One year blogoversary

 And so here we are. This blog has reached its first-year anniversary. And what a ride it has been. It has gone well beyond what I initially envisioned for this blog. Initially, I’d envisioned it as mostly somewhere for random thoughts and musings about the early middle ages I kept getting all the time (even in the shower, believe it or not), but never wrote down somewhere. But once it actually got going, it ended up becoming properly educational, and encouraged me to read more into certain topics I hadn’t really explored in much detail before. And I’m pleased to see that it has a lot more enthusiastic readership than I expected, though I do think I need to work harder to grow the community of readers – a Facebook page and, though this does make me grimace, a Twitter account may need to be set up sometime in the immediate future. Thank you so much to all of you for your support, whether you’re one of my long-time readers or this is the first post on this blog you’ve read.

I have also thought about some other necessary changes to this blog. The age of monster articles, what the Guardian would call “the long read,” are over. As a rule, going forward, no blogpost can exceed 1500 words in length. If its too long for you to read while you’re having your morning coffee, when you’re on the bus/ train to and from work or when you’re doing some internet browsing before bed, then really it’s a load of self-indulgent time-wasting on my part, lets be honest. I’ll also make it a commitment to release content more regularly. Until now there have been that there have been some periods of really intense blogging activity, followed by lengthy caesuras, much like the activity of many an early medieval chancery. But now its time to go full Angevin England mode and commit to a regular and predictable output, just like the calendars of the pipe rolls, close rolls and patent rolls but a lot less bureaucratic. I shall aim to release one every Monday morning at 7 am, though that may have to sometimes be every other Monday morning – I am starting a PGCE programme to train as a secondary school history teacher next month, after all. All subsequent posts will also be placed into one of five categories: from the sources; theory time; book review; controversies; first hand encounters with the medieval past. All of this I should have done a long time ago, but I was spurred into action after a computer glitch resulting from faulty Wi-Fi destroyed the first draft of this post, which I had spent two days working on – you can imagine how upset I was. I hope you’ll like these changes. But now let’s get on to some exciting special content.

Beowulf and the Merovingians

I’m sure you, my readers, are familiar with Beowulf. Ever since it was first translated into Modern English and published in 1815, it’s been recognised as one of the great foundational texts of English Literature. Historians now would generally see it as an invaluable source for Anglo-Saxon and Scandinavian kingship, warrior masculinity and how early medieval Christians in Northern Europe approached their pre-Christian past. It’s a shame that nothing like it exists from the Frankish world, where I work on. Einhard tells us that Charlemagne “ordered that the very old German songs, in which the deeds and wars of ancient kings were celebrated, should be written down and preserved.” but posterity has handed down none of these Old Frankish epics to us in the present, with no small consequences for how differently historians view elite culture in Francia and Anglo-Saxon England.

Now, the plot of Beowulf should be familiar to many of my readers anyway but (spoiler alert) the eponymous hero, after succeeding his cousin Hygelac as king of the Geats (a people living in southwestern Sweden), dies fighting a dragon at the end. His faithful warrior companion, Wiglaf, then makes an ominous speech at Beowulf’s funeral. Here is an extract from it:

Now must our people look for time of war, as soon as afar to Frisian and to Frank the king’s fall is revealed. Bitter was the feud decreed against the Hugas (Franks), when Hygelac came sailing with his raiding fleet to Frisian land. There the Hetware in battle assailed him, and valiantly with overwhelming strength achieved that the warrior should lay him down: he fell amid the host, not one fair thing did that lord to his good men give. From us hath been ever since the favour of the Merovingian lord withheld.

(“Beowulf”, translated and with a commentary by J.R.R Tolkien, edited by Christopher Tolkien, Harper Collins, 2014, lines 2446 – 2555, p 98)

Now in terms of being a source for the political history (in the traditional sense) of Scandinavia and the North Sea in the age of the barbarian great migrations, Beowulf is highly suspect. While most scholars would agree that it is at least partially based on authentic folk memories and oral histories of what was going on in Northern Europe in the fifth and sixth centuries, collective memory, like individual memory, can be very unreliable, with various things getting distorted, omitted or invented over time – anyone who has done family history research will likely be aware of this. But in the case of Hygelac’s disastrous proto-Viking raid on Frisia/ Frankish Gaul, we do have an independent primary source to verify it. Let’s turn to someone who is very much a friend of this blog, none other than Gregory of Tours:

The next thing which happened was that the Danes sent a fleet under their King Chlochilaich and invaded Gaul from the sea. They came ashore, laid waste to one of the regions ruled by Theuderic and captured some of the inhabitants. They loaded their ships with what they had stolen or seized, and then they set sail for home. Their king remained on the shore, waiting until the boats had gained the open sea, when he planned to go on board. When Theuderic heard that his land had been invaded by foreigners, he sent his son Theudebert to those parts with a powerful army and all the necessary equipment. The Danish king was killed, the enemy fleet was beaten in a naval battle and all the booty was brought back on shore once more.

(“The History of the Franks” by Gregory of Tours, edited and translated by Lewis Thorpe, Penguin Classics, 1974, III.3 pp 165 – 166)

Chlochilaich sounds like a very mangled rendering of Hygelac, and he’s mentioned as a king of the Danes, not the Geats. But otherwise, its exactly what is described in Wiglaf’s funeral oration for Beowulf. Since we know, from the events that come immediately before and after this passage in Gregory of Tours’ histories, that Hygelac’s raid must have taken place c.521, that means that the poem is set in the first third of the sixth century. Beowulf is therefore meant to be a contemporary of Boethius, St Benedict of Nursia, Clovis, Justinian and Theodora and, if he existed, King Arthur.

And just as this incident didn’t go forgotten in Anglo-Saxon England, the Franks remembered it as well. The Book of the History of the Franks of 727 describes it almost identically to Gregory of Tours, who was the source its anonymous author used, but unlike in Gregory’s account, Hygelac is rendered Cothelac and he’s referred to as a rex Gotorum – literally, king of the Goths. And of course, we can rely on Adhemar of Chabannes, writing in the early eleventh century, to remember it – he remembered almost every significant episode in Frankish history:

(Original Latin) In illo tempore Dani cum rege suo, nomine Cothelaico, cum navali hoste per altum mare Gallias petunt, devastantes et captivantes omnia, et, plenis navibus de captivis, altum mare intrant, rege eorum ad litus maris residante. Quod cum Theodorico nunciatum fuisset, Theodebertum filium suum cum magnum exercitu in illis partibus direxit. Qui, consecutus eos, pugnavit cum eis cede magna atque prostravit, regem eorum interfecit, predam tulit et in terram suam restituit.

(“Chronique” by Adhemar of Chabannes, edited by Jules Chavanon, 1897, p 23)

(My translation): At that time, the Danes with their king, called Hygelac, with a host of ships made for Gaul through the North Sea, devastating everything and taking everyone captive, and, with ships full of captives, entered the North Sea, with their king residing by the shore. When that was announced to Theuderic, he ordered his son Theudebert to go to those parts with a large army. Theudebert, having pursued the Danes, fought with them and after great losses brought them to heel, killed their king, carried away the plunder and restored it to his land.

Notably, Adhemar, like Gregory before him, refers to Hygelac as a king of the Danes, rather than a king of the Goths like the “Book of the History of the Franks”, thus indicating he consulted Gregory’s work. This goes against Jules Chavanon’s claim that, in the first fifty-one chapters of his Chronicle, Adhemar just copied the “Book of the History of the Franks” almost verbatim and inserted a few additions. He was much too good a historian for that!

Even in the late middle ages, the defeat of Hygelac's raid was still remembered. Here it is depicted in the Tours manuscript of the Grand Chroniques de France, illustrated between 1455 and 1460 by the great French Renaissance painter Jean Fouquet. 

Now the account of Hygelac’s raid, specifically the mentioning of the Merovingians, has a bearing on an important scholarly debate. When was Beowulf composed? Since its author, if its ever appropriate to attribute a traditional epic to the work of a single author (Classicists will recognise this problem for the Iliad and the Odyssey), is anonymous, we can’t date it according to when they lived. Old English vernacular literature begins to appear in the final third of the seventh century, when the poet Caedmon wrote down his Hymn of Creation under the patronage Abbess Hilda of Whitby (d.684). But Beowulf survives in only one manuscript dating from either the last quarter of the tenth century or the first quarter of the eleventh century. Thus, as a notorious conference of academic Anglo-Saxonists in 1981 known as the “Scandal in Toronto” hammered home, scholars have a whole range of different estimates for the date of the composition of Beowulf, with c.685 at one end and c.1000 at the other.

The first folio of Beowulf in the Southwick Codex (c.1000), the one manuscript in which the poem survives.

Tom Shippey, a respected scholar of Old English literature and the leading academic expert on J.R.R Tolkien, is in the very early date (c.685 – 750) for Beowulf camp. In 2007, reviving an argument made all the way back in 1849, he suggested that that the mentioning of the Merovingians in Wiglaf’s speech indicates that Beowulf couldn’t have been written any later than 750. His reasoning for this is that, after Pippin the Short deposed the last Merovingian king, Childeric III, in 751, the new dynasty, the Carolingians, gave their predecessors damnatio memoriae treatment – like the ancient Roman emperors for whom that term was originally applied, they were vanished from the official histories.

Now Shippey’s argument was thoroughly criticised in a follow-up article that year by Walter Goffart. Goffart argued that the Carolingians did not give the previous dynasty damnatio memoriae treatment, and copies of the “Book of the History of the Franks” were present in Anglo-Saxon England. Goffart himself believes, for his own reasons, that Beowulf could not have been written any earlier than 923. Now, with regard to the whole damnatio memoriae thing I’m on Goffart’s side. While Carolingian historians, like the anonymous author of the Early Annals of Metz or Einhard in The Life of Charlemagne, did their best to portray the last Merovingian kings as lazy, degenerate and foolish, whose loss of real power to their mayors of the palace followed their eventual deposition was inevitable, they didn’t try to erase them from history at all. And in the 860s, Archbishop Wulfaldus of Bourges used Merovingian charters issued in the names of kings Childebert and Chilperic in a court case against Count Eccehard of Macon over ownership of the manor of Perrecy. Would King Charles the Bald’s judges have led that fly if it was no longer politically correct to speak of the Merovingians anymore? And, to state the obvious, England, while undoubtedly part of the wider Carolingian world, was never ruled by the Carolingians. So Shippey’s argument fails. But that doesn’t mean I agree with Goffart’s proposals for the dating of Beowulf either. And as someone with next to no knowledge of Old English philology, I can’t really take a position on the debate. But scholarly opinion, following the publication of Leonard Niedorf’s seminal The Dating of Beowulf: A Reconsideration (2014), is starting to gravitate towards the earliest date range.

 

Tolkien and the Carolingians

Since with the discussion of Beowulf we’ve ventured in the scholarly territory where J.R.R Tolkien was undisputed master (at least within the confines of Oxford) back in the day, where are the Carolingians to be found in Middle Earth? The northern early Middle Ages are there in abundance – the languages and place names of Middle Earth are modelled on Old English, Old Norse and Old Welsh, and many of the races that populate it are taken straight from Norse mythology (even the orcs, Tolkien’s trademark creation, get their name from an Old English word meaning hobgoblin or demon). Indeed, the Lord of the Rings is very consciously written to be like an Anglo-Saxon epic, and in many ways deviates from the literary conventions of the modern novel – fans like myself appreciate this, but other readers find it frustrating that more weight is given to lengthy descriptions of the exterior world over interior drama. But there doesn’t seem to be any place for the Carolingians in Tolkien’s majestic creation.

Or is there indeed? Concerning the hobbits (Tolkien’s other trademark creation and the only race that doesn’t have their provenance in Germanic folklore), some of them do have Frankish names – Pippin, Meriadoc, Fredegar, Adelard, Drogo, Dudo, Odo, Wilibald etc. But this is most likely intended for purely ironic effect. The Hobbits are famously idle, peaceable folks who just want eat and be left alone, while the Franks are famously vigorous, warlike and expansionist – can you imagine someone saying, to paraphrase a Byzantine proverb given by Einhard in The Life of Charlemagne, “have a hobbit as your friend, not as your neighbour”?

But there’s more. At the time Frodo, Sam, Pippin and Merry leave the Shire, the kingdom of Gondor is ruled by stewards, as it has been for 969 years since their branch of the royal house of Elendil died out – Aragorn is from the northern (Arnor) branch. The evolution of the office of the steward sounds remarkably identical to that of the mayors of the palace in the Merovingian realm. They started off as simple palace officials, responsible for managing the king’s household and doing the business of government during the king’s absence/ a royal minority. But gradually they assumed more and more de facto control of the executive, were able to make their office hereditary (in the Merovingian realm by the Pippinids/ Carolingians, in Gondor by the House of Hurin) and then after the royal line apparently terminated, ruled without a king – compare the Carolingians’ puny four years to the House of Hurin’s 969. But its here the comparison ends. After Charles Martel’s death in 741, the Carolingians found the last surviving Merovingian, Childeric III (what relation he was to his predecessor, Theuderic IV, we’ll never actually know) and made him king before deposing him in 751 due to his apparent uselessness. Meanwhile, the Stewards of Gondor soldier on until the one true king, Aragorn finally turns up. And in The Return of the King, Gandalf tells Pippin that Boromir once asked his father, Denethor, how long it would be until the stewards could make themselves kings. The penultimate steward of Gondor then replied “a few years, maybe, in other places of less royalty … in Gondor, ten thousand years would not suffice.” Perhaps Tolkien, who famously had a profound dislike of anything French, intended that as a bitchslap to the Carolingians and the Franks/ French for being less patient with their kings than the Gondorians.

 

"Francia has no king. Francia needs no king." So might Charles Martel have said in 740. But his son, Pippin the Short, evidently disagreed.

Did Charlemagne have a beard?

Certainly, its been artistic convention since the late middle ages to portray him with one. Albrecht Durer’s very famous 1512 portrait of the king of the Franks/ emperor in the west portrays him with a beard that wouldn’t look out of place on one of Tolkien’s wizards, and that’s kind of set the gold standard for artistic portrayals of Charlemagne since. But is it actually true to the historical record?

Definitely bearded here. The coronation of Charlemagne in 800 from the Saint Denis Manuscript of the Grand Chroniques de France (c.1325 - 1350)

The very famous Charlemagne reliquary bust (1349) at Aachen, photographed by me. Will do a post about this. There's more than first meets the eye.

The Frankish emperor depicted here in an French book of hours from the early fifteenth century, British Library MS Harley 2952 folio 62v

Panel painting of Charlemagne from the Aachen cathedral treasury dating to 1470, photographed by me. In the late middle ages, they had to invent coats of arms for all the historical figures who lived before heraldry came into being in the twelfth century. So they gave Charlemagne a coat of arms that was half the German eagle, half the French fleur de lys to reflect his status as a forefather to both the French and the Germans.

Durer's portrait of Charlemagne - absolutely majestic, but anachronistic on so many levels.

We have a famous physical description of Charlemagne from Einhard:

His body was large and strong. He was tall, but not unduly so, since his height was six times the length of his own foot. The top of his head was round, his eyes were large and lively, his nose was a little larger than average, he had fine white hair and a cheerful and attractive face. So, standing or sitting his presence was greatly increased in authority and dignity. His neck seemed short and thick and his stomach seemed to project, but the symmetry of the other parts hid those flaws. His pace was firm and the whole bearing of his body powerful. Indeed, his voice was clear but, given his size, not as strong as might have been expected. His health was good until four years before he died, when he suffered from constant fevers. Towards the end he would limp on one foot. Even then, he trusted his own judgement more than the advice of his doctors, whom he almost hated, since they urged him to stop eating roast meat, which he liked, and to start eating boiled meats.

(“Two Lives of Charlemagne” by Einhard and Notker the Stammerer, translated with an introduction and notes by David Ganz, Penguin Classics, 2008, p 34)

Now, as I remember well from doing “The Transformation of the Ancient World, 370 – 900” with Conrad Leyser in my first year at Oxford, this is a classic extract that tutors in early medieval history give their students to teach them source criticism. You see, while Einhard is obviously a close friend of Charlemagne who knew him well, he has very consciously modelled his biography of Charlemagne on Suetonius’ Lives of the Twelve Caesars, and at various points in this passage he directly quotes the ancient Roman author. Thus, you do have to ask: how much of this is the real Charlemagne, and how much of this is Einhard trying to present him as a deified Roman emperor? However, on closer examination you realise that he’s quoting Suetonius’ biographies of half a dozen different emperors, which suggests that Einhard is not attempting a comparison between Charlemagne and, say, Augustus, and that actually he is talking about the real Charlemagne and has simply lifted the quotes from Suetonius that fit Charlemagne’s description, so he can be true to fact whilst also showing off his Classical learning. But, more to the point, there is no mention of a beard here!

For contemporary written descriptions of the emperor’s physical appearance, that is all we have got. But we do have three artistic depictions from the time. The first are coins minted with Charlemagne’s image after his coronation as emperor in 800. The second is a tenth century copy of a ninth century manuscript illumination that depicts Charlemagne with one of his sons, Pippin of Italy, and a scribe. The third is an equestrian statue, which I saw in the Louvre when I visited it in May this year, dating between 800 and 875 that may be of Charlemagne or his grandson, Charles the Bald. There is a common pattern between all of them – Charlemagne is clean-shaven with short hair and a moustache. If we combine these with Einhard’s account, the overwhelming likelihood is that Charlemagne did not have a beard.

And indeed, if we look at other surviving artistic depictions of Carolingian rulers from the ninth century, we’ll see the same pattern yet again – they’re all clean-shaven with short hair and moustaches. What is the reason for this?

Paul Edward Dutton, a North America-based Carolingianist scholar, has an interesting theory for this. He argues that the Carolingians groomed themselves in such a matter in order to present themselves as a clean break from the previous dynasty, the Merovingians, who famously sported luxurious long hair and beards. Indeed, the Merovingians would be known to posterity as “the long-haired kings.” The whole long hair and beards vs short hair and moustaches may well therefore have been part of the Carolingians’ propaganda drive to present themselves as vigorous and morally upstanding in contrast to their lazy and degenerate predecessors. But that leaves another question unanswered – why did artists from the later Middle Ages onwards feel the need to depict Charlemagne with a beard? I cannot even begin to speculate about that.

At least by the late nineteenth century they got it right! The mosaics from the upper camera of Aachen cathedral depict Charlemagne with short hair and a moustache - clearly the prosperous bourgeoisie of Wilhelmine Germany who funded this had read their Einhard. Photograph by yours truly.

An eleventh century monk's take on the migration era and the origins of the Merovingian dynasty - the Historia Francorum of Adhemar of Chabannes chapters 2 - 5 (c.1200 BC - 460 AD)

More than a week has passed and progress has been made with the translation of Adhemar of Chabannes. I must say that I've been really enjoying it, even if Adhemar's generally straightforward and unpolished Latin has thrown up a few difficulties in places. Everything up to the beginning of chapter 6 has now been translated and is here for you to read at your leisure. 

(Above: an image befitting the general theme of this post)

It is here that the content of Adhemar of Chabannes' History of the Franks moves from myth (see my last post) - though having revisited the Percy Jackson books this summer (one of my favourite series' of novels when I was a kid), which really rekindled my passion for all things Greek mythology, I say "myth" with just the slightest bit of disappointment - more towards what might be called history. Or maybe more accurately a kind of middle ground. Some of the figures who feature in these chapters definitely existed, like Emperor Valentinian I, Marcomer, Chlodio, Attila the Hun and Aegidius. Others such as the very early Frankish rulers with the very un-Germanic names of Priam and Antenor are definitely fictitious, and Faramund and Merovech are also shrouded in later legends - remember, though the contemporary documentary sources for fifth century Gaul are much better than those for post-Roman Britain (where they're almost non-existent save for that notorious sermon of Gildas'), we are still approaching the age of "King Arthur." Regarding the origins of the Franks, we can safely say that Adhemar's account of Frankish migration and ethnogenesis is wrong. There is absolutely no evidence, save for eighth century legend, to suggest that the Franks migrated from the sea of Azov in modern day Ukraine to the German Rhineland in the reign of the Roman emperor Valentinian I (r.364 - 375). The Franks seem to have originated instead as a confederation of West Germanic tribes in the modern day Franconia region of central Germany who first appear fighting the Romans during the Imperial Crisis/ "Military Anarchy" of the Third Century (235 - 284) - these tribes, including the Chamavi, the Chattuari, the Bructeri and the Salians, were all continued to have fairly distinct identities, but they banded together for military purposes and called themselves the Franks, meaning "the hardy", "the brave" or "the free", depending on who you asked. In the third century, the Franks were fairly successful in leading raids across the Rhine and devastating Roman Gaul, but Constantine the Great (r.306 - 337) defeated them, having their chieftains thrown to the wild beasts and the free men pressed into service in the Roman army. The Salian Franks were made Roman foederati (allies/ auxiliaries) and given a client state just over the Rhenish frontier in the south of what is now the Netherlands to rule and act as a buffer against the Frisians to the north, one of the barbarian tribes that could not be drawn in to the remit of imperial control by the gravitational pull of Roman civilisation but wanted some sweet, sweet Roman gold and other highly items that could be plundered. As the Western Empire began to be confronted with a new wave of barbarian invasions in the fifth century, the Franks provided them with some assistance against the Visigoths, Alans, and Burgundians early in the century and against Attila and the Huns at the battle of the Catalaunian fields near modern day Chalons-en-Champagne in 451. They also became increasingly more politically unified under Merovech (d.458) and Childeric (d.481) - I obtained all this information from Patrick Geary, "Before France and Germany: the Creation and Transformation of the Merovingian World", Princeton (1988), pp 77 - 80, more than thirty years old yet still authoritative and by one of the foremost living experts on the migration era and early Frankish history, certainly as concerns Anglophone academia.

But, I hear you cry "aren't myths precisely the stuff of history? Positivism, in which historians preoccupy themselves with narrowly defined 'facts' and what happened, is dead. Aren't narratives and perspectives what historians mostly deal with these days?" And you'd be right, and my own academic work (especially my masters' thesis) would confirm it to some degree. What makes it interesting is not whether Adhemar got his facts about what went on in late antiquity right - though it is interesting to find out what things people in the eleventh century knew about that time period that are still factually accepted by modern scholars, especially to counteract the tired old enlightenment stereotypes of those ignorant medievals. Instead, what is interesting here is how Adhemar, and the late seventh and early eighth century sources he drew from, the Fourth Book of Fredegar and Liber Historiae Francorum, tried to make sense of their ethnic past, or rather how they helped construct one to help strengthen a sense of Frankish identity. Ethnic histories like this abounded in the early middle ages - the most famous ones including Bede's "Ecclesiastical History of the English People" (731), Paul the Deacon's "History of the Lombards" (796) or Nennius' "History of the Britons" (828), which was an important foundation for Geoffrey of Mounmouth's "History of the Kings of Britain" (1136), including in its account of King Arthur.  Undoubtedly identity, is something that is often defined negatively - "we are from group x because we are not like group y or group z": it really isn't hard to think up historical or contemporary exempla for this, if you've been following the news at all for the last five years. But it can also be defined positively - by what brings us together rather than what divides us - through the development of shared interests, cultural practices and traditions, symbols, history and myths, on which there has been a lot of work done by historians, including ones of much more modern ones than this blog concerns. The exempla of this kind of identity formation include not just nations, social classes and political movements/ parties but also urban and rural communities, corporate organisations, schools, universities, sports clubs, friendship groups and, perhaps above all else, families. One can wonder what being a Frank meant in the early decades of the eleventh century. The Carolingian empire was long-gone, having fragmented into multiple kingdoms, some of which (like Adhemar's West Francia) had further fragmented into duchies (like Adhemar's native Aquitaine), counties and secular and ecclesiastical lordships, so there was no political unity to give "Frankish identity" any intuitive coherence. Meanwhile, the First Crusade, which would breathe new life into Frankish identity, largely because the Byzantines and Muslims used it as an ethnic slur to refer to all Westerners, whom they saw as barbarians that were good at courageous fighting and nothing else, was still a good few generations away. So what I think was going on here is that Adhemar, looking back at earlier origin stories for the Franks from the Merovingian/ early Carolingian eras, when Frankish political unity and ethnic consciousness was an ongoing project, and incorporated them into his history in order to give the Franks a heroic past that people in the politically fragmented present would want to identify with.

Moreover, what Adhemar has to about the fourth and fifth centuries AD still resonates with the debates about the Migration Era and the Fall of the Western Roman Empire still going on among scholars today. Above all, he appears to stress confrontation between Romans and barbarians (and between other barbarian groups) and a great deal of violence and destruction, exemplified in Chlodio's rampages through north-eastern Gaul - indeed, what happens at Cambrai sounds eerily like ethnic-cleansing. Whether the collapse of the Western Roman Empire really was the result of exogenous shock created by migration and confrontation between Romans and barbarians and whether it was catastrophically violent and destructive - and here I shall respectfully disagree with my former tutor at Worcester College, Oxford, Conrad Leyser, who claims that such a view of the fall of Rome, indeed the notion that such an event had taken place at all, was the invention of Italian Renaissance writers traumatised by the new wave of barbarian invaders from north of the Alps in the Italian Wars (1494 - 1559) - has been a source of great controversy since the 1970s. You'll find such diametrically opposed views on this matter coming from, on the one hand, Peter Heather and Bryan Ward-Perkins (see the interview with them together by Oxford University Press) and, on the other hand, Walter Goffart and Guy Halsall - Bryan Ward Perkins himself provides a good, but undoubtedly partial, overview of it all here. These debates aren't only academic controversies par excellence, they've also seeped into popular political discourse and inevitably things have gotten quite nasty. Broadly speaking, those who try to minimise the role of barbarian migration in the fall of Rome (indeed come close to denying it altogether, like Goffart) and emphasise accommodation between Romans and barbarians and fluid cultural and ethnic identities have been unfairly accused of pushing a politically-correct (we might now say "woke") agenda, while those who emphasise the catastrophic impact of the migrations and violent confrontation between Romans and barbarians have been hysterically accused of enabling the alt-right. But let's not get too side-tracked. What is clear is that whatever happened in the western regions of the Roman world in the fifth century AD mattered to intellectuals in the eleventh century, and still matters to us today in the twenty first, in how they made sense of the world and how they saw themselves. But now, time to let Adhemar, or rather my best attempts to translate him (I accept all errors as my own), take over.

Chapter 2 – concerning how the race of Alans rebelled against Emperor Valentinian, the Franks defeated them and the Franks were given tribute

(Above: Second Century AD Roman relief of an Alannic warrior)

After that time, the race of Alans, a perverse and very bad people, rebelled against Valentinian, emperor of the Romans. Thereupon, a most huge army moved from Rome and proceeded against that enemy, initiated battle, and overcame and defeated them. Consequently, the defeated Alans fled over the river Danube, and entered into the sea of Azov. However, the emperor said “whoever will be able to enter into these swamps and eject this wicked race, I will give them tribute for ten years.” Then the Trojans gathered together and devised stratagems, just as they were learned and noted for, and entered into the sea of Azov with others from the Roman people, and thence drove out the Alans and pierced them through with the blades of their swords. Thenceforth, Emperor Valentinian called them “Franks” in the Attic language, on account of their ferocity, rigour and courageous hearts.

 

Chapter 3 – where the emperor sent tax collectors in order that the Franks would pay tribute

(Above: statue of Emperor Valentinian I)

Therefore, after the aforementioned tribute was sent for ten years, the emperor [Valentinian] sent tax collectors with a first-rank commander from the Roman senate, in order to levy customary tribute from the Frankish people. These men also, as it were, were cruel and very monstrous, and after they had accepted their worthless delegation, the Franks said to them in turn “the emperor with the Roman army was not able to cast out the Alans, the brave and rebellious people, from the refuge of the swamps; indeed, was it not us who overcame them, why do we pay tribute? We stand here, therefore, against the first-rank man or rather these tax collectors, and we will kill them, and we will carry off all that they have with themselves, and we will not give the Romans tribute, and we will be free men in perpetuity.” Indeed, having prepared an ambush, they killed the tax collectors.

 

Chapter 4 – from when the same emperor set in motion an army against the Franks and up to their arrival in the Rhineland and their first king

(Above: a modern illustration of a fourth - sixth century Frankish warrior)

Hearing of this, the emperor [Valentinian], set alight with fury and anger, ordered that Aristarcus, his foremost general, move with an army against the enemies of the Romans and other peoples, and they directed battle lines against the Franks. Although there was a great slaughter on both sides, it was greater on that of the [Frankish] people. Certainly, regarding this, the Franks, because they could not sustain so great an army, were killed and yielded. In that place Priam, the bravest of them all, fell and they fled [the battlefield]. They also fled from Sicambria and came to the furthest parts of the river Rhine, to the towns of the Germans, and there they settled with their princes, Marcomer, son of Priam, and Sunno, son of Antenor; and they lived there for many years. After the death of Sunno, they heard a judgement in order to designate a king for them, like the other peoples. Marchomiris also gave them this advice, and they elected Faramund, his son, and they elevated him, their long-haired king, above themselves. At that very time they obtained laws and they managed to possess the superior ones of those peoples whose names were foreign to them: Wisogast, Arogast, Salegast, in the town beyond the Rhine: Inbotagin, Salecagin and Widecagin.

 

Chapter 5 – concerning the death of King Faramund and [the reign of] his son Chlodio, even the Hunnic invasion of Gaul

(Above: the Roman walls of Tongeren, which though they clearly served their purpose over the grand scheme of history, could not withstand Chlodio's forces)

Naturally, following the death of King Faramund, Chlodio, his long-haired son, was elevated to the royal dignity of his father. During that time, they [the Franks] chose to have long-haired kings, and they shrewdly came to the borders of Thuringia, and resided there. And so, King Chlodio lived in the stronghold of Duigsberg on the borders of Thuringia. On account of the peoples of Germania, all the regions that were east of the Rhine were called German, because their bodies were mountainous, their nations most vast and savage and they were hardened and always indomitable and very, very ferocious; an ancient text recounts that there were a hundred clans of these people. At that time, the Romans lived in those regions between the Rhine and the Loire; the lands south of the Loire were also ruled by them. And thus, the Burgundians, most heathen in that they held to the wicked doctrines of Arianism, were living on the opposite side of the Rhine, next to the city of Lyon. Consequently, Chlodio sent scouts from Duigsberg, stronghold of the Thuringians, all the way to the city of Cambrai. After that he crossed the Rhine with a great army, and he killed many of the Roman people and forced them to flee. Having come in through the charcoal-grey wood, he occupied the city of Tournai. Next, he came back to Cambrai, and he resided there for a short period of time; the Romans which he found there, he killed. Then he came all the way to the river Somme and occupied all of it.

(Above: where all the drama takes place)

(Yeah, this bad boy makes an appearance)

Following the death of King Chlodio, Merovech, his descendant, received the kingdom. Chlodio had reigned for twenty years. From the time of that useful king Merovech, the kings of the Franks were called Merovingians. At that time the Huns crossed the Rhine. They set Metz ablaze, destroyed Trier, passed through Tongeren, and came through all the way to Orleans. At that same time, the famous holy bishop Anianus was illustrious with miracles, and Aegidius, patrician of the Romans, and Theodoric, king of the Visigoths, came to him, and with the help of the Lord, as the Huns came to that city, as soon as St Anianus had prayed, Attila, their king, was subdued and thrown to the ground. At that very time, Merovech begat a son named Childeric, who was the father of Clovis, an illustrious and most courageous king. Indeed, at that time the Franks were pagan and frenzied, worshipping idols and images, and they did not yet know of the Lord who created the heavens and the earth. It was also at that time that Aegidius was sent away from the emperor, and was king in accordance with the Romans in that part of Gaul. And so it came to pass that King Childeric, son of Merovech, when he was becoming overweening in his rule over the Franks, he seduced their daughters to humiliate and degrade them. But, on account of this, they were enraged with great fury, and the vowed to kill him and deprive him of the royal dignity. Childeric, having heard of this, spoke to his friend, prudent in his counsel, called Wiomad, and begged with him for advice as to how he could be able to calm the furious spirits of the Franks. Thereupon, they gave between themselves the sign by which they would indicate what they needed to learn if at some time or other if the peace were to be restored. Afterwards, they divided between themselves one golden thing for a sign. One half was carried by King Childeric himself, the other half was kept by Wiomad, and he said, “when I will give this part to you, you should know that the Franks are with you and have been pacified by me, and serene peace will be restored.” Therefore, Childeric left for Thuringia and took refuge with its king, named Bisinus.

Getting acquainted with Adhemar of Chabannes, in which I also discover an eleventh century monk's take on the Trojan war

Yesterday, I started on a project I'd been resolved to do for a good few months now. After I translated, as part of my undergraduate thesis, the "Carmen ad Robertum Regem (Poem to King Robert the Pious)" by Bishop Adalbero of Laon (c.940 - 1031) - at once, one of the most satisfying and most frustrating things I've ever done in my life so far - I felt I had a mission to help make French history between the late ninth and mid-eleventh centuries more accessible by translating important sources that have never been translated into English before. I don't want to oversell my abilities as a medieval Latinist - despite both my parents being classicists, I never took a GCSE (14 - 16) or A level (16 - 18) in Latin, though I think I've just about compensated for that by subsequently going on a Latin course at UCL and doing medieval Latin as a component of my masters' degree. Instead, I simply figured that someone's got to do it, so it might as well be me. And I figured who could not be better to start off with than Adhemar of Chabannes. After all, a quick look on the website of the brilliant After Empire Project showed that there's no existing English translation of Adhemar's Historia Francorum. That someone hadn't already gotten onto this decades before me sincerely surprised me. He's pretty much the only vaguely contemporary narrative history we have that covers the history of Aquitaine (roughly a quarter of the French kingdom at that time) from 930 to 1028 in any significant level of detail. And he covers a lot of things that historians working on post-Carolingian/ post-millennial France (and western Europe more generally) are interested in, such as the four highly interlinked issues of church reform, the emergence of popular religious enthusiasm, the Peace of God movement and the first significant reappearances of heresy in the West since the sixth century. Robert Moore, whose (now classic) interpretative synthesis the "First European Revolution, c.970 - 1215" (2000) has become a staple on undergraduate reading lists for papers covering Western Europe in the eleventh and twelfth centuries, regularly uses Adhemar to support his arguments on all these issues in chapter 3 of the book. A quick glance at Adhemar's wikipedia page shows that he has had two scholarly monographs in book-form written about him in the last thirty years. And he's even made it into the creme de la creme of popular history - both Tom Holland's (no, not Spiderman) "Millennium" (2009) and Robert Moore's own dramatically titled (with fairly obvious political allusions) "The War on Heresy" (2012). So by the standards of any eleventh century French author, Adhemar of Chabannes is not obscure, so the fact he hasn't merited an English translation of his works is somewhat puzzling, given that English translations of medieval Latin primary sources generally are in high demand in universities for fairly obvious reasons (the decline of the study of classical languages in UK secondary schools). But those of you who haven't spent much time in eleventh century France may be wondering - who the hell is this guy anyway?

A bit of a colourful chap 

(Above) a drawing done in Adhemar's own hand 

For a medieval chronicler who lived a thousand years ago, we actually know a fair amount about Adhemar of Chabannes. He was born in 988, a year after the death of the last Carolingian king of West Francia and the accession of Hugh Capet (whose direct, male-line descendants would rule France for the next eight centuries), at the village of Chabannes in central-south-western France to what seems to have been a well-to-do family. He received his education as a novice monk at the Abbey of Saint-Martial de Limoges, where he was taught by his uncle Roger of Chabannes, who served as the abbey's music director from 1010 to 1025. Adhemar had a pretty interesting career after that. No doubt influenced by his uncle, he became a musical pioneer and, according to music historian James Grier, he made significant steps towards the development of modern musical literacy by developing a form of notation that used accurate heighting to present relative pitch information - while it still required the reader to already know the melody, the result was transformative (see James Grier "The Musical World of a Medieval Monk: Adhemar of Chabannes in Eleventh Century Aquitaine", Cambridge University Press, 2009, pp 325 - 326). Indeed you can see it in practice in Adhemar's own autograph hand from one of the hymns he composed ( see below, Bibliotheque Nationale de France, lat 909 fol. 151r-154r). He also wrote the Historia Francorum - a history of the Franks from their earliest origins to 1028 - which I am, of course, translating.

Adhemar's career also had a somewhat darker side to it. He embraced the developing tale that St Martial, the first Christian bishop of Limoges who initiated the conversion of Aquitaine, was actually born almost three centuries earlier, making him one of Jesus' original apostles. Knowing that the documentation for this was scanty at best, Adhemar decided to add to the evidence for Martial's "apostolicity" by forging a hagiography (saintly biography) of Martial, which he tried to present as having been written by Aurelian, the priest converted by the saint who succeeded him as bishop. He also composed an apostolic mass for Saint Martial, which the Bishop of Limoges and the Abbot of Saint-Martial had performed on 3 August 1029. However, a monk from Lombardy called Benedict of Chiusa sensed that something was amiss, and denounced the "Life of Martial" as a provincial forgery and the new liturgy as offensive to God. Adhemar's response was to splash-out even more on the forgeries, fabricating a church council of 1031 and a papal letter. This was a massive success - though doubted elsewhere, Martial's apostolicity became well-established in Aquitaine and it was only in 1920s that the Life of St Martial, the church council of 1031 and the papal letter were definitively proved to be forgeries by the Benedictine monk and historian Louis Saltet. At some other occasion, I will discuss the business of medieval forgery at greater length - its fascinating and crucially important for medievalists, especially those working (like I do) on the eighth to twelfth centuries, to understand. Perhaps to clear his conscience, Adhemar of Chabannes went on a pilgrimage to Jerusalem in 1034, where he died.

Adhemar the ancient historian

Adhemar begins his History of the Franks with, perhaps surprisingly for some, the Trojan war. Below is my translation of the first chapter (all faults with it are my own)

The beginning of the Frankish kingdom or rather the origin of that people, came forth from war. Indeed, it was in Asia, stronghold of the Trojans. There, there was a city that was called Troy, where Aeneas ruled. The Trojans were a brave and strong race of warriors, and they renewed wars excessively – restlessly exhorting themselves through their struggles, they went around conquering the lands that encircled them. However, the kings of the Greeks roused themselves to action and fought against Aeneas with an army, losing a great many men against him. Thither many of the Trojan people fell to the ground, and so Aeneas fled and hid himself away in the city of Troy. The Greeks fought against that city for ten years. Indeed, when the city had fallen, the tyrant Aeneas fled to Italy to contract peoples for fighting. Others also from amongst the princes, namely Priam and Antenor, boarded onto ships with the twelve thousand soldiers that were left of the Trojan army and departed from Troy, and they came all the way to the banks of the river Don. Having entered into the sea of Azov, they sailed and came through to the ends of Pannonia, adjoining the sea of Azov, and began to build a city. According to their memorial, they called it Sicambria, and they lived there for many years and greatly multiplied in population.

Adhemar's rather brief account of the siege of Troy obviously bears little relation to Homer's version of the events. The Iliad and the Odyssey were almost completely inaccessible to scholars in the Latin west until very late in the Middle Ages. Medieval scholars plenty about the Trojan war but they got their knowledge of it from works written in Latin like Virgil's Aeneid, the 1070-line "Ilias Latina" by the first century AD Roman senator Publius Baebius Italicus and the (pseudo)history purported to be written by at the time of the war itself by Dares Phrygius, a Trojan priest of Hephaestus (I must read Frederic Clark's brand new monograph on it someday). But Adhemar doesn't seem to be directly engaging with those authorities. Instead, as Adhemar's modern editor Jules Chavanon has pointed out, Adhemar looked to more recent sources than those to research his material early chapters of his histories, namely the seventh century chronicle of Fredegar and its continuation and the Liber Historiae Francorum, written in 727 by an anonymous layman (see Adhemar de Chabannes, "Chronique", edited by Jules Chavanon, Collection de textes pour servir a la etude et la enseignement de l'histoire, Paris, 1897, p xii). These sources also gave a similar account of the Trojan origins of the Franks. When exactly this legend of Trojan origins developed for the Franks developed is unknown, but it was certainly widespread under the later Merovingian kings in the seventh and early eighth centuries. The attractions it would have had at the time are fairly straightforward - it gave the Franks a venerable history and lineage, and as those who are familiar with Virgil will instantly deduce, it established their kinship with the Romans and by extension will have given them legitimate claims to a share in their former territories and their glorious legacy. Such legends were promoted as official history by the French monarchy and were still widely believed in the early modern period. Dissenting voices were not welcome - in 1714, the learned Nicolas Freret was arrested and imprisoned in the Bastille for claiming that the Franks were in fact Germans (see George Huppert, "The Trojan Franks and their Critics", Studies in the Renaissance Volume 12, 1965, p 227). Only with the French revolution of 1789 - 1794, when it became politically convenient to argue instead that the French royal family and aristocracy were the descendants of Germanic invaders who had imposed their alien and barbaric ways on civilised Gallo-Romans (the ancestors of the French people), was the myth of Trojan origins definitively abandoned.