal support for their activities in the Baltic.62 However, during Albert’s absence, the ruling of the Rigan church and all of Livonia was in the hands of Philipp, Bishop of Ratzeburg, who, after Albert’s departure undertook his own journey to Rome: ‘The Bishop of Ratzeburg and Bishop Theoderic of Estonia hurried to the Roman council. They embarked by sea with the pilgrims who were going to Germany and sailed to Gotland with nine cogs.’63 Leaving aside the adventuresome story of how the German travelling company fought against the Oeselians and Estonians at sea, it is important to add that the first cogs only reached Gotland harbour on 22 July 1215. The very detailed and truthful story of this voyage leaves no doubt that Henry accompanied Bishop Philipp on his journey to Rome. Henry’s close relationship to the Bishop was already documented in 1212, when Henry referred to himself as sacerdos ipsius et interpres Henricus de Lettis (priest and translator of Bishop Philipp, Henry the Latvian).64 According to Henry’s narration, they reached the turning point of their rescue at sea after Bishop Philipp’s prayer to the Blessed Virgin: ‘Show Thyself a mother, show Thyself a mother’, although Henry borrowed this passage of the text from the Breviary hymn Ave Maris Stella. Indeed, through his education and practice, a parish priest would have committed to practical memory large portions of the Breviary, encompassing the liturgies for the divine offices at canonical hours, including psalms, biblical passages, and hymns of praise. This is far from trivial: such memorized material surely served as a seedbed not only for personal devotions, but also for theological elaboration with respect to the circumstances at hand. Henry’s use of the ‘Song to Mary of the Seafarers’ is an excellent example of this phenomenon. The chronicle remains silent about how the travellers sailed from Gotland to Lübeck and then continued their journey to Italy. As Arbusow had remarked with respect to a cut on the parchment copy of the manuscript, the two paragraphs that followed this one had the same title: De morte 61 HCL XVIII, 1, p. 115; Brundage, p. 135. 62 Fonnesberg-Schmidt, The Popes and the Baltic Crusades, pp. 83-91; Gnegel-Waitschies, Bischof Albert von Riga, pp. 115-16. 63 HCL XIX, 5, p. 127; Brundage, p. 147. 64 HCL XVI, 3, p. 107, Brundage, p. 126.

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episcopi Philippi. Although there have been different interpretations regarding the damaged word on the margin of the text, it is highly possible that Bishop Philipp died in Veronia, in the modern north Italian city of Verona on 14 November 1215.65 All we know about the ‘mild illness’, sudden death, and burial of Bishop Philipp has been derived from Henry’s chronicle, and this is strong evidence that Henry himself stayed at Verona at least until c. 20 November before continuing his journey to Rome, which was at a distance of more than 500 km from Verona. These circumstances are enough to convince us that it took Henry and his eventual fellow travellers perhaps two weeks or even more to reach Rome. It therefore seems impossible to reckon that Henry reached Rome before Pope Innocent III closed the last session of the council on 30 November. However, one can still surmise that Henry finally reached the Eternal City and that he perhaps even met Bishop Albert and his fellow clerics. Henry’s very brief and relatively spare account of the Lateran Council might support the abovementioned course of events. One might expect that a journey to Rome in 1215 was the most important event in the life of a parish priest and missionary from the edge of the Latin World, and that Henry would devote a detailed description in his chronicle to his ‘pilgrimage’. However, there were circumstances that disturbed this expectation. It is noteworthy that Henry ‘knew’ that the council was attended by 400 patriarchs, cardinals, and bishops and 800 abbots, when compared to our modern knowledge that the participants included 71 patriarchs and metropolitans, 412 bishops, and 900 abbots and priors. Henry may have heard these data from the participants of the council, e.g. from Bishop Albert and Bishop Theoderic; both are mentioned in the list of participants only by their episcopal sees – de Livonia, de Hestia.66 The main idea of the preceding discussion was to test the context of Henry’s brief story about the Lateran Council. That Henry, a parish priest, would have taken part in the church council as a member of the Bishops’ entourage, and that he would have witnessed Albert’s speech to Pope Innocent III is most unlikely. Nevertheless, Henry writes with great confidence, as if he were standing right next to Bishop Albert as he addressed the Pope: Holy Father, as you have not ceased to cherish the Holy Land of Jerusalem, the country of the Son (terra filii), with your Holiness’s care, so also you 65 HCL XIX, 6, p. 131, Brundage, p. 151; cf. Arbusow’s comments in the footnotes; Hildebrand, Die Chronik Heinrichs von Lettland, pp. 10-11; Brodkorb, ‘Philipp von Ratzeburg’. 66 Werner, ‘Die Teilnehmerliste des Laterankonzils vom Jahre 1215’, p. 584.

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ought not abandon Livonia, the land of the Mother (terra matris), which has hitherto been among the pagans and far from the cares of your consolation and is now again desolate. For the Son loves His Mother and, as He would not care to lose His own land, so, too, He would not care to endanger His Mother’s land.

According to Henry’s text, Pope Innocent III promised to help with the paternal solicitude of his zeal ‘the land of the Mother, even as the land of the Son’.67 A critical historian may now put an end to this discussion and acknowledge the well known postulate that, in 1215 Livonia had been sanctified as the land of the Mother of God, the land of the Virgin Mary, and that the sole documentation for this can be found in Henry’s Chronicle of Livonia. There are no parallel sources to confirm the reliability of this reported event. The existing knowledge, that about 70 decrees or canons were presented to the Council by the Pope, does not support the idea that the ‘Livonian question’ was included in any ecumenical decrees. The Lateran Council was confronted with several urgent clerical and political questions, such as the support of the Fifth Crusade; backing Frederick II as Holy Roman Emperor in his fierce battle against Otto IV; fighting against heresy; and the turbulence in England around King John and his rebel barons. Thus the future of Livonia as a designated target of further crusades in the Baltic cannot be regarded as one of the essential issues of the grand politics of the Latin world. Historians have formulated different opinions regarding Bishop Albert’s 1215 dictum on Livonia as the ‘Land of the Mother’. Friedrich Koch interpreted this in the context of the application of rights to preach the Livonian crusade; Paul Johansen treated these words in the sense of official church propaganda.68 Ernst Pitz considered the usage of terra matris as a figure of speech (Redefigur); furthermore, he noted that in 1219 Livonia was called terra Christi (the land of Christ) in a similar rhetorical sense.69 When the supposed dialogue between Pope Innocent III and Bishop Albert took place in one of the council sessions, Henry’s post factum claims do not prove convincing with respect to the sacred dedication of Livonia as Terra Mariana. In this case the Pope’s words only reflect papal 67 HCL XIX, 7, p. 132; Brundage, p. 152. 68 Koch, Livland und das Reich bis zum Jahre 1225, p. 45; Johansen, ‘Die Chronik als Biographie’, p. 19. 69 Pitz, Papstreskript und Kaiserreskript, p. 73.

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support for the cult of the Virgin Mary in Livonia, as perhaps requested by Bishop Albert. The Bishop’s hidden agenda had some pragmatic aims. Ernst Pitz has suggested that Albert was mostly interested in achieving papal confirmation of the exemption from the Metropolitan Archdiocese of Hamburg-Bremen, but the council obviously left the question without clear solution.70 Following the argumentation presented by Pitz and Fonnesberg-Schmidt, the main concern of Bishop Albert in Rome was to achieve papal confirmation of the indulgence of 1204, which would enable the continuation of the campaigns in the Baltic.71 Fonnesberg-Schmidt has pointed to a peculiar moment in the papal letter of 29 December 1215 when ‘he urged those Christians who due to ill health or poverty could not go to the Holy Land and thus had so far not taken any crusading vows, to go to Livonia to defend the newly converted there for the remission of their sins’.72 Innocent III’s bull was addressed to Universis Christi fidelibus per regnum Dacie constitutis, which is politically correct, because in 1214 Frederick II, the King of Germany, delivered the Germanic lands north of the River Elbe (including the bishoprics of Bremen, Lübeck, and Ratzeburg) to the rule of King Valdemar II of Denmark. Perhaps this circumstance may explain Albert’s concern with experiencing hindrances while recruiting new crusaders for the campaign against the Livonian heathens, as well as his attempt to change imperial politics towards Livonia during his visit to the court of Frederick II at Hagenau immediately after the Lateran Council. These observations will cast light on the idea of the dedication of Livonia as Terra Mariana, and they may also point to the critical situation of the Livonian crusade in the respective years; however, further study of this question lies beyond the scope of this chapter.73 It could be argued that the respective rhetoric at the Lateran Council was not the first time terra matris was used. Renowned Baltic medievalist Leonid Arbusow, the best authority on Henry’s chronicle, argued that Henry mentioned Bernhard of Lippe’s consecration as abbot of the Cistercian abbey at Dünamünde in 1211, when he had accepted ‘the cross to go to the land of the Blessed Virgin’ (ad terram beate Virginis), i.e. to go to Livonia.74 To be precise, we can find a similar usage in Henry’s chronicle from the years 1201-1202, when Bishop Albert transferred the bishop’s see from Üxküll to 70 Pitz, Papstreskript und Kaiserreskript, p. 70. 71 See the text of indulgency: Liv-, Ehst- und Curländisches Urkundenbuch, I, no. 14, cols. 18-20. 72 Fonnesberg-Schmidt, The Popes and the Baltic Crusades, p. 95. 73 Cf. Selart, ‘Popes and Livonia’, pp. 441-443. 74 HCL XV, 4, p. 92; Brundage, p. 113.

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Riga. Furthermore, the mention in Arnold of Lübeck’s Chronica Slavorum that in 1186 Meinhard had founded the bishop’s see of Livonia, which was dedicated and placed under the protection of the Blessed Virgin (intitulata patrocinio beate Dei genitricis Marie) in the place called Riga, is evidently older than Henry’s chronicle.75 Arnold’s text refers to the cult of the Virgin Mary in Livonia, but this alone does not constitute a convincing interpretation that Livonia was dedicated as ‘Mother’s land’, notwithstanding Arnold’s erroneous statement that the first Christian church in the new colony, though Üxküll, not Riga, was dedicated to Mary. Rereading the Chronicle of Livonia thus poses an important question: what did Henry mean by terra matris, or in other words by Terra Mariana? First, he is quite accurate in making a distinction between Livonia and Estonia. In 1220 Bishop Albert sent out two missionaries to Estonia or actually to Saccala, who baptized in Gerwa (Järva) and other provinces and then returned to Livonia.76 When Finnish missionary priest Petrus Kaikewalde and Henry, on their baptizing journey, reached Järva and met with their rival, the Danish priest Wolther, they explained to the Dane: ‘This vineyard had been planted by the zeal of the pilgrims and the labor of the Rigans through the Blessed Virgin’s banner.’77 But this metaphorical response most certainly belonged to the repertoire of Rigan crusading propaganda. When the Knight Godescalc, ambassador of the Danish king, arrived in Riga in 1221, with the assignment to take over the magistracy of that city for the king, he set sail without a pilot on his return journey from Livonia to Gotland and was tossed about by a contrary wind. In great distress the Knight made his way back to Denmark, but he renounced the royal magistracy in the land of the Blessed Virgin Mary.78 Of course a Danish official would be a persona non grata in Riga, but Henry writes in a mystical manner that the Knight had offended the Virgin Mary. One of the most unusual passages in the chronicle begins in this same narrative – Henry’s sermon, which is actually a song of praise to the Virgin Mary. Borrowing an image from the Breviary hymn Ave Maris Stella, he refers to Mary, the Mother of God, as a star of the sea (maris stella), who perpetually guards Livonia, who is the ruler of the world, and sovereign over all earthly kings.79 In his sermon Henry lists all the situations in which 75 76 77 78 79

Arnoldi Chronica Slavorum, XV, 30. HCL XXIV, 1, p. 169; Brundage, p. 188. HCL XXIV, 2, p. 170; Brundage, p. 189. HCL XXV, 2, pp. 178-79; Brundage, p. 198. HCL XXV, 2, pp. 178-79; Brundage, p. 198.

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the enemies of Livonia perished, and goes on to moralize: ‘Behold how the Mother of God, so gentle to Her people who serve Her faithfully in Livonia, always defended them from all their enemies and how harsh She is with those who invade Her land or who try to hinder the faith and honor of Her Son in that land!’80 Henry warns the princes of the Russians, pagans, and Danes, and the chiefs of all peoples that they should fear such a gentle mother of mercy and not attack her land. However as the priest responsible for his own Latvian congregation, he also warns those of his own land who have power or magistracies, to ‘not unduly oppress the poor, I mean the poor Livonians and Letts, or any other converts, the servants of the Blessed Virgin (beate Virginis servos), who have hitherto borne the name of Christ Her Son to the other peoples and who still bear it with us’.81 It is noteworthy that this is the first time that Henry attempts to define the Christian community in Livonia. Naturally, in Henry’s days such a definition would have been regarded as nothing more than official church propaganda, but Henry attempted to give the cult of Mary a more religious content. He begins with the feasts of the church calendar, in which a number of holy days are associated with Mary: the feast of the Assumption of the Blessed Virgin (15 August); the Nativity of the Blessed Virgin Mary (8 September); or the Purification of the Blessed Virgin (2 February). The Mother of God is called upon for help when the Rigans, along with the Sword Brethren and other warriors, arrive in Treiden in 1208 to embark as a large army upon a campaign against the Estonians in Ugandi.82 The bishop of Ratzeburg, who along with Henry and his travelling party is caught in a storm and cast on the shores of Oesel/ Saaremaa, turns in prayer to the Blessed Virgin Mary, who hears his plea and saves the imperilled ones ‘as She has freed the Livonians from all their troubles up to the present day’.83 When Bishop Albert left for Germany in 1217, he left Livonia under the vigilant protection of the Lord Jesus Christ and his Mother. And when King Valdemar II of Denmark promised in 1218 that he would return the following year to Estonia with his army, he makes this vow in honour of the Blessed Virgin and in return for the remission of his sins.84 This sounds like a typical crusader’s vow. According to Henry’s

80 81 82 83 84

HCL XXV, 2, pp. 178-79; Brundage, p. 199. HCL XXV, 2, p. 179; Brundage, p. 200. HCL XII, 6, p. 62; Brundage, p. 84. HCL XIX, 5, p. 130; Brundage, p. 150. HCL XXII, 1, p. 147; Brundage, p. 166.

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deeper religious views, the Virgin Mary protects, watches over, and guides ‘Her own’ above all, not others or strangers. In the concluding chapters of the chronicle, the adulation of the Virgin Mary is articulated more frequently. In March 1226, papal legate William of Modena left by ship for Gotland, ‘commending Livonia to Mary, the Blessed Mother of God, and to Her Beloved Son, our Lord Jesus Christ’.85 Henry’s rhetoric here is remarkable: at the end of this sermon, the Mother of God has moved to the foreground, preceding Christ. This is followed by two verses in praise of Mary – ‘I remember it and rejoice in remembering it. You Virgin Mary, Mother of God, know the rest. Do you have mercy on me!’ – these verses may perhaps constitute the religious apotheosis of the entire chronicle,86 which tends to be overshadowed by the last chapter, written and added later, about the subjugation of Saaremaa. Henry ends his chronicle on a triumphant note: ‘The glory of God, of our Lord Jesus Christ, and of the Blessed Virgin Mary gives such joy to His Rigan servants (servis suis Rigensibus) on Oesel!’87 These reports form the basis for the claim that Henry’s chronicle is a crucial source for tracing the dissemination of the cult of the Virgin Mary in Livonia in the first decades of the thirteenth century.

Concluding Remarks – Henry’s Virtual Community of Blessed Mary’s Servants A thirteenth-century missionary and parish priest may have been an unusually skilful narrator, but he was neither an experienced writer nor a deep thinker. Of the information reported in the text, there are most certainly some pertinent facts that Henry himself has adequately documented, but there are also descriptions and the direct speech of the chronicle’s heroes, which seem to be constructed by the Chronicler. In Henry’s time, a stable social and political structure had not yet emerged in the colonial society of Livonia, and this circumstance is likewise reflected in the instability of Henry’s own worldview. He endeavours to tie together the Christian community of this society, the realm of his personal religious thought, discovering that this binding element might in fact be ‘the servants of the Virgin Mary’. At first, Henry situates the Livs, the Latvians, and the other newly baptized among Blessed Mary’s servants; he then adds the 85 HCL XXIX, 8, p. 214; Brundage, p. 237. 86 HCL XXIX, 8, p. 214; Brundage, p. 237. 87 HCL XXX, 6, p. 221; Brundage, p. 245.

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Rigans, or, in the general meaning, all the Germans in Livonia. Of course, Henry is aware that such a community is an ideal, a fantasy, but he entrusts his ideal society to the protection of the Mother of God, the Virgin Mary. Nevertheless, Henry cannot have known that this social landscape was to persist until the end of the Middle Ages, that is, until the disintegration of Old Livonia in the sixteenth century. In summing up this discussion, the author’s responsibility is to attempt to designate the nature of this new Livonian society, the birth of which Henry described so vividly and in such detail in his chronicle. Willingly or unwillingly, the chronicler wished to create for his reader a whole picture of a cohesive society, and to close his narrative with a positive message to himself and his reader; this may have been the conquest of Oesel/Saaremaa, though as far as we know this was not yet been completed. Christian Krötzl, who compared the subjugation of Livonia with the Christianization of Finland, articulated the reservation that the force of papal politics and its political influence was insufficient with respect to lands several thousand kilometres away. 88 Numerous pieces of evidence can be marshalled in support of such a claim, perhaps even including the attempt initiated by William of Modena to create a papal intermediate state in the eastern Baltic territories. However, with all this in mind, let us return to Paul Johansen’s conception, which he discussed in a presentation to the Finnish Historical Society in Helsinki in 1951.89 When analysing Henry’s worldview Johansen took as his point of departure the Chronicler’s inner naiveté, his simplicity, and deep faith; on this basis, ‘Henry had added to the shining, transparent system of the “Gothic cathedral” of the Christendom of his time the conquest of Livonia for Christianity’.90 Johansen returned a second time to this metaphoric image, claiming to discern in Henry’s chronicle this building of Mary’s kingdom in Livonia which, according to the ideas of its founder, was to spread as a shining, clear, heavenly cupola over the land of the newly baptized.91 He adds that for Henry, the city of Riga is, in Augustine’s sense, civitas Dei.92 Johansen thus attempted to articulate those principles of the inner system of the Terra Mariana that could be read forth from Henry’s chronicle. I shall mention only a few of the most important postulates of this system, 88 Krötzl, Pietarin ja Paavalin nimissä, p. 253. 89 Johansen, ‘Die Chronik als Biographie’. 90 Johansen, ‘Die Chronik als Biographie’, p. 12. 91 Johansen, ‘Die Chronik als Biographie’, p. 20. 92 HCL IX, 4, p. 28; Brundage, p. 49; Johansen, ‘Die Chronik als Biographie’, p. 20.

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which partially echo the claims made earlier in this chapter. Johansen posits that, according to Henry, all those living in Livonia, both the Germans as well as the baptized natives, are under the special protection of the Virgin Mary. For this reason, they are called servi beatae Marie virginis; further, they are expected to fulfil the responsibilities proper to Christians, iura christianorum: the Germans are obligated to provide for the non-Germans the true peace of God, defending them against the pagans and the Russians.93 These, however, were the postulates of an ideal kingdom, a Christian utopia, and Johansen admits that in reality there was no such thing as brotherhood or freedom in the new colony, where in due time the structure of medieval estates took hold.94 We therefore conclude that the Terra Mariana that we read about in the chronicle, the society made up of servi beatae Marie virginis, is the construction of Henry, the missionary priest, an ideal image based on his religious vision and intended to serve the interests of official Christian propaganda. Yet we must acknowledge that this was an image in which Henry himself believed. Such a conclusion – which may seem to have a negative connotation – by no means implies declaring Henry’s chronicle to be unreliable. Quite the contrary, the chronicle has the highest importance as a metanarrative, but it needs to be reread and reinterpreted in another key, by returning to the model of medieval Livonia as a colonial society. However, the Latin phrase Terra Mariana discussed in this chapter has enjoyed a long-lasting afterlife in both native languages, as Maarjamaa in Estonian and Māras zeme in Latvian. Thus Terra Mariana obtained a romantic and poetic connotation in national cultures of the twentieth century, gradually losing its initial content as a reference to the first German colony in the eastern Baltic. This designation has persisted in the tradition of church culture and in popular usage to this day.

Bibliography Printed Sources Arnoldi Chronica Slavorum. Ex recensione I.M. Lappenbergii in usum scholarum ex MGH recudie fecit Georgius Heinricus Pertz (Hannover: Hahn, 1868). The Chronicle of Henry of Livonia, trans. and with a new introduction and notes by James A. Brundage (New York: Columbia University Press, 2004). 93 Johansen, ‘Die Chronik als Biographie’, pp. 20-21; cf. also Leimus, ‘Iura christianorum’. 94 Johansen, ‘Die Chronik als Biographie’, p. 21; cf. also Tarvel, ‘Henrik ja tema aeg’, p. 26.

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The Chronicle of Prussia by Nicolaus von Jeroschin. A History of the Teutonic Knights in Prussia, 1190-1331, trans. by Mary Fischer (Farnham: Ashgate, 2010). Heinrici Chronicon Livoniae. Editio altera, ed. by Leonid Arbusow and Albert Bauer, Scriptores rerum Germanicarum in usum scholarum ex MGH separatim editi (Hannover: Hahn, 1955) (= HCL). http://www.dmgh.de/de/fs1/object/display/bsb00000734_00003.html?sortIndex=0 10%3A070%3A0031%3A010%3A00%3A00&sort=score&order=desc&context=Henricus+de +Lettis&subSeriesTitle_str=&hl=false&fulltext=Henricus+de+Lettis. Liv-, Ehst- und Curländisches Urkundenbuch nebst Regesten, 1, ed. by Friedrich Georg von Bunge (Reval: Kluge und Ströhm, 1853).

Literature Robert Bartlett, The Making of Europe: Conquest, Colonization and Cultural Change 950-1350 (London: Penguin Books, 1994). Friedrich Benninghoven, Der Orden der Schwertbrüder. Fratres Milicie Christi de Livonia (Cologne and Graz: Böhlau, 1965). Barbara Bombi, ‘The Debate on the Baltic Crusades and the Making of Europe’, History Compass, 11:9 (2013), 751-64. Nicolas Bourgeois, ‘Les Cisterciens et la croisade de Livonie’, Revue historique, 633 (3/2005), 521-60. Clemens Brodkorb, ‘Philipp von Ratzeburg’, in Neue Deutsche Biographie, 20 (Berlin: Duncker & Humblot, 2001), p. 385. James A. Brundage, ‘Introduction: Henry of Livonia, The Writer and His Chronicle’, in Crusading and Chronicle Writing on the Medieval Baltic Frontier: A Companion to the Chronicle of Henry of Livonia, ed. by Marek Tamm, Linda Kaljundi, and Carsten Selch Jensen (Farnham: Ashgate, 2011), pp. 1-19. Ane L. Bysted, Carsten Selch Jensen, Kurt Villads Jensen, and John H. Lind, Jerusalem in the North: Denmark and the Baltic Crusades, 1100-1522, Outremer. Studies in the Crusades and the Latin East, 1 (Turnhout: Brepols, 2012). The Clash of Cultures on the Medieval Baltic Frontier, ed. by Alan V. Murray (Farnham: Ashgate, 2009). Crusade and Conversion on the Baltic Frontier 1150-1500, ed. by Alan V. Murray (Farnham: Ashgate, 2001). Crusading and Chronicle Writing on the Medieval Baltic Frontier: A Companion to the Chronicle of Henry of Livonia, ed. by Marek Tamm, Linda Kaljundi, and Carsten Selch Jensen (Aldershot: Ashgate, 2011). Marian Dygo, ‘The Political Role of the Cult of the Virgin Mary in Teutonic Prussia in the Fourteenth and Fifteenth Centuries’, Journal of Medieval History, 15 (1989), 63-80. Eesti ajalugu II. Eesti keskaeg, ed. by Anti Selart (Tartu: Tartu Ülikooli ajaloo ja arheoloogia instituut, 2012). Iben Fonnesberg-Schmidt, The Popes and the Baltic Crusades 1147-1254 (Leiden: Brill, 2006). Shami Ghosh, ‘Conquest, Conversion, and Heathen Customs on Henry of Livonia’s Chronicon Livoniae and the Livländische Reimchronik’, Crusades, 11 (2012), 87-108. Gisela Gnegel-Waitschies, Bischof Albert von Riga. Ein Bremer Domherr als Kirchenfürst im Osten (1199-1229) (Hamburg: August Friedrich Velmede, 1958). Karl Helm and Walther Ziesemer, Die Literatur des Deutschen Ritterordens (Giessen: Wilhelm Schmitz, 1951).

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Hermann Hildebrand, Die Chronik Heinrichs von Lettland. Ein Beitrag zu Livlands Historiographie und Geschichte (Berlin: E.S. Mittler und Sohn, 1865). Konstantin Höhlbaum, ‘Die Gründung der deutschen Kolonie an der Düna’, Hansische Geschichtsblätter, 2 (1872), 23-68. Carsten Selch Jensen, ‘How to Convert a Landscape: Henry of Livonia and the Chronicon Livoniae’, in The Clash of Cultures on the Medieval Baltic Frontier, ed. by Alan V. Murray (Farnham: Ashgate, 2009), pp. 151-68. Carsten Selch Jensen, Kurt Villads Jensen, John H. Lind, and Ane Bysted, Taani ristisõjad – sõda ja misjon Läänemere ääres (Tallinn: Argo, 2007). Janus Møller Jensen, Denmark and the Crusades, 1400-1650 (Leiden: Brill, 2007). Kurt Villads Jensen, ‘Sacralization of the Landscape: Converting Trees and Measuring Land in the Danish Crusades against the Wends’, in The Clash of Cultures on the Medieval Baltic Frontier, ed. by Alan V. Murray (Farnham: Ashgate, 2009), pp. 141-50. Paul Johansen, ‘Die Chronik als Biographie. Heinrich von Lettlands Lebensgang und Weltanschauung’, Jahrbücher für Geschichte Osteuropas, Neue Folge, 1:1 (1953), 1-24. Paul Johansen, ‘Die Legende von der Aufsegelung Livlands durch Bremer Kaufleute’, in Europa und Übersee: Festschrift für Egmont Zechlin (Hamburg: Hans Bredov-Institut, 1961), pp. 42-68. Tiina Kala, ‘Rural Society and Religious Innovation: Acceptance and Rejection of Catholicism among the Native Inhabitants of Medieval Livonia’, in The Clash of Cultures on the Medieval Baltic Frontier, ed. by Alan V. Murray (Farnham: Ashgate, 2009), pp. 169-90. Linda Kaljundi, ‘Young Church in God’s New Vineyard: The Motifs of Growth and Fertility in Henry’s Chronicle of Livonia’, in http://www.ennenjanyt.net/4-04/referee/kaljundi.pdf. Jüri Kivimäe, ‘Henricus the Ethnographer: Reflections on Ethnicity in the Chronicle of Livonia’, in Crusading and Chronicle Writing on the Medieval Baltic Frontier: A Companion to the Chronicle of Henry of Livonia, ed. by Marek Tamm, Linda Kaljundi, and Carsten Selch Jensen (Aldershot: Ashgate, 2011), pp. 77-106. Friedrich Koch, Livland und das Reich bis zum Jahre 1225 (Posen: W.F. Häcker, 1943). Christian Krötzl, Pilger, Mirakel und Alltag. Formen des Verhaltens in skandinavischen Mittelalter (12.-15. Jahrhundert), Studia Historica, 46 (Helsinki: Suomen Historiallinen Seura, 1994). Christian Krötzl, ‘Finnen, Liven, Russen. Zur päpstlichen Politik im nördlichen Ostseeraum im 12. und 13. Jahrhundert’, in Ab Aquilone. Nordic Studie in Honour and Memory of Leonard E. Boyle, O.P., ed. by Marie-Louise Rodén, Skrifter utgivna av Riksarkivet, 14. Suecoromana, Studia artis historiae Instituti Romani Regni Sueciae, 6 (Stockholm: Riksarkivet, 1999), pp. 44-56. Christian Krötzl, Pietarin ja Paavalin nimissä. Paavit, lähetystyö ja Euroopan muotoutuminen (500-1250), Historiallisia Tutkimuksia, 219 (Helsinki: Suomalaisen Kirjallisuuden Seura, 2004). Christian Krötzl, ‘Die Cistercienser und die Mission ‘ad paganos’, ca. 1150-1250’, Analecta Cisterciensia, 61 (2011), 278-98. Ivar Leimus, ‘Iura christianorum – Läti Henriku sõnakõlks või nõks paganate alistamiseks’, Tuna (1/2011), 9-19. John H. Lind, Carsten Selch Jensen, Kurt Villads Jensen, and Ane Bysted, Danske korstog. Krig og mission i Østersøen (Copenhagen: Høst, 2004). Anu Mänd, ‘Saints’ Cults in Medieval Livonia’, in The Clash of Cultures on the Medieval Baltic Frontier, ed. by Alan V. Murray (Farnham: Ashgate, 2009), pp. 191-223. Cleo McNelly Kearns, The Virgin Mary, Monotheism, and Sacrifice (New York: Cambridge University Press, 2008). Alan V. Murray, ‘Henry the Interpreter: Language, Orality and Communication in the Thirteenthcentury Livonian Mission’, in Crusading and Chronicle Writing on the Medieval Baltic Frontier:

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A Companion to the Chronicle of Henry of Livonia, ed. by Marek Tamm, Linda Kaljundi, and Carsten Selch Jensen (Aldershot: Ashgate, 2011), pp. 107-34. Torben K. Nielsen, ‘Mission and Submission: Societal Change in the Baltic in the Thirteenth Century’, in Medieval History Writing and Crusading Ideology, ed. by Tuomas M.S. Lehtonen and Kurt Villads Jensen (Helsinki: Finnish Literature Society, 2005) pp. 216-31. Torben K. Nielsen, ‘Virgin Mary for the Sake of Livonia – Nature and Image of the Virgin Mary in the Chronicle of Livonia’ [Paper read at the Concilium Lateranense IV. Commemorating the Octocentenary of the Fourth Lateran Council of 1215, November 2015] https://www. academia.edu/19688593/Virgin_Mary_for_the_Sake_of_Livonia_-_Nature_and_Image_of​ _the_Virgin_Mary_in_the_Chronicle_of_Henry. Jaroslav Pelikan, Mary Through the Centuries: Her Place in the History of Culture (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1998). Nils Holger Petersen, ‘The Notion of a Missionary Theatre: The ludus magnus of Henry of Livonia’s Chronicle’, in Crusading and Chronicle Writing on the Medieval Baltic Frontier: A Companion to the Chronicle of Henry of Livonia, ed. by Marek Tamm, Linda Kaljundi, and Carsten Selch Jensen (Aldershot: Ashgate, 2011), pp. 229-43. Ernst Pitz, Papstreskript und Kaiserreskript im Mittelalter, Bibliothek des Deutschen Historischen Instituts in Rom, 26 (Tübingen: Niemeyer, 1971). Aleksander Pluskowski, The Archaeology of the Prussian Crusade: Holy War and Colonisation (Abingdon, New York: Routledge, 2013). Joshua Prawer, The Crusaders’ Kingdom: European Colonialism in the Middle Ages (New York: Praeger, 1972). Alo Raun and Andrus Saareste, Introduction to Estonian Linguistics (Wiesbaden: Otto Harrassowitz, 1965). Miri Rubin, Mother of God: A History of Virgin Mary (London: Allen Lane, 2009). Theodor Schiemann, ‘Überblick über die Geschichte der deutschen Kolonie an der Ostsee’, in Die deutschen Ostseeprovinzen Russlands. Geschichtlich, kulturell und wirtschaftlich dargestellt von Kennern der Baltischen Provinzen, ed. by Theodor Schiemann and Otto von Veh (Berlin: n.p., 1918, 2nd edn), pp. 9-25. Felicitas Schmieder, ‘Edges of the World – Edges of Time’, in The Edges of the Medieval World, ed. by Gerhard Jaritz and Juhan Kreem (Budapest: Central European University Press, 2009), pp. 4-20. Anti Selart, ‘Iam tunc … The Political Context of the First Part of the Chronicle of Henry of Livonia’, in The Medieval Chronicle V, ed. by Erik Kooper (Amsterdam and New York: Rodopi, 2008), pp. 197-209. Anti Selart, ‘Popes and Livonia in the First Half of the Thirteenth Century: Means and Chances to Shape the Periphery’, The Catholic Historical Review, 100 (2014), pp. 437-58. Urmas Sutrop, ‘Taarapita – the Great God of the Oeselians’, Folklore, 26 (2004), pp. 27-64. Marek Tamm, ‘Inventing Livonia: The Name and Fame of a New Christian Colony on the Medieval Baltic Frontier’, Zeitschrift für Ostmitteleuropa-Forschung, 60 (2011), pp. 186-209. Marek Tamm, ‘How to Justify a Crusade? The Conquest of Livonia and New Crusade Rhetoric in the Early Thirteenth Century’, Journal of Medieval History, 39 (2013), pp. 431-55. Enn Tarvel, ‘Henrik ja tema aeg’, in Religiooni ja ateismi ajaloost Eestis III, ed. by Jüri Kivimäe (Tallinn: Eesti Raamat, 1987), pp. 7-32. Jakob Werner, ‘Die Teilnehmerliste des Laterankonzils vom Jahre 1215. Nachlese aus Zürcher Handschriften’, Neues Archiv, 31 (1906), pp. 584-92.



Holy War – Holy Wrath! Baltic Wars Between Regulated Warfare and Total Annihilation Around 1200 Kurt Villads Jensen

The Baltic crusades of the twelfth and thirteenth centuries were in principle aimed at converting infidels and establishing a new Christian plantation in the wilderness, but the contemporary narrative sources repeatedly tell of crusaders systematically chasing down pagans and annihilating them with the sword. Men, women, and children were killed without discrimination, and fertile and inhabited land laid waste. Field crops, houses and villages, wooden idols and their sacred buildings, and pagan prisoners of war were burned and cremated into ash and nothing.1 Two apparently opposing understandings of warfare seem to have existed simultaneously among the religiously well-educated authors whose writings from the decades around 1200 open a fascinating – and often scary – window to the religious border societies in the north. On the one hand, it was argued theologically and legally that warfare should be regulated, limited, and aimed at creating peace.2 The infidels shared with Christians certain basic human rights which protected them against arbitrary violence, and it was repeatedly emphasized that belief could only be given willingly, and thus that conversion could never be forced. On the other hand, the same authors argued for compulsory conversion and indiscriminate killing, if crusaders were inflamed by the zeal of God, and in order to avert the wrath of God from befalling the Christians.3 These apparently contradictory concepts of conversion could perhaps be explained as formulations from a period of transition, from a traditional 1 The literature on Baltic crusades and warfare has grown markedly within the latest generation. An important overview is Christiansen, Northern Crusades, published in 1980 and in a revised edition in 1997. Christian Krötzl has discussed the relation between regulated and total missionary warfare in more publications, e.g., Pietarin ja Paavalin nimissä. The collection of articles in Heidenmission, ed. by Beumann, is valuable, but must be supplemented by Crusade and Conversion on the Baltic Frontier, ed. by Murray; The Clash of Cultures, ed. by Murray, and for Henry of Livonia by Crusading and Chronicle Writing, ed. by Tamm, Kaljundi, and Jensen. See also Urban, The Baltic Crusade; Fonnesberg-Schmidt, The Popes and the Baltic Crusades; and Bysted et al., Jerusalem in the North. 2 See Russell, The Just War. 3 Althoff, “Selig sind die Verfolgung ausüben”; Schwertmisson, ed. by Kamp and Kroker.

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peaceful mission of individuals to a more powerful and violent mission of organized armies. This has been argued for the Baltic area by a number of scholars who have traced this transformation to the last decade of the twelfth and the early thirteenth centuries. One of today’s most widelyrespected scholars on mission and the spread of Christianity in northern Europe, Professor Christian Krötzl, wrote in his book from 2004 about ‘The return of the sword mission to the Baltic’ and the change in the ideology of mission in the twelfth century. One of the chapters in his book is programmatically entitled ‘Livonia: From Preaching to the Sword’.4 Christian Krötzl’s work has contributed to and refined a discussion that has been ongoing throughout the twentieth century and likely began among historians much earlier – the use of force in spreading the faith of Christianity. This discussion received a more distinct formulation after the First and Second World Wars, when discussions about the relation between warfare and ideology took on vital importance. Should ideology – such as Nazism or Communism or religion in general – be imposed by force or solely by oral persuasion? Is Christianity fundamentally opposed to force and violence? Can we find, in the Middle Ages, the first tolerant and pacifistic European criticizing crusades and the use of force in conversion, as the American historian Palmar A. Throop believed in 1940?5 In studies of the Mediterranean crusades, this alleged contradiction between peaceful and armed conversion was challenged in 1984 with the publication of Benjamin Kedar’s extremely influential book on Crusade and Mission.6 Since then, most scholars would agree that there was no inherent contradiction between crusade and mission, and that the ‘mission of the word’ was not a criticism, but rather a supplement to the ‘mission of the sword’. In studies of the Baltic crusades, some scholars still find a transition during the twelfth century from peaceful to violent mission, while others claim that missionaries and ecclesiastical authorities always accepted the use of force, although it was not always applied for practical reasons such as lack of manpower.7 The aim of this chapter is to discuss what I believe are two different attitudes to warfare which found expression in some of the narrative sources 4 Krötzl, Pietarin ja Paavalin nimissä, p. 207: ‘Miekkalähetyksen paluu Itämerelle’; p. 219: ‘Liivinmaa: Saarnasta miekkaan’. 5 Throop, Criticism of the Crusade. 6 Kedar, Crusade and Mission. Independently of Kedar, Elizabeth Siberry reached a similar conclusion in her book published the following year; Siberry, Criticism of Crusading. 7 Fonnesberg-Schmidt, The Popes and the Baltic Crusades, p. 74: ‘He [Meinhard] instigated a change of strategy from one of peaceful mission to one which used force.’

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from around 1200 describing the mission and crusades in the Baltic area. One attitude was that warfare should be regulated, limited, and only used to defend missionaries and enable them to preach the Word to the infidels. The other attitude was an acceptance of total war, in which conversion and preaching was of much less importance than the annihilation of the pagans. These two approaches were not mutually exclusive, but different aspects of the same discussion. The same author could express both of these understandings of warfare in the same text.

Authors of War The sources explored here are primarily Henry’s Chronicle of Livonia 12251227,8 the historian Saxo’s History of the Danes, written probably in the first decade of the thirteenth century,9 and the Chronicle of the Kings and Princes of Poland, written by Bishop Vincent of Cracow sometime between 1207 and 1223.10 These texts are chosen because they are almost contemporaneous, and because they describe religious wars in Baltic areas that are geographically close to each other. Henry of Livonia was creating a grande narrative of the foundation of the church of Riga and the Christianization of Livonia – of present day Latvia and southern Estonia.11 The history of the bishops of Riga and of the German crusaders became holy history and imitated closely the battles of Israel against the idolaters of the Old Testament; God and the Holy Virgin Mary supported the righteous course of Riga against pagans and apostates, but also against competing Christian powers, mainly the Russians and the Danes. Henry’s language is imbued with biblical phrases and expressions from the liturgy. Measured against the oratorical standards of the teaching of classical Latin in the twelfth century’s renaissance, he was neither brilliant nor sophisticated, but as a biblical-inspired missionary with a message, his language is outstanding.12

8 Heinrici Chronicon Livoniae, ed. by Arbusow and Bauer (henceforth: HCL). 9 Saxo, Gesta Danorum, 1-2, ed. by Friis-Jensen. 10 Magistri Vincentii dicti Kadlubek Chronica Polonorum, ed. by Plezia (henceforth: Vincent). 11 For Henry, see the comprehensive Crusading and Chronicle Writing, ed. by Tamm, Kaljundi, and Jensen, with further references to literature. 12 This is my own firm impression from reading the text. The opinions on Henry’s linguistic and oratorical skills, however, divide his readers into two opposing groups. Arbusow, for example, who edited his text dismisses Henry as ‘ein sehr unselbständiger Sprachgestalter’,

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Within this biblical framing, Henry described with detailed precision battle after battle of continuous warfare. His work is an invaluable source for military history, demonstrating great knowledge about – and also great enthusiasm for – war. In 1215, he followed Bishop Albert of Riga to Rome and may have participated in the Fourth Lateran Council, during which Pope Innocent III, on the instigation of Albert, recognized Livonia as the land of the Mother, as Terra Mariana.13 Vincent of Cracow created the great narrative of the Polish people and its dukes and kings, and the foundation of Poland. It began in a mythical past beyond time when the Poles conquered lands even beyond the sea, namely the Danish islands. They put the Danish King Canute in chains and forced the Danes to grow long, feminine hair and dress up like women, and to pay tribute. This is obviously a fabulous construction.14 More important in this context is that Vincent described the creating of a Polish kingdom in the eleventh and twelfth centuries during great battles with Hungarians, Bohemians, and the German emperor as well as the pagan Pomeranians and Prussians along the Baltic. Some of these expeditions were aimed at converting the pagans or getting apostates back into the Christian fold; most of them were bloody and entailed great manslaughter, regardless of the enemy. Vincent wrote an excellent classical Latin and quoted a great number of Roman authors, but also Church fathers, canon and Roman law, and referred extensively to the Bible. His work is constructed as a dialogue between the venerable and wise bishops Matheus and Johannes, discussing concepts such as patria, justice, and the government of the res publica of Poland with its balance between kings and people, that is, the nobility. He differs very much from Henry of Livonia when it concerns the concepts of history. Vincent’s tale is no unfolding of providential history, but the result of human agents and how they conform to classical virtues. Nevertheless, he does now and then explain events in history as the result of individual rulers choosing for or against what was right in the eyes of God. Polish rulers could lose battles because of their sins, but also for other reasons. Vincent had studied in Bologna, and it is tempting to speculate whether he at this new university followed lectures together with the later Danish while Anninski, who translated his Chronicle into Russian, called him a masterly orator. See the discussion and examples in Undusk, Sacred History, pp. 48-49. 13 See the chapter by Kivimäe in this volume. 14 ‘Ceterum victoriae illae Polonorum de Danis latae fabulosae videntur’, wrote the editor of Vincent’s text in 1994, p. 7, note to 2,3.

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Archbishop Andreas Sunesen, but it is impossible to know for sure. Vincent attended the Fourth Lateran Council in 1215 and was clearly well informed about contemporary theology. It is uncertain whether he wrote his Cronica while still a bishop in Cracow, or after he resigned in 1218 and entered the Cistercian monastery of Brysinch (in present day Jędrzejów). He died in 1223. The first part of Vincent’s work is based on an older Polish chronicle, by the so-called Gallus anonymous from c. 1115.15 It makes it possible to compare the two narratives with one hundred years between them. Both describe missionary wars, both present them as crusades, but with different emphasis and with very different logic for the necessity of mass killing.16 Saxo created the grandiose narrative of the Danes and the Danish empire intended to match other great foundation narratives of the origo gentis genre of the twelfth century. Denmark was not founded by outsiders or immigrants, for Danes have always lived in Denmark, Saxo claimed. Through wars for centuries against Germans, English, other Scandinavians, other Danish rulers, and everybody else, the Danish kings created a political entity that could match the German-Roman Empire, again according to Saxo. The last books of his huge narrative include detailed accounts of the regular Danish expeditions against the pagan Wends in what is now northern Germany. Expeditions were launched every year, and slowly expanded both the territories under Danish rule and Christianity. Saxo shows an interest in military matters on a practical level, which is comparable to Henry of Livonia, but which is much more downplayed in Vincent of Cracow. Saxo also openly approved of Danish kings’ total annihilation of enemies: their destruction of the land and burning of pagan homes. Saxo wrote a highly sophisticated Silver Age Latin filled with hundreds of quotations from a wide selection of Classical authors, but almost no medieval sources: a single one from Beda, a single one from Bernard of Clairvaux, one from liturgy, one single reference to the Bible. The ecclesiastical language of Saxo’s contemporaries was replaced by a conscious archaic Latin in which ‘church’ is ‘temple’, not ecclesia, but templum, etc. Nevertheless, it is sometimes possible to look through this linguistic veil for a glimpse of the theological and legal discussions about war from Saxo’s own time. Saxo probably began writing in the 1180s, continuing into the first decade or two of the thirteenth century. The introduction to his work is most probably written after 1208, formulated as a dedication to Archbishop Andreas Sunesen of Lund, who attended the Fourth Lateran Council in 1215 15 Galli anonymi Cronica et gesta ducum sive principum polonorum, ed. by Maleczynski. 16 See now v. Güttner Sporzynski, Poland, Holy War.

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and, in spite of severe health problems, continued in his function until he retired in 1223; he died five years later. In spite of all the differences in style and scope of these three works, they are worth comparing. They all include references to contemporary discussions about conversion and about justification of warfare, to greater or lesser extent. The following explores some selected themes on this matter in these texts, and relates them in the conclusion to recent discussions about the role of emotions in medieval religious warfare.

Coacta Servitia Non Placet Deo Forced service is not pleasing to God. This maxim was reiterated and analysed throughout the Middle Ages, and the general inhibition against use of force in conversion was nuanced in various ways. When Gratian in the mid-twelfth century discussed it in Causa 23, he could refer to a number of biblical examples – Saint Paul had been forced to believe – as well as to psychology. Man will consider repulsive what he is not used to, so if the evil one is forced to abstain from evil, he will eventually begin to hate evil. On the other hand, God does not like forced service, so it is of no use to force anyone to believe.17 During the last part of the twelfth and the early thirteenth centuries, canonists and theologians discussed at length how to understand the prohibition against forced conversion. Some interpreted it as strictly literal and binding in all cases, while others modified it substantially. Already in the mid-1160s, Rufinus of Bologna distinguished between absolute coercion – which was strictly forbidden – and conditional coercion, which was acceptable. If a pagan protested loudly during baptism while restrained by strong Christians, it was absolute coercion and the baptism not valid. If he was beaten up and threatened with death, if he did not consent to convert, and he then in this situation agreed to be baptized, the baptism was valid. If he then afterwards took up pagan practises, he would now be an apostate and could lawfully be forced to profess Christianity and live a Christian life.18 17 Gratian, Decretum II, C. XXIII, q. 6, c. 4, § 1: ‘Ex his omnibus colligitur, quod mali sunt cogendi ad bonum. § . 1. Sed obicitur, quod nemo est cogendus ad id, ad quod inutiliter cogitur. Ad bonum autem quisque cogitur inutiliter, cum Deus aspernetur coacta seruicia.’ 18 Cf. Brundage, ‘Introduction’, p. 14. Rufinus’s distinction between absolute and conditional coercion was adopted by many. Among the most widely read authors was Raymondus de Pennaforte in his Summa de paenitentia from c. 1235 (here 1.4.2).

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Around the same time as Gratian composed his collection of canon law, Bernard of Clairvaux preached the so-called Second Crusade, conceding to princes in the north that they could join the crusade movement by fighting against the Slavic pagans around the Baltic, instead of going to Jerusalem in the Middle East. They should arm themselves and fight against the pagans, ‘until these peoples are utterly destroyed or firmly converted to Christianity’.19 This theology of ‘baptism or death’ represents a radical position in the discussions about conversion and force. Historians have attempted to modify it by claiming that Bernard talked about destroying pagan political entities or pagan social life, not literally about killing pagans. This is much too benevolent an explanation. There is no reason to doubt that Bernard, in these specific circumstances, actually gave his permission for forced conversion.20 The position of Saxo in this respect is difficult to establish with certainty. He described more instances of Christian victories followed by conversion of pagans. In 1168, King Valdemar I eventually conquered Arkona on the island of Rügen, the central sanctuary of the Wends and the strongest pagan fortification in northern Europe. When negotiations about surrender had begun, the King had among other conditions demanded the release of all Christian prisoners, the confiscation of the pagan temple treasure, the Rugians’ military support to the Danish kings in the future, and their acceptance of Christianity, or rather ‘all elements of the true religion according to the Danish rite’.21 A discussion followed among the leaders of the Danish army on whether to accept the surrender of the Rugians or to kill them all, and Archbishop Eskil of Lund argued that the greatest victory one could hope for was not only to force the people of another religion to pay tribute, but also to submit to the Christian Church. He added that it is better to subjugate an enemy than to kill him because mercy is better than severity.22 19 ‘Ad delendas penitus aut certe convertendas nationes illas’. Bernard of Clairvaux, letter 457, ed. in Mecklenburgisches Urkundenbuch, 1, no. 31. 20 Discussed in Fonnesberg-Schmidt, The Popes and the Baltic Crusades, pp. 32-33; Kamp, ‘Der Wendenkreuzzug’, pp. 128-30. 21 Saxo 14,39,25; II, p. 366: ‘Probato consilio rex oppidanos in f idem hac lege recepit, ut simulacro cum omni sacra pecunia tradito captiuos Christianos ergastulo liberatos absque redemptione dimitterent omniaque vere religionis momenta Danico ritu celebranda susciperent. Quinetiam ut agros ac latifundia deorum in sacerdotiorum usus conuerterent seque, quoties res posceret, Danice expeditionis comites exhiberent nec unquam accersiti regis militiam prosequi supersederent. Preterea annuatim ex singulis boum iugis quadragenos argenteos tributi nomine penderent totidemque obsides in earum conditionum firmamentum prestarent.’ 22 Saxo 14,39,28; II, p. 368: ‘Qui autem optabiliorem uictoriam acquiri posse quam aliene religionis populum non solum tributis, uerum etiam Christianis sacris subiectum efficere.’ […] ‘subiugare hostem quam necare tanto prestantius esse, quantum pietas a seueritate distare cognoscitur.’

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Saxo’s formulations were carefully chosen. The Rugians should accept the true religion ‘according to the Danish rite’, indicating that they had already confessed some kind of Christianity, but incorrectly. Elsewhere, Saxo related how the Rugians had been converted in the mid-1130s by King Erik Emune, but had relapsed from the faith when the Danish army left the island.23 He also claimed that the area had been converted to Christianity by Charlemagne in the ninth century, but that the newly converted later had perverted the veneration for Saint Vitus into an idolatrous cult for Svantevit (Slavic for ‘Saint Vitus’) with four heads.24 Saxo is clearly presenting a picture of the Wends on Rügen as apostates and not pagans, and without saying so directly, he therefore argues that it is fully justifiable to force them to return to the faith they had once accepted. That is, to the true form for Christianity that the Danes confess, danico ritu. Archbishop Eskil’s wording is more ambiguous. He talks about a people of aliena religio, ‘of another religion’, not pagans or idolaters or infidels or similar. In Saxo’s archaic Latin, adherence to another religion may perhaps designate a heretic rather than a pagan? To most medieval ecclesiastics around 1200, paganism would not be called a religio, but a superstition or something similar. In any case, Archbishop Eskil continues, it is better to subjugate the enemy than to kill him, because it is better to show mercy, clemency, leniency, pietas, than severity. It is better, but the alternative is not forbidden. Eskil does not directly adhere to the dictum of ‘baptism or death’, but his words seem in any case to imply that it can be justifiable (and laudable) to show severity and kill the enemy. It is, however, also an acknowledgment that it can be a religiously better act to spare him instead. All in all, Saxo is not explicit about his opinion on use of force in conversion. He apparently related that it was common to use severe military force during the Danish crusades in the Baltic, but a close reading of his wording may also support the interpretation that he took care to describe the enemies as apostates rather than pagans, although he nowhere states directly that it should make any difference in how they were treated. Henry of Livonia, in contrast, demonstrated clearly that he was aware of some of the consequences of distinguishing between apostates and pagans. Right from the beginning of his chronicle, he relates how the later Bishop Theoderic of Estonia in 1195-1196 went to Pope Celestine III in Rome, when the first Livonians were converted from paganism to Christianity. When the Pope heard the report from Theodoric about the incipient mission, he 23 Saxo 14,1,6-14,1,7; II, pp. 142-44. 24 Saxo 14,39,13; II, p. 360.

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decreed that the new Christians should not be let down and abandoned, but that ‘they should be forced to observe the faith, that they had by their free will promised to accept’. In addition, the Pope promised plenary indulgence to all who took the cross and came to support this new and emerging church.25 The situation is crystal clear: Pagans had converted to Christianity voluntarily and without being forced to do so, but afterwards they should be forced to remain within Christianity, and the crusaders could now fight against those who had remained pagans in order to protect the newly converted. Even the pagans themselves expressed the same understanding of conversion and force, Henry claimed. When Bishop Bertold of Riga in 1198 prepared an army against a group of Livonians, they sent a messenger to him to inquire the reason. The Bishop answered that the Livonians who had been baptized often returned to paganism, as dogs to their vomit (Proverb 26:11; 2 Peter 2:22).26 The Livonians who sent the messenger were still pagans, so they answered that the Bishop would thus have no cause for war against them, but could dismiss the army and return to his see. ‘Those who have accepted the faith, you can coerce to observe it, the others you must persuade to accept it by words and not by whipping.’27 Henry of Livonia knew the basic, simple principle that no one should be forced to believe. Nevertheless, as Christian Krötzl has remarked, the reality as presented in his missionary narrative seems to contradict this directly.28 In particular, the many descriptions of sieges sometimes entail the crusaders’ demand that the pagan defendants convert or be killed. In 1211, Bertold of the Order of the Sword Brethren and the commander Russinus laid siege to the castle of Viljandi (Fellin) in Estonia. They raided the surrounding 25 HCL I, 12, pp. 6-7: ‘Summus itaque pontifex audito numero baptizatorum non eos deserendos censuit, sed ad observationem fidei, quam sponte promiserant, cogendos decrevit. Remissionem quippe omnium peccatorum indulsit omnibus, qui ad resuscitandam illam primitivam ecclesiam accepta cruce transeant.’ 26 The proverb about dogs returning to their vomit was used to characterize heretics since the second letter of Saint Peter and throughout the Middle Ages, and for different kinds of apostacy, not only from faith but also e.g. for breaking a monastic vow and leaving a religious order; Sullivan, The Inner Lifes, p. 35. 27 HCL II, 5, pp. 9-10: ‘Tu tantum remisso exercitu cum tuis ad episcopium tuum cum pace revertaris, eos, qui fidem susceperunt, ad eam servandam compellas, alios ad suscipiendam eam verbis non verberibus allicias.’ 28 Krötzl, Pietarin ja Paavalin nimissä, pp. 224-25: ‘Todellisuus oli kuitenkin usein toisenlainen, kuten Henrikin kuvauksista voi nähdä. Henrik ei tosin kerro suoraviivaisista “kaste tai kuolema” tilanteista, joissa pakanoita olisi pakotettu kääntymään kristinuskoon miekka kaulalla, mutta varsinkin monet kronikan piiritystilanteet muistuttavat niitä läheisesti.’

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areas and came back with a number of prisoners, whom they brought near to the castle, and gave the defendants the following ultimatum: ‘If you renounce the cult of your false gods and believe together with us in the true God, we will return these captives to you alive, and you will be bound to us in brotherly love with the chain of peace.’ The proposal is rejected, and both sides prepare for war. Russinus and his men therefore kill all the prisoners, throw them into the moat, and promise the pagans inside the castle that they will meet the same fate.29 Other examples could be added to this, but would not change the impression that Henry was certainly aware of the distinction between pagans and apostates, that he knew Christians ought not to force pagans into Christianity, that he admitted it happened, and that he showed no great interest in discussing the problem. Among our three authors, Vincent of Cracow most directly addresses the problem, in a sophisticated and detailed manner considering the genre within which he was writing. His work was not a theological treatise, but a work of history supplemented with a great number of philosophical considerations and common sense morals. Nevertheless, he posed the question directly: ‘If it is offered enforced, does it then bind?’30 The answer begins with the statement that wicked is the promise fulfilled with a wicked deed. We are not bound by any promise that is followed by wickedness or temptation to lose faith (scandalum). If fear is the cause, it has no binding effect (ratum). The example to prove this is the story of a bishop who was caught by robbers and promised, out of fear, not to persecute them when he was released. The pope absolved him from his promise, exactly because it had been extracted from him through fear. There is one exception, however, where fear is not a justifiable reason for breaking an obligation: when it concerns faith, Vincent explained: When anyone has received the faith of the Christian religion even if he has been forced to, he is obliged to keep it, although no one should be forced to something to which he is forced in vain (inutiliter), although the Lord rejects forced service, although it is not a favour what is imposed

29 HCL XIV, 11, p. 84: ‘“Si”, inquit, “renunciaveritis culture deorum vestrorum falsorum et nobiscum in Deum verum credere volueritis, vobis captivos istos vivos restituemus et vos in fraternitatis caritate nobiscum vinculo pacis colligabimus.” […] Russinus autem et Letti comprehensis captivis omnibus et trucidatis in fossatum proiciunt et eis, qui in castro erant, id ipsum comminantur.’ 30 Vincent III, 12,1, p. 98: ‘Id si coactus prestitisset, teneretur an non? Et sponsio suppliciis extorta obligat an non?’

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under protest, as it is not a sacrifice what is pressed out against the will. However, often a favour is shown towards the reluctant.31

In this short passage, Vincent succeeded in condensing six different passages from Gratian and from Roman law to provide a coherent legal and theological argument: Enforced promises are not binding, except when it concerns Christian faith. There are more arguments against it, e.g. that such promises are in vain, making it a realistic expectation that forced converts will often apostatize. However, even the reluctant will often receive a favour, Vincent concluded with a quotation from Saint Augustine. It must mean that baptism will help and be advantageous in any case, no matter whether or not it is voluntarily received. These very general principles were applied to concrete historical reality. It means therefore, that it was not without just cause that the severity of King Boleslaw flamed up against the sacrilegious idolaters, and that it was not without just cause that he added revenge upon revenge. Because hardly had this revenger against the plague of sacrilege rested for a moment, before they did not show reverence to the sacred faith, before they were no longer faithful to what they had promised.32

The apostates did not fear to flight from faith, as the dogs do not resist from returning to their vomit. Therefore Boleslaw III collected his forces and struck with all his might against the Pomeranians. Not for a human cause, but for a divine, because Saint Vitus himself led the army in battle and wielded his spear against the enemy. This episode in Vincent’s narrative describes the battle for the city of Naklo in 1109, one of the instances where a saint appeared miraculous and fought together with the Polish king. The concrete events were none of Vincent’s own inventions. He had taken them over from the older work of Gallus anonymous. The difference is that Vincent put much less emphasis on the military aspects and descriptions of siege techniques. Instead, he 31 Vincent III, 13,1, p. 99: ‘Est autem, ubi nec iusto metus pretextu rescindi potest obligatio; puta christiane fidem religionis cum quisquam etiam coactus susceperit, tenere tenetur, quamuis nemo sit cogendus ad id, ad quod inutiliter cogitur, quamuis coacta seruitia Dominus aspernetur, quamuis non sit beneficium, quod ingeritur recusanti, nec sacrificium quod exprimitur inuito. Sepe tamen inuitis beneficia prestantur.’ 32 Vincent III, 14,1, p. 99: ‘Non inuste igitur Boleslai seueritas in sacrilegos idolatras incanduit, non iniuste ultionem adiecit ultioni. Vix enim illa sacrilegii ultrix pestis quieuerat, cum nec sacre fidei reuerentiam nec pollicitis ullam tenuere fidem.’

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added the introduction with a theological justification of warfare against apostates, absent in Gallus anonymous. Compared to Henry of Livonia and Saxo, Vincent was much more explicit, spelling out the arguments they implicitly assumed or did not discuss at any length. All three authors had knowledge of contemporary theories and discussions of justif ication of religious warfare and acknowledged that war should be regulated and fought according to rules. At the same time, they all described indiscriminate killing of enemies, apostates, infidels, and sometimes also Christians. They operated with a parallel set of justifications for a different kind of warfare, the unlimited kind. How, and why?

Ira Domini, Vindicta Domini The wrath of God and the revenge of God are concepts that appear again and again in these sources. Historians have recently suggested that a new theology of war was formulated by the papal reform movement during the last half of the eleventh century, a theology that emphasized the obligation of Christians to fight physically against non-believers.33 The argument was strengthened with passages from the Old Testament known by theologians from the beginning of Christianity, but which before the eleventh century did not have a prominent place in theology and had not been understood as literally binding for contemporary Christians. This theology became, however, fundamental for the crusading movement from 1100 onwards.34 In modern Christian exegesis, it is called herem-theology from the Hebrew term, in English often translated as ‘utterly destroy’.35 It concerns the passages in the Old Testament in which the Lord demands Israel to annihilate another people. King Saul was told: ‘Now go and smite Amalek, and utterly destroy all that they have, and spare them not; but slay both man and woman, infant and suckling, ox and sheep, camel and ass’ (1 Sam. 15:3).36 Such very explicit passages were supplemented by eleventh-century theologians with references to more general statements, including Jeremiah’s warning: ‘Cursed be he that doeth the work of the LORD deceitfully, and cursed be he that keepeth back his sword from blood’ (Jer. 48:10). Bonizo de 33 Most coherently argued by Althoff, “Selig sind die Verfolgung ausüben”. 34 Throop, Crusading as an Act of Vengeance. Similar analyses in Tamminen, Ad crucesignatos et crucesignandos. 35 Hoffman, ‘The Deuteronomistic Concept’. 36 Biblical quotations in translation are taken from the King James Bible, authorized version.

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Sutri attributed to Saint Augustine the line, ‘Blessed are those who persecute for the sake of justice, as much as those who suffer persecution for the sake of justice.’37 This phrase was never actually used by Saint Augustine, but it neatly summarizes the understanding of the reform papacy. This theology of utter destruction was justified by reference to strong emotions: wrath, zeal, revenge. The wrath of the Lord would fall upon those who did not obey the Lord and associated with idolaters. The main reference point for this understanding was the story of the men of Israel’s adultery with the daughters of Moab, with some joining the cult for the false god Baal-Peor (Num. 25). An Israelite took a Midjianit woman into his tent in the middle of the camp, provoking the rage of the priest Phinehas, who rushed into the tent and thrust his spear through the genitals of the copulating couple, killing them both. Then the plague stayed away from the children of Israel. The Lord spoke to Moses and said: ‘Phinehas, the son of Eleazar, the son of Aaron the priest, hath turned my wrath away from the children of Israel, while he was zealous for my sake among them, that I consumed not the children of Israel in my jealousy.’ (Num. 25: 11). The Maccabees later claimed to descend from Phinehas and to have inherited his covenant with the Lord, when they were zealous and circumcised by force, all un-circumcised, and did not let the sinner triumph (1 Macc. 2: 46-54). The Maccabees were the role models of crusaders and military orders, and they appear again and again in crusader narratives.38 Zelus – zeal for the Lord could justify indiscriminate killing of infidels and turn the wrath of God from the crusaders to the infidels. The concept was used in very different ways by our three authors. Saxo simply found the word itself too modern for his taste, and has not in one single instant used ‘zelus’. He applied, however, a number of related words from good Classical Latin, such as aemulatio, ardor, and cupiditas. He wrote about the crusaders being ‘eager to revenge the Christian religion’39 or how they ‘longed for the booty and the blood of the pagan enemy’. 40 The Danish King Valdemar I the Great was ‘led by his zeal to shed blood’ and began the siege of the pagan fortress of Arkona. 41 Saxo did not refer to the Old Testament for justifying 37 ‘Dixit [Augustinus] beatos eos, qui persecutionem inferunt propter iustitiam, acsi qui persecutionem paciuntur propter iustitiam’, quoted from Althoff, “Selig sind die Verfolgung ausüben”, p. 11. 38 Fisher, ‘The Book of the Maccabees’; Poleg, ‘On the Books of Maccabees’; Dying for the Faith, ed. by Signori. 39 Saxo 14, 3,6; II, p. 162: ‘vindicandae religionis cupientissimi.’ 40 Saxo 14, 39,26; II, pp. 366-68: ‘hostilisque praedae ac sanguinis cupidus.’ 41 Saxo 14, 39,2; II, p. 354: ‘fundendi sanguinis aviditate perductus.’

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the war against the pagans – he did not even use the word zelus – but in his description of the religious warfare, he actually used a vocabulary of strong emotions that wholly conforms to the contemporary crusade theology. Henry of Livonia used the concept of zelus only once in the beginning of his history. In 1205, the crusaders realized that the new converts as dogs had returned to their vomit and forgotten the faith they had accepted. The crusaders now were filled with zelus Dei, the zeal of God (or the zeal for God) and pursued the fleeing new-pagans who sought refuge with other pagans. The crusaders had to give up their pursuit, returned and put fire to the pagans’ village and burned it all down.42 Henry here directly connects zelus to religiously motivated warfare, but it is not a theme he pursues at any length or by referring directly to the Phinehas story. However, Henry describes the religious zeal with other words, much like Saxo. He employs variations of cupio, which could be used in a broad, general sense, but sometimes was a direct argument for waging war. In 1210, the crusaders discussed whether to wait for reinforcement or move toward the pagan Estonians immediately. A large group including the Sword Brethren could not wait, because they were cupientes, ‘eager’, and opened the war without further hesitation. It was not a brilliant idea: the Christians suffered a crushing defeat, and many martyrs were produced on that day. 43 The word has similar connotations when Henry uses it to describe an incident in 1218: the Osilians’ attack on the Christians in Livonia. The priest Godfried in Loddiger (Ledurga) saw them coming, jumped to his horse, and rode around his parish summoning the men to fight against the pagans. He sent messengers to ask help from the neighbouring parishes and from the bishop of Treyden. They came from everywhere and were ready the next morning. ‘Only seven of the bishop’s men were Germans, and the eighth was the priest Godfried. He tucked up his arms of wars and put on his breastplate as a giant, eager (cupiens) to snatch his sheep from the claws of the wolfs.’44 The imagery of breastplate and giant is taken from the Book of Maccabees (1 Mac 3:3) and therefore connects to the Phinehas story. Godfried was driven 42 HCL IX, 8, p. 30: ‘Peregrini itaque dum vident neophitos Lyvones in tantum exhorbitare et tamquam canes ad vomitum redire, eo quod fidei olim suscepte obliviscantur, zelo Dei accensi insequuntur fugientes. Sed mox ut conspiciunt eos se aliis paganis de Leneworde coniunxisse relictisque villis silvarum latebras cum ipsis adiisse, urbem ipsorum adhibito igne succendunt.’ 43 HCL XIV, 8, pp. 59-60. 44 HCL XXI, 7, p. 146: ‘Et erant septem tantum ex servis episcopi Theuthonici, et octavus erat sacerdos Godefridus. Qui succinxit se armis bellicis suis et induit se lorica sua tamquam gygas, oves suas luporum faucibus eripere cupiens.’

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by eagerness, by zeal similar to Phinehas’s, and it justified the warfare and the killing of a substantial number of pagans. Cupio is, however, a much more inclusive concept than zelus and could also be applied by Henry simply to mean ‘an interest in’ or ‘an attempt to’. As when the Danes to his great disapproval ‘attempted to’ (cupientes) send their priests to baptize in the land of the church of Riga, to harvest in a foreign field. 45 Henry continued the passage about Godfried, saying, ‘They rushed from the back upon them, killing bravely among them.’46 This could be interpreted to mean that Godfried himself personally took part in the killing of infidels, but that is highly unlikely. There is no other clear example of priests actually killing in the narratives of the Baltic crusades. Henry’s wording covers the whole group of warriors, of which Godfried was a member, but does not necessarily mean that he wielded the sword himself. James A. Brundage similarly discusses whether Henry’s participation in the wars implied that he actually served as a soldier. Brundage believes so, but the passage he refers to cannot substantiate this interpretation. 47 Vincent of Cracow was, again, much more detailed and thoughtful when dealing with the argumentation for killing. He relates from the early twelfth century how the city of Alba (Bialogard, Belgard) in western Pomerania was besieged by King Boleslaw III, who threatened that if the Pomeranians took up arms, their city would have to change its name from Alba to Cruenta, from ‘White’ to ‘Blood Red’. The city surrendered, the inhabitants were spared, and Prince Gneuomir was baptized with Boleslaw as his godfather and installed as Boleslaw’s local ruler in Pomerania. Because of the leniency of the King, the other Pomeranian cities along the coast surrendered. 48 Not much later, however, Gneuomir rebelled. His only faith was being unfaithful, Vincent said, a general remark about a certain type of human, but also realization that Gneuomir’s conversion had not been in earnest. 49 He remembered his paternal traditions, but the benefices bestowed upon him by Boleslaw he had forgotten. He certainly came to remember, but late, and only when forced, Vincent continues. Boleslaw conquers one coastal city after another, the last being Gneuomir’s stronghold. The rebel was beheaded, and ‘everybody else was

45 46 47 48 49

HCL XXIV, 2, p. 170. HCL XXIV, 2, p. 170: ‘Et irruerunt post tergum super eos, occidentes ex eis fortissime.’ Brundage, ‘Introduction’, pp. 17-18. Vincent III, 2,2-6, pp. 88-89. Vincent III, 5,1, p. 91: ‘talium fides sit ipsa perfidia’.

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absorbed by the mouth of the sword’: total annihilation of all inhabitants in the city, probably of the whole local population. The next paragraph in the text opens with a direct formulation of the problem: ‘Ardour is laudable, but harshness is not, except if it is used in zeal for justice, not because of hate or arrogance.’ The text continues, stating it is not a sin to kill another human if it is your office to do so, and that a soldier is not guilty of manslaughter if he is obeying orders when killing a human. It was laudable of Phinehas, Vincent stressed, to kill the Israelite and the Midjanite woman, of Mathias Maccabeus to kill the idolaters, and of Moses to kill 23,000 Israelites who worshipped the calf of gold, to ‘consecrate his hand in the blood of his neighbours’.50 Vincent goes on to say that sometimes it is a sin not to kill, if commanded by the Lord.51 All in all, Vincent summarizes the most important arguments for killing infidels as they were formulated in the late eleventh century’s reform papacy and refined during the twelfth century. Vincent uses zelus again and again as a just reason for killing infidels and apostates, but in this matter he distinguished between the role of the clergy and of the secular authorities. Two bishops in Plock in Masuria around 1100 were armed with zeal for the house of God. It was inscribed with a golden pen in their hearts, and they fought to defend the arch of the Lord against the local Masurians and against Prussians and Pomeranians who came from everywhere, again and again. Organizing the religious wars in the 1140s, Bishop Alexander of Plock was at the same time a lamb and a lion, a priest and a knight, armed and pious, and he never neglected his work of devotion because of the work of guarding the church. He always remembered the words of Saint Ambrose, that the weapons of the bishop are tears and prayers.52

50 Vincent III, 7,1-2: ‘Laudo animositatem, truculentiam non laudo, nisi forte zelo iustitie factum sit, non odii animo uel typo superbie. Non est peccatum ex officio hominem occidere nec est reus homicidii miles, qui potestati obediens hominem occidit. Laudatur Finees qui cum Madianitide confodit Hebreum et Mathathias idolatram et Moyses cum Leuitis per medium castrorum transiens manus consecrabat in sanguine propinquorum, quando propter uitulum cesa sunt XX tria milia.’ 51 Vincent refers here to King Saul, who did not kill King Agag of the Amalekites, despite the Lord’s command to do so. This passage from 1 Reg. 15, 11-23 was important in the eleventh century reform movement, also because it stressed unconditional obedience toward spiritual authority. Cf. Althoff, “Selig sind die Verfolgung ausüben”, pp. 46-53 and passim. 52 Vincent III, 8,3, p. 93: ‘arma episcopi lacrime sunt et orationes.’

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Bishop Alexander was great in battles, but greater in divine matters, Vincent concludes.53 Alexander founded a church dedicated to the Holy Virgin, and he had thereby superseded King David of the Israelites. The Lord had forbidden King David to build a temple for the Ark of the Covenant, because David was a vir bellator et sanguinem fuderis, a warrior stained by blood (1 Par. 28:3). He therefore had to leave it to his son Salomon to erect the temple in Jerusalem. With his allusions to this episode in the Old Testament, Vincent clearly intends to stress that Bishop Alexander did not with his own hand spill any human blood. Thus he could establish the church for the Virgin and enrich it inside with spiritual devotions and studies, while protecting it from outside with material weapons. ‘Truly you can say: “Thou art beautiful and comely, daughter of Jerusalem, terrible as an army ready for war”’ (Cant. 6:3).54 Masuria, with Livonia, seems to have been dedicated to the Virgin Mary, placed under Her protection in Her role as the terrifying organizer of wars – at least according to Vincent, writing more than half a century after the events. He may have been inspired by accounts of the Lateran IV meeting, of how Henry of Livonia and Bishop Albert of Riga successfully claimed that Livonia was the land of the Mother, as much as Palestine was the land of the Son.

Vindicta Sacrorum The last concepts to be explored here concern vindicta and ultio, ‘vengeance’. The Lord’s vengeance of the Old Testament was closely connected to mass killing, as was zelus. ‘For it is the day of the Lord’s vengeance, and the year of recompenses for the controversy of Zion’ (Isaiah 34:8). The saints of the Lord shall praise God with their mouth, while they with a double-edged sword kill the pagans (Ps. 148:7).55 The idea of vengeance became incorporated 53 Gladysz suggests that Bishop Alexander, coming from Liège, brought the vocabulary and the ideology of crusading from Lotharingia and probably maintained contact with this centre for Western European crusades. It is possible, but in reality we know almost nothing about Alexander except from Vincent’s narrative, written much later and with the hindsight of knowing about the fate of Jerusalem in the late twelfth century, and about the Danish and German crusades in the Baltic. Gladysz, Forgotten Crusaders, pp. 21, 35-36. 54 Vincent III, 8,5, p. 94: ‘uere dici possit: pulchra es et decora, filia Ierusalem, terribilis ut castrorum acies ordinata.’ Vincent has slightly changed the standard bible text in his rendering of this passage from the Song of Songs, so I have made my own translation and not followed the King James Version here. 55 Psalm 148: 5-7: ‘5 Let the saints be joyful in glory: let them sing aloud upon their beds. 6 Let the high praises of God be in their mouth, and a two-edged sword in their hand; 7 To execute vengeance upon the heathen, and punishments upon the people.’

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in crusading ideology, according to Susanna Throop, not from the first generation of crusade narratives dating from the early twelfth century, but significantly so from the last third of the century.56 It is a motive that figures predominantly in the texts under discussion here. Saxo noted with appreciation how crusading could re-direct violence from internal wars to external ones, to be used for a good purpose. In the mid-twelfth century, a civil war was fought in Denmark between different claimants to the throne. Two kings eventually concluded a truce and went on a common expedition against the Wends in connection with the Second Crusade in the Baltic, in 1147. Saxo commented that they turned their swords away from fighting each other and towards ‘revenging the sacred’, ad sacrorum vindictam.57 The Danish contingent met with a Saxon army that was ‘eager to revenge religion’.58 They succeeded in conquering Dobin and forcing the pagans to be baptized, but when they went back home, the newly converted immediately lapsed from faith. In 1168 with the conquest of Arkona, the common crusaders complained and almost rebelled against the king’s peace treaty with the pagans, because they would then be deprived of ‘a most beautiful revenge’, speciosissima vindicta. They would gain nothing for all their work except wounds and pain, and they could not take revenge for the injuries against them ‘according to their free will’, or by arbitrary killing of infidels.59 Saxo described a very secular, mundane longing for revenge after hard battles in this episode, but the wording and context balance the religious longing for revenge: revenge and religion become two sides of the same coin. Shortly afterwards, Saxo relates how the mission and the new Christians were supported by miracles, the sick were cured, the bodily debilitated recovered totally, while those showing contempt towards the faith were crippled as punishment. God Himself had taken revenge over the pagans, Saxo concludes.60

56 Throop, Crusading as an Act of Vengeance, pp. 74-76. 57 Saxo 14,3,5; II, p. 162: ‘rei melius gerendae gratia pacem pro tempore statuunt revocatumque a suis visceribus ferrum ad sacrorum vindictam convertunt.’ 58 Saxo 14,3,6; II, p. 162: ‘Saxones, et ipsi vindicandae religionis cupientissimi, militiae socii Danis futuri.’ 59 Saxo 14,39,26; II, pp. 366-68: ‘[…] propinquae victoriae praemiis spoliatus nihil ex tanta fatigatione praeter ictus et vulnera retulisset, quodque sibi de paene victo hoste tot iniuriarum ultionem proprio arbitrio exigere non licuerit, praefatus illorum saluti iam consuli, de quibus tot spoliorum, tot domesticarum cladium minimo negotio speciosissima vindicta accipi potuisset.’ 60 Saxo 14, 39,47; II, p. 378: ‘Nec praedicationis eorum ministerio miracula defuere: siquidem compluribus debilitate corporis resolutis per eorum salutares preces bonae valetudinis habitus recuperatus est […] A quibusdam etiam detractae religionis supplicia varia membrorum strage

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The motive of revenge is much more common in Henry of Livonia’s chronicle, appearing in many different combinations. He states directly at an early point in the narrative that the crusaders were signed with the cross in remission for their sins and ‘to take revenge over the infidels and subjugate them to the faith’.61 This was allegedly the formulation of Archbishop Andreas Sunesen of Lund before the Danish crusade to Oesel (Saaremaa) in 1206. Revenge is here very close to becoming a license to forced conversion. As was the case with Saxo, the revenge of humans is ultimately God’s own revenge. Henry tells how the pagan Estonians killed and cremated some of the newly converted Lets – trucidaverant et igne cremaverant.62 It is unclear from the wording whether they were burned alive, as both pagans and Christians did to their enemies on more occasions according to Henry, or whether they were killed and given a proper pagan burial by cremation to help them into a pagan afterlife. In any case, the other Lets collected their forces and ‘if God gave them’, they could take revenge over their enemies. Now follows a longer description of their expedition in which they kill Estonians and kill and kill, from morning to evening, until their arms and hands were totally exhausted from using the sword. All villages were coloured red by the blood of the pagans, and before returning the Christians collected as booty the animals and also the young women, ‘who were the only ones whom the army used to spare in these areas’. When they met the crusaders and the Order of the Sword Brethren, these ‘gave thanks to God, because He through the newly converted had taken revenge over the pagans’.63 Not the Christians, old or new, but the Lord himself. The human revenge was also God’s revenge, and could justify even the most extensive extermination of pagans. A successful revenge was the cause of gratitude and of joy among the crusaders.64 The idea of human and divine revenge was not foreign to Vincent at all, but he was much more cautious than Henry of Livonia and seems to restrict graviter exigebantur, ut manifeste Deum et cultus sui praemium et contemptus vindictam afferre putares.’ 61 HCL X, 13, p. 43: ‘archiepiscopus Lundensis Andreas, qui in remissionem peccatorum infinitam multitudinem signo crucis signaverat ad faciendam vindictam in nationibus et ad subiugandas gentes fidei Christiane.’ 62 HCL XXII, 6, p. 64. 63 HCL XII, 6, p. 65: ‘omnes unanimiter cum gaudio Deum benedicebant, eo quod [per] noviter conversos Dominus tantam fecerit vindictam eciam ceteris in nationibus.’ 64 Sometimes celebrated with dance and music; HCL XXVIII, 6, p. 205: ‘Interfectis autem viris omnibus facta est exultatio magna et ludus christianorum in tympanis et fistulis et instrumentis musicis, eo quod vindictam vindicaverant de malefactoribus et omnes perfidos de Lyvonia et Estonia ibidem collectos interfecerant.’

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it carefully to be used against apostates. It has already been mentioned how Boleslaw III flamed up against the Pomeranians and decided to add vengeance upon vengeance upon them – ultionem adiecit ultioni.65 They are called sacrilegious idolaters, but we hear immediately after that they had not kept the faith they had received; they were apostates. In the ensuing battle, the losses were immense, and the Poles found it difficult to resist killing. The number of the fallen Pomeranians is like the sand of the sea, the stars of heaven. Nobody can count them, not even the arithmeticians or the specialists in the use of the abacus, and to this day, piles of bones of the unburied testify to the number of fallen, Vincent wrote a couple of generations later. Since then, the cities of the Pomeranians have belonged to the kingdom of Poland. All this is justified because it is revenge, but against apostates. Revenge was an obligation for the King of Poland as it was for King Saul. Both disobeyed the command of the Lord, and both were punished. To populate the provinces of the Prussians after all the warfare, Boleslaw IV decreed that all who had chosen to become Christians would be granted full liberty for their person and their belongings. But those who would not abandon the sacrilegious rites of paganism should be punished with capital punishment. But ‘their religion was as smoke and lasted ye shorter, ye more it had been enforced upon them’.66 They apostatized and returned to idolatry. Boleslaw now found it sufficient that he as the prince got his share, not caring about the share denied to God. He did not exact revenge for the apostasy, as long as he himself received payment in tribute. That was an unwise decision. ‘The motionless who is not moved by the soft zeal of God, will be woken up from his snoring by the hard stroke of tribulations.’67 The Prussians rebelled and defeated the Poles severely in 1166. Since then, Boleslaw IV and his sons no longer enjoyed success in war, Vincent concluded.

A Theology of Strong Emotions There seem to be two different ways of arguing for fighting against the infidels and the apostates, which are intertwined in these narratives about 65 Vincent III, 14,1, p. 99. 66 Vincent III, 30,15, p. 126: ‘Set ad modicum parens uapor illorum fuit religio, tanto uidelicet breuior quanto coactior.’ 67 Vincent III, 30,17, p. 127: ‘Vnde factum est, ut quem zelus Dei molliter torpentem non mouit, durior saltem tribulationis ictus stertentem excitaret.’

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the Baltic wars from around 1200. One is formalistic and juridical, based very much on the formal status of the enemies and their standing as real pagans or apostates. The other is based on strong emotions such as zeal for God, lust for vengeance, and an aim to avert divine wrath. Emotions are the inner feelings of the individual and have normally been considered the opposite of rational reasoning, both in medieval and modern theories about psychology.68 They are, however, not totally arbitrary, but expressed within socially accepted limits. Barbara H. Rosenwein has suggested that we should rather operate with ‘emotional communities’, whose members agree what emotions they can or are expected to show in certain situations.69 Thereby, emotions become not solely an expression of individual feelings, but also phenomena with a history that can be studied diachronically. How did the emotional communities change during the first century of crusading to the Middle East and in the Baltic? That question can only be answered by a much larger investigation and comparison over time than the short presentation offered in this chapter. Susanna Throop claims that the theme of revenge became important for crusaders only in the late twelfth century, but this seems to contradict the conclusions of Gerd Althoff and his analysis of the herem-theology of the reform papacy, which he argues was formulated a hundred years earlier. Throop’s interpretations can be supported by other studies; Karen Sullivan has recently suggested that the Church in Western Europe saw a gradual change from the mid-twelfth century to the mid-fourteenth from charity to zeal, from a lenient attitude to deviants in the faith to a much harsher one that included among other features the establishing of the inquisition.70 This would fit well with the idea of a change from mission of the word to mission of the sword in the Baltic, mentioned at the beginning of this chapter. Other studies, however, point to a significant change in the late eleventh century with a new devotion to Christ, which has even been called ‘the greatest revolution in feelings that Europa has ever witnessed’.71 This devotion made it natural for the crusaders, within their emotional communities, to share their feelings with Christ, to feel pain when he was tortured by the injuries of the pagans and apostates, to be beset with rage and wrath, and to be filled with the zeal to take revenge, with Him and for Him. This 68 Knuuttila, Emotions in Ancient and Medieval Philosophy; Rosenwein, ‘Thinking Historically’. 69 Rosenwein, Emotional Communities. 70 Sullivan, The Inner Lives. 71 McNamer, Affective Meditation, p. 2.

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supports the interpretation of Gerd Althoff and would mean that there was no significant change in the approach to infidels in the Baltic during the twelfth century. Saxo, Henry, and Vincent all wrote their large narratives shortly after 1200. They expressed themselves in different, well-defined genres in a formal language that was highly dependent upon their literary models, be it classical, medieval, biblical, or the reformulation of earlier narratives describing the same events. They wrote about religious feelings, about conversion of infidels, and about bloody wars driven by logical concerns, but also by strong emotions. It is easy to dismiss their reports of motives as literary constructions, far removed from everyday realities of the warriors. But if we accept that individuals act within emotional communities, we must also accept that they describe feelings commonly expressed by their contemporaries. In return, their way of describing emotions helped define the proper way of feeling and acting for a true crusader in the Baltic. Saxo, Henry, and Vincent were struggling with the same problem of justifying warfare, but they did so in very different ways and with very different emphasis. This reflects dilemmas which must have also concerned the fighting crusaders.

Bibliography Printed Sources Corpus Iuris Canonici. Pars prior: Decretum Magistri Gratiani, ed. by Aemilius Friedberg (Graz: Akademische Druck- und Verlagsanstalt, 1959, 2nd edn). Galli anonymi Cronica et gesta ducum sive principum polonorum, ed. by Carolus Maleczynski, Monumenta Poloniae historica, nova ser., 2 (Cracow: Polska Akademia Umiejętności, 1952). Heinrici Chronicon Livoniae, ed. by Leonid Arbusow and Albertus Bauer, Monumenta Germaniae Historica, Scriptores, 31 (Hannover: Hahn, 1955) (= HCL). http://www.dmgh.de/de/fs1/object/ display/bsb00000734_00003.html?sortIndex=010%3A070%3A0031%3A010%3A00%3A00& sort=score&order=desc&context=Henricus+de+Lettis&subSeriesTitle_str=&hl=false&fullt ext=Henricus+de+Lettis. Magistri Vincentii dicti Kadlubek Chronica Polonorum, ed. by Marianus Plezia. Monumenta Poloniae historica, nova ser., 11 (Cracow: Polska Akademia Umiejętności, 1994) (= Vincent). Mecklenburgisches Urkundenbuch, 1 (Schwerin: Verein für Mecklenburgische Geschichte und Altertumskunde, 1863). Raymundus de Pennaforte, Summa de paenitentia, ed. by Xavier Ochoa Sanz and Aloisio Diez (Rome: Commentarium pro religiosis, 1976). Saxo, Gesta Danorum. Danmarkshistorien, 1-2, ed. by Karsten Friis-Jensen, Danish trans. by Peter Zeeberg (Copenhagen: Gad, 2005).

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Literature Gerd Althoff, “Selig sind die Verfolgung ausüben”. Päpste und Gewalt im Hochmittelalter (Darmstadt: Theiss, 2013). James A. Brundage, ‘Introduction: Henry of Livonia, The Writer and His Chronicle’, in Crusading and Chronicle Writing on the Medieval Baltic Frontier: A Companion to the Chronicle of Henry of Livonia, ed. by Marek Tamm, Linda Kaljundi, and Carsten Selch Jensen (Farnham: Ashgate, 2011), pp. 1-19. Ane L. Bysted, Carsten Selch Jensen, Kurt Villads Jensen, and John H. Lind, Jerusalem in the North: Denmark and the Baltic Crusades, 1100-1522 (Turnhout: Brepols, 2012). Eric Christiansen, The Northern Crusades: The Baltic and the Catholic Frontier, 1100-1525 (Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press, 1980) [London: Penguin Books, 1998, 2nd edn]. Crusade and Conversion on the Baltic Frontier, ed. by Alan V. Murray (Farnham: Ashgate, 2001). The Clash of Cultures on the Medieval Baltic Frontier, ed. by Alan V. Murray (Farnham: Ashgate, 2009). Crusading and Chronicle Writing on the Medieval Baltic Frontier: A Companion to the Chronicle of Henry of Livonia, ed. by Marek Tamm, Linda Kaljundi, and Carsten Selch Jensen (Farnham: Ashgate, 2011). Dying for the Faith, Killing for the Faith: Old-Testament Faith-Warriors (1 and 2 Maccabees) in Historical Perspective, ed. by Gabriela Signori (Leiden: Brill, 2012). Mary Fisher, ‘The Book of the Maccabees and the Teutonic Order’, Crusades, 4 (2005), 59-71. Iben Fonnesberg-Schmidt, The Popes and the Baltic Crusades 1147-1254 (Leiden: Brill, 2007). Mikolaj Gladysz, The Forgotten Crusaders: Poland and the Crusader Movement in the Twelfth and Thirteenth Centuries (Leiden: Brill, 2012). Darius von Güttner Sporzynki, Poland, Holy War, and the Piast Monarchy, 1100-1230 (Turnhout: Brepols, 2014). Heidenmission und Kreuzzugsgedanke in der deutschen Ostpolitik des Mittelalters, ed. by Helmut Beumann, Wege der Forschung, 7 (Darmstadt: Wissenschaftliche Buchgesellschaft, 1963). Yair Hoffman, ‘The Deutoronomistic Concept of the Herem’, Zeitschrift für die alttestamentliche Wissenschaft, 111 (1999), 196-210. Hermann Kamp, ‘Der Wendenkreuzzug’, in Schwertmission. Gewalt und Christianisierung im Mittelalter, ed. by Hermann Kamp and Martin Kroker (Paderborn: Schöningh, 2013), pp. 115-38. Benjamin Z. Kedar, Crusade and Mission: European Approaches Toward the Muslims (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1984). Simo Knuuttila, Emotions in Ancient and Medieval Philosophy (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2004). Christian Krötzl, Pietarin ja Paavalin nimissä. Paavit, lähetystyö ja Euroopan muotoutuminen (500-1250), Historiallisia Tutkimuksia, 219 (Helsinki: Suomalaisen Kirjallisuuden Seura, 2004). Sarah McNamer, Affective Meditation and the Invention of Medieval Compassion (Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 2009). Eyal Poleg, ‘On the Books of Maccabees: An Unpublished Poem by Geoffrey, Prior of the Templum Domini’, Crusades, 9 (2010), 13-56. Barbara H. Rosenwein, Emotional Communities in the Early Middle Ages (Ithaca: Cornell University Press, 2006). Barbara H. Rosenwein, ‘Thinking Historically about Medieval Emotions’, History Compass, 8 (2010), 828-42. Frederick H. Russell, The Just War in the Middle Ages (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1975).

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Schwertmission. Gewalt und Christianisierung im Mittelalter, ed. by Hermann Kamp and Martin Kroker (Paderborn: Schöningh, 2013). Elizabeth Siberry, Criticism of Crusading 1095-1274 (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1985). Karen Sullivan, The Inner Lives of Medieval Inquisitors (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 2011). Miikka Tamminen, Ad crucesignatos et crucesignandos: Crusade Preaching and the Construction of the ‘True’ Crusader in the 12th Century (Tampere: University of Tampere, Unpublished PhD thesis, 2013). Palmer A. Throop, Criticism of the Crusade: A Study of Public Opinion and Crusade Propaganda (Amsterdam: Swets and Zeitlinger, 1940). Susanna A. Throop, Crusading as an Act of Vengeance, 1095-1216 (Farnham: Ashgate, 2011). Jaan Undusk, ‘Sacred History, Profane History: Uses of the Bible in the Chronicle of Henry of Livonia’, in Crusading and Chronicle Writing on the Medieval Baltic Frontier: A Companion to the Chronicle of Henry of Livonia, ed. by Marek Tamm, Linda Kaljundi, and Carsten Selch Jensen (Farnham: Ashgate, 2011), pp. 45-75. William L. Urban, The Baltic Crusade (DeKalb: Northern Illinois University Press, 1975) [Chicago: Lithuanian Research and Studies Center, 1994, 2nd edn].



The Swedish Expeditions (‘Crusades’) Towards Finland Reconsidered Jens E. Olesen

For hundreds of years at the beginning of the Christian era, it was possible for pilgrims from Europe to undertake visits to the Holy Sepulchre in Jerusalem. The expressions ‘peregrinus’ and ‘peregrinatio’, as Christian Krötzl has pointed out, have roots in the pre-Christian period and they underwent a strong change of meaning during the Middle Ages. With the expansion of the Islamic world in the eastern part of the Mediterranean, the travels and journeys of the pilgrims became more and more difficult and dangerous. Thus the pilgrims started to carry weapons or were protected by military units so that they could safely reach Jerusalem and travel back again. At the end of the eleventh century, the possibilities of travel to the Holy Land were strongly reduced as a result of the Arab conquests and soon in reality terminated. For this reason, Pope Urban II gave his famous speech at the Council of Clermont in November 1095 demanding the liberation of the Holy Sepulchre in Jerusalem. The speech was welcomed with great enthusiasm (Deus lo vult, ‘God wills it’); numerous French and German princes and noblemen in particular were inspired for a crusade and started to prepare themselves. After several difficulties and internal rivalry among the crusaders, Jerusalem was liberated in July 1099 and the Kingdom of Jerusalem was founded. The European crusade movement towards the Holy Land lasted until the second half of the thirteenth century, leaving many traces in the written sources.1 After some decades, the concept of crusades, which started as campaigns against non-Christianized people in the Holy Land, spread also outside the territory of Palestine. In the Kingdom of Portugal against the Moors and in the Baltic Region against Slavs and Balts, crusades and military operations were realized with the consent and understanding of Rome.2 Some Scandinavians visited the Holy Sepulchre and, like the Norwegian King Sigurd Jorsalfar (d. 1130), fought in the Holy Land (1107-1111). According to written sources, Jerusalem was the most visited long-distance destination among 1 See among others Schreiner, Middelalderen, pp. 169-91; Southern, Ridder og Klerk, pp. 49-70; Heer, Mittelalter, pp. 203-14; Kaufhold, Kreuzzüge. 2 Jensen, Korstog ved verdens yderste rand, passim.

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Scandinavian pilgrims in the thirteenth century, although the number of sources are scarce and do not allow a reconstruction of the actual number of pilgrims from northern Europe.3 In the second half of the twelfth century, the Danes in particular were actively fighting for the faith at the southern coast of the Baltic. At the beginning of the thirteenth century, they fought in Estonia, while the Swedes first and foremost oriented themselves towards Finland and the River Neva. The Danish crusades are well known through prominent sources like Saxo Grammaticus, Helmold von Bosau, and the chronicle of Henry of Livonia. 4 Compared to the Danish crusades, the Swedish crusades have not had a prominent and distinguished international position in scholarly research, also because of fewer and more problematic sources.5 Thus the Swedish legend of Saint Erik dates from the second half of the thirteenth century and the ‘Erik Chronicle’ was composed during the first half of the fourteenth century; the chronology of the Novgorod Chronicle is problematic. The Swedish crusades have mainly been researched by Swedish and Finnish scholars. In this chapter, the Swedish expeditions interpreted as crusades towards Finland from the mid-twelfth century up to the beginning of the fourteenth century are discussed in order to cast some new light on the crusaders movement in this part of the Baltic Sea region. It will be shown that the Swedish activities in the form of crusades should not be considered only as an almost isolated Swedish-Finnish phenomenon, but should be viewed in the context of the general development of the crusaders movement in the Baltic area.

The Old Finnish Society It is possible with the help of place-names and archaeological finds to prove that a Swedish colonization took place in the Finnish regions of Ostrobothnia (Swe. Österbotten, Fin. Pohjanmaa) and Nyland (Fin. Uusimaa). The immigration and colonization from Sweden cannot, unfortunately, be dated. It seems that the immigration took place in a long time span during 3 Krötzl, Pilger, Mirakel und Alltag, pp. 25-36, 110-11. 4 Lind et al., Danske Korstog; Konger og Krige 700-1648, ed. by Due-Nielsen, Feldbæk, and Petersen, pp. 54-89; Bregnsbo and Jensen, Det danske Imperium, pp. 51-57. 5 See among others Christiansen, The Northern Crusades, pp. 109-17; Anthoni, ‘Korstågstiden’; Gallén, Finland i medeltidens Europa, pp. 33-38, 49-53; Lind et al., Danske Korstog, pp. 153-59. Modern research, especially by John Lind and Jukka Korpela, on Russian-Swedish relations has, however, importantly underlined international aspects.

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the Middle Ages and did not follow a strict prepared plan. The colonization, especially by peasants and fishermen, was to a large degree peaceful, and nothing seems to suggest a conquest or an occupation of land by force. The horizontal Finnish forms of society seem here to give way to the Swedish more vertical class formations. In the southwestern part of Finland, the colonization took place especially after the mid-twelfth century until the mid-fourteenth century. The Swedish colonizers came mostly from the Mälar area and the coastal areas of Sweden and regions in Lapland in the bay of Bothnia. The colonizers crossed the Nordkvark (Fin. Merenkurkku).6 This colonization is interestingly to some extent comparable to the German colonization directed towards the east (Ger. ‘Ostkolonisation’); it was also in this case caused by growing population pressure and an expansion in the form of new settlements, which for Sweden was a characteristic element.7 From the beginning there were contacts between the populations of the two language groups, Swedish and Finnish; this can be seen in Finnish loanwords and elements in the place-names. According to the consensus of scholars, the Swedes and the Finns lived side by side and earned their living in two fully different economical ways. The Swedes were first and foremost peasants working on their fields and with cattle; the Finns were mainly hunters and fishermen. In the southwestern part of Finland, however, there seems to have existed field-production before the Swedish colonization, as also on the Åland islands.8 The name of Finland was not used in the high medieval period; the Swedes called the territory ‘Österland’, east country. How the original old Finnish society was organized before the first Swedish crusades is still mostly unknown, but scholarly investigations have demonstrated that the ‘pre-Swedish’ Finnish society was divided into social groups. There perhaps did not yet exist a special land-owning aristocracy. In southern Finland and in the coastal area of Österbotten, a mixture of resident peasants and nomadic groups based on hunting and fishing probably existed. In the ‘period of crusades’, traditionally seen in the Finnish historiography as a special epoch from about the mid-twelfth century up to the peace of Nöteborg in 1323, Finnish society, however, underwent a characteristic turbulent modernization.9 Imported international conceptions and models replaced the old non-Christianized models, and slowly a new hierarchical form of society took shape. Almost no area in the life of the 6 Törnblom, ‘Medeltiden’, p. 282. 7 Klinge, Ostseewelt, p. 32. 8 Lindkvist, ‘Die schwedischen Kreuzzüge’, pp. 51-52, 60, 65. 9 Jutikkala and Pirinen, Finlands historia, pp. 26-27; Törnblom, ‘Medeltiden’, p. 282.

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people was left untouched. New social groups like the clergy, town-dwellers, and noblemen (including castellans and bailiffs) came into existence. The local administration with fixed taxpaying was also a new phenomenon not seeming to have existed earlier. The Roman Catholic religion introduced a new faith, which slowly replaced the old gods and the shamanic rituals and traditions. Bible stories and saints’ legends found their way into the popular folk-stories, while folk music in Finland was largely inspired by Gregorian church music. Personal names slowly changed according to Christian tradition, with parents naming their children after the saints.10 During the ‘period of crusades’, many Swedes immigrated to Finland, bringing the Swedish language and culture with them. In the localities, where the Swedes constituted the minority, their language seems soon to have been influenced by Finnish. The Swedish form of society, however, generally took over, especially in the coastal areas, in Finland proper, and in Nyland. Organized nobility with exemption from taxes against military service was a new phenomenon in the thirteenth century. The new societal models from abroad slowly changed the old Finnish clan-society into a hierarchical society of estates.11 Before the mid-twelfth century, Finland was a huge, but only partially colonized country with a very small number of inhabitants. The extensive areas formed the basis for the economy. Already during the Viking period the field and cattle-breeding economy had spread to Finland proper, and constituted perhaps in the twelfth century the basis for the peasant’s economy. The original inhabitants, the Sami people, lived from hunting and fishing as well as from reindeer production. In the northern parts of Finland, hunting and fishing dominated for a very long time and thus upheld a nomadic culture.12 The non-Christianized Finnish peasants normally lived in a village community. As in Sweden, the family clan played an important role in the status of their single members. Defence was organized collectively, and in many areas great defence fortifications were erected as protection against enemies. It seems on the whole that the clan within a certain territory constituted the highest political organizational form within the old Finnish society.13 10 Bohn, Finnland, pp. 46-47; Törnblom, ‘Medeltiden’, pp. 282-83; Kallioinen, ‘Der deutsche Einfluß’, pp. 75-82. 11 Törnblom, ‘Medeltiden’, p. 282. 12 Bohn, Finnland, pp. 44-47; Lindkvist, ‘Die schwedischen Kreuzzüge’, pp. 59-60. 13 Törnblom, ‘Medeltiden’, p. 283.

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King Erik and Bishop Henry Even before the first Swedish crusade to Finland, Christian elements and impulses had spread to the territory, especially to the Åland islands, southwestern Finland, and Ostrobothnia. Specifically, the Norwegian Saint King Olaf (d. 1030) and the Virgin Mary had become popular, as demonstrated by the Finnish national epos, ‘Kalevala’, in which Mary is transformed to Marjatta. It is, however, impossible to rely fully on the Kalevala texts, but oral poems contain elements from pre-Christian tradition as well as the process of Christianization. Across the northern part of Bothnia (Swe. Nordkvark), there existed an old pilgrim route to Nidaros (Trondheim), the location of Saint Olaf’s grave. It is likely that at least some Finns also went to see the grave. The Christianization of Finland was, however, a very long, enduring process, developing through different phases varying from sword mission to the activity of missionary bishops. The Christian faith had arrived in Sweden much earlier. Ansgar, later Archbishop of HamburgBremen, did missionary work in Birka in Mälaren around 829, and about two hundred years later Pope Leo IX appointed Adelbert as the Archbishop of Hamburg-Bremen, granting him the status of Primate over the whole of Scandinavia. Sources from the twelfth century mention also a special missionary bishop called John (Johannes) responsible for the islands in the Baltic Sea. Where and in which areas this bishop actually served cannot be documented for sure; perhaps the mission did not yet include Finland, but only coastal areas and some islands like the isle of Saaremaa, where pagan tribes were living.14 The first Finnish contacts with Christian faith were probably established through trade. At the end of the eleventh century, the island of Gotland was a prominent centre of trade in the Baltic Sea region. Gotland played an especially important role in the trade with Finland, and the inhabitants of the island (Gutar) had at this time already been Christianized. Especially tradesmen (Gotland: Farman) seem to have introduced the new faith to the Finns. Still today the Swedish dialect in the region of Ekenäs at the southern coast of Finland resembles the language on Gotland.15 It was the duty of the Roman Catholic Church to do missionary work and to win pagan people for the Christian faith. Probably Christ was presented 14 Törnblom, ‘Medeltiden’, p. 284; Lehtosalo-Hilander, ‘The Conversion of the Finns’, pp. 31-35. Concerning the cult of Saint Olaf and Saint Mary, see Knuutila, Soturi, kuningas, pyhimys. For the traffic across the Bothnian Bay, see Salminen, Toivo, and Haavisto, Via Österbotten, pp. 94-100. 15 Blomkvist, The Discovery of the Baltic, pp. 377-503.

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to the Scandinavians, including in Iceland, as a strong and triumphant god in comparison to the old local pagan gods. Finnish loanwords for church concepts (pappi/priest, risti/cross, suntio/sacristan, Raamattu/Bible, etc.) which derive from Church Slavic, however, indicate, that the first Christian influences did not come from the west, but originated in the Slavic world. This means that the impulses from the Greek Catholic Church in Byzantium were strong.16 There existed, however, also political and economic motives behind the mission of the Roman Catholic Church. Competition between the archbishoprics around the Baltic See, for example, seems to have played a certain role. They made claims over additional territories and generally tried to expand their income. The position of Hamburg-Bremen was, at the beginning of the twelfth century, threatened by the newly founded archbishopric of Lund (founded 1104). The new Scandinavian archbishop strove to strengthen his position and to minimize the dominance of Hamburg-Bremen. In order to avoid that, the archbishop of Hamburg-Bremen travelled to Rome in the second or third decade of the twelfth century. From his negotiations at the papal court comes the so-called ‘Florence document’, in which Finland is mentioned perhaps for the first time. Although it is not clear whether Finland or Estonia in reality were mentioned in the document, much indicates that the fighting for missionary lands and hegemony over regions in the Baltic area had started.17 Finland did not have a strong and united society, making it vulnerable to foreign expansion with military means. In the year 1123, the Prince Vsevolod from Novgorod undertook a military expedition towards Tavastia in Finland. The pieces of information we have from his expedition are, however, difficult to interpret. Whether the inhabitants of Tavastia had allied with the Swedes or fought against the Karelians, who supported the Novgorodians, is unknown. What is certain is that it was not only the Novgorodians who tried to expand their territories in these decades. According to the Novgorod Chronicle, a Swedish prince and a bishop attacked Russian tradesmen with 60 ships in 1142. The incidents are unclear, but it is a fact that both Sweden and Novgorod were fighting for control over the northern trade routes.18 It has been suggested with good reasons that the first Swedish expedition in the form of a crusade to Finland about 1150 belongs within the framework of the struggle between the two powers and their different 16 Törnblom, ‘Medeltiden’, p. 285. 17 Bohn, Finnland, p. 51; Törnblom, ‘Medeltiden’, p. 285. 18 Törnblom, ‘Medeltiden’, pp. 285-86.

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religions: eastern Orthodox Christianity (Novgorod) and western Catholic Christianity.19 Behind the Swedish plans, however, one also finds papal requests to organize crusades in the Baltic Sea region. This is important and points towards the crusade against the Wends in 1147 as a possible model for the Swedish magnates to leave for a crusade towards the east. This aspect is often overlooked in the scholarly works, but might have served as an attractive model for the Swedish prince and his followers with their sights set on southern Finland.20 Although the account in the Swedish Legend of Saint Erik is late – originating from the 1270s21 – a Swedish crusade around 1150 against southern Finland suits well the pattern of the Danish and Saxon undertakings in the western Baltic area during these years.22 The scenes dating from the beginning of the fifteenth century on the cenotaph for the Holy Bishop Henry in the church of Nousiainen support the thesis that Finland was the object of a Swedish military expedition during the lifetime of Bishop Henry. In his letter, Pope Innocent III confirms the crowning of Erik Knutsson, grandchild of the Holy King Erik. The Pope also mentions a land (Terra) the King’s forefathers had taken from the pagans.23 According to the tradition in the Erik Chronicle, the Swedish expedition to Finland – sword mission – was conducted by Erik Jedwarsson. He ruled over Sweden after the death of King Sverker in 1155 or 1156. Only a few years later, 1159/1160, he was murdered by the Danish prince Magnus Henriksson. When Erik’s son Knut later became king in the 1170s, he obtained a papal confirmation for his father’s sanctity – but not canonization – and his role as the founder of a new royal dynasty.24 The legend of Saint Erik includes a relatively short narrative about the crusade to Finland. Erik gathered military units and went, together with Bishop Henry, against the Finns. After having tried in vain to convince the pagan Finns to convert to the Christian faith, he and Henry were victorious 19 See among others Christiansen, The Northern Crusades, pp. 109-17. 20 Concerning the 1147 Crusade, see Christiansen, The Northern Crusades, pp. 48-57; Brüske, Untersuchungen, pp. 107-17. 21 The Legend of Saint Erik, see Röster från svensk medeltid, ed. by Aili, Ferm, and Gustavsson, pp. 92-103; Rosén, ‘Erikskrönikan’. 22 See among others Klinge, Ostseewelt, p. 27; Kirby, A Concise History of Finland, p. 6; Lindkvist, ‘Die schwedischen Kreuzzüge’, p. 52 (end of the 1150s); Törnblom, ‘Medeltiden’, pp. 286-87; Christiansen, The Northern Crusades, p. 110 (in about 1155-1160); Heikkilä, ‘Sanctus (H)e(n)ricus’, pp. 333-79 (spring 1159). 23 Finlands Medeltidsurkunder I, no. 52. Klinge, Östersjövärlden, pp. 48-49; Lindkvist, ‘Die schwedischen Kreuzzüge’, pp. 52-53; Hirn, ‘St. Henriks Kenotafium’, pp. 41-79. 24 Bengtsson and Lovén, ‘Spår av den längre Erikslegenden’, pp. 24-40; Törnblom, ‘Medeltiden’, p. 287.

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in a battle. Afterwards Erik decided on ecclesiastical matters, left Bishop Henry in Finland, and returned himself to Sweden.25 A short legend dating from about the 1290s sets forth the life of Bishop Henry. This narrative has the Erik Chronicle as its main source, but the story of Bishop Henry was further developed in the Finnish folk tradition. Bishop Henry originated from England and became Bishop of Uppsala. He suffered the death of a martyr during his first winter in Finland. Lalli, one of the converted Finnish peasants, attacked and killed the Bishop with his axe on the ice of Lake Köyliö. After the blood-deed several miracles and wonders occurred. The narrative is to be treated carefully, although it depicts much about early Christianity in Finland. The stories confirm Nousiainen as the centre for the new faith and the young mission because Henry was buried there. The Holy Bishop Henry seems to have been active in the western part of Finland proper and in southern Satakunta. The road from Köylio to Nousiainen became the most important pilgrim route in Finland. The appearance of Lalli (Finnish for bear/strong man, comparable to the Christian name Laurentius) indicates a strong pagan reaction against the Christian mission shortly after the Swedish expedition. Nousiainen was the site of the Finnish bishopric until the 1230s. At the end of the thirteenth century, the bones of the Holy Bishop Henry were transferred to the cathedral of Turku. In the decades before the mid-thirteenth century, the position of Henry as the region’s (Finland) national saint was consolidated. On the day of his death (20 January) prominent masses were celebrated. The cult of Saint Henry greatly influenced Finnish church art and literature during the medieval period.26 Many questions related to the first Swedish crusade towards the southwestern part of Finland remain open, but the short legend of King Erik makes it clear that the expedition did not last for a long time. The Swedish naval fleet (ledung) was assembled almost every year during the summer season. Swedish foreign policy was especially active at the end of the 1150s and at the beginning of the 1160s. The naval war fleet made it possible for the Swedish kings to uphold power interests as well as trade interests in this part of the Baltic area without excessive costs. In the years 1142, 1164, and 1201 the Russian Novgorod chronicle refers to Swedish military campaigns. Perhaps the leading Swedish Earl Birger Brosa took part in a

25 Ohrt, Gamle Tiders Finland, p. 31; Törnblom, ‘Medeltiden’, p. 287. 26 Kulturlexikon Finnland, pp. 139-40; Krötzl, Pilger, Mirakel und Alltag, pp. 79-82; Gardberg, ‘Über die älteste Geschichte der Stadt Åbo’, pp. 173-89; Heikkilä, Pyhän Henrikin legenda, passim.

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military expedition in 1197, the primary goal of which was to plunder and to demand tributes from the Russians or Finns.

The Struggle for Tavastia The first crusade was directed to the southwestern part of Finland, not far from Sweden via the Åland islands. Conquering Finland proper and converting its inhabitants to Christianity was, however, not enough to make the whole of Finland into a Christian Swedish province. The yearly expeditions undertaken by the naval fleet during the summer season made it impossible for the Swedish king to have steady control over the newly occupied territories. The young Finnish missionary church thus became a central and important organization for the Swedish occupation policy, but soon serious problems occurred. And many sources indicate how the Finns reverted to their old pagan belief as soon as Swedish troops had left the territory.27 The period of the reign of Knut Eriksson (1167-1196) was a time when the economy generally bloomed and when several crusades were undertaken. The crusades and the economic strength favoured the missionary intentions in the Finnish territory of both the Swedish and the Eastern Church. At the end of the 1170s, Novgorod started a more active foreign policy, and Tavastia, which at that time did not belong to the Swedish hegemony, was the object of attacks from Novgorod in 1186. The 1180s in particular were stormy years, marked by open struggle between east and west, including the involvement of tradesmen from the Hansa league.28 The Danes also became involved in the conquest of the Finnish territory. Danish annals briefly refer to expeditions towards Finland in 1191 and again in 1201. Porvoo in Nyland seems to have been especially important as a Danish stronghold. The primary goal of the Danish crusading activity was Estonia and the Danes, in accordance with Rome, seem relatively soon to have handed over the Finnish region to Swedes. In fact, in the summer of 1219 the Danes conquered Estonia.29 The role of the Danes in the introduction of Christianity to the

27 Korpela, ‘Gravis admodum’, pp. 413-28. See also Törnblom, ‘Medeltiden’, p. 289. 28 Christiansen, The Northern Crusades, pp. 109-12; Törnblom, ‘Medeltiden’, p. 291. 29 Lind et al., Danske Korstog, p. 152; Olesen, ‘Danish Crusades’, pp. 347-64; Ruuth, ‘Några ord’, pp. 61-71.

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Åland islands has been discussed at length, but the sources do not allow any secure conclusions to be drawn.30 The young missionary church in Finland seems to have played a more active role in the 1220s than earlier. The first phase of missionary work was over, and now an independent bishopric under the guidance of the archbishop of Uppsala was erected. In 1221, Pope Honorius III gave the Finnish bishop extensive powers of attorney in the territory north of the Finnish gulf (including a trade boycott against the pagan people), in order to make the missionary work among the non-Christians more effective. The papal letters mention an unspecific bishop of Finland. The bishop mentioned was perhaps Bishop Thomas (c. 1230-1245), who appears in sources for the first time in 1232. The boycott of trade was a consequence of Novgorodian attacks to Tavastia; as a result, the Tavastians made raids and caused devastation in Karelia. From the year 1229, seven of Pope Gregory IX’s letters defending the Finnish church have been preserved. One of the letters allows the transfer of the centre of the bishopric from Nousiainen to Koroinen in Turku. The transfer of the episcopal see to a more suitable place meant advantages to the bishopric concerning trade and communication.31 Bishop Thomas seems to have been especially active in fighting the non-Christian Finns. When Finland proper in the southwest and the Åland islands had been Christianized for a long time, missionary endeavours were directed towards Tavastia. It seems that Bishop Thomas possibly established contact with the German Sword Brethren in Livonia and managed to convince at least some of the Brethren to help defend Christianity in Tavastia. Whether the Sword Brethren were ever active in Finland is unclear, however. The often brutal methods used to convert the inhabitants of Tavastia, which could indicate the presence of the Sword Brethren, inspired in 1237 a huge riot among the Tavastians against the Swedes and the Swedish ecclesiastical hierarchy. In 1240, Bishop Thomas, other Swedish bishops, and Birger Magnusson participated in the battle of Neva, where Prince Alexander Nevsky of Novgorod soundly defeated his enemies.32 The Swedish military expedition against Tavastia is normally thought of as the second Finnish crusade. The events of this military campaign are referred to in the Erik Chronicle (written c. 1331-1332). According to the 30 Gallén, Finland i medeltidens Europa, pp. 80-86. 31 Törnblom, ‘Medeltiden’, pp. 293-94. 32 Lind, ‘Early Russian-Swedish Rivalry’, pp. 269-95; Lind, ‘The Order of the Sword-Brothers and Finland’, pp. 159-64; Lind et al., Danske Korstog, pp. 278-84; Donner, ‘Om missionsmetoderna’, pp. 73-85.

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chronicle, the second crusade was conducted by Earl Birger (Birger Jarl). Although it does not mention any year, it is clear from the context that it must have taken place in 1249, even though Finnish historian Jarl Gallén has argued convincingly for an earlier dating of the crusade to 1238-1239. It is, however, general consensus that the second crusade must have taken place in 1249. This takes into account the fact that Birger Jarl might have ravaged Finland twice – in 1238-1239 and again in 1249-1250 – to install a new bishop on the vacant episcopal see of Turku. The chronicle describes how the Swedish troops led by Birger Jarl successfully traced the Tavastians and defeated them. The Earl then founded and erected the castle of Hämeenlinna in order to strengthen Swedish control over the territory. The place of the first stronghold was perhaps the Haga (Fin. Hakoinen) castle in Janakkala, because an early construction on the later location of the Hämeenlinna castle seems problematic and cannot be documented.33 The earlier military undertakings by the Danes with the conquest of Estonia in 1219 might have served as one of the catalysts for the Swedish endeavours to strengthen their military power towards Novgorod. The Novgorodian victory by Neva in 1240, however, did not definitively stop the Swedish expansion policy. The Swedes thus took part in a German attack on Novgorod in 1256 in the area east of the River Neva; Prince Alexander Nevsky attacked Tavastia the following winter.34 The Swedish military activities against Tavastia in the 1230s and 1240s strengthened not only the position of the Swedish crown in the territory, but also the position and the prestige of Bishop Thomas. The landscape was Christianized by the Swedes and, according to the Erik Chronicle, the ‘Russian prince’ lost control of Tavastia. Bishop Thomas was, however, forced to resign in 1245. The actual circumstances around his withdrawal are complicated. Some claim that the military defeat against Alexander Nevsky in 1240 was the reason for his demission; on the other hand, a papal letter reveals that he was found guilty of use of torture and killing, as well as of falsifying papal letters. Bishop Thomas spent the last years of his life in the Dominican convent in Visby in Gotland. The Dominicans were active in helping to convert the pagans, and perhaps an earlier collaboration with members of the newly founded order explains the Bishop’s decision. Bishop Thomas’s personality has always been hotly debated. The bishop’s seat in

33 Erikskrönikan, pp. 7-11. Gallén, Finland i medeltidens Europa, pp. 53-56; Lindkvist, ‘Die schwedischen Kreuzzüge’, p. 56; Törnblom, ‘Medeltiden’, pp. 295-301. 34 Törnblom, ‘Medeltiden’, p. 296.

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Turku remained vacant after his dismissal and was filled only in 1248-1249, when Bero, the chancellor of the Swedish king, was appointed.35

The Third Crusade With the conquest of Tavastia, the Swedish crown expanded towards Karelia. Sweden found itself at the end of the thirteenth century in a central phase of state consolidation and Finland was formally seen as a province of the realm. In 1284, King Magnus Ladulås appointed his brother Bengt Duke of Finland. Swedish central power over Finland expanded and was strengthened at the same time, especially with the construction of two castles, Turku and Hämeenlinna, during these years.36 The territory of Karelia offered opportunities for further expansion of Swedish territory towards the east. This suited well the plans of the pope in Rome, who supported the fighting against the pagan Karelians. The struggle to control Baltic trade had consequences for Karelia in the form of trading blockades, missionary activities, and military operations. In comparison with the earlier decades, trading patterns and systems underwent changes, and at the end of the thirteenth century the Hanseatic tradesmen dominated in trade in the Baltic. German tradesmen and craftsmen immigrated to towns in Sweden and in Finland (Turku and Viborg). The old dominance and prominent position of the inhabitants of Gotland was definitely over, although the town of Visby remained a centre in the Hanseatic Baltic trade until the mid-fourteenth century.37 Several war expeditions motivated by trading interests are documented during these years (1283-1284). The Swedes as well as the Novgorodians reacted with mutual attacks. The first Novgorodian Chronicle refers to devastations in Tavastia in 1292, while the Swedish Rhymed Chronicle tells that later that same year the Swedes counter-attacked Novgorod with 800 men. The third crusade was conducted under the command of Marshall Torgils Knutsson and Bishop Peter of Västerås. The military action was successful and in 1293 Torgils Knutsson laid the foundation stone for the

35 See among others Lind, ‘The Order of the Sword-Brothers and Finland’, pp. 160-64; Rein, ‘Biskop Thomas’; Ohrt, Gamle Tiders Finland, p. 34. 36 Törnblom, ‘Medeltiden’, pp. 297-98. 37 Törnblom, ‘Medeltiden’, p. 296. Concerning Visby on Gotland, see among others, Lübeckische Geschichte, ed. by Graßmann, pp. 94-121, 133-44; Stoob, Die Hanse, pp. 69-74.

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castle of Viborg. The new castle was built at the border between the lands controlled by the Swedes and lands dominated by the pagans in Karelia.38 The castle of Viborg and the growing town of the same name were built with brick stone, an indication that the Swedes planned to occupy and control the territory permanently. The Swedes were successful, expanding their control from Viborg to the mouth of River Neva. There they built the fortification of Landskrona on the exact spot where some 400 years later Saint Petersburg was constructed. A short-lived military engagement was established in Kexholm (Fin. Käkisalmi) at the Ladoga Sea in 1295. In this year King Birger Magnusson also informed Lübeck and other Hansa-cities that Karelia had been Christianized, and that the castle of Viborg had been founded in the name of the Holy Virgin Mary.39 Marshall Torgils Knutsson possibly returned to Sweden in autumn 1294. The main goal of his successful crusade with a huge navy was to control traffic and trade in the Finnish Bay. New territories increased the Swedish military resources because the inhabitants had to pay taxes and payments to the Swedish crown. The time period of the Swedish attack seems to have been well chosen. Novgorod had internal problems to solve, and during the winter of 1294 for the first time it could send soldiers against the Swedes. These units were unsuccessful, however, and a siege of Viborg had to be terminated. 40 The castle of Viborg gave the Swedes a central starting point for extended control over the Karelian region; they planned another military expedition towards Neva and Ladoga. The Swedes ravaged Karelia and Ingermanland. However, the Swedes permanently lost Landskrona in 1301. The fighting with Novgorod lasted for years. In 1311, a Russian attack on Hämeenlinna took place. Only after internal struggles in Sweden between the king and his brothers had ceased was it possible for King Birger to send a fleet against Karelia. This time the Karelians did not stay loyal to Novgorod. 41 The struggles continued; it was only through peace negotiations at Nöteborg in August 1323 that the year-long conflicts came to an end and a border between Sweden and Novgorod under mediation by the Hansa-cities was confirmed. The border was drawn cautiously with border-stones in Karelia; in the north instead the border remained open for the inhabitants of the Swedish realm 38 Erikskrönikan, pp. 84-104. Törnblom, ‘Medeltiden’, p. 299. 39 Törnblom, ‘Medeltiden’, pp. 299-300; Lindkvist, ‘Die schwedischen Kreuzzüge’, p. 57. 40 Lindkvist, ‘Die schwedischen Kreuzzüge’, p. 58. 41 Jutikkala and Pirinen, Finlands historia, pp. 27-28; Törnblom, ‘Medeltiden’, pp. 300-01; Bohn, Finnland, pp. 60-61.

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and those of the City-Republic of Novgorod. The much-disputed question about the borderline is not discussed further here; the 1323 peace treaty of Nöteborg belongs with its border stipulations among the great questions of Finland’s medieval history. 42

Conclusions The Swedish crusades strengthened Sweden’s control over Finland, which as a province belonged to the realm until 1809, when it became a grand duchy under the Russian czar. The first crusade seems to have been realized c. 1155 and is as a Swedish sword mission comparable with the 1147 crusade against the Wends. King Erik Jedwarsson and Bishop Henry landed in the southwestern part of Finland, Finland proper. This region was the first to become Christianized and to end up under Swedish control. The ground had been prepared earlier, because Christianity had found its way to this part of Finland through trading contacts, primarily with Gotland. The cult of Saint Olaf spread and became in Finland most popular in churches, in art, and in liturgy. Although the Holy Bishop Henry did not live long and died for his faith, the new church organization was able to expand and develop despite problems and setbacks caused by the local inhabitants. A competition with the Danes at the end of the twelfth century and at the beginning of the thirteenth century was solved by a division of interest spheres supported by the papacy: Finland was left to Sweden, while the Danes concentrated on Estonia. The second Swedish crusade was directed towards Tavastia from the 1230s until at least 1249. The 1230s and 1240s were marked by struggles with Novgorod and changing patterns of alliances involving the Tavastians and the Karelians. The third crusade was directed towards Karelia and the River Neva; led by Marshall Torgils Knutsson and the bishop of Västerås, it took place at the end of the thirteenth century. The territory of Karelia was thereafter controlled by the Swedes with the help of the strategic castle of Viborg. The struggles with Novgorod, important for control of Swedish trade interests in the Baltic area, were to last until a peace treaty was concluded at Nöteborg in 1323. For Finland the epoch of the crusades from c. 1155 up to 1323 brought about new societal structures. New models of society from Sweden – and 42 See especially Gallén and Lind, Nöteborgsfreden, 1-3; Korpela, ‘Die schwedische Ostgrenze’, pp. 267-86.

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Western Europe – found their way to Finland, slowly changing the Finnish society of clans into a society of estates. New social groups like clergy, town-dwellers, and noblemen (officials, garrison people) arose and changed with new structures and organizations (church, aristocracy, feudal entailed estates), shaping society in a hierarchical way. German tradesmen settled down, especially in the cities of Turku and Viborg, and thus intensified international trade. Particularly with the help of the new church and organizational structure with the founding of the bishopric of Turku, Finnish relations to Sweden were strengthened and widened. The strong castles and fortif ications of Turku, Hämeenlinna, and Viborg secured the political, military, and economic control of the Swedes over the central territories in Finland. The importance of the medieval Swedish crusades towards Finland is often interpreted as a special Swedish-Finnish chapter in the common history of the two countries. However, this isolated perspective blocks, as was shown above, the understanding of other influences in the Baltic Sea region: the Swedes and the Finns, like the Novgorodians, the Danes, and the Germans reacted on mutual politico-military constellations and trade interests. The popes in Rome also focused early on Finland and other territories in the Baltic Sea region. The Swedish crusades towards Finland during the High Middle Ages form an important building stone in the history of the two realms, fitting well into the general crusade movement in this part of Europe. With the help of crusades and expeditions, the Swedish medieval state-consolidation process was strengthened and Finland was integrated into the Swedish – and the Western European – cultural world.

Bibliography Printed Sources Erikskrönikan enligt Cod. Holm. D2 jämte avvikande läsarter ur andra handskrifter, ed. by Rolf Pipping, Samlingar utgivna av Svenska Fornskrift-sällskapet, Häfte 231, Band 68. Nytryck med ett tilläg (Uppsala: Almquist & Wiksell, 1963). Finlands Medeltidsurkunder I, ed. by Reinhold Hausen (Helsinki: Finlands Statsarkiv, 1910). Röster från svensk medeltid. Latinska texter i original och översättning, ed. by Hans Aili, Olle Ferm, and Helmer Gustavsson (Stockholm: Natur och Kultur, 1990).

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THE SWEDISH EXPEDITIONS (‘CRUSADES’) TOWARDS FINL AND RECONSIDERED

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Jukka Korpela, ‘Gravis admodum. Korstågsbulla eller episod i den västeuropeiska diskussionen om suveräniteten i världen’, Historisk Tidskrift för Finland, 79 (1994), 413-28. Jukka Korpela, ‘Die schwedische Ostgrenze von Nöteborg bis Kardis 1323-1660: Kirchengrenze, politische Grenze oder Kulturgrenze? Eine Region des Ost-West-Gegensatzes?’, in Nordost­ europa als Geschichtsregion. Beiträge des III. Internationalen Symposiums zur deutschen Kultur und Geschichte im europäischen Nordosten vom 20.-22. September 2001 in Tallinn (Estland), ed. by Jörg Hackmann and Robert Schweitzer (Lübeck: Schmidt-Römhild, 2006), pp. 267-86. Christian Krötzl, Pilger, Mirakel und Alltag. Formen des Verhaltens in skandinavischen Mittelalter (12.-15. Jahrhundert), Studia Historica, 46 (Helsinki: Suomen Historiallinen Seura, 1994). Kulturlexikon Finnland, ed. by Olli Alho (Helsinki: Suomalaisen Kirjallisuuden Seura, 1998). Pirkko-Liisa Lehtosalo-Hilander, ‘The Conversion of the Finns in Western Finland’, in The Christianization of Scandinavia. Report of a Symposium held at Kungälv, Sweden 4-9 August 1985, ed. by Birgit Sawyer, Peter Sawyer, and Ian Wood (Alingsås: Viktoria, 1987), pp. 31-35. John Lind, ‘Early Russian-Swedish Rivalry. The Battle on the Neva in 1240 and Birger Magnusson’s Second Crusade to Tavastia’, Scandinavian Journal of History, 16 (1991), 269-95. John Lind, ‘The Order of the Sword-Brothers and Finland: Sources and Traditions’, in Ordines Militares, ed. by Zenon H. Nowak, Colloquia Torunensia, 11 (Toruń: Universitas Nicolai Copernici, 2001), pp. 159-64. John Lind, Carsten Selch Jensen, Kurt Villads Jensen, and Ane L. Bysted, Danske Korstog. Krig og mission i Østersøen (Copenhagen: Høst, 2004). Thomas Lindkvist, ‘Die schwedischen Kreuzzüge nach Finnland in der Geschichtsschreibung’, in Pro Finlandia 2001. Festschrift für Manfred Menger, ed. by Fritz Petrick and Dörte Putensen (Reinbek: Warnke, 2001), pp. 49-66. Lübeckische Geschichte, ed. by Antjekathrin Graßmann (Lübeck: Schmidt-Römhild, 1989; 2nd edn). Ferdinand Ohrt, Gamle Tiders Finland. Skildringer fra Finlands Historie indtil 1809 (Copenhagen: Hagerup, 1932). Jens E. Olesen, ‘Danish Crusades towards the Eastern Baltic Region until c. 1250’, in ‘Ecclesia Nidrosiensis’ and ‘Noregs veldi’: The Role of the Church in the Making of Norwegian Domination in the Norse World, ed. by Steinar Imsen (Trondheim: Akademika Publishing, 2012), pp. 347-64. Gabriel Rein, ‘Biskop Thomas och Finland i hans tid’, in Kring Korstågen till Finland. Ett urval uppsatser tillägnat Jarl Gallén på hans sextioårsdag den 23 maj 1968, ed. by Kaj Mikander (Helsinki: Tilgmann, 1968), pp. 11-59. Jerker Rosén, ‘Erikskrönikan’, in Kulturhistorisk Leksikon for Nordisk Middelalder, Fra vikingetid til reformationstid, 4 (Copenhagen: Rosenkilde og Bagger, 1981, 2nd edn), cols. 28-34. Johan Wilhelm Ruuth, ‘Några ord om de äldsta danska medeltidsannaler som innnehålla ­uppgifter om tågen till Finland 1191 och 1202’, in Kring Korstågen till Finland. Ett urval uppsatser tillägnat Jarl Gallén på hans sextioårsdag den 23 maj 1968, ed. by Kaj Mikander (Helsinki: Tilgmann, 1968), pp. 61-71. Tapio Salminen, Raisa Maria Toivo, and Timo Haavisto, Via Österbotten. Vägar och vägtrafik i Österbotten fran medeltiden till 1990-talet (Vaasa: Vaasan tiepiiri, 1997). Johan Schreiner, Middelalderen. Tusen års grotid (Oslo: Aschehoug, 1962). Richard William Southern, Ridder og Klerk. Middelalderen i støbeskeen (Copenhagen: Gyldendal, 1962). Heinz Stoob, Die Hanse (Graz: Styria, 1995). Lena Törnblom, ‘Medeltiden’, in Finlands Historia, 1 (Ekenäs: Schildts, 1993).

Index Aaron 239 Adelbert, archbishop of Hamburg-Bremen 255 Agag, king of Amalekites 242 Aglaes 141 Agneta 175 Alabrand 207 Åland islands 253, 255, 259-60 Alba (Bialograd, Belgard) 241 Albenga 67 Albert, bishop of Riga 205-06, 211-20, 230, 243 Alexander, bishop of Plock 242-43 Alexander III (Roland of Siena), pope 11591181 119-20, 124, 126 Alexander V (Petros Philargos), antipope 1409-1410 47 Alexander VI (Roderic Borgia), pope 14921503 42, 48 Alexander Nevsky, prince of Novgorod 260-61 Alexander the Great 123 Alicia de Lonesdale 174-76, 182, 185, 192 Alixia 159 Alluminata from San Ginesio 156 Althoff, Gerd 247-48 Amadasius magistri Mercatantis 154, 163, 165 Amalek 238 Andreas Accursi 179-80, 182, 186 Andreas Budetti 93, 97, 99, 101, 103-05, 107, 112 Andreas de Portiis 97 Andreas Sunesen, archbishop of Lund 231, 245 Andrić, Stanko 132, 172 Angela of Foligno 129 Angelucia 157, 162 Angelus de Cesis 101 Angelus magistri Bonaventure de Tolentino 158 Angelus of Santa-Victoria 164 Ansgar, archbishop of Hamburg-Bremen 255 Anthonius de Morosio 185 Antonia 55 Antoniazzo Romano 64 Antonius de Monte, cardinal 107-08, 112 Arbusow, Leonid 215-16, 218, 229 Arcadius, Roman emperor 142 Arkona 233, 239, 244 Arnold of Lübeck 219 Arthur, king 123 Ascheraden 206 Assisi 127 Augsburg 49 Avignon 39-40, 64, 85, 95, 106, 153, 185 Baal-Peor 239 Baldassare Turini 44

Baltic 12, 19-24, 27-28, 201-04, 211-12, 215, 217-18, 222-23, 227-30, 233-34, 241, 243-44, 247-48, 251-52, 255-58, 262, 264-65 Bartholus of Civitanova 156, 161 Bartholus of Pérugia 155 Basel 131 Bengt, duke of Finland 262 Berardescha 167 Berardus 156 Berardus Appillaterre 155 Bergamo 68 Bernhard of Lippe 218 Bero, bishop of Turku 262 Berthold, bishop of Riga 204, 235 Bertold 235 Bertram, Martin 69 Bertranda Bartholomea 181 Besançon 69 Bessarion, cardinal 64 Beverin 207, 209 Biagio, bishop of Verona 163 Birger Brosa 258 Birger Jarl 261 Birger Magnusson, king of Sweden 260, 263 Birka 255 Blanche 175 Boglioni, Pierre 147 Bohemia/Bohemians 230 Boleslaw III, king of Poland 237, 241, 246 Boleslaw IV, king of Poland 246 Bollingsted 102 Bologna 43, 158, 230 Boniface VIII (Benedetto Caetani), pope 1294-1303 125 Boniface IX (Piero Tomacelli), pope 13891404 46, 131 Bonizo de Sutri 238-39 Bonjacobus Jacobi 157, 162 Bothnia 253, 255 Bourgogne 144-45 Bremen 93, 100, 102, 171, 218, 255-56 British Isles/Britain 51, 68 Brittany/Breton 186, 191 Brown, Peter 117-18, 122 Bruna 159 Brundage, James A. 241 Brussels 92 Brysinch 231 Buctius of San Maroto 163, 165 Burgomonasteriorum 63-64, 71 Bynum, Caroline Walker 130 Caciola, Nancy 130 Calahorra 68 Calixtus de Amadeis 96-97, 111

270 Index Callixtus III (Alfonso de Borgia), pope 1455-1458 25, 41-42, 44, 47, 58 Camerino 153-54, 157, 160, 180 Camilla della Rovere 54 Campo dei Fiori 98, 104 Cannon, Joanna 130 Canute, king of Denmark 230 Carbonus 156 Castel Sant’Angelo 99, 103, 110 Castile and Leon 55 Catherina 56 Caupo 209 Ceccha 163 Celestine III (Giacinto Bobone), pope 1191-1198 234-35 Celestine V (Saint Peter of Morrone), pope 1294 188, 190 Central Europe 68, 76, 122, 131 Charlemagne 123-24, 234 Charles II of Anjou 133 Christian II, king of Denmark 92 Christiansen, Eric 20 Cischus 160 Claus Mommensen 93, 102, 104 Clement V (Raymond Bertrand de Got), pope 1305-1314 47 Clermont 69, 77, 251 Cluny 144-45 Cola Filippi of San Angelo 158 Cologne 49, 123 Concordia 43 Conellus Actonis 180 Conrad of Marburg 127 Constance 131 Contutius Mathey 155 Copenhagen 87, 111 Cork 68 Cosmas de Monteserrato 41-43, 58 Cracow 229, 231 Curonia/Curonians 206 Czech 121-22 Dalarun, Jacques 130 Daniel 205 David, king of Israel 243 De Gaiffier, Baudouin 145 Delphine of Sabran see Saint Dauphine of Puimichel Denmark/Danes 23, 25, 28, 85-88, 90, 92, 94, 96, 110-11, 123-24, 203, 208-09, 218-20, 229-31, 233-34, 239, 241, 243-45, 252, 257, 259, 261, 264-65 Derslaus Michaelis von Karnice 70 Desiderius see Victor III Didrik Brus 26, 87-94, 96-112 Ditlev Ahlefeldt 90, 92-93, 98, 100-04 Ditlev Reventlow 107, 111 Dobin 244 Domenico Capranica, cardinal 41-42, 64

Dünamünde 218 Dunzella 161, 164-66 Eastern Europe 68 Ebavere hill 205 Edessa 141 Egidius 89, 100 Eidelot 176 Eidersted 88-90, 101, 111 Ekenäs 255 Eleazar 239 Elizabeth of Burgundy (Isabella of Austria) 92 Elizabeth of Portugal 131 Elizabeth of Thuringia see Saint Elizabeth of Hungary Elliot, Dyan 130 England/English 47-48, 57, 124, 217, 231, 258 Erik Emune, king of Denmark 234 Erik Knutsson, king of Sweden 257 Erik Roer 90, 92, 98, 100-02 Esanatoglia 157 Esch, Arnold 45 Eskil, archbishop of Lund 233-34 Estonia/Estonians 201, 203, 205-11, 213-16, 219-20, 223, 229, 234-35, 240, 245, 252, 256, 259, 261, 264 Eufemianus 141 Eugene IV (Gabriele Condulmer), pope 1431-1447 40, 45, 47 Europe 11, 17, 24, 49, 51, 87, 133, 149, 185, 202, 208 Fabriano 157 Farmer, Sharon 177 Fellin see Viljandi Ferrara 43 Finland/Finns 17, 23, 28, 44, 124, 219, 222, 251-65 Finland proper 254, 257-60, 264 Finucane, Ronald 18, 183, 191 Florence 57, 256 Folz, Robert 121 Fonnesberg-Schmidt, Iben 218 Forensis 164 France/French 25, 40, 51, 54-58, 63-64, 66, 68-70, 74-75, 77, 79-81, 124-25, 131, 144, 146, 175, 191, 251 Francesco 188 Francesse 190 Francisca de Mari 181-82 Franciscucia 162 Franciscus 156 Franciscus Argentinus de Venetiis 43 Franciscus of San Severino 157 Franciscus of Tolentino 155, 160 Franciscus Raynaldi Bernardi 156 Frederick I Barbarossa, emperor 123 Frederick II, emperor 217-18 Fredericus 162-63 Fredericus magistri Giberti of San Ginesio 157

Index

Frederik, duke of Schleswig 89-90, 94 Frenz, Thomas 41, 66, 69, 72-73 Gadambius 156 Galeazzo II Visconti 185 Gallén, Jarl 261 Gallus anonymous 231, 237-38 Gaposchkin, M. Cecilia 176 Gemelucius 164 Geminianus, bishop of Modena 149 Gentilcore, David 184 Gentilus 156 Georgius Tormelli 111 Gerard Fraschet 130 Gerardus 181-82 Gercike 213 Germany/Germans 20, 23, 28, 40-41, 47-48, 5152, 56-58, 68, 76, 79, 85, 87, 123-24, 202-04, 206-08, 211-15, 218, 220, 222-23, 229-31, 240, 243, 251, 253, 260-62, 265 Gerona 42 Gervase of Tilbury 180 Giefrein 191 Gilbert de Sens 177 Giliolus Johannis of Parme 161 Gneuomir, Prince in Pomerania 241 Godescalc 219 Godfried 205 Godfried in Loddiger (Ledurga) 240-41 Godske Ahlefeldt, bishop of Schleswig 26, 87-94, 97-103, 107-09 Goodich, Michael 126, 130 Gotland 204, 209, 215, 219, 221, 255, 261-62, 264 Gratian 126, 232-33, 237 Graus, František 121 Greece 184 Gregory IX (Ugolino d’Ostia), pope 12271241 124, 126-29, 180, 260 Gregory XI (Pierre Roger de Beaufort), pope 1370-1378 131 Grimaldiscus 156 Guadanbius of Macerata 155, 161 Guillaume de Chartres 188-89 Guillaume de Saint-Pathus 175-77, 187-89, 192 Guillermus Cassador 94, 98, 107 Guillot dit le Potencier 176, 192 Hadrian VI (Adriaan Florensz), pope 1522-1523 57 Haga (Hakoinen) 261 Hagenau 218 Hamburg 92, 101-02, 104, 108, 218, 255-56 Hämeenlinna 261-63, 265 Hans Hansen 107, 112 Hartvic, bishop 124 Heideradis 182 Helmold von Bosau 252 Helsinki 222 Henricus Guzmán 55

271 Henricus Hovel 92-93, 99, 101, 103-08, 110, 112 Henricus Hoz 102-03 Henry II, emperor 123 Henry of Livonia 24, 27-28, 201-23, 228-31, 234-36, 238, 240-41, 243, 245, 248, 252 Hereford 174, 185-86, 193 Hieronimus de Ghinuciis 96-97, 107, 111 Hildegard of Bingen 146 Hildesheim 85 Hilling, Nikolaus 85-86 Hoberg, Hermann 44, 87, 109 Hodierne 187-89 Holy Land 28, 216, 218, 251 Holy Roman Empire see Germany Holy Sepulchre 149, 251 Honorius, Roman emperor 142 Honorius III (Cencio Savelli), pope 12161227 126, 260 Hugo 185 Huguccio 126 Hungary/Hungarian 122, 124, 132, 230 Husum 92-94, 98-99, 101-02 Iacopo da Varazze 143 Iberian Peninsula 28, 51, 58, 68 Iceland 256 Ilok see Újlak Imilla 159 Ingermanland 263 Innocent III (Lotario dei Conti di Segni), pope 1198-1216 124, 126, 128, 214, 216-18, 230, 257 Innocent IV (Sinibaldo Fieschi), pope 1243-1254 126-27 Innocent VIII (Giovanni Battista Cibo), pope 1484-1492 48, 64 Iohannes le Maignen 186 Ireland/Irish 54, 68 Israel/Israelite 229, 238-39, 242-43 Italy/Italian 27, 40, 47, 51, 55-58, 66-68, 77, 80, 109, 130-31, 158, 186, 215-16 Jacobus de Farmentono 185-86 Jacobus Gentilis Gaydani 155 Jacobus magistri Johannis 164 Jakob Ulvsson, archbishop of Uppsala 76, 81 Jalgsema 208 Janakkala 261 Järva 208, 219 Jean Gerson 131 Jean of Tournemire 154 Jędrzejów see Brysinch Jehenne de Serris 176 Jensen, Kurt Villads 211 Jerusalem 23, 44-45, 213, 216, 233, 243, 251 Jesus Christ 104, 121, 123, 126, 128-29, 145-46, 171, 206-07, 213, 217-18, 220-21, 247, 255 Jodocus Albrant 70 Johann Schuldorp 98, 107, 112 Johanna la Schirreue 191

272 Index Johannes 103-04 Johannes 185 Johannes, bishop 230 Johannes, missionary bishop 255 Johannes Baptista de Cortona 112 Johannes Berelli/Borrelli 69, 74-75 Johannes Burum 101 Johannes de la Garda 190 Johannes domini Bonaventure of Matelica 158 Johannes Gozzadini 43, 55 Johannes Humborch 111 Johannes Plix 100-01 Johannes of Tolentino 155, 165-66 Johannes Roderche 99, 112 Johannes Teutonicus 126 Johannesantonius Trivultius 91-94, 98, 100-02, 107, 112 Johannucius 164 Johansen, Paul 212-13, 217, 222-23 John II, marquis of Montferrat 185 John XXII (Jacques Duèze), pope 1316-1334 153, 165 John XXIII (Baldassare Cossa), antipope 1410-1415 131 John (Lackland), king of England 217 John of Vicenza 129 Juan de Torquemada 131 Julius II (Giuliano della Rovere), pope 15031513 47-48, 50-53, 56 Käkisalmi see Kexholm Kareda 208 Karelia/Karelians 256, 260, 262-64 Karl Sverkersson, king of Sweden 120 Katharinenheerd 88, 106, 111 Kedar, Benjamin 228 Kexholm 263 Kjeld Nielsen 99, 112 Kleinberg, Aviad 130, 133 Knut Eriksson, king of Sweden 120, 257, 259 Koch, Friedrich 217 Kol, king of Sweden 120 Konrad von Megenberg 46 Koroinen 260 Korpela, Jukka 252 Köyliö 258 Krafft, Otfried 126 Krötzl, Christian 12-13, 15, 18-20, 28-29, 44, 117, 126, 134-35, 202, 222, 227-28, 235, 251 Kyrian 210 Kyriawan 209 La Chapelle-Basse-Mer 76 Ladoga sea 263 Lalli 258 Landskrona 263 Lapland 253 Latinus Benassai 44

Latvia/Latvians/Letts 201-03, 206-11, 213, 215, 220-21, 223, 229, 245 Laurent of Subiaco 163 Laurentius Campegius 91 Laurentius Pucci 43, 49 Laurentius Rovirella 43 Lausanne 68 Layan 210 Le Goff, Jacques 125 Le Mans 77 Lembitu 207-08 Lennewarden 205-06 Leo IX (Bruno von Eguisheim-Dagsburg), pope 1049-1054 255 Leo X (Giovanni de’Medici), pope 1513-1521 43, 49-53, 56, 94 Leo XIII (Vincenzo Pecci), pope 1878-1903 14 Leole 207 Liège 243 Lielvärde see Lennewarden Lind, John 252 Linz 92 Lithuania/Lithuanians 205-06, 209 Livonia/Livs 22, 24, 201-23, 228-31, 234-35, 240, 243, 245, 260 Locarno 185 Loire 145 London 174 Lotharingia 243 Lübeck 92, 211, 215, 218, 263 Luçon 68 Ludovicus de Janua 41 Lund 90, 231, 233, 245, 256 Lyon 142 Maccharellus Jacobucii Philippi 155-56 Macerata 153-57, 160-61, 163 Magdeburg 211 Magnus Henriksson, Danish prince 257 Magnus Ladulås, king of Sweden 262 Mälar 253, 255 Mänd, Anu 211 Manfredinus 159 Manfredus 162 Marches of Ancona 153, 155-58, 166 Margaret of Provence 175 Margarita 163 Marguerite 187-89 Maria Giron 55 Marianus de Cuccinis 96 Marius de Peruschis 96-99, 111-12 Martin V (Otto Colonna), pope 1417-1431 40, 47, 69, 72, 105, 131 Matelica 157-58 Matheus, bishop 230 Matheus de Porta 69, 80 Matheus of Corridonia 155, 162-63 Matheus of Culmurano 155 Mathias Maccabeus 242

273

Index

Mathiolus Angelii 182-86, 193 Mathiolus Tardutii of Matelica 158 Maximilian, emperor 92 Mediterranean 45, 157, 228, 251 Meinhard, bishop of Livonia 204, 212, 219 Mercatante 156 Mercatante from San-Catervo 159 Mercatante Iohannis Adambi 182-83 Merenkurkku see Nordkvark Metzler, Irina 185 Michelangelo 64 Milan 123, 185 Moab 239 Modena 149 Molesme 145 Monaldisca Johannis Accursi 161 Montecassino 143, 145 Montpellier 154 Morindella 156 Moses 239, 242 Mount La Verna 129 Murray, Alan V. 203 Naklo 237 Nanczus 161 Nantes 63-64, 68, 70-72, 74-79, 81, 145 Naples 134, 179-80 Neva 252, 260-61, 263-64 Newman, Barbara 130 Nicholas 191 Nicholas V (Tommaso Parentucelli), pope 1447-1455 41 Nicholas of Cusa, cardinal 64 Nicolucia of Perugia 161 Nidaros 255 Nordkvark 253, 255 Northern Europe 12, 203, 228, 233, 252 Norway/Norwegian 122, 251, 255 Nöteborg 253, 263-64 Nousiainen 257-58, 260 Novgorod/Novgorodians 23, 28, 252, 256-65 Nyland 252, 254, 259 Oesel see Saaremaa Orvault 63-64 Ostia Antica 78, 141 Ostrobothnia (Österbotten, Pohjanmaa) 25253, 255 Oswald Staudinger 56 Otto IV, emperor 217 Otto Ahlefeldt 90, 92, 98, 100-02 Paciocco, Roberto 126, 128 Palencia 68 Palestine 243, 251 Papal States 95 Pappendorf-Rubene 212 Paris 187 Parma 148

Paschal III (Guido of Crema), antipope 1164-1168 123 Pasquale of Corridonia 155 Pastor, Ludvig von 14 Paul II (Pietro Barbo), pope 1464-1471 45-48, 50-53, 55-56, 65, 70-71, 73, 75, 77, 80 Paulus de Alexis 101-03, 107 Paulus Hinselman 106-07, 111 Pellegrini, Letizia 132 Périgueux 77 Peter, bishop of Västerås 262, 264 Peter Diacon 145 Petrarch 16 Petrus 176 Petrus Kaikewalde 219 Petrus magistri Johannis (Salvastie) of Tolentino 154-55, 161, 164-66 Petrus Pensanicti of Tolentino 158 Petrus Profilt 25, 63-82 Philip II Augustus, king of France 125 Philip IV the Fair, king of France 125 Philipp, bishop of Ratzeburg 215-16 Philippucia 163 Philippus 185 Philippus de Monte Morenay 55 Philippus domini Bevenuti of Macerata 156, 161 Phinehas 239-42 Piedmonte 158 Pierre du Chaffault 63-64, 74-76, 78-79, 81 Pinturicchio 64 Pitz, Ernst 42, 217-18 Pius II (Enea Silvio Piccolomini), pope 1458-1464 47-48, 53, 63, 66-70, 132 Plock 242 Poland/Polish 20, 23, 70, 124, 229-31, 237, 246 Pomerania/Pomeranians 230, 237, 241-42, 246 Portugal 251 Porvoo 259 Potthast, August 15 Poznań 70 Propp, Vladimir 142 Prussia/Prussians 230, 242, 246 Puccius 158 Pucius Johannis 182-83 Pudiviru 209 Raffaello 64 Rainald of Dassel 123 Ratzeburg 215, 218, 220 Rawcliffe, Carole 184, 191 Raymundus de Pennaforte 46 Raynuccius of Serra Comictis 157 Regensburg 49 Reginald of Coldingham 123 Reinevere 208 Rendtel, Constanze 172 Rennes 68, 75, 77 Revala 214 Ricardus de Insula 190

274 Index Ridala 214 Riga 205-06, 208-10, 212-15, 219-22, 229-30, 235, 241, 243 Robert of Anjou, king of Naples 179-81 Robertus de Cantrage 177 Rome 28, 40, 43-44, 49, 54, 57-58, 63-68, 70-82, 85-89, 91-94, 98, 100-01, 103-04, 106-07, 109-11, 117, 120-21, 126, 131, 141-42, 144, 146, 148, 211, 214-16, 218, 230, 234, 237, 251, 256, 259, 262, 265 Rosenwein, Barbara H. 247 Rothel 214 Rubin, Miri 188 Rufinus of Bologna 232 Rügen 233-34 Russia/Russian 122, 220, 223, 229, 256, 258-59, 261, 263-64 Russinus 235-36 Saaremaa 205, 214-15, 220-22, 240, 245, 255 Saint Aetheltryth 121 Saint Agnes 133 Saint Agnes of Bohemia 124, 131 Saint Albert Brentatore 147 Saint Albertus Magnus 180 Saint Alexander 148 Saint Alexis 18, 26-27, 141-49 Saint Ambrose 242 Saint Anthony of Padua 129 Saint Antonio Pellegrino 147 Saint Armanno Pongilupo 147 Saint Augustine 187, 222, 237, 239 Saint Barbara 133 Saint Bathilde 121 Saint Beda Venerabilis 231 Saint Bernard of Clairvaux 22, 120, 128, 231, 233 Saint Bernardino of Siena 132 Saint Bertold 148 Saint Birgitta of Sweden 147, 131 Saint Blaise 163 Saint Blanche of Castile 124 Saint Canute IV, king of Denmark 123-24 Saint Canute Lavard, duke of Denmark 124 Saint Catherine of Alexandria 133 Saint Catherine of Mount Sinai 149 Saint Catherine of Siena 120, 131-32 Saint Charles of Blois 125, 186, 188, 190 Saint Clotilde 121 Saint Colette of Corbie 132 Saint Colomba of Rieti 146 Saint Cunegond 126 Saint Dauphine of Puimichel 146, 181-82 Saint Dominic 129 Saint Dorothea of Montau 179 Saint Edmund 121 Saint Edward the Confessor, king of England 121, 123 Saint Elizabeth of Hungary 120, 124, 127, 131, 173-74, 182

Saint Elzéar of Sabran 181 Saint Emerald 145 Saint Erik (Jedwarsson), king of Sweden 120, 124, 252, 255, 257-58, 264 Saint Francesca Romana 146 Saint Francis of Assisi 120, 128-29, 131-32, 185 Saint Frank of Assergi 147 Saint Gilbert of Sempringham 128 Saint Giovanni Calibita 142 Saint Gregory of Tours 117 Saint Hedwig of Silesia 124, 131 Saint Henry VI, king of England 125 Saint Henry of Bozen 147-48 Saint Henry of Finland 17, 255, 257-58, 264 Saint Homobonus of Cremona 126 Saint Isabelle of France 131 Saint James 133 Saint Jeremiah 238 Saint John of Capestrano 132 Saint Ladislas, king of Hungary 123-24 Saint Leopold III of Babenberg, duke of Austria 64, 125 Saint Louis IX, king of France 125, 175-77, 187-89 Saint Louis of Toulouse 125, 160 Saint Margaret of Antiochia 133 Saint Margaret of Cortona 129-30 Saint Margaret of Hungary 124-25, 131 Saint Mary Magdalen 133 Saint Nicholas 133 Saint Nicholas of Tolentino 27, 153-67, 179-80, 182-83, 185, 193 Saint Olaf, king of Norway 121, 255, 264 Saint Oswald 121, 123 Saint Paul 11, 232 Saint Peter 11, 126, 235 Saint Peter Damian 142 Saint Peter Martyr 129 Saint Peter of Luxemburg 125, 154 Saint Peter of Morrone see Celestine V Saint Philip of Bourges 176, 181 Saint Pietro Nolasco 146 Saint Pilgrim of the Appennines (Pellegrino dell’Alpe) 148-49 Saint Pulcheria 121 Saint Radegund 121 Saint Rose of Viterbo 129 Saint Rupertus 146 Saint Simon 143-44 Saint Stephen, king of Hungary 17, 122, 124 Saint Symeon of Polirone 144 Saint Thomas Aquinas 134, 180, 187 Saint Thomas Becket 178, 191 Saint Thomas Cantilupe 162, 174-75, 185-86, 190-91 Saint Umiliana dei Cerchi 129 Saint Valentin of Griselles 144-45 Saint Venceslas 121 Saint Vincent of Ferrer 132

275

Index

Saint Vitus 234, 237 Saint Yves of Tréguier 178, 188-89 Saint-Aubin de Castris 74-75 Saint-Denis 187 Saint-Malo 68-71, 75, 77 Sainte-Opportune-en-Retz 78 Saint Petersburg 263 Sakala 207-08, 219 Salimbene de Adam 147 Salomon, king of Israel 243 Salonen, Kirsi 51 San Ginesio 153-57, 160, 162 San Severino 153, 156-57, 160 San-Catervo 159 Sancha of Majorca 181 Sandagnus 155-56 Sander 90 Sant’Angelo in Pontano 155 Santiago de Compostela 44-45, 70, 174 Sanus Scambii 163 Satakunta 258 Sattesele 213 Saul, king of Israel 238, 242, 246 Savenay 70-71 Saxo Grammaticus 229, 231, 233-34, 238-40, 244-45, 248, 252 Scandinavia/Scandinavians 20, 68, 122, 231, 251-52, 255-56 Schleswig 26, 87-94, 97-100, 103, 107-08, 111-12 Schmugge, Ludwig 51 Scotland/Scott 148 Scott, Robert A. 178 Segeberg 212 Semigallia/Semigallians 206 Seville 55 Siberry, Elizabeth 228 Siena 132, 153 Sigal, Pierre-André 18, 133 Sigurd Jorsalfar, king of Norway 251 Silvius Passerini 44 Sitten 57 Sixtus IV (Francesco della Rovere), pope 1471-1484 46, 48, 64, 73, 75 Smoller, Laura Ackerman 132 Sontagana 205 Southern Europe 154 Spain/Spanish 40, 55, 57, 68, 77, 131 Speyer 70 Stade 108 Stefano Maconi 131 Sullivan, Karen 247 Svantevit see Saint Vitus Svavsted 89-90, 93-94, 98-99, 102, 104 Sverker, king of Sweden 120, 257 Sweden/Swedes 23, 28, 47, 76, 81, 119-20, 124, 126-27, 214, 251-65 Switzerland 68 Symon Pauli 154 Syria/Syrian 142

Tabelinus 209 Talibald 209 Tamm, Marek 211 Tancred of Bologna 46 Tarsus 141 Tavastia 256, 259-62, 264 Tharapita 205 Theoderic 205 Theoderic, bishop of Estonia 215-16, 234 Thomas, bishop of Finland 260-61 Thomas of Baregnano 159-60 Thomas of Cantimpré 130 Thomas of Pavia 129 Throop, Palmar A. 228 Throop, Susanna 244, 247 Tolentino 153-55, 157-61, 163-66 Tommaso ‘Caffarini’ 131 Tommaso da Celano 128 Torgils Knutsson 262-64 Toul 77 Tournai 69 Tranquillus de Romanlis 97 Treia 157 Treviso 148 Treyden 240 Trikata 209 Trondheim see Nidaros Turaida 207 Turku 258, 260-62, 265 Tyrol/Tyrolese 148 Ugandi 213, 220 Újlak 132 Uppsala 47, 76, 81, 258, 260 Urban II (Odo of Châtillon), pope 1088-1099 251 Urban V (Guillaume de Grimoard), pope 1362-1370 185, 190 Urban VI (Bartolomeo Prignano), pope 1378-1389 131 Urban, William 20 Urbisaglia 155 Uusimaa see Nyland Üxküll 204, 210, 212, 218-19 Valdemar I, king of Denmark 233, 239 Valdemar II, king of Denmark 218, 220 Valdes 142 Vannes 77 Vatican 14-16, 44, 47, 50, 55, 57-59, 63, 65-67, 69-70, 75, 85-87, 95-96 Vauchez, André 19, 125-26, 130, 132, 134, 172 Venturinus 156, 161-62 Verona 163, 216 Vesthard 206 Viborg 262-65 Victor III (Dauferio), pope 1086-1087 145 Viljandi 207, 235 Vincent, bishop of Cracow 229-31, 236-38, 241-43, 245-46, 248

276 Index Vincent, Catherine 149 Virgin Mary 27, 133, 141, 201-02, 212-23, 229, 243, 255, 263 Vironia (Virumaa) 205, 208-09, 214 Visby 261-62 Visso 158 Volmer von der Herberge 90, 92, 98, 100-02 Vsevolod, prince of Novgorod 256 Wales/Welsh 47-48 Waribule 209 Western Europe 19-20, 85, 96, 110, 243, 247, 265

Wetzstein, Thomas 126 Wilhelm von Enckenfort 57 Willelmus 174 William of Auvergne 163 William of Canterbury 178 William of Modena, cardinal legate 206, 211-12, 214, 221-22 Wittmer-Butsch, Maria 172 Wolther 219 Zaragosa 68 Zarri, Gabriella 130