For the last few days I have been reading my way through the Chronicon Epternacense, or Chronicle of Echternach (in modern Luxembourg). It reveals a lot about uses of the past, the construction of historical narratives, local, regional and regnal identities, literary culture, and much more. It is also one of the very few instances where it is possible to see that a history was used in practice.
The Chronicon is rather a long text: over 40 manuscript folios (the technical term for pages). And that is only the preface to a cartulary, i.e., a record of the charters and grants received by the monks, which stretches to another 80 folios.
It was written in early 1191 by a monk called Theodoric, at the behest of his abbot. It treats events leading up to the community’s foundation by St Willibrord in the eighth century. The Chronicon also treats the genealogy and origins of its leading patrons, and therefore begins with the fall of Troy. It records the conversion to Christianity of the Merovingian king Chlotwig, the emergence of the Pippinids (aka the Carolingians) as mayors of the palace, but also events in Byzantium, Rome and the Holy Land. It ends with the foundation, undertaken by St Willibrord, the archbishop of Trier, at the behest of a Merovingian princess, and copies some of these early charters and letters. The Chronicon ends in the year 725, over four hundred years before Theodoric’s time. This was history in its truest form, dealing with a remote and distant past, well beyond the memory of any living person.
Theodoric’s job was made easier by the fact that he had a very good library at his disposal. He cites all the greats: Bede, the Royal Frankish Annals, the Fredegar continuation, Gregory of Tours, Regino of Prüm, and various saints’ lives. He doesn’t just copy, but adds, revises, amends and condenses. He also introduces additional information, most of it relating to the affairs of the Merovingians and the early Pippinids. This tells us something about the literary culture at Echternach, which goes back to the ninth century. See, for instance, the somewhat confusingly labelled Codex aureus, now at the Royal Library of Belgium in Brussels. In fact, the abbey was famous for its library. Theodoric also wrote a Life of St Hildegard of Bingen. The communal context and Theodoric’s past experience encouraged and made possible so ambitious an undertaking.
There is more. Theodoric constructed a direct line of Frankish rulers from Arnulf of Carinthia in the late ninth century to the Ottonians in the tenth, continuing all the way up to Frederick Barbarossa (news of whose death in 1190 had not yet reached him) and Henry VI. The kings of France disappear. Yet Echternach was also firmly rooted in a local community: its patrons included the counts of Flanders, and its lay advocate was the count of Namur and Luxemburg. He saw Echternach as part of an imperial legacy, but also as part of a local community that centred on Metz, Trier, and Maastricht (because of St Willibrord, who had been bishop there before he moved to Trier). It’s a splendid example of the interplay of regional and regnal identities in the high medieval German realm.
He also says quite a lot about the process of writing and how he imagines the text to be used: it was composed for the ears of the abbot (i.e. it was meant to be read out loud), it was to ensure the continuing liturgical commemoration of patrons, but also to ensure that their descendants were spurred on to emulate the deeds of their forebears. And Theodoric talks a lot about how he sought to ensure ease of reading. He had compiled the most important information from a variety of sources. This was no easy task, especially once he could no longer rely on the writings of the ancients: the deeds of many patrons were like a dense forest, untrodden until he had alighted upon it. But he proceeded nonetheless, so that readers would have a context for the gifts and grants that he had copied and recorded.
This outlook is reflected in the manuscript’s design. Because of its colour, the codex is known as the Liber Aureus, the Golden Book. It is lavishly produced. See, for instance, the elaborate opening of the manuscript:
The writing is clear, with relatively few abbreviations. Theodoric also availed himself of a few tricks. He included a table of contents, and marked what in the modern edition are numbered chapters with red initials slightly removed from the main text. This made it relatively easy to read, stop and pause. The section copying charters is separated from the Chronicon by a rich and colourful image of St Willibrord:
This was a work for reference as well as one for display. It projected the literary culture of the abbey, and its antiquity, but also that of its patrons and founders. The Liber was certainly supposed to be kept at Echternach, but it was also meant to be shown and presented to visitors and dependents. It constitutes a useful reminder that seeking patronage did not require that manuscripts be handed over to putative patrons. Showing them what their peers and rivals had done, their forbears and ancestors was just as important. So was that the monks demonstrated that they did what they should: they commemorated their patrons, included them in their prayers, and preserved a record of their deeds.
Now, I’ve already mentioned that the Liber contains rare evidence for the use of history. For this, dates are important. Theodoric mentioned that he completed the manuscript in 1191, and he refers to Emperor Frederick Barbarossa as still alive. Frederick had died on 10 June 1190 while on the Third Crusade. That the news had not yet reached Echternach six months later is unusual. More common, as Helen Birkett has shown, it took 3-4 months for letters from the Latin east to reach Europe. Be this as it may, it also means that the Chronicon had been completed some before terrible news reached Echternach in 1192.
That year, Emperor Henry VI entered on a trade with the archbishop of Trier. He exchanged the abbey of Echternach – which had been an imperial abbey – for the castle of Nassau, until then one of the archbishop’s properties. This was disastrous news. Many of Echternach’s domains were in Flanders or Brabant, and imperial protection was essential to keep them. The grant was also an infringement on the rights and liberties of the abbey.
What happened next is recorded in a short document, also copied into the Liber Aureus, though by a thirteenth century hand. The abbot instantly protested the ancient liberties of his community. He implored fellow-clerics, and even enlisted the backing of the lay-advocate, the count of Namur and Luxembourg.
The monks also decided to write to the emperor. Or rather, one of them did: Theodoric, who, at the behest and on behalf of the community penned a letter stating the monks’ case. He had been chosen for this task, the text claims, ‘because he had heard, seen and read much, possessed excellent knowledge of the rights of the church and of the course of events from the beginning, and [knew] that, many vagaries of fortune notwithstanding, it had never been alienated from the protection of kings or emperors.’ The letter also contained a summary of the very Chronicon that Theodoric had completed only the previous year. The letter did the trick. The emperor relented and returned Nassau to the archbishop, while keeping Echternach for himself. The news was joyfully received at home. The abbot even wrote a letter to the citizens and dependents of Echternach, who broke into spontaneous jubilations. In fact, in the later Middle ages, there was an annual reenactment.
The Chronicon did exactly what Theodoric had hoped it would: it allowed him and his brethren to exhort the emperor to emulate the patronage of his predecessors. It made it possible to assert the distinctiveness of the abbey, restored the bonds between it and its regional benefactors, and warded off the greedy metropolitan of Trier. It’s also a rare example of a clearly identifiable narrative being used in practice. And that makes it quite unique, and, in its own little way, rather interesting and oddly exciting.
There is also an endearing human note. The account of the events in 1192 was probably written about 30 years later. Theodoric was still remembered as a wise and learned man, who put his knowledge of the past to good use, for the benefit of the community at large. He probably would have been pleased.
The Chronicon has been edited in the MGH Scriptores in folio.
A short summary of the text can be found at www.geschichtsquellen.de .
The manuscript has been digitised.
コメント