Doing Cultural History: Insights, Innovations, Impulses 9783839445358

Table of contents :
Editorial
Content
Preface
Introduction
A Black and White Peace. On the Possibility of Peace within the Dichotomies of Arthurian Literature
Writing war – communicating peace? The peace treaty of Edinburgh- Northampton of 1328
Peace on Paper Illustrated in Pictures. The visual representation of peace treaties in Early Modern Europe
Narrative Structures in Legal Texts An Introduction to the Panel
Narrative Elements in Deposition Documents
Sentimental Contracts. The Affective Narrative Structure of Puritan Covenant Theology in Jonathan Winthrop’s A Model of Christian Charity
Narrative Elements in Treaties of Peace and Alliance
The Jerusalem Experience Comparing Theme Park Versions of the Holy Land
Searching for other spaces, or: How useful is Foucault's concept of heterotopias as a method for historical research effectively?
Man as Victims. Speaking and laughing about violence against men
Courageous surgeons, enduring patients The performance of masculinity in medieval military medicine (14th-15th century)
Clash of Civilisations in Medieval Scotland or Can Culture Explain Conflict?
At the forefront of resistance to England? Melrose Abbey and the Scottish Wars of Independence
Between Love and Social Advancement. The Marriage Arrangements of the Late Medieval Maxwells of Caerlaverock Castle
Contributors

Citation preview

Judith Mengler, Kristina Müller-Bongard (eds.) Doing Cultural History

Mainz Historical Cultural Sciences | Volume 41

Editorial The Mainzer Historische Kulturwissenschaften [Mainz Historical Cultural Sciences] series publishes the results of research that develops methods and theories of cultural sciences in connection with empirical research. The central approach is a historical perspective on cultural sciences, whereby both epochs and regions can differ widely and be treated in an all-embracing manner from time to time. Amongst other, the series brings together research approaches in archaeology, art history, visual studies, literary studies, philosophy, and history, and is open for contributions on the history of knowledge, political culture, the history of perceptions, experiences and life-worlds, as well as other fields of research with a historical cultural scientific orientation. The objective of the Mainzer Historische Kulturwissenschaften series is to become a platform for pioneering works and current discussions in the field of historical cultural sciences. The series is edited by the Co-ordinating Committee of the Research Unit Historical Cultural Sciences (HKW) at the Johannes Gutenberg University Mainz.

Judith Mengler, Kristina Müller-Bongard (eds.)

Doing Cultural History Insights, Innovations, Impulses

The print was financed by the Research Unit Historical Cultural Sciences.

Bibliographic information published by the Deutsche Nationalbibliothek The Deutsche Nationalbibliothek lists this publication in the Deutsche Nationalbibliografie; detailed bibliographic data are available in the Internet at http://dnb.d-nb.de

© 2018 transcript Verlag, Bielefeld Cover layout: Maria Arndt, Bielefeld Printed by Majuskel Medienproduktion GmbH, Wetzlar Print-ISBN 978-3-8376-4535-4 PDF-ISBN 978-3-8394-4535-8

C ONT E NT

Preface ........................................................................ JÖRG ROGGE

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Introduction ................................................................. 11 JUDITH MENGLER, KRISTINA MÜLLER-BONGARD A Black and White Peace. On the Possibility of Peace within the Dichotomies of Arthurian Literature .......................... 17 MATTHIAS DÄUMER Writing war ̶ communicating peace? The peace treaty of Edinburgh-Northampton of 1328 ........................................................................ 29 DAVINA HACHGENEI Peace on Paper Illustrated in Pictures. The visual representation of peace treaties in Early Modern Europe ............................................. 45 KRISTINA MÜLLER-BONGARD Narrative Structures in Legal Texts. An Introduction to the Panel ..................................... 57 CHARLOTTE BACKERRA, CATHLEEN SARTI, DAMIEN B. SCHLARB

Narrative Elements in Deposition Documents .......... 61 CATHLEEN SARTI Sentimental Contracts. The Affective Narrative Structure of Puritan Covenant Theology in Jonathan Winthrop’s A Model of Christian Charity...................................... 71 DAMIEN B. SCHLARB Narrative Elements in Treaties of Peace and Alliance ................................................................ 85 CHARLOTTE BACKERRA The Jerusalem Experience. Comparing Theme Park Versions of the Holy Land .................................................................... 97 CÉLINE MOLTER Searching for other spaces, or: How useful is Foucault’s concept of heterotopias as a method for historical research effectively? ............................ 109 MONIKA FROHNAPFEL-LEIS Man as Victims. Speaking and laughing about violence against men ................................................................ 117 DOMINIK SCHUH Courageous surgeons, enduring patients. The performance of masculinity in medieval military medicine (14th-15th century) .......................... 131 JUDITH MENGLER

Clash of Civilisations in Medieval Scotland or Can Culture Explain Conflict?.................................... 143 MATTHIAS BERLANDI At the forefront of resistance to England? Melrose Abbey and the Scottish Wars of Independence.............................................................. 161 SEBASTIAN WEIL Between Love and Social Advancement. The Marriage Arrangements of the Late Medieval Maxwells of Caerlaverock Castle ............... 175 JULIA NOLL Contributors ............................................................... 193

Preface JÖRG ROGGE, SPOKESPERSON OF THE RESEARCH UNIT HISTORICAL CULTURAL SCIENCES Since the start of our Research Unit Historical Cultural Sciences (Forschungsschwerpunkt Historische Kulturwissenschaften) ten years ago we had the objective to include young researchers into our activities. A means to foster the PhD students and Post-Docs is the Forum Junge Kulturwissenschaften (Forum Young Cultural Sciences). As a member of the Forum the young researchers get the opportunity to profit from the diverse opportunities, which the Forum offers. The opportunity I like to stress here is the financial supporting for them to take part at international conferences, give papers about the issue of their PhD-project or present a panel together. To offer these opportunities and to support the young researchers to get in contact with the international academic world is one important aspect of our work with the research focus. This volume presents a selection of papers delivered by our young colleagues at conferences in Italy (Pisa, Triest, Verona) Scotland (Aberdeen, Edinburgh, St Andrews), South Africa (Johannesburg), and Sweden (Umea). With intent, the papers are presented here more or less as they have been given on the spot without much revision. One purpose of the articles in this collection is to show the range of ideas the young researchers have developed and how they use the methods of cultural history to deal with their topics. Another purpose is to demonstrate that we have been quite successful with our efforts to support the members of the Forum to get in contact with the international academic networks over the last ten years.

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We hope that our Research Unit will be able to carry on with this kind of support to assist the next generation of young scholars to “become international”. Jörg Rogge

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Mainz, June 2018

Introduction JUDITH MENGLER, KRISTINA MÜLLER-BONGARD The Research Unit Historical Cultural Sciences (FSP) was founded in 2008 as an institution for profile-building in the humanities and cultural sciences at the Johannes Gutenberg University Mainz. It facilitates the interdisciplinary collaboration of the cultural sciences and humanities disciplines located at Mainz University. The FSP also provides a platform for young academics by the means of the ‘Young Cultural Sciences’ Forum. Thereby, the Forum intends to provide doctoral candidates and postdoctoral students pursuing projects with possibilities for networking and support. Theoretical and methodological bases, as well as prominent texts of the cultural sciences are discussed within the Forum as frequently as three to four meetings per semester. In particular, these texts are reviewed to evaluate their benefit on the members’ own projects. Additionally, topics concerning the practical scientific work, the writing process, and time management are also discussed. Excursions to exhibitions, collections, or historical monuments are organised with the aim of exploring new fields of knowledge or promoting the knowledgeshare between the disciplines. In addition to that, the Forum arranges external contacts, announcements and scholarships. In fact, the early-stage researchers can profit of the FSP’s national and international partners and start building their own professional network. They also have the possibility of applying for financial support for travel expenses relating to the participation in international conferences or research journeys. Financial support is also granted for the organisation of workshops with well-known representatives from various disciplines – at once a good opportunity for

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young scholars to train their employability and talent for managing events. At the present, over 50 young academics from various disciplines are involved in the Forum. The idea for this book was spontaneous, and so was the selection of the requested contributors. As the FSP especially focuses in the promotion of young researchers, the idea of releasing a volume in the FSP’s book series that brings together some of the FSP-funded papers at international conferences, came up on the occasion of Research Unit’s tenth anniversary – the book is of course only a fraction of the FSP-funded papers and projects. In fact, over the last ten years, the FSP has funded numerous conference trips and research stays for the young researchers from the Forum. One of the most frequented events was the annual conference of the International Society for Cultural History (ISCH), and therefore the volume comprises of selected papers from the FSP’s contributions to this meeting. In 2014, the ISCH took place in Johannesburg, South Africa, and it was themed “Cultures of Damaged Societies: from Post-Conflict Resolution to Intercultural Dialogue”. Matthias Däumer, Davina Brückner and Kristina Müller-Bongard represented the FSP there with a panel on “Communicating Peace”. This was about the forms of artistic communication, which are based on a structure of conflict. There, peace can only be communicated implicitly: in the graphical background or between the lines. The panel’s objective was to take peace and peace agreements as central subjects of research and to show how, against all odds, these were mediated in the Middle Ages and Early Modern Times (12th c.-17th c.). Different media are taken into account in order to permit a broad overview of the topic, such as medieval romance, chronicles and also pictorial arts. In this book, MATTHIAS DÄUMER focuses on courtly romances of the late 12th and early 13th century, especially on Wolfram from Eschenbach’s Parzival. He reflects on the figures of Gawein, Parzival, Feirefiz and the neutral angels to show how Wolfram describes his ideas of peace and peaceful acting. DAVINA BRÜCKNER takes a look on four chronicles from 13th to 15th century regarding the peace treaty of Edinburgh-Northampton of 1328 between England and Scotland. Therefore, she takes into account two chronicles of English and two of Scottish provenience. By concentrat-

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Introduction

ing on the respective text passages and their narrative structure, she states that the communication of peace plays a less important role than the communication of war and conflicts. The subject of the following contribution is a further peace treaty in Europe. KRISTINA MÜLLER-BONGARD focuses on the Peace of Münster in 1648 and its visual representation. The painting by the Dutch artist Gerard ter Borch is central, and it shows a snapshot of the peace making event. Müller-Bongard takes a closer look at the composition, iconography and reception to show its impact of the representation of peace treaties in late 17th century. A further fully published panel held at an ISCH conference in Triest (in July) 2016 is that by Charlotte Backerra, Cathleen Sarti and Damien Schlarb. In their panel “Methodology: Narrative Structures in Legal Texts” they discussed about the ways legal documents – specifically contracts, contract-like texts, and laws – build communities, regulate and inscribe communal behaviour through narrative structures. Thus they asked about the function of narrative, or narratio, in early modern legal documents. CATHLEEN SARTI does a close reading of the English Bill of Rights from 1689. She states that the document became a re-narration of the events concerning the deposition of James II of England and his replacement through William III. By looking closely at the text structure, wording, narrator and authors she analyses how the narrative elements suggest legality and thus formed English political identity and community. In 1630, John Winthorp delivered the farewell sermon A Model of Christian Charity before or during his transatlantic voyage to New England, America. In his contribution, DAMIEN B. SCHLARB reads that sermon, which narrates a vision of a perfect Christian community, as a story in its historical context that creates a strong emotional texture. Thus, he outlines the juxtaposition of sentiment and covenant theology and examines its affective narrative structure regarding its community building potential. CHARLOTTE BACKERRA focuses on narrative elements in the Second Treaty of Vienna signed in 1731 between the Emperor Charles VI, King George II of Great Britain and the States Generals of the Netherlands. She examines the narrative elements in the treaty and indicates how

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they were used to re-write the past, present and future, revealing the complexity of international relations in early eighteenth century. The contributions by Dominik Schuh and Judith Mengler were part of a panel held at the VII Congress of the Italian Society of Women Historians SIS, “Gender and History: New Research’s Perspectives”, in Pisa in February 2017. In the panel, the link of violence and masculinity in the Middle Ages is traced through different source genres (e.g. medical treatises, chronicles, courtly epics), focussing especially on the narrative modes of constructing and communicating ideal masculine behaviour. DOMINIK SCHUH presents two examples of poetry from the Late Middle Ages, in which men were depicted as victims of physical violence exercised by women. The use of physical violence is not a sign of the power of the woman, but of the failure of the men to be manful and act according to the contemporary ideal of masculinity. This failure causes confusion with the God given order and reduces the depicted men to hilarious figures. JUDITH MENGLER addresses the relation between medieval military surgery and the contemporary ideal of masculinity. By analysing the treatises of surgeons of the 14th and 15th century, she shows how pain, suffering, and miserable conditions due to war could impair the performance of masculinity and how surgeons tried to deal with this multicausal, physical and mental, challenge. The talk by CÉLINE MOLTER was held at the ISCH Annual Conference in Umeå in June 2017. In her paper, she compares the depiction of the Last Supper in two religious theme parks, which she visited personally. By presenting the visitors a shaped biblical past, those parks try to create an atmosphere oscillating between entertainment and indoctrination. In her contribution, Molter shows how economic, political, and religious interests mingle and mix in the parks and influence the depiction of biblical themes. MONIKA FROHNAPFEL-LEIS provides an insight into her analyses of some trial records of the Spanish Inquisition. By using the heterotopias concept of Michel Foucault, she detects the exclusion of the accused women from metaphorical and real spaces. The exclusion from the male spaces opens the women synchronously the access to other, typically

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Introduction

female, spaces. That shows the strong gender aspect of the contemporary thinking as well as of the accusations. A further thematic priority of the Research Unit is the politics of medieval Scotland. Early career researches were involved into projects with focus on Scottish History under the direction of Jörg Rogge, who fostered a steady exchange of ideas from 2015 onwards with the Universities of Aberdeen and St Andrews. Since then, regular post-graduated workshops and research stays in archives have taken place. This special research focus ultimately resulted in the DFG funded research project ‘Men rent or Land rent’ which started in April 2017 and focuses on the lower ranks of Scottish nobility and the Bishops as political actors. The contributions concerning the Scottish Middle Ages came into being in this context. In his contribution, MATTHIAS BERLANDI concentrates on various conflicts among Scottish medieval society and their relation to Gaelic culture. Thereby, he puts a special focus on Alexander Stewart, the Wolf of Badenoch, and his so-called cateran strategy. SEBASTIAN WEIL outlines how Melrose Abbey managed to protect its economic interests during the Scottish Wars of Independence. Melrose Abbey was neither a helpless victim of the English aggression nor a place of proto-nationalistic sentiments, but a pragmatic political stakeholder with shifting loyalties. Throughout the Wars of Independence, the Abbey received grants from both sides of the border, as Weil proves by charter evidence. JULIA NOLL describes, how the Scottish noble family of the Maxwells of Caerlaverock Castle managed their social rise by arranging for advantageous marriages. While previously the geographical proximity and the belonging to the right affinity were the crucial factors, the possibility to make available access to the court and to influential persons was the main criteria since 1424. By installing networks of allies, the family has accumulated considerable power and prestige in the Late Middle Ages.

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A Black and White Peace On the Possibility of Peace within the Dichotomies of Arthurian Literature 1 MATTHIAS DÄUMER I

Introduction

Why is it so important to communicate peace? And why is it so difficult? Writing about First World War veterans, Walter Benjamin observed that they returned “hushed from the battlegrounds, […] not richer, but poorer of communicable experiences”.2 Benjamin implies that the impossibility to communicate and therefore to share the existential fears of warfare was one of the reasons that after WW I, Germany became a nation of war once again. Communication is, itself − and that is a conviction Benjamin shares with many other philosophers such as Habermas, Adorno or Blumenberg − the generator of peace; or vice versa: miscommunication and silence are the foundations of war. From this arises a certain social duty for literature and literary criticism to form

1

2

This is not a scientific article but the printed version of a talk held at the annual conference of the “International Society for Cultural History” at Monash University South Africa, Johannesburg in November 2014. The conference was titled “Communicating Peace”. My aim there was merely to test whether thoughts found in European medieval literature (and discourses found in the field of medieval studies) could partake subliminally in this discussion. BENJAMIN, 1977, p. 439; translation M. D.

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and convey communication − the duty of creating inter-subjective and at best timeless allegories of peace. In contrast to Benjamin, I do not want to talk about modern wars or modern ways of communication. My area of professional interest is the late 12th/early 13th century. The war experience that has to be communicated to guarantee at least some small spaces and short intervals of peace, is the Third Crusade (1189-92). One of the most prominent participants of this Crusade could have been Wolfram von Eschenbach. As every detail in Wolfram’s biography, this is speculation. However, his vast knowledge, ranging from natural history, geography, onomastics, mythology, medicine, and (most important) astrology, proves that he must have had an enormous input of rarely encountered, mainly eastern lore. Wolfram most likely came into contact with this knowledge during his participation in the Third Crusade. If we use this arguable ground to presume that Wolfram tried to communicate some war experience, and if we furthermore presume that his patrons had an interest in preserving peace by financing this kind of poetic communication offered by the war-experienced author, we can begin to read the courtly romance Parzival as a pacifistic piece of literature.

II The courtly romance: violence and entertainment I would like to start with a few short thoughts on the courtly romance as a genre of violence. It is obvious that the structure of courtly romances in general, and especially the Arthurian Romance, is mainly based on the absence of peace: tourney, combat, war, and minne (courtly love) as means of victory and possession. All these motifs of violence are embedded in (pseudo-)Salvific History with its bugbears of an ongoing and all-conditioning conflict between good and evil. In this context, peace can only mean – laxly speaking – the absence of action, or in other words: existential boredom. And yet, the cultural existence and performative practice of courtly romances indicates the opposite: Historically speaking, the genre at its summit is an indicator and, sociologically speaking, a catalyser for peace. Presented in front of an audience and, as far as we know, very

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A Black and White Peace

often a relatively young (an very often female) audience, the texts worked as an outlet for aggression, offering the listener heroic as well as violent deeds to be imagined and kinaesthetically3 reproduced. Anachronistically speaking, the courtly romances worked like any early evening action TV-series, banishing the potentially violent young adult by the virtual presentation of violence, in which she/he is allowed to (inter-)passively4 partake: narrative violence is used as a cathartic form of anaesthetics. Of course, early evening action TV-series are not particularly famous for their intellectual reflections, and especially not for reflections on the merits of peace. This can also be said for the majority of courtly romances. Immediately at the French-speaking beginning of the genre, peace is of hardly any concern; not one of Chrétien de Troye’s works searches for non-violent solutions to the conflicts at hand. Even in his Perceval, the fragmentary source for Wolfram’s frank and extended adaptation, we hardly find any nonviolent resolutions. To be fair, most of the indicated conflicts in Chrétien’s story do not have solutions at all, because the text is a fragment. Still, I doubt that peace would have been an appropriate answer, especially if we consider the fact that Chrétien’s text – contrary to Wolfram’s Parzival − has many indicators for an apocalyptic structure,5 resolving in the Morte d’Artur, Arthur’s death and his kingdom’s downfall, 12th century’s Götterdämmerung of the profane knighthood. Wolfram does not indicate this apocalyptic subtext. That is why two thirds of the following examples of reflections on peace in Wolfram’s Parzival are not part of Chrétien’s pre-text. Exceptions are passages starring Gawein, which Wolfram adapted. These Gawein-passages can therefore be regarded as the initial catalyst of all subsequent nonapocalyptic thoughts on peace to be found exclusively in the Middle High German Parzival.

3

4 5

Kinästhetische Wahrnehmung (‘kinaesthetic perception’) means a mode of reception in which the text, in this case a courtly romance, offers some kind of virtual motion sequences that the recipient reproduces in his mind. See LECHTERMANN/MORSCH, 2004, and DÄUMER, 2013, p. 87-121. For interpassivity as an analytical tool for medieval literature see WAGNER, 2015. See KÖHLER, 2002, p. 181-235.

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III Pacifistic Parzival III.1 Gawein, the diplomat The most significant episode in Chrétien’s Perceval as well as in Wolfram’s Parzival that shows the deviant character of the ideal knight Gawein is the so called Blutstropfenepisode (episode of the blood drops). When Parzival nears the Arthurian court for the second time, a summer snow has fallen. A falcon has hit a goose and the goose has lost three drops of blood. Blood and snow, red and white form a picture in Parzival’s mind that reminds him of his beloved. He is hypnotized by this abstract painting, combining his love to his maiden with the violence inflicted upon the goose. He is mesmerized because of the seemingly insoluble entanglement of both. Parzival rests standing, vacant, and spear erected (the blood drops are part of an erotic memory) in the snow when the Arthurian knights catch sight of him. They misinterpret this behaviour as an insult, mainly against Queen Ginover, and attack Parzival. The first two knights fail, because shortly before they are able to hit the mesmerized knight, he temporarily awakes, lowers the lance and defeats the combatant, only to fall back into his trance again. The third knight to approach is Gawein. In opposition to his predecessors, he understands Parzival’s mental state, mainly because he experienced a comparable situation a while ago. That is why he does not attack the somnambulant, but instead covers the three blood drops with his coat. Parzival awakes again, recognizes his friend, who takes him to Arthur in order to make his excuse for any phallic gestures that may have displeased (or worse: pleased) the Queen. In this sequence, as well as in two other episodes, Gawein stands out as a knight of diplomatic solutions, a character that is able to draw on his own experience instead of drawing the sword. Yet (in Wolfram’s conception), Gawein may be able to achieve the status of an ideal Arthurian knight, but he has to take a back seat when it comes to the higher goal, namely the achievement of the Holy Grail. In other words: diplomacy (personified by Gawein) is marked as the worldly manner in which to achieve profane peace. However, the answer to the question of how to achieve real peace − meaning peace not only as a prevention of

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A Black and White Peace

political conflicts, but peace as a state of mind that includes the metaphysical − is beyond Gawein’s reach. This objective is only within the reach of Parzival, and he is like a bull in a china shop when it comes to impeding violent action.

III.2 Parzival, the kin-slayer The narrative elements Wolfram inherits from Chrétien, are, providing that Wolfram wants to communicate peace, disastrous. This is mainly due to the protagonist’s annoying habit of killing and maiming his blood relatives. Not only does Parzival cause the death of his mother and slays a close relative in front of the Arthurian Court, he also fails the simple task of posing a simple question before the Grail, thereby prolonging the suffering of the Fisherking (also his relative). Failing before the Grail is, of course, an error in communication. This is also true for other episodes. When he stands in front of Arthur, simple-minded, green, and a tomfool due to motherly misguidance, he asks for the armature of the Red Knight, whom he saw just outside the castle. More as a cruel joke than guided by knightly virtue, Arthur and the evil-minded Key propose that he should go out to the knight and claim it. Unable to take a proposition other than literally (again miscommunication) Parzival confronts the Red Knight and, when he is reluctant to surrender his armature, Parzival kills him with a simple stab in the eye. Sometime after this dishonourable killing, Parzival has to discover that the Red Knight’s name is Ither and that he had been a blood relative of his. Parzival’s inability of avoiding violence by communication thus results in the worst case scenario of kin-slaughter. In general, communication always comes too late for Parzival and is never a means to avoid violence, but rather to communicate its grave aftermaths. As long as Wolfram follows his French source, sins are piling up on Parzival’s conscience, sins caused by miscommunication or the entire lack thereof. Somehow, Wolfram had to react to this narrative heritage in order to make his protagonist worthy of the Grail. His solution was, sarcastic enough, to offer Parzival one last chance to slay his kin. Shortly before Parzival is allowed to re-approach the Grail, he encounters his half-brother Feirefiz. This character is Wolfram’s own

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creation. He was sired by Parzival’s father Gahmuret and the North African Queen Belacane. Wolfram (literally) paints this hero in a rather grotesque manner: Being sired by a man of white and a woman of black skin, Feirefiz is brindled, his skin very much like the pattern of a chess board. Parzival does not know of this half-brother, so when they finally meet, the only option possible in the story world in which they both exist is combat. Ultimately, Parzival is only a short step away from the perdition of killing another of his kin when − suddenly – God interferes. It is the inflection point of deus ex machina that causes Parzival’s sword to break. Unable to continue the combat, the two knights have to communicate and thus discover their kinship, become friends and join the Grail-society together. All ’s well that ends well. However, what does this strange and not at all typical godly intervention tell us about Wolfram’s conception of the real, the sacred peace? The conclusion is rather devastating: Without God’s direct interference, men is unable to communicate and thus unable to avoid violence. Without HIS helping hand, all of our hands will be drenched in blood, even the blood of consanguinity. God seems to be the only guarantee for peace, the divine substitute for a general lack of human communication. By this – to put it bluntly – we hear God’s, or better: the author’s authoritarian voice, saying: “World Peace is None of Your Business”.6 But, nevertheless, Parzival becomes Grail king and is crowned as the epitome of a peaceful leadership in direct liaison with God. How is that possible? Doesn’t God’s Justice prove itself as highly inconsistent by hallowing this kin-slayer, who does not learn to avoid violence by using communication until the very end? Why isn’t Gawein crowned Grail king, who proved himself at least worthy of diplomatic peace? In order to answer these questions, we have to step back from the leading characters of this novel and take a look at the mythological subtext that Wolfram infiltrates into the French narration.

6

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Title of Stephen Patrick Morrissey’s 2014 most recent long player. Its front sleeve shows a photo of the singer/songwriter, god-like teaching his obsequiously waiting dog that “world peace is none of its business”. See MORRISSEY, 2014.

A Black and White Peace

III.3 Neutral Angels, the heavenly hippies In the prologue, Wolfram unfolds his moral agenda. His aim is to evaluate ‘the magpie-coloured’, the black and white human. I shall present to you the very famous passage in the original as well as my English translation: ist zwîvel herzen nâchgebûr, daz muoz der sêle werden sûr. gesmæhet unde gezieret ist, swâ sich parrieret unverzaget mannes muot, als agelstern varwe tuot. der mac dennoch wesen geil: wand an im sint beidiu teil, des himels und der helle. der unstæte geselle hât die swarzen varwe gar, und wirt och nâch der vinster var: sô habet sich an die blanken der mit stæten gedanken. diz vliegende bîspel ist tumben liuten gar ze snel, sine mugens niht erdenken: wand ez kan vor in wenken rehte alsam ein schellec hase. […] wil ich triwe vinden aldâ si kan verswinden, als viur in dem brunnen unt daz tou von der sunnen?

If doubt is close to the heart, sour has to become the soul. Disgrace and adornment adjoin, where a man’s unshrinking temper is patterned in a magpie’s colours. Nevertheless he may be blithe, because he partakes in both, in Heaven and in Hell. The erratic fellow is black through and through, and destined to travel into darkness. The ones with abiding thoughts therefore go by the white. This loose example is too fast for ignorant people. They are unable to fathom this concept, because it sways in front of them just like a speedy hare. Do I want to find constancy, where it ably vanishes like fire in surging water, like dew in the sunshine?

(PARZIVAL, 1.1-2.4) In this passage, Wolfram follows the ethical concept of Augustine, being interested not so much in the good and the evil, but mainly in the ambiguous, the magpie-coloured human. The most important statements are that (first of all) the magpie-coloured may also be blithe, for he is part of Heaven and Hell, and that (secondly) Wolfram himself is

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not able to establish a moral clearness; that he wants to talk about moral ambiguity − because moral constancy is nowhere to be found. In the examples already given, we saw some of the forms this ambiguity takes in the novel, especially concerning the two half-brothers on their way to the Grail: Feirefiz, inwardly “white”, the perfect hero, is magpie-coloured on the outside, his skin brindled like a chess board. Parzival, on the other hand, has a skin white as snow, but his inner life is brindled due to his grave sins (black) and religious achievements (white). This contrast is to be found on the plain, figural surface of the text. But there is also a far more elaborate and mythical implementation of the magpie-coloured in Parzival: the Neutral Angels. They were the first guardians of the Grail when, in ancient times, perhaps even at Creation’s beginning, it came to earth. The Angels had to execute their guardian task because, when there was mutiny in heaven, they decided to take neither the side of God nor that of Lucifer. Therefore, they were banished not to hell, but to the realm of moral ambiguity: earth. Parzival hears about them when he first visits Trevrizent, his uncle, a hermit, who (allegedly) tells him about the essence of the Grail. At first, the hermit states that he is unsure whether or not the Neutrals received a pardon and went back to Heaven, whether they suffered total banishment and went to Hell or whether the Divine Trial is still pending and the Angels continue to guard the Grail. After Parzival gained the Grail he meets Trevrizent once again. During this second meeting, the hermit refutes everything he said previously and tries to justify his lie: He wanted to discourage Parzival from continuing his quest by implying that the frightening angels might still be watching over the Grail. Of course, God’s justice is of strict consequence and the Neutral Angels were condemned to Hell. Says the hermit Trevrizent − who already cried wolf before. The problem with this belated condemnation of the Neutral Angels is that Trevrizent is not a figure of much credibility: He lied about the Angels and he erred when he told Parzival that it would be impossible to visit the Grail for a second time. Throughout this entire affair of the protagonist’s second Grail-visit, God’s Justice proves itself as strikingly flexible. That is the reason why nobody, and especially not the recepients, can believe Trevrizent when he pictures the Neutral Angels as

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inhabitants of Hell. This is why the audience of Parzival has to find an answer to the question of redemption or condemnation on their own. So, ask yourself: Would you redeem or would you condemn those that sit still when war emerges? Would you put them into the highest, most bearable circle of Hell as Dante did in the third canto of his Commedia?7 Or would you hope for their salvation, like that which is hinted at in the medieval travelogue of Saint Brandan?8 Ask yourself furthermore what the question itself means. Because, anachronistically speaking, it is a question about the status of the pacifist. The Neutral Angels where to remain passive when everything around them was rebelling – a mutiny that ended justly for those “with God on their side”.9 And yes, I am purposely hinting at Bob Dylan (as well as the prior Morrissey quote, which has been there for a well-meant anachronistic reason). For these “heavenly hippies” called the Neutral Angels did not fight, not for God, the White, and not for Lucifer, the Black. Therefore, they are analogue to the non-believers in the binary substructure of Salvific History, outcasts of the ongoing battle of Good against Evil. Wolfram presents their story as a myth, even searching for an alignment to older myths, such as the one about the so called WatcherAngels in the Jewish First Book of Enoch.10 This means that Wolfram chose the highest possible level of allegory for the highest possible moral impact. However, the allegory and the moral message is not an answer. Instead, it is a question, and by posing it, Wolfram establishes his own, very liberal way of communicating peace. By refusing an answer, Wolfram shows that the only way of finding sacred peace is within yourself, in your own opinion: on strict pacifism, in your own attempt to redeem or condemn the absolute denial of violence. Or, in other words: in your will to redeem or condemn a binary moral-system overshadowing the real conditio humana of being magpie-coloured.

7 8 9

See COMMEDIA, 1963, Inferno, III.22-51. See BRANDAN, 2002, v. 1111-1417. Allusion to Bob Dylan’s song “With God on Our Side” (The Times They Are a-Changin’, 1964) that sarcastically shows the futility of war ideology based on Christian believe and had been very popular among the nonesoteric part of the pacifistic hippie-movement. 10 See the so called Book of Watchers (1 Enoch 1-36) in ENOCH, 1978. See DÄUMER 2016 and 2018.

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Literature Sources [BRANDAN] Brandan. Die mitteldeutsche Reisefassung, ed. by REINHARD HAHN/CHRISTOPH FASSBENDER, Heidelberg 2002. [COMMEDIA] DANTE ALIGHIERI, Die Göttliche Komödie, ed., transl. and commentary by IDA VON WARTBURG/WALTHER VON WARTBURG, Zürich 1963. DYLAN, BOB, The Times They Are a-Changin’, Colombia Records 1964 [ENOCH] The Ethiopic Book of Enoch. A New Edition in the Light of the Aramaic Dead Sea Fragments, ed. and transl. by MICHAEL A. KNIBB in collaboration with EDWARD ULLENDORFF, Oxford 1978. MORRISSEY, [STEPHEN PATRICK], World Peace Is Non of Your Business, Harvest Records 2014. [PARZIVAL] WOLFRAM VON ESCHENBACH, Parzival. Studienausgabe, Middle High German text ed. by KARL LACHMANN, transl. by PETER KNECHT, introduction by BERND SCHIROK, Berlin/New York 1998.

Secundary Literature BENJAMIN, WALTER, Der Erzähler. Betrachtungen zum Werk Nikolai Lesskows, in: Gesammelte Schriften II,2, ed. by ROLF TIEDEMANN/HERMANN SCHWEPPENHÄUSER, Frankfurt/M. 1977, p. 438465. DÄUMER. MATTHIAS, Stimme im Raum und Bühne im Kopf. Über das performative Potenzial der höfischen Artusromane (Mainzer Historische Kulturwissenschaften), Bielefeld 2013. ID., „[Er] bezeugte gegen sie alle – und schrieb das Ganze“. Mediale Implikationen visionärer Zeugenschaft am Beispiel des Wächterbuchs, in: MATTHIAS DÄUMER/AURÉLIA KALISKY/HEIKE SCHLIE (eds.), ÜberZeugen. Szenarien der Zeugenschaft und ihre Akteure, München 2016, p. 49-68. ID., Eschatological Relativity. On the Scriptural Undermining of Apocalypses in Jewish Second Temple, Late Antique and Medieval Receptions of the Book of Watchers, in: VERONIKA WIESER/VINCENT ELTSCHINGER/JOHANN HEISS (eds.): Cultures of Eschatology, vol. 1. 26

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Authority and Empire in Christian, Islamic, and Buddhist Communities (Cultural History of Apocalyptic Thought 3), Berlin: de Gruyter 2018. KÖHLER, ERICH, Ideal und Wirklichkeit in der höfischen Epik. Studien zur Form der frühen Artus- und Gralsdichtung, 3rd ed., Tübingen 2002. LECHTERMANN, CHRISTINA/MORSCH, CARSTEN (eds.), Kunst der Bewegung. Kinästhetische Wahrnehmung und Probehandeln in virtuellen Welten (Publikationen zur Zeitschrift für Germanistik NF 8), Bern 2004, p. I-XIV. WAGNER, SILVAN (ed.): Interpassives Mittelalter? Interpassivität in mediävistischer Diskussion (Bayreuther Beiträge zu Literaturwissenschaft 34) Frankfurt/M. 2015.

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Writing war – communicating peace? The peace treaty o f Ed inburgh Northampton of 1328 1 DAVINA HACHGENEI When I first started working on the subject of communicating peace in medieval written sources, the idea was to show how chronicles communicate and thereby mediate peace. I expected to find narrations of peace negotiations and proclamations. In my imagination, these narrations would consist of more or less detailed descriptions of the symbolic gestures and rituals performed by kings and nobles. I thought I would work out which of this gestures and actions were described as being essential for the communication of peace and how exactly their minutes contributed to the constitution of peace. Instead, I found myself rather surprised when I took a first look into four different narrative sources of the time with regard to the peace treaty of Edinburgh-Northampton of 1328 between England and Scotland. I was surprised because there weren’t any narrations on peace and its constituting gestures at all. What I found instead were lengthy descriptions of military campaigns and violent conflicts. Necessarily, this changed the focus of the paper. The question was no longer how peace was communicated in written sources, but why it wasn’t communicated. In order to find an answer to this question, I analysed the respective 1

This paper was held in a slightly different version at the ISCH Conference at Monash University in Johannesburg, SA, in 2014. It was part of the panel „Communicating Peace (12th-17th century)“ sponsored by the Research Unit Historical Cultural Sciences.

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chapters with regard to the connection and function of the communication of war to the communication of peace. The outcome of this analysis had been rather unexpected as well. It seemed that chronicles don’t communicate peace, especially not when they talk about it. In order to explain the process upon which this outcome is based in greater detail, I shall first introduce the historical basis of the conflict and the events that eventually led to the peace treaty of 1328. Subsequently, I shall introduce the chronicles/narrative sources which are the basis of the analysis. Two are of English and two of Scottish provenience. The analysis which follows is divided into the accounts of war and of peace. I specifically examined the content of the respective chapters/passages, the arrangement of the order of events, the emplotment and the mode of narrative depiction (mimetic vs. diegetic = showing vs. telling). The paper concludes with a final assessment of the findings.

The historical background Causes of the conflict In 1296 Edward I of England successfully subdued the entire realm of Scotland to his overlordship by military force. The former Scottish king John Balliol was deposed and imprisoned, a new king wasn’t to be installed. Edward had thus by military might secured what he already had achieved by diplomatic efforts in 1291-1292, namely the submission of the Scots, thus adding their realm to his kingdom. What followed this military intervention of 1296 were further military interventions, today known as the Scottish Wars of Independence. The first phase of this wars lasted until the very peace treaty of EdinburghNorthampton in 1328. The objective of the Scots – since 1306 under their new king Robert Bruce – was to strive for a formal recognition of his kingship and the independent status of their realm which the English obviously denied.

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Qui desiderat pacem praeperat bellum After a long period of English predominance the situation changed drastically when, in February 1327, King Edward III was crowned following the deposition and imprisonment of his father, Edward II. At that time, the truce of Bishopthorpe of 1323 was still in place. Nevertheless, the very same night of Edward III’s coronation, the Scots laid an unsuccessful siege to Norham Castle, thus demonstrating both their willingness to ignore former agreements as well as their boldness to attack the English in their own country. The English on their part chose to ignore the failed Scottish attempt and did not take any retaliatory measures as the situation was delicate on both sides. Edward III was only 14 years old and a minor under the control of his mother Isabella and her lover Roger Mortimer. Edward II, although imprisoned, was still alive and could have possibly been reinstalled to the throne. In Scotland, the situation was different, yet not better. Robert Bruce was fatally ill. His end was clearly nigh. The elder of his twin sons had recently died, the remaining twin, David, was only three years old and there was no other direct male heir. At best, a long minority had to be faced. On 6th March 1327 the truce of Bishopthorpe was confirmed by both sides. However, although talking peace, by spring 1327 both sides clearly prepared for war. Measures were taken to repair castles and burghs throughout northern England. Writs of summons were issued in England on 5th April, a large army as well as the naval forces were to assemble at a specified date and place. If it was the intention of the English to discourage the Scots, their tactics failed. On the 12th of April, the Scottish King Robert Bruce on his part embarked in Ulster in Ireland to fuel English fear of a Scottish-Irish and probably even Welsh revolt. Directly after the official breakdown of diplomatic efforts 10th June the Scots invaded and plundered northern England. In the month following, they came as far south as Bishop Auckland, having laid waste to all the surrounding areas.2 The English not only failed to engage the Scots in a proper open battle, they were not even able to find them until a hostage was released to tell the English about the whereabouts of the Scots. In an event which is known as the Weardale Cam2

NICHOLSON, 1965, pp. 29-31.

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paign, in early August 1327, both armies finally faced each other at the shores of the river Wear in northern England. The English were on the north shore of the river trying to cut off the retreat for the Scots. The Scots, when told that the English would allow them to cross the river safely to engage in battle on even terms or that they (the Scots) should grant the same right to the English, their reply was short and simple: they had come to raid and plunder, not to engage in battle. If the English were unsatisfied with this, it was up to them to take action. But all English attempts to attack the Scots failed disastrously and, with the English on the north shore, the Scots were free to go on raiding the areas south of the Wear unthreatened. In the nights following, the Scots gained an even better position, now hiding in the woods and still raiding the country. One night, the Scot Sir James Douglas even led a surprise attack on the English camp, where they killed some English soldiers and, according to some chronicles, almost managed to lay their hands on young King Edward. Douglas left the camp “without a scratch”.3 The following night, the Scots made their way home unnoticed and around the English host, whose barrier was obviously useless. The English were devastated and left with a crying king. They decided against following the Scots. With this success for the Scots, their military actions were not over yet. They returned to England in September to once again raid and plunder the country. In addition, two of the three Scottish contingents present in England laid siege to Norham and Alnwick Castle. The terror spread by the Scots was so great that those who could afford it paid large sums in order to bribe their way out. So did the Palatinates (Durham, Chester and Lancaster), Carlisle, Westmorland and Cleveland and Richmond in Yorkshire. Payment brought them relief, a truce which should last for one year.4 The English now faced a completely different situation compared to all former encounters with the Scots, who usually “only” plundered and then left. This time, the Scots not only continuously raided the northern Marches but, for the first time, they tried to establish a firm Scottish rule over northern England and they did so successfully. By October, Robert Bruce had begun to grant English lands to his loyal subjects. In September, English parliament had failed to bring a solution to the problems. Eng3 4

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NAEGLE, 2012, p. 258. NICHOLSON, 1965, p. 44.

Writing war ̶ communicating peace?

lish attempts to gather an army failed due to lack of money and probably also fear of yet another, even worse, defeat. It was time to arrange peace and it was clear that this peace had to be on the terms and conditions of the Scots.

The diplomatic resolution: The treaty of EdinburghNorthampton 1328 The negotiations that followed went on from 9th October to 20th March of the following year. On 18th October, Robert I sent letters to the king of England, which contained drafts of terms that had to be included in any peace agreement he should sign. However, crucial to both parties seemed to have been the marriage agreement between the king’s sister, Joan of the Tower, and David Bruce. Edwards III’s answer was rendered on 30th October, agreeing that further negotiations should take place in Newcastle from November-December 1327. The new draft composed in the Newcastle negotiations was then further discussed during a parliament in York in February 1328.5 In March 1328, the negotiations were brought to Scottish soil, to Edinburgh, something never seen before and a clear indication of the change in dynamics between both realms. The English embassy was well equipped with all kinds of draft documents to enable them to act upon every possible scenario.6 Only ten days later, a peace had been concluded. The English embassy left Scotland on 20th of March and met with the English Queen Isabella and Mortimer in Stamford. All documents were handed over to the keeper of chancery rolls, Henry de Cliff, upon the return of the English embassy to England in early April. He had copies made and sent throughout England together with the order to publically proclaim the peace there, as was done e.g. in the city of London on 17th April.7 This public proclamation of peace was a general practice in the middle ages. It was arranged via a network of official messengers who distributed official, though shortened, copies of the treaties at major points (for England, we know of about 200 locations to which these copies were sent) together with the order to proclaim the peace at public places 5 6 7

STONES, 1949, p. 122. IBID., p. 123. IBID., p. 128.

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but also to produce and forward further copies to other cities were the same procedure applied. The demonstrations of unity, friendship and love between the monarchs, enacted by the reaching out of hands, kissing, embracing, the crying of tears of happiness and the banquet8 – ideally at a feast of love such as a wedding – - otherwise for peace conclusions common and maybe even necessary on some scale - are conspicuous in their absence not only in reality (neither King was present at the wedding) but also in the narrations.

The account in the written sources As mentioned above, I analysed the episode in two English and two Scottish narrative sources for the purpose of this paper:9 the Chronicle of Lanercost,10 the Scalachronica,11 the poly-generic work The Bruce12 and the Scotichronicon.13 The Chronicle of Lanercost is of northern English provenience and covers the years from 1201-1346. It is not surprising that the chronicle is rich in detail concerning the current case, as most of the events took place in northern England. The Scalachronica was written by the English knight Sir Thomas Grey of Heton, who wrote the chronicle while being held hostage in Edinburgh Castle after 1355. The Bruce was written by Archdeacon John Barbour in Scots and verse in 1375. Here, the Weardale campaign is described in extenso, being one of the last chapters. The Scotichronicon was written by the abbot Walter Bower between 1437 and 1449 and thus a good deal later than the other chronicles. However, it draws heavily on the work of John of Fordun, who wrote his work half a century earlier. All chronicles follow the same story pattern with only minor differences. They can be summarized as follows: After the deposition of Edward II and the coronation of Edward III, the Scots raid England on a large scale. English attempts to stop the Scots fail. During the so-called Weardale 8 9 10 11 12 13

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OFFENSTADT, 2007, pp.186-122. Three of which are chronicles. The Bruce is a poly-generic work. MAXWELL, 2001. GREY/MAXWELL, 2000. MCDIARMID/STEVENSON, 1980-1985. WATT et.al., 1987-1998.

Writing war ̶ communicating peace?

campaign, the military inability of the English becomes clear, both to the Scots and the English alike. After a spectacular retreat of the Scots, the English are devastated. Shortly afterwards the Scots once again invade northern England, this time laying siege to different castles and establishing a de facto rule over large parts of northern England, spreading much terror and fear. It is at this point that the English send envoys to negotiate peace and the marriage between David (heir to Scottish throne) and Joan (sister of Edward III). Subsequently, the chronicles give a more or less summarised description of the terms and conditions of the treaty, two of them add abridged versions of an official copy of the peace treaty. This is followed by a brief mention or account of the marriage.

The documentation of the conflict It is the military campaigns which are at the core of each of the narrations and are told with greatest narrative effort. The Lanercost Chronicle e.g. starts by recounting the deposition of Edward II and the coronation of Edward III the night the Scots laid siege to Norham Castle. Although this attempt failed, the Scots did not desist from their “long stand iniquity and evil habits”14 and invaded England. The account is accurate and with some detail as e.g. the names of the commanders of the three columns are given. The chronicle also mentions the reason for the Scottish raids: the Scots wanted to rescue the English king Edward II from captivity because he had promised them the freedom of their country with the addition of large parts of the English march. The following description of the Weardale campaign is again with some striking detail.15 The author of the chronicle states that the campaign had not been successful due to bad advice of “certain chief officers”. He also recounts the story of Douglas’ raid on the English camp, how he escaped afterwards “without a scratch” and how the English king burst into tears. After the retreat of both armies, it wasn’t long until the Scots gathered troops once again and “harried almost the whole of Northumberland”. They remained there for quite some time and the other Eng14 MAXWELL, 2001, p. 256. 15 Lack of provender, losses of horses and men due to that as well as the strategic movement of both hosts.

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lish marches could “obtained […] a truce for a large sum of money”. 16 At that point, the reader learns about the appointment of ambassadors who were to negotiate a temporary truce or treaty for perpetual peace. This is the only mentioning of diplomatic efforts in the entire chapter. The start of negotiations of the peace treaty is mentioned in one sentence only: “Meanwhile ambassadors were appointed […] to arrange a temporary truce […] or to come to any treaty for a perpetual peace if that could be done.”17 As can be expected in a chronicle written by a knight and member of the fighting elite, the Scalachronica also focuses intensely on the military efforts prior to the peace treaty of 1328. It starts with the narration of the coronation of Edward III, mentioning the young age of the king and the fact that he was governed by his mother and Roger Mortimer. The raids of the Scots and the reactions of the English are summarised, although not as accurate as in the Lanercost Chronicle, but also quite detailed.18 The Weardale campaign is narrated containing basically the same elements as the Lanercost account, but adding some more detail on military components. Accordingly, the events of the second advance of the Scots later that year are given in greater detail than in the Chronicle of Lanercost: Robert Bruce laid siege to Norham Castle, Sir Douglas and the Earl of Moray to Alnwick Castle, which they didn’t maintain and instead went on to support Robert Bruce in Norham. When Henry Percy of Alnwick on his part raided parts of Scotland, Sir James Douglas cut off the former’s way back and, in doing so, forced Percy to march to Newcastle instead. This is to show that the English were so demoralised at that time that they didn’t even dare to engage in battle with the Scots. The diplomatic efforts are again summarised only briefly in one sentence: “The aforesaid council of the said king of England sent men of law […] to the said Robert de Brus at Norham [to negotiate] peace, and arrange a marriage between David […] and Joan […] which afterwards took place in Berwick.”19 The Scotichronicon’s account is somehow strange and unusually inaccurate concerning the dates (priors and antes) and therefore mixes up 16 17 18 19

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MAXWELL, 2001, all quotes p. 258. IBID., p. 259. Names of commanders, numbers of men etc. GREY/MAXWELL, 2000, p. 82.

Writing war ̶ communicating peace?

causes and effects of the respective events. The chapter’s heading is not “The peace between England and Scotland” or something similar but “How the Queen of England hired some mercenaries and imprisoned her husband”. For the author, peace itself doesn’t seem to qualify as front page news. Accordingly, what follows is the story of the deposition of Edward II, the execution of the Despenser and the coronation of Edward III. This is followed by a short paragraph about the succession in Scotland. Following that, the chronicler states that the English had sent envoys which pretended they wanted to negotiate final peace, but “when their deception had become clear, the Scots invaded the northern parts of England […] and laid it waste with fire and sword.”20 In a short passage the Weardale campaign is narrated, inaccurate in dates and numbers of fighting men. It continues by mentioning the death of Walter Stewart and Queen Elizabeth of Scotland. The sieges of Alnwick and Norham are mentioned in one sentence, followed by an account of the peace negotiations. John Barbour begins his chapter in The Bruce by mentioning the truce of Bishopthorne in 1323 which, according to him, was broken by the English two and a half years later. The Scots, in “wegeance of [th]is trespass”21, openly broke the truce and went to England to burn and slay everything and every man on their way south, where they eventually came to Weardale. It is then that Barbour tells about the death of Edward II and the coronation of Edward III and the latter one’s marriage to Philippa of Hainault in a brief insertion, only to cover the Weardale campaign in full length. The focus clearly lies on the military deeds (he tells this episode in impressive 500 lines) including the episode where Douglas raids the English camp. However, he doesn’t mention the almost captured English king. When the Scottish retreated, the English decided not to pursue them. The next chapter deals with the siege of Norham Castle and Alnwick Castle and the assault of Northumberland: “In fe and heritage gave he,/ And [th]ai payit for [th]e selys fe.” 22 Then he says that, counselled by his mother and Mortimer, the young king

20 WATT et.al., 1996, p. 35. 21 MCDIARMID/STEVENSON, 1981, p. 216. 22 IBID., p. 240. (Seal fee = securing of English estates by paying for Scottish charters).

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sent envoys to negotiate peace and arrange a marriage between Joan and David.

The documentation of the peace The depiction of the peace is quite similar in all chronicles but, compared to the depiction of the conflict, also quite different. Not only is it barely mentioned at all, it is not rendered into a good story in the manner of the narration of the military conflict. There, the authors try to paint a picture of the violent assaults and not to simply state dates and facts. We read about skirmishes, pouring rain, nightly attacks, desperate soldiers, a crying king and so on. All this is not the case for the narration of the peace. Although all chronicles name the wedding as a key feature of the peace treaty, it is not rendered into a good story. After the insertion of different other events, such as the imprisonment of a rebellious monk or the marriage of Edward III, the Lanercost Chronicle returns to the peace treaty with Scotland. The marriage of David and Joan is mentioned together with the fact that the king did not attend the wedding. After the summary, there is a copy of an official letter patent of the king of England. it offers a reduced, yet still official version of the peace treaty. In addition to this copy, the chronicle summarises some of the other passages of the treaty e.g. that the English king was to try to achieve the suspension of Bruce’s excommunication at the papal court. Any vivid descriptions, for example of public announcements, the swearing of solemn oaths or any other symbolic gestures, are missing. The Scalachronica also lists the terms of the treaty. Grey adds that adherents of the English might not claim lands in Scotland and vice versa. Although more details are given on the contents of the peace treaty, they resemble a mere recital. Again, nothing is said about public announcements, the swearing of oaths or any other symbolic gestures. After mentioning the siege of Alnwick and Norham, the author of the Scotichronicon tells of an embassy which was sent to Edinburgh to negotiate peace. Solemn oaths are sworn on the souls of the two kings. It is followed by a curious insertion on the truce of 1323, which seems somehow unrelated to the rest of the chapter. Subsequently, a shortened copy of the peace treaty is inserted. A payment of the 30,000 pound is

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mentioned as well as the marriage agreement. Two chapters later, as in the other chronicles, the marriage of David and Joan is recounted with few sentences only: “On 17 July 1328 David, the son of […], married the sister of Edward of Windsor, the daughter of […] at Berwick. The girl’s mother […] was present, and it was an occasion of unutterable joy among all the people of both kingdoms.”23 The rest of the chapter and the following three chapters contain eulogies for Robert Bruce. In comparison with the other accounts, The Bruce is an exception to a certain degree. Barbour is the only one to at least try to render the peace conclusion and the wedding solemn by narrating the wedding instead and by the insertion of words such as “frendschip”, “ioy and solace” or “gret fest and solempnity”. 24 Although it is only recounted in a few lines, it is narrated with greater detail than in the other accounts. Robert Bruce e.g. is said to have been too ill to attend the wedding, the young lady Joan is described as being of great beauty and the festivity in general as very solemn. The diplomatic efforts are described once again in just one sentence although this time, the swearing of oaths is mentioned as is in the Scotichronicon. The truce of 1323 is also mentioned, the breaking of which Barbour names as the reason for the Scottish raids in England. He also states terms of the peace. Nevertheless, the emphasis of the story lies on the military actions which were taken.

Conclusion We discovered that none of the chronicles (The Bruce is an exception only on a small scale) vividly renders the events surrounding the peace treaty in any form. Everything that could be expected – everything I expected – is missing. In reality, the military campaigns continued for about four months, the negotiation process took at least seven months. Yet, it is the military efforts that make up almost all of the narrations in the respective chronicles/narrative sources. And, although even I can think of millions of things one could tell concerning the peace in order to make it seem worthwhile, the authors obviously couldn’t. They could have told how the peace was solemnly proclaimed in every city, how 23 WATT et.al., 1996, p. 43. 24 MCDIARMID/STEVENSON, 1981, p. 242.

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the people reacted when they heard about it. They could have described the arrival and the departure of embassies, all consisting of important men of rank, wearing beautiful cloths, riding impressive horses, bringing precious gifts. The chroniclers could have told who it was that swore the oaths, what words they used when doing so and who was there to hear them. They could have narrated how the different drafts were negotiated, could have inserted direct speeches and dialogues, showing who brought forward which demands. Showing which noble/cleric was more eloquent or the better diplomat; this was seemingly more important for skilled members of the church than the narration and appraisal of warlike enterprises. Overall, the chroniclers could have done so not only with mere words but by transforming facts into good stories, as they did with the narrations of the conflict. It is the same with the account of the marriage of David and Joan: it remains the mentioning of a fact and not the narration of a story. The focus of the different stories not only becomes clear in their narrative quality but also in the length of the respective passages. After over 60 lines on the military campaign, the Lanercost Chronicle delivers only a few words on the diplomatic efforts: “The Scots assembled an army and harried almost the whole of Northumberland […] remaining there a long time. […] Meanwhile ambassadors were appointed […] to arrange a temporary truce […] or to come to any treaty for a perpetual peace if that could be done.”25

Scalachronica, after nearly 90 lines on the war, writes merely one sentence on the sending of embassies. The Scotichronicon, after 20 lines on the war, writes just one sentence on the sending of embassies. The Bruce is also a very impressive example: after more than 600 lines on the military campaign of the Scots Barbour states: “He [Robert Bruce] rode like this, destroying, until the king of England […] sent messengers to king Robert to treat of peace.”26 Barbour thus sums up, what all the other chroniclers imply: The Scots destroy everything by military force until the English send messengers to negotiate peace. For the

25 MAXWELL, 2001, p. 259. 26 MCDIARMID/STEVENSON, 1981, p. 240.

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authors it is clear that negotiations of peace are inevitable in the face of a military force so strong and successful. In 1327, therefore, both military campaigns of the Scots prepared and enforced the peace negotiations which followed, thus proving the Latin proverb “Qui desiderat pacem praeperat bellum” to be true.

fig. 1: Relation of different contents in lines.

Chronicles: writing war – communicating peace? As we have seen, the diplomatic efforts were the direct result of the military success of the Scots, which forced the English to negotiate peace. All lengthy descriptions of the military campaigns only serve one goal: to make clear, why peace was inevitable. All authors explain how peace was achieved and then document a peace treaty. The function of the documentation of the treaties in the chronicles is before the background of further conflict, when those legal documents could be consulted. They served as evidence, e.g. if war were to break out again, one had to proof one’s own “right cause”. For the Scots, this account was a documentation of their military might and an entitlement to what had been achieved in terms of the

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peace treaty. For the English, the case is slightly different. Although on the text level the narration serves the same goal, to explain why peace had to be negotiated, here it has a negative connotation. The English stories are to explain why the so-called “shameful peace” had to be accepted for the time being. On story level the peace and peace treaty is the logical ending: peace is achieved by means of war. At the same time, the documentation of the peace prepares for the beginning of a new story. It involved the 2nd phase of the Scottish Wars of Independence, which started a mere four years after the peace of Edinburgh-Northampton with the battle of Dupplin Moor in 1332. For the English, the causes of the “shameful peace” are the reasons for a renewed war. For the Scots the documentation of the peace treaty served as evidence for the unjust cause and therefore the unjust renewed war of the English. This leads to my ultimate conclusion: These chronicles did not communicate peace – they documented a peace treaty. They documented this peace agreement because a renewed conflict was as inevitable as the peace in 1328. Therefore: where chronicles talk of war they explain peace and where they write of peace they prepare for further conflict.

Literature Sources GREY, THOMAS/MAXWELL, HERBERT (eds.), Scalachronica. The reigns of Edward I, Edward II, and Edward III. 1. publ. in 1907, Facs. repr. Llanerch 2000. MAXWELL, HERBERT (ed.), The Chronicle of Lanercost. 1272-1346. Translated with notes by Sir Herbert Maxwell. Facs. repr. (vols. 12), Penbryn Lodge/Llanerch 2001. WATT, DONALD E. R. et. al. (eds.), Walter Bower, Scotichronicon. New Edition in Latin and English (vols. 1-9), Aberdeen 1987-1998. ID. et.al. (eds.), Walter Bower, Scotichronicon: New Edition in Latin and English (vol. 7), Aberdeen 1996.

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Writing war ̶ communicating peace?

MCDIARMID, MATTHEW P./STEVENSON, JAMES A. C. (eds..), Barbour’s Bruce. A freedom is a noble thing! (vols. 1-3), Edinburgh 19801985. MCDIARMID, MATTHEW P./STEVENSON, JAMES A. C. (eds.), Barbour’s Bruce. A fredom is a noble thing! (vol. 3), Edinburgh 1981.

Secondary Literature NAEGLE, GISELA (ed.), Frieden schaffen und sich verteidigen im Spätmittelalter = Faire la paix et se défendre à la fin du Moyen Âge, München 2012. NICHOLSON, RANALD, Edward III and the Scots. The formative years of a military career. 1327-1335, London 1965. OFFENSTADT, NICOLAS, Faire la paix au Moyen Age. Discours et gestes de paix pendant la guerre de cent ans, Paris 2007. PRESTWICH, MICHAEL, The three Edwards. War and state in England 1272-1377, London 2003. STONES, EDWARD L.G., The English Mission to Edinburgh 1328, in: The Scottish Historical Review 28 (1949), pp. 121-132.

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Peace on Paper Illustrated in Pictures The visual representation of peace treaties in Early Modern Europe 1 KRISTINA MÜLLER-BONGARD In early modern Europe, war was raging in almost every area and people were affected in many ways. One consequence of constant war was also a constant search for peace, and to bestow its perpetual validity in a treaty, without limiting it to a fixed number of years or the contracting parties’ period of rule.2 Thus, the high regard for peace increased considerably in the course of the Early Modern Period. Not least, this is shown by the large-scale media echo to the peace agreements, such as printed reports and pictures, whose role in the European peace process can be regarded as a medial, cultural and, at the same time, artistic translation.3 As Cornelia Manegold states, “Peace, peace agreements and peace congresses were commented, interpreted and criticised through the media, such as newspapers, pamphlets, illustrated broadsheets, historical works and prints and, last but not least, were distorted and translated into a new medial context.”4 In this process, pictures are

1

2 3 4

This paper was part of the panel “Communicating Peace (12th-17th century)” at the ISCH Conference at Monash University in Johannesburg, SA, in November 2014. The text is a slightly different version but without all pictures shown in the original presentation. References and literature have been added. DUCHHARDT, 2013, p. 9. In general to this point see FISCH, 1979. To the mediation of peace treaties see JÖRGENSEN ET AL., 2008. MANGEGOLD, 2013, p. 43; my translation.

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to be considered a medial translation, because the medium alternates, thus changes, between language, script and image.5 One of the most important European peace treaties was negotiated in Münster and Osnabrück in 1648. In summary, it is designated as the Peace of Westphalia. It ended the Thirty-Year War as well as the Eighty-Year War between Spain and the Republic of the Northern Netherlands.6 As Heinz Duchhardt points out, the Peace of Westphalia is this specific because it contains a new perception and, thus, a new development in political culture, international relations and the law of nations. Prior to 1644, it had been inconceivable that Protestant and Catholic crowns would negotiate compromises at eye level, thus “almost all European states allowed themselves be represented and […] were formally invited to accede to the ‘universal’ peace.”7 The pictorial records for the Peace of Münster were increasingly high. The most famous painting of this event is by Gerard ter Borch in the same year (1648) and is the focus of this talk regarding the question of how this important peace treaty achievement is visual represented and communicated; the second part deals with its reception and its influence on the iconography of depicting peace making events after 1648. Negotiated peace can be artistically visualized in various ways: on the one hand as a picture of the event itself, so to speak as a counterpart of handing down the written source (report of the peace congress/peace treaty). On the other hand, as an allegory with the help of various personifications that are more general and do not necessarily refer to a particular event.8 My example, the oil painting The swearing of the oath of ratification of the Spanish-Dutch Peace on 15 May 1648 in the council chamber of the town hall in Münster by Gerard ter Borch, illustrates the peace not by allegories, but rather as an object of a report. The event of peace making, the congress itself, became the subject and a role model for illustrating this early modern peace treaty.

5 6 7 8

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MANEGOLD, 2013, p. 43. About the treaty’s exact content see MAYER-GÜRR, 2008, p. 149f. DUCHHARDT, 2013, p. 14, my translation. In detail about the Peace of Westphalia and its consequences see IBID., 1998. For the various ways of allegorical images and the personifications of peace see KAULBACH, 2013, p. 69f. as well as IBID., 1997, pp. 323-331.

Peace on Paper Illustrated in Pictures

fig. 1: Gerard ter Borch, The swearing of the oath of ratification of the Spanish-Dutch Peace on 15 May 1648 in the council chamber of the town hall in Münster, 1648, Rijksmuseum Amsterdam

Gerard ter Borch’s ‘Peace of Münster’ On 15 May, the exchange of the ratification instruments of the SpanishDutch Peace Treaty took place in the council chamber of the city of Münster, embedded in a public ceremony, at which the plenipotentiaries of King Philip IV of Spain (1605-1665, ruler since 1621) and the delegates of the Netherlands ceremoniously swore the oath of peace. Gerard ter Borch (ca. 1617-1681), one of the most important Dutch artists of the 17th century, shows a snapshot in his portrayal of The swearing of the oath of ratification of the Spanish-Dutch Peace on 15 May 1648 in the council chamber of the town hall in Münster. Gerard ter Borch probably arrived in Münster in 1646. Initially, he was in the entourage of the Dutch envoy Adriaen Pauw. In 1647, the artist changed into the service of Lord Peñaranda, the Spanish principal envoy. 9 During his stay in Münster, ter Borch received numerous com9

In detail to ter Borch’s painting cf. KETTERING, 1998, here p. 5.

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missions for portraits of the protagonists involved in the peace negotiations. Of course, these individual portraits were very helpful for painting the swearing of the oath of the Spanish-Dutch Peace. However, interestingly, the – for a group portrait as well as an event image – small oil painting (45.4cm x 58.5cm) was most probably created without a commission. The original picture was family-owned for a long time. After being in the possession of a variety of collectors including the French minister Charles-Maurice de Talleyrand-Périgord (17541838), it arrived at the National Gallery in London in 1871, which has been loaning it to the Rijksmuseum Amsterdam since 2000. Ter Borch’s interpretation is closer to the event than any other pictorial source of the time, although he diverged from the documentary record10 of the course of the ceremonial in some points.11 He showed the swearing of the oaths by the contracting parties, which took place in succession – not simultaneously, in one single scene by picturing the group of envoys, diplomats, and spectators in a semicircle to the viewer. From the more than 70 figures illustrated, most can be identified due to the series of portraits made by ter Borch during his stay in Münster as well as by a series made by Anselm van Hulle. Ter Borch placed the figures standing around a round table on which the ornamental caskets with the copy signed by the Spanish King lies (from the spectator’s point of view: the Dutch bound in red velvet on the left, and the ornamental red and silver casket of the Spaniards on the right), as well as the two instruments and seals of the treaty. During the act of swearing the oath, the Spaniards (seen from the viewer) on the right side of the table swear with their right hand on the gospel and the cross, the Dutch in the left half with their raised hand. Considering the precise illustration of the event – the council chamber and its interior, the position of the figures, the detailed rendering of the utensils on the table – also in accordance to the written sources, Gerard ter Borch’s painting is often seen as Augenzeugenbericht (eyewitness report).12 Indeed, ter Borch was an eyewitness to this ceremony 10 A detailed record of the ceremony is reported by the Dutch historian Lieuwe van Aitzema in his publication Verhael van de Nederlantsche vreedehandeling in 1650, translated in German and published in KETTERING 1998, pp. 1-2. 11 For the divergences see KETTERING, 1998, p. 7. 12 BURKE, 2003, p. 160.

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as a member of the entourage of Lord Peñaranda. The artist inserted his self-portrait (seen from the viewer) in the left edge of the painting: he is wearing a grey doublet, has shoulder-length blond hair and looks directly at the observer. Above him, on the panel on the left wall, he inserted also his signature “GT Borch F[ecit]. Monasterij [Münster] A 1648”, and thus bound his authorship to his testimony. 13 Ter Borch did not communicate the act of peace-making through nicely embellished allegories, but by portraying the event of peace making itself. He created within his painting an atmosphere of authenticity, e.g. through a detailed reproduction of the chamber and its interior as well as through his self-portrait.14

Reception: From painting to print The painting of the Peace of Münster reached a wide public through the engraving by Jonas Suyderhoef (1613-1686), which came onto the market in 1650. Ter Borch himself commissioned Suyderhoef to reproduce his painting in the same size.15 It seems he was eager for a quick publication of his pictorial and compositorial invention. Suyderhoef replaced the artist’s signature on a dark wooden board in the upper left corner of the picture, by the inscription “Pax optima rerum” = “Peace, the supreme good”, a shortened quotation from Silius Italicus’ Punica that gained access to numerous political and pacifist treatises through the pacifist work Querela Pacis by Erasmus of Rotterdam published in Basle 1517.16 The inscription to the picture refers to the event as well as suggests the authenticity of the depiction with the

13 Cf. GLUDOVATZ, 1998, p. 177. She introduces the very interesting aspect of the „doppelte Augenzeugenschaft“, p. 172f.; see also Roeck, 2004, pp. 212-229. 14 The fact that pictures could never record events authentically is not to be doubted, because a picture is a snapshot from a quite special (subjective) perspective. Peter Burke and Bernd Roeck have dealt with criticism regarding pictures as a historical source. Cf. BURKE, 2003 and ROECK, 2004, especially p. 214. 15 KETTERING, 1998, p. 7. 16 DETHLEFS, 1998, p. 96f.

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introductory words: “Icon exactissima […]” = “An extremely exact picture […]”.

fig. 2: Jonas Suyderhoef after Gerard ter Borch, The Swearing of the Oath of Ratification of the Treaty of Münster in 1648, 1650, Rijksmuseum Amsterdam Ter Borch’s picture motif became due to Suyderhoef’s print widely known and served virtually unchanged as a pattern for pictures that communicate peace agreements. The Dutch artist Romeyn de Hooghe also used this composition for his illustration of the Peace Negotiation of Breda (31 July 1667) 1667 as central scene17: the envoys of England and the seven united provinces of the Netherlands, positioned around a round table, arisen to swear the ratified peace. The scene is surrounded by eight marginal scenes,

17 Romeyn de Hooghe, VREEDE-HANDELINGHN TOT BREDA […], 1667, coloured etching, 43cm x 55cm, Historisch Museum Rotterdam, Atlas van Stolk, Inv.Nr. 16167.

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which show diverse settings in Breda and events during the negotiations. In a print published on the occasion of the Peace of Nijmegen, the main scene is virtually a copy of Suyderhoef’s engraving: The subject is the signing of the treaty of peace between France and the Republic of the United Netherlands in August 1678 in Nijmegen.18 Here, too, the Amsterdam publisher Johannes Stichter placed the group of envoys around the table in the centre of the composition – exactly as ter Borch did it in his painting. Stichter stretched the scene or rather the chamber sideways with armed soldiers, and added further motifs around: in the upper edges the allegorical motif of peace proclaiming angels with trumpets (out of the trumpets comes the word “Vrede”), beneath a peace proclamation scene, and in the lower edges the coats of arms of the countries involved. On the bottom of the print is an eight-column text, which describes in verses the peace process with France and between the Dutch Provinces. Another coloured etching by Romeyn de Hooghe is also in this tradition but combined with allegorical picture motifs, too, by which peace can be communicated. Admittedly, the Allegory of the Peace of Nijmegen of 167819 is not a picture of an event, but stages a fictive meeting of former enemies signing a contract. Again, the protagonists (here the rulers, not the diplomats) have gathered around a table: At the centre is Charles II of England, placed in the role of a mediator, on the right, as seen from the viewer, William III of Orange-Nassau and on the left Louis XIV of France. He is positioned in a pace distant from the negotiating table, emphasising that by means of his sceptre held in the direction of the Charles II and William III.20 In the background, King Charles XI of Sweden, points to a map held by a woman, on which the words “Mare Balticum” in mirror script and beneath a damaged crown are shown. In front of the negotiation table a 18 Anonymous, published by Johannes Stichter, Waerachtigh Vreede ende Vreugde gesangh […], 2nd half 17c., woodcut, 33.5cm x 40cm, Historisch Museum Rotterdam, Atlas van Stolk, Inv.Nr. 11259. 19 Romeyn de Hooghe, NEONATO ARCHIDUCE PACATIS GALLIS, coloured etching, 65.9cm x 46.3cm, Historisch Museum Rotterdam, Atlas van Stolk, Inv.Nr.D 11260. 20 Cf. MANEGOLD, 2013, p. 55. She interpreted the composition as subtly intended anti-French propaganda by de Hooghe.

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cartouche framed by palm branches refers to the ‘real’ peace negotiation. It shows the diplomats standing around the table and swearing of the oath for the peace. The coats of arms of the participants, France, Spain and the Netherlands, are placed beneath that scene and flanked by two fettered warriors. A second component “translating” peace into pictorial language, thus visualising it, is the depiction of personifications. Here, Hooghe makes use of the allegory of the temple of Janus that is closed in the background by the personification of peace, Pax. In ancient Rome, the temple of the two-faced god Ianus Geminus stood in the Forum Romanum. Its gates were the indicator of war and peace: they stood open so long as Rome was at war and were only closed when peace prevailed everywhere in the Roman Empire. In the Early Modern Period, the closing of the gates was the central motif for the end of war and the beginning of peace. 21 The Imperial eagle rises out from the temple of Janus with the insignia and leads the spectator’s view to seven medallions with portraits of the emperor, the princes and bishops of Hanover, Celle and Brunswick, Denmark, Brandenburg, Münster and Osnabrück. As ter Borch’s Peace of Münster, also Johannes Stichter’s and Romeyn de Hooghe’s pictures show the change of perspective of illustrating peace and peace agreements. They pursue the same scheme by means of placing the respective protagonists (envoys, diplomats, rulers) around the negotiation table as the central scene of each picture. Thus, the images clarify that peace was made here by human action, it is diplomatically negotiated.22

Conclusion Until today, ter Borch’s painting has shaped the iconography of picturing the “Peace of Münster” and indeed of subsequent peace treaties. His composition became a key image that is stored permanently in the collective memory as a portrayal of a peace-making event. The group picture of the envoys and diplomats assembled around a table for the 21 KAULBACH, 2013, p. 101 22 IBID., 1997, p. 331.

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swearing the oath, for the exchange of treaty instruments or the signing of the treaty remained dominantly as the main scene since the peace agreements of 1648. These forms of the depiction of peace and the negotiating practice at peace congresses, thus how peace was made, attracted great attention in Early Modern Europe. They allowed the recipients insights into the negotiations, which normally were granted only insiders. Due to the reproduction of ter Borch’s painting by Suyderhoef’s engraving, these insights achieved far-reaching public dissemination. The printed media ensured this dissemination far beyond the circle of the ruling elites and thus obtained a great importance in the mediation of peace and the practice of its negotiation. 23 In their staging, pictures of current diplomatic events still adhere to the tradition of pre-modern congress ceremonial. At every summit conference or diplomatic event, pictures are taken of the gatherings of politicians and diplomats at the conference table, the signing of treaties and handshakes. That retrospectively gives Gerard ter Borch’s painting the character of a press photo and thereby suggests to be authentic.

Literature BARON, SABRINA A./DOOLEY, BRENDAN, The Politics of Information in Early Modern Europe, London/New York 2001. BURKE, PETER, Augenzeugenschaft. Bilder als historische Quelle, Berlin 2003. DUCHHARDT, HEINZ, Der Westfälische Friede. Diplomatie - politische Zäsur - kulturelles Umfeld - Rezeptionsgeschichte, München 1998. ID., Der frühneuzeitliche Friedensprozess, in: Friedensbilder in Europa 1450-1815. Kunst der Diplomatie, Diplomatie der Kunst, [Staatsgalerie Stuttgart, 1. Dezember 2012 bis 7. April 2013], ed. by HANSMARTIN KAULBACH, Berlin 2013, pp. 8-19. DETHLEFS, GERD, Friedensappelle und Friedensecho. Kunst und Literatur während der Verhandlungen zum Westfälischen Frieden, Münster 1998.

23 Cf. DURST, 2013, p. 28f.; About the media system in Early Modern Europe cf. BARON/DOOLEY, 2001.

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DURST, BENJAMIN, Den Frieden verkünden und erinnern, in: Friedensbilder in Europa 1450-1815. Kunst der Diplomatie, Diplomatie der Kunst, [Staatsgalerie Stuttgart, 1. Dezember 2012 bis 7. April 2013], ed. by HANS-MARTIN KAULBACH, Berlin 2013, pp. 28-34. FISCH, JÖRG, Krieg und Frieden im Friedensvertrag, Stuttgart 1979. GLUDOVATZ, KARIN, Der Augenzeuge. Gerard Ter Borch und „Der Schwur auf die Ratifikation des Friedens von Münster“, in: Bilder machen Geschichte. Historische Ereignisse im Gedächtnis der Kunst, ed. by UWE FLECKNER, Berlin 2014, pp. 171-183. JÖRGENSEN, BENT/KRUG, RAPHAEL/LÜDKE, CHRISTINE, Friedensschlüsse. Medien und Konfliktbewältigung vom 12. bis zum 19. Jahrhundert, Augsburg 2008. KAULBACH, HANS-MARTIN/MANEGOLD, CORNELIA, Der Janustempel. Tempel und Altar des Friedens, in: Friedensbilder in Europa 14501815. Kunst der Diplomatie, Diplomatie der Kunst, [Staatsgalerie Stuttgart, 1. Dezember 2012 bis 7. April 2013], ed. by HANSMARTIN KAULBACH, Berlin 2013, p. 101. ID., Pax im Kontext. Zur Ikonographie von Friedenskonzepten vor und nach 1648, in: De Zeventiende Eeuw 13 (1997), pp. 323-331. KETTERING, ALISON M., Gerard ter Borchs „Beschwörung der Ratifikation des Friedens von Münster“ als Historienbild, in: 1648. Krieg und Frieden in Europa [26. Europaratsausstellung, Münster/Osnabrück, 24.10.1998-17.01.1999], ed. by KLAUS BUßMANN/ HEINZ SCHILLING, Münster 1998, vol. 2, pp. 605-614, online: http://www.lwl.org/westfaelische-geschichte/portal/Internet/finde/ langDatensatz.php?urlID=523&url_tabelle=tab_texte, (20.02.2018), pp. 1-10. MANEGOLD, CORNELIA, Bilder diplomatischer Rangordnung, Gruppen, Versammlungen und Friedenskongresse in den Medien der Frühen Neuzeit, in: Friedensbilder in Europa 1450-1815. Kunst der Diplomatie, Diplomatie der Kunst, [Staatsgalerie Stuttgart, 1. Dezember 2012 bis 7. April 2013], ed. by HANS-MARTIN KAULBACH , Berlin 2013, pp. 43-65. MAYER-GÜRR, STEFAN, Münster oder Nürnberg? Das Ende des Dreißigjährigen Krieges im Spiegel der zeitgenössischen Medien, in: Friedensschlüsse. Medien und Konfliktbewältigung vom 12. bis

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zum 19. Jahrhundert, ed. by BENT JÖRGENSEN et al., Augsburg 2008, pp. 149-168. ROECK, BERND, Das historische Auge. Kunstwerke als Zeugen ihrer Zeit, Göttingen 2004.

List of illustrations Fig. 1: Gerard ter Borch, The swearing of the oath of ratification of the Spanish-Dutch Peace on 15 May 1648 in the council chamber of the town hall in Münster, 1648, oil on copper, 45.4cm x 58.5cm, Rijksmuseum Amsterdam. Fig. 2: Jonas Suyderhoef after Gerard ter Borch, The Swearing of the Oath of Ratification of the Treaty of Münster in 1648, 1650, engraving, 46.6cm x 58.3cm, Rijksmuseum Amsterdam. (http://hdl.handle.net/10934/RM0001.COL)

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Narrative Structures in Legal Texts An Introduction to the Panel CHARLOTTE BACKERRA, CATHLEEN SARTI, DAMIEN B. SCHLARB This panel examines the methodological potential of narrative in legal texts. Simply put, we want to think conceptually about the ways in which legal documents – specifically contracts, contract-like texts, and laws – build communities, and regulate and inscribe communal behavior through narrative structures. We ask: What is the function of narrative, or narratio, in early modern legal documents? How does the gist, or fabula, of said narratives correspond with other, contemporary accounts of historical reality? By what means do such embedded narratives shape political and communal reality? Finding answers to these questions requires interdisciplinary collaboration between historians and literary scholars. Perhaps, it even warrants trans-disciplinary rethinking of our shared methodologies. In Tropics of Discourse, Hayden White reminds us of the provisional nature of all historical, and indeed scholarly, writing.1 He points out the inescapability of tropics as a condition of language faced by researchers when constructing discourse. As acts of representation, histories are in many ways the stories we choose to tell about the sources and materials we find in the archive. Scholars are mediators. They tell stories to make sense of the world. According to White, historians, when faced with the confusion of illogical and contradictory records, deploy strategies of pattern-recognition and emplotment to produce cohesive accounts. 1

WHITE, 1985, pp. 2-4.

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Embedded in White’s argument is the assumption that emplotment happens primarily at the hands of the crafty historian. As useful as White’s approach is for conceptualizing and critiquing the work of the scholar, it tells us very little about the narrative shape of and narratological strategies deployed by historical textual sources. Meanwhile, in the camp of literary scholars, calls for a methodological resurgence of historiography have grown louder in recent years. Such calls illustrate that historical methodology remains relevant beyond its disciplinary headquarters. For students of literature, historiography can prevent anachronistic and nonsensical readings of literary works. And considering seriously the contemporary stylistic and thematic tropes almost necessarily produces new and more informed readings. Luckily, recent discussions have all but dispelled the myth of historical context being somehow extraneous to literary analysis. At the same time, arguments such as Rita Felski’s provocative claim that “context stinks,” in which she fundamentally questions literary studies’ conceptualization of history as a box, have fanned the flames of methodological debate about the place of “history” in literary studies. 2 Legal language, it seems to us, is an appropriate object to address some of these questions and disciplinary discontents. Similar to works of literary fiction, legal documents have world-constituting power. It is therefore crucial to read such texts not exclusively as contracts or records, but as narratives in their own right. This panel seeks to sound the viability of this method by reading a sample group of contracts, contract-like documents, and laws as narratives. In doing so, we extend the discussion that is underwritten by White’s definition of “tropics”. By utilizing narratological tools, such as the categories of character, development, emplotment, story, and fabula, we tease out the narrative structures contained within the seemingly straightforward language of these texts. In doing so, we hope to expand the methodology used by historians when reading and interpreting sources as well as the textual basis and way of reading for literary scholars. In historiography, of course, documents are used as sources for understanding past communities and the rules they gave themselves. However, we often omit analyzing them stylistically, and we tend to talk even less frequently about the ways 2

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FELSKI, 2015, p. 154.

Narrative Structures in Legal Texts – Introduction

textual form and style implicate community building, political and cultural identity, and memory culture. Filling this gap, we argue that the inherent narrativity of legal documents is essential to understanding the impact of these texts on their contemporary readers. It turns out that studying historical legal documents is not merely academic. They are, in fact, not abstract or merely normative texts that have no bearing on historical realities and lives. Rather, they have the capacity to shape, express, and wield political meaning and power. Building on White’s discussion of emplotment, the papers in this panel thus shift the focus from the scholar to the text. We think such a shift raises a series of useful – and indeed vital – methodological questions about the treatment of sources, the interplay of text and context, and the function of narratological elements: how may we productively deal with the innate narrative structures of these artifacts? Does the presence of such structures deteriorate the source’s authority? How do we detect and process these structures within their historical contexts? How do we then conceptualize these findings in productive ways that enable us to construe histories that account for teleology as well as ontology?

Conclusion Based on what we know about the medieval model of narratio in contract law, it seems that early modern texts continue to rely on narrative as a strategy for community building. Narratives in contracts achieve legal liability by invoking overarching power structures (constitutions, states, moral law, divine law). As with many paradigms that emerged from the so-called linguistic turn, questions about the interplay of medium and object – in this case language and historical record – complicate the unguarded, carefree manor in which historians and literary scholars approach texts. Legal texts cultivate in their audiences certain desirable communal behaviors. They regulate parliamentary political, activist, diplomatic, religious, and even military actions. Yet the significance of such texts, we argue, does not derive from their normative, technical properties – for instance the punitive capacity of their bylaws – but from their narrativizing and

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indeed fictitious reinvention of historical reality: each of the documents in question invents and narrates a communal vision that extends bilaterally into the past and the future. In this sense, they contain distinct synchronic and diachronic historical purviews: on the one hand, they narrate and create an alternative, and sometimes even counterfactual history. On the other, they are links in a longer chain of communication acts. Hence, legal documents do more than merely consolidate and solidify communal bonds: they dynamically and dramatically intervene in communal life. They rearrange and regulate past, present, and future. They craft guiding metaphors for congregational life. They posit political constellations in order to avoid or dissolve diplomatic crises, and invent communal histories in order to forge new alliances. These diverse creative properties make contracts productive instruments for what Benedict Anderson calls imagined communities.3

Literature ANDERSON, BENEDICT, Imagined Communities. Reflections on the Origin and Spread of Nationalism, rev. ed., London/New York 1991. FELSKI, RITA, The Limits of Critique, Chicago, IL 2015. WHITE, HAYDEN, Tropics of Discourse. Essays in Cultural Criticism, Baltimore, MD 1985.

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ANDERSON, 1991.

Narrative Elements in Deposition Documents 1 CATHLEEN SARTI I have to begin with an apology: despite the title promising an analysis of narrative elements in several deposition documents, during the following fifteen minutes I will mostly concentrate on just one document – the English Bill of Rights from 1689 which arguably could be seen as especially narrative. There are, of course, several reasons for this focus on one document: the most important being that I will do a close reading of this Act of Parliament which takes time. The second reason is that I do not want to jump right into the deep end and leave you hanging without at least some context. However, since I did extensive research on early modern depositions for my doctoral studies, I am quite familiar with several deposition documents which we may address in greater detail in the discussion part.

The Bill of Rights of 1689 Let’s get started with some background on the English Bill of Rights, why it is such an important document and what historiography has done with it over the last 320 years.

1

This chapter is based on a paper for the Annual Gathering of the International Society for Cultural History in Trieste (Italy), 2016, and has been slightly edited to written language.

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The English Bill of Rights is the final instalment of the deposition of James II of England during the so-called Glorious Revolution of 1688/89.2 At the latest, this deposition began in the winter of 1687/88 when the English king James II, a catholic king of an anti-catholic kingdom, announced the pregnancy of his second wife, the equally catholic Mary of Modena. Until then, the catholicism of their king was somewhat worrying for the English political nation, but James was accepted as king. After all, he ascended to the throne after the death of his older brother Charles II when James was already in his fifties, and his heirs were his two daughters from a first marriage, the unquestionably protestant Mary and Anne – both already married to protestant princes. And while James and his much younger wife rejoiced over the prospect of a catholic heir who – if it were a son – would take precedence over Mary and Anne, the English feared such an heir and the possibility of an extended rule of a catholic king. There was also some tension in the spring of 1688 when James II tried to enforce either a more tolerant religious policy or a basis for catholic counter-reformation: the historian’s verdict on the question of his motivation is still out.3 Attempts to negotiate politics with king James II, however, failed and showed a deep-seated mistrust between him and most of his subjects. Into this situation came William III, stadtholder of the Netherlands, cast in the role of European protestant hero against the catholic villain Louis XIV, and – most important for England – husband to Mary, oldest daughter of James II and heir apparent, unless a son would be born. Just on a side note: William was also the nephew of James II, the son of James’ older sister also called Mary (the Stuarts were – like most royal dynasties – not very creative when naming their children). Back to the topic: William III, as advocate for his wife and her right to the throne, placed himself in the tense situation between James and his subjects in the summer of 1688.4 He had the backing of the Dutch States-General and his own interests to ensure that England would not become catholic – mostly, he and the States-General feared a catholic power in their

2 3 4

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WILLIAM AND M ARY, 1688. Cf. SOWERBY, 2009. Cf. to William’s role in the Glorious Revolution ISRAEL, 1991a.

Narrative Elements in Deposition Documents

backs when they already had problems with an equally catholic France under Louis XIV.5 William, a master of propaganda, issued a declaration in October 1688, explaining his “reasons to appear in arms in England” and ensuring everyone that he just wanted to make sure that this conflict between crown and the English people could be resolved with the help of a free parliament.6 Also, he wanted to make sure that the rumours that the new-born son of James II was really his son, and not the offspring of some random miller, smuggled into the Queen’s chamber in a bed pan were addressed.7 By the way, it now seems quite clear that these rumours started in Amsterdam and by William III – so talk about a great marketing campaign: starting rumours and then taking them as motivation for invading a country.8 William’s propaganda payed off – James II felt himself deserted by his subjects and went to France. Following his flight into exile, the English political elite felt deserted by their king and turned to William III as the only chance to have peace in the country once again, which was now without a king and full of anti-catholic mobs wreaking havoc.9 A convention parliament came together and, based on William’s declaration, declared in February 1689 that James II had abdicated the government, the throne being thereby vacant and William and Mary should be new king and queen.10 This declaration of the parliament was not legally binding – first of all, the convention parliament was in itself problematic since it was not called by the reigning monarch and lacked his legitimation. And second, a declaration of parliament is just a suggestion and, more or less, an opinion piece without any real binding power. A few months later, this Declaration of Rights from February 5 6

Cf. KAMPMANN, 2012; TROOST, 1991. This Declaration of Reasons is one of the key documents of the Glorious Revolution, along with the Petition of the Seven Bishops, the Letter of Invitation, the Declaration of Rights, and the Bill of Rights. It can be found in HIS MAJESTY’S STATIONERY OFFICE, 1802, pp. 1-6. 7 This rumour was, e.g., visualised on medals like the one from Christian WERMUTH: The Arms and Order of the pretended Prince of Wales, 1688. 8 Cf. CRUICKSHANKS, 2000, p. 19; ONNEKING, 2004, p. 29. More general to propaganda in the Glorious Revolution, cf. ISRAEL, 1991b. 9 Cf. MILLER, 2006, pp. 200f. and BEDDARD, 1988 for the following discussions in London. 10 This Declaration of Rights is printed in JONES, 1988, pp. 42-45.

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1689, however, became binding when it was included in its entirety in an Act of Parliament, the so-called Bill of Rights11 which was enacted by parliament and given by the reigning monarch, i.e. William III. This Bill of Rights is nonetheless legally problematic, which has often been pointed out, especially by Lois Schwoerer.12 There have also been intense discussions in historiography as to whether the Bill of Rights really determined England as a parliamentary monarchy, and why certain words were used – e.g. what it meant that the throne was declared vacant and whether this gave parliament the right to choose a new monarch.13 Since it is high time that I came to my main argument, I just leave you with this background and keep in mind that the Bill of Rights is an Act, but one which can be considered illegal from a strictly legalistic perspective.

Narrativity in the Declaration and Bill of Rights My argument now will concentrate on two things: first, I argue that the authors of the Declaration and the Bill of Rights knew their precarious legal position and used narrativity to gloss this over. 14 Second, I analyse how these narrative elements, which were needed to overcome the weak legality, formed English political identity and community. In doing so, I hope to show you the advantage of reading a well-interpreted text anew with methodologies shamelessly stolen from literary studies. The Bill of Rights consists of two parts: first, the Declaration of Rights from February is quoted in full, thereby turning this Declaration into an Act. Second, continuing with “Upon which...”, the right of succession is settled in greater detail than it has been in just the Declaration. Both parts are framed by a story of how the Declaration and the Bill came to be, what happened in-between, and what the main heroes of this tale did – mainly William III and the English parliament. The first part, the Declaration, is full of narrative elements – the second part has some, but the difference is really striking. 11 12 13 14

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WILLIAM AND M ARY, 1688. Cf. SCHWOERER, 1981, especially p. 13 and p. 16. Cf. FRANKLE, 1974. I have expanded on this argument already in SARTI, 2013.

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The quoted Declaration of Rights already begins with a sentence which Arthur Danto, an American philosopher, would declare a “narrative sentence”.15 This is a sentence which only makes sense if told from the perspective of hindsight, by already knowing the outcome of the action described and combining two events. In this case, the document starts with “Whereas the late King James the Second...” – interestingly enough, this king James II only becomes “late” one page later. It goes on to list several misdeeds this James II supposedly did and to declare his abdication – which would mean that James II abdicated willingly and actually acted, which he did not.16 Furthermore, the authors of this document interpreted his actions as an abdication and proceeded to state it as truth. And finally, after listing all alleged misdeeds of James II, they declared them as illegal. This, from a modern, legalistic point of view, is somewhat problematic since in theory you cannot condemn someone for actions which are only declared illegal after he or she already committed them, but it actually follows a medieval practice in legal documents to first narrate what happened (in the narratio) and then decide if this was legal (in the dispositio). This list of misdeeds is presented in the form of syntactic parallelism, overwhelming the reader or listener with its repetitive structure and making it seem much more than it already is. Using the beginning “by” again and again and again really drives home the point. Another instrument, which is used heavily in this first part, is the plotting of a hero against a villain – the villain James II, who committed all these misdeeds against any English tradition, is pitched against the hero, William III, who swooped in to save the damsel in distress, England. James II is described as having acted “by the assistance of divers evil counsellors [and …] did endeavour to subvert and extirpate the Protestant religion and the laws and liberties of this kingdom”.17 In contrast, William III is “his Highness the Prince of Orange whom it hath pleased Almighty God to make the glorious instrument of delivering this kingdom from popery and arbitrary power” – you nearly picture William with long, blond hair blowing in the wind and riding in on a 15 DANTO, 2007, pp. 143-181. 16 More on abdications as voluntary or pretended voluntary form of depositions, see ALTHOFF, 2013; and REXROTH, 2004, p. 41. 17 JONES, 1988, p. 42.

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white steed, if not a unicorn, carried by the protestant wind of legend.18 Never mind that there was a strong opposition in parliament against William, and that he had considerable trouble convincing the English political elite to back him up in the 1690s. Before I bring this all to a point and ask what we can learn from this method, I would like to point out another observation resulting from a close reading of the document – the question of author and narrator. The authors of the Declaration of Rights are actually the members of parliament, namely the House of Commons and the House of Lords (but not the crown) who discussed the exact wording of almost every sentence of this declaration in January and early February before presenting it to William and Mary on February, 13th, thereby offering them the crown of England.19 The authors of the second part of the Bill of Rights are the members of parliament as well. The text, however, never discloses the identity of the narrator or his perspective. There are no markers, such as personal pronouns. The document, nonetheless, describes past events, thereby selecting them and arranging them as a historian would and giving them meaning; as Arthur Danto and Hayden White pointed out, historians give meaning to past events by selecting them, arranging them, emplotting them and – most importantly – leaving everything out deemed not relevant to the argument.20 By never stating the perspective from which both parts of the Bill of Rights are written, the narrator appears as a neutral party, ‘just telling it how it is’ and emphasising the objectively important stuff. Of course, that is a lie. It is an extremely reduced perception of reality, even if you were to only consider state politics of England. It is the glossing over discord and other parties. It is the glossing over all actions and sayings by James II, and even William III. It is the building of a political myth by utilising a narrative which has world-building qualities as well as the ability to create a historical truth where there just is not one truth. This political myth, which was very successful and only came under attack since the middle of the twentieth century, paints the picture of an 18 JONES, 1988, p. 43. 19 Cf. the Introduction in JONES, 1988, pp. 1-75, here pp. 16-48 for an extensive account of these discussions. 20 DANTO, 2007, p. 284. “We can but find out what its significance was, and this is the work of historians: history is made by them.” Cf. also WHITE, 1991.

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English political community in which parliament is objectively the guardian of English laws and traditions (however the ever-changing traditions are interpreted), James II was as un-English as he could be – mostly because of his catholicism which goes hand in hand with absolutist, as was a widespread belief of the time and, worst of all, Frenchoriented politics.21 William III, a hero because of his protestantism and his parliamentary politics which were ‘obviously’ also connected to his confession, was just called by the English parliament to help the English people, led by their parliament, to get rid of this un-English king. This story, this re-narration of the events of 1688/89 around the deposition of James II and how William III became to be king of England, was very influential in building the English political identity as parliamentary, anti-catholic, as bound by an uncontroversial ancient constitution and as a kingdom which binds its own monarchs by law. Looking at the events anew, as historians have since the 1980s, it becomes clear that the Glorious Revolution was neither parliamentary nor was there any consensus over the English protestantism, or the ancient constitution, or the right of a kingdom to bind its monarch by law. Looking at the abundance of narrative elements in the first part of the Bill of Rights, especially contrasted to the second part, or other legal documents of this time, it becomes clear that the authors knew this and fabricated a historical myth in the frame and narratio of this document to have harmony in their political community once again. And, for the most part, it worked. There was opposition to William as new king, the Jacobites as well as the non-jurors never accepted him. But, the mainstream acted as the authors wanted and accepted the same political changes by William III for which they forced James II to abdicate.

Narrative Elements in Legal Documents Let me now, at the end, come back to my promise from the beginning and refer to another deposition document where narration was used to feign political consensus. In January 1569, the Swedish king Erik XIV was deposed by the Swedish parliament – mostly under the pressure of 21 The changing interpretations of the Glorious Revolution are summarized by GLASSEY, 2013.

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the de facto new king, John III. Taking into account the events, it is highly probable that this deposition was not backed by all members of parliament. Nonetheless, in the minutes of the meeting, the formula of “alle man” or “ja, ja sade alle man” (yes, yes, said all men) is used repetitively to show unity, and to build a common Swedish identity. 22 Looking closely at the text structure, wording, narrator, emplotment and arrangement of characters – in short, doing a close reading inspired or stolen from the literary studies – reveals the uncertainty of the authors of legal documents, their perceived need to gloss over discord and other interpretations and the need to establish one story of historical reality and a united political community. However, in doing so, these legal documents – read as normative truths by the public – build political community and identity and are therefore of utmost importance for scholars concerned with representation, identity and imagined communities in any way.

Literature Sources BEDDARD, ROBERT (ed.), A Kingdom Without a King. The journal of the provisional government in the Revolution of 1688. Oxford 1988. HILDEBRAND, EMIL (ed.), Svenska Riksdagsakter jämte andra handlingar som höra till statsförfattningens historia under tidehvarfvet 1521-1718. Andra Delen I. 1561-1568. Stockholm 1889. HIS MAJESTY’S STATIONERY OFFICE, Journal of the House of Commons. Volume 10: 1688-1693. London 1802. http://www.britishhistory.ac.uk/commons-jrnl/vol10/pp1-6, 13.01.2018). JONES, DAVID LEWIS (ed.), A Parliamentary History of the Glorious Revolution. London 1988. WERMUTH, CHRISTIAN, The Arms and Order of the pretended Prince of Wales, 1688, in: British Museum, G3,EM.338.

22 HILDEBRAND, 1889, document 367, pp. 275-283, here p. 282. Cf. for a similar process in late medieval England REXROTH, 2005.

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http://www.britishmuseum.org/research/collection_online/collection _object_details.aspx?assetId=471439&objectId=951655&partId=1, 27.01.2018. WILLIAM AND MARY, 1688, An Act declareing the Rights and Liberties of the Subject and Setleing the Succession of the Crowne. [Chapter II. Rot. Parl. pt. 3. nu. 1.], Statutes of the Realm: volume 6: 1685-94 (1819). http://www.british-history.ac.uk/statutes-realm/vol6/pp142145, 13.01.2018.

Secondary Literature ALTHOFF, GERD, Inszenierte Freiwilligkeit. Techniken der Entmachtung im Mittelalter, in: Herrschaftsverlust und Machtverfall, ed. By PETER HOERES/ARMIN OWZAR/CHRISTINA SCHRÖER, München 2013, pp. 87-96. CRUICKSHANKS, EVELINE, The Glorious Revolution, Basingstoke 2000. DANTO, ARTHUR COLEMAN, Narration and Knowledge (including the integral text of Analytical Philosophy of History). With a new introduction by Lydia Goehr and a new conclusion by Frank Ankersmit. (Columbia Classics in Philosophy), New York 2007. FRANKLE, ROBERT J., The Formulation of the Declaration of Rights, in: The Historical Journal 17,2 (1974), pp. 265-279. GLASSEY, LIONEL K. J., In Search of the Mot Juste: Characterizations of the Revolution of 1688-89, in: The Final Crisis of the Stuart Monarchy. The Revolutions of 1688-91 in their British Atlantic and European Contexts. (Studies in Early Modern Cultural, Political and Social History 16), ed. by TIM HARRIS/STEPHEN T AYLOR, Woodbridge 2013, pp. 1-32. ISRAEL, JONATHAN I., The Dutch Role in the Glorious Revolution, in: The Anglo-Dutch Moment. Essays on the Glorious Revolution and its world impact, ed. by ID., Cambridge 1991a, pp. 105-162. ID., Propaganda in the making of the Glorious Revolution, in: Across the narrow seas. Studies in the history and bibliography of Britain and the Low Countries: presented to Anna E. C. Simoni, ed. by SUSAN ROACH, London 1991b, pp. 167-177. KAMPMANN, CHRISTOPH, Ein großes Bündnis der katholischen Dynastien 1688? Neue Perspektiven auf die Entstehung des Neunjährigen

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Krieges und der Glorious Revolution, in: Historische Zeitschrift 294, 1 (2012), pp. 31-58. MILLER, JOHN, The Stuarts. London, New York 2006. ONNEKING, DAVID MARTIN LUTHER, The Anglo-Dutch Favourite. The career of Hans Willem Bentinck, 1st Earl of Portland (1649-1709). University of Utrecht 2004. http://dspace.library.uu.nl/bitstream/handle/1874/1572/index.htm;jse ssionid=B5045F5865C5DE18B95E3D7BCDF3C121?sequence=8, 27.01.2018. REXROTH, FRANK, Tyrannen und Taugenichtse. Beobachtungen zur Ritualität europäischer Königsabsetzungen im späten Mittelalter, in: Historische Zeitschrift 278,1 (2004), pp. 27-53. ID., Um 1399: Wie man einen König absetzte, in: Die Macht des Königs. Herrschaft in Europa vom Frühmittelalter bis in die Neuzeit, ed. by BERNHARD JUSSEN, München 2005, pp. 241-254. SARTI, CATHLEEN, A new approach to an old document – The narrative elements in the Bill of Rights, in: New Approaches to Narrative: Cognition – Culture – History, ed. by VERA NÜNNING, Trier: WVT 2013, pp. 213-222. SCHWOERER, LOIS G., The Declaration of Rights, 1689. Baltimore, London 1981. SOWERBY, SCOTT, Of Different Complexions: Religious Diversity and National Identity in James II’s Toleration Campaign, in: English Historical Review 124, 506 (2009), pp. 29-52. TROOST, WOUTER: William III, Brandenburg, and the construction of the anti-French coalition, 1672-88, in: The Anglo-Dutch Moment. Essays on the Glorious Revolution and its world impact, ed. by JONATHAN I. ISRAEL, Cambridge 1991, pp. 299-333. WHITE, HAYDEN, Metahistory. Die historische Einbildungskraft im 19. Jahrhundert in Europa, Frankfurt/Main 1991.

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Sentimental Contracts The Affective Narrative Structure of Puritan Covenant Theology in Jonathan Winth rop’s A Model of Christian Charity 1 DAMIEN B. SCHLARB Sentimental Contracts In 1628, John Endecott and a group of wealthy English Puritans decided to act on the changing the political and religious climate. Charles I’s ascension to the thrown and subsequent disbanding of Parliament signaled to religious and political dissenters that they would face difficult times under his rule. The English Civil Wars that took place about a decade later would prove them right. Endecott’s group formed the Massachusetts Bay Company and procured a royal charter to colonize territory in the New World. Among them was John Winthrop, a lawyer who had also trained in the ministry. The heir to a large inheritance, Winthrop was among those who saw not only their religious freedom but 1

This talk was given at the annual Conference of the International Society for Cultural History (ISCH) entitled “Gender and Generations: Spaces, times and relationships in cultural-historical perspective” at the University of Trieste, Italy, 18-22 July 2016. The project emerged from my teaching in the field of Early American Studies. It is also tangential to my current book project, Spiritual Alphabets, on Herman Melville and his literary mediation of Old Testament wisdom literature. The present version of the talk has been partially revised for clarity and includes additional references to the concepts invoked.

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also their estates jeopardized under Charles’s rule. Following Endecott’s death, Winthrop became a leading figure in the expatriation efforts and the first governor of the Massachusetts Bay Colony. In 1630, he boarded the ship Arbella, leading a fleet manned by nonseparatist reformers to New England. Prior to his departure or during the voyage (no exact records exist), Winthrop delivered the farewell sermon A Model of Christian Charity. In it, he tries to instill a sense of mission into the unwilling expatriates and sketches out the social, legal, and moral economy for the new community. Winthrop famously renders the Puritans’ errand into the American wilderness of New England as a divine mission, ratified by a covenant with God.2 Winthrop’s sermon has led a storied afterlife in American literature and political rhetoric, with multiple Presidents invoking its signature “city upon a hill” metaphor. Ironically, Winthrop’s text had been forgotten for about one-hundred years before being rediscovered in imperfect copy manuscript in the nineteenth century. Upon rediscovery, it instantly became a verbal icon.3 Despite its contingent textual history, Americanists have since followed Perry Miller in celebrating the d as the foundational document of Anglo-American literature.4 While not a legal document in the strict technical sense, the sermon represents an example of Early American biblical exegesis and community building. Winthrop envisions a set of foundational moral principles to structure communal living, personal behavior, history, and future individual salvation for his congregants. The sermon typifies early modern English/colonial American biblical exegesis because it posits a conditional relation between personal and communal salvation. As Winthrop has it, the idea is to bind together a perfect communal body in Christ. Noteworthy, though, is the fact that this prospective contract is precariously balanced on two markers: one temporal and one sentimental. Winthrop first insinuates that once the Puritans set foot on New World 2 3 4

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On the concept of the religious errand into the wilderness and its attendant foundational sense of mission, see MILLER, 1956, p. 11. On the status of Winthrop’s sermon as an American “Urtext,” see DELBANCO, 1991, p. 72. For the concept of the verbal icon see WIMSATT, 1954, p. 22 and PARKER, 1984, p. 49. For an overview of the reception of Miller’s reading of Winthrop’s text, see VAN ENGEN, 2013, p. 557ff.

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soil, their covenant with God will be in effect and their collective behavior shall henceforth determine the success of their colonial venture. He employs specific temporal markers for this optative contractual framework. Secondly, he argues that the ideal community will emerge from charitable sentiment—fellow feeling, as he incorporates both these elements into a narrative of communal salvation. In my presentation today, I would like to examine this juxtaposition of sentiment and covenant theology more closely. In doing so, I contribute to our present panel discussion about the significance of narrative structures in legal documents, while also marginally touching upon the fields of affect and legal studies. Like the more conventional early modern legal documents we discuss in today’s panel, Winthrop’s sermon tries to inscribe a virtual state of things into reality. He does so by first narrating a vision of a perfect Christian community built on sentiment, and subsequently ratifying that vision in a legalist, rhetorical framework. Both contractual law and sentiment are coeval components of this rhetorical maneuver. Narrating a vision of charity under the aegis of a divine covenant, Winthrop turns his imaginary community of listeners into what Benedict Anderson has called an imagined community, one in which Christian believers exert fellow feeling to ratify a sentimental divine contract.5

Affect and Contracts Recent work in Early American Studies has broached the issue of how emotions factor into the cosmology of the New England Puritans. However, few scholars have considered the correlations of sentiment and covenant theology under the umbrella of narrative emplotment. For instance, Ebert Van Engen recently argued that fellow feeling constitutes one of the core tenets of the Puritan conception of community. Van Engen points out that the authentication of conversion narratives – a testimonial praxis, designed to determine a believer’s status as one of 5

ANDERSON, 1983, p. 34. Anderson notes that this form of communal arrangement serves to remedy anonymity. In Winthrop’s case, I propose, the same is true for his bridging of the spacio-temporal gap between those believers still in England and those biblical forerunners he invokes.

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God’s elect – is based on sympathy. Conversion narratives function as both testimony and signs of grace, and their viability depends on their reception within the community. 6 The conceptual intelligibility of Grace (divine election) largely depends on a combination of narrative proposition and communal sentimental assent. Winthrop’s sermon is a useful test case for this hypothesis, as I shall demonstrate in a moment. Meanwhile, Patrick Erben argues for a belief in the “correspondence of linguistic and spiritual systems” in Early American writing.7 Erben notes that this belief authorized the assumption that the harmony between language and spirit could be, “harnessed to create shared understanding between disparate groups and individuals on a concrete social and communal level.”8 Typology, the primary technique for the biblical interpretation of seventeenth-century Protestantism, produces such harmony by inscribing contemporary listeners into a historical continuum of recurring character types. 9 By citing biblical stories and demonstrating their correlation to present events, ministers would place congregations into a seamless historical narrative. Such inscriptions create a moral obligation, as an example from Winthrop’s sermon shows: “[…] Likewise, in their return out of the captivity, because the work was great for the restoring of the church and the danger of enemies was common to all, Nehemiah directs the Jews to liberality and readiness in remitting their debts to their brethren, and disposing liberally to such as wanted, and stand not upon their own dues which they might have demanded of them. Thus did some of our forefathers in times of persecution in England, and so did many of the faithful of other churches, whereof we keep an honorable remembrance of them; […]”10

6 7 8 9

VAN ENGEN, 2015, p. 6. ERBEN, 2013, p. 4. IBID., p. 4. Ursula Brumm shows that Puritans used typology as historical as well as hermeneutical practice. See BRUMM, 1970, p. 17. 10 All references are to the 1838 version of the text, published in the Old South Leaflets by the Old South Association, Old South Meetinghouse, Boston, Massachusetts, No. 207. Edited by Samuel Eliot Morison. Omissions are mine. WINTHROP, 1630, p. 182.

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Believers must identify with their biblical forbearers as well as their immediate ancestors. The resulting narrative continuity places English colonists into a global history of salvation. This inscription also reveals the conceptual significance of genealogy as a means for asserting authority and building identity in Early America.11 The idea here is to read Winthrop’s sermon as a story that creates what Karen Wulf calls “emotional texture.”12 The fabula of this story consists of the act of becoming worthy of the covenant by rallying to the banner of fellow feeling. Winthrop’s biblical exegeses dramatize the struggle of awakening the communal sentiment in the outward situation of Atlantic traversal on board the Arbella. Fellow feeling consolidates the external motion of collective traversal and the internal (e)motion of group identification. Winthrop thus invokes what Gregory Seigworth and Melissa Gregg called affect’s characteristic “open-ended inbetween-ness.”13 This process has a practical function as well. It produces communal harmony and stability in the face of socio-economical strife: “GOD ALMIGHTY in His most holy and wise providence, hath so disposed of the condition of mankind, as in all times some must be rich, some poor, some high and eminent in power and dignity; others mean and in submission.”14

Right from the start, Winthrop gives his audience – which, besides merchants, included indentured servants – compelling reasons for this state of affairs: “[...] that He [God] might have the more occasion to manifest the work of his Spirit: first upon the wicked in moderating and restraining them, so that the rich and mighty should not eat up the poor, nor the poor and despised rise up against and shake off their yoke. Secondly, in the regenerate, in exercising His graces in them, as in the great ones, their love, mercy, gentle-

11 12 13 14

WULF, 2012, p. 469f. IBID., p. 502. GREGG/SEIGWORTH, 2010, p. 3. WINTHROP, 1630, p. 178.

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Damien B. Schlarb ness, temperance etc., and in the poor and inferior sort, their faith, patience, obedience etc. Thirdly, that every man might have need of others, and from hence they might be all knit more nearly together in the bonds of brotherly affection. From hence it appears plainly that no man is made more honorable than another or more wealthy etc., out of any particular and singular respect to himself, but for the glory of his Creator and the common good of the creature, man.”15

According to Winthrop, this divinely decreed division of humankind has both cosmological and communal utility. For one thing, it allows God to express His love for His creatures by furnishing humans with opportunities to need each other. Inequality becomes a necessary condition for developing “affection” (read: empathy) as social glue. While God naturally exudes love, human beings do not. Like training a muscle, empathy needs honing to ameliorate the potentially harmful effects of the social strife. The social arrangement provides opportunities for training that muscle. By developing empathy, the individual becomes selfless and therefore better suited to serve the community and, in doing so, begins to reflect on the promise of its future state of salvation.

Rules of Communal Living Puritan theology holds outright contradictory notions about unalterable Providence, on the one hand, and a moral obligation to act in this life as if one was already “saved,” on the other hand. By linking the temporal time of material existence and the divine time of the afterlife, the narrative creates a compelling rationale for accomplishing social harmony. Winthrop maps out this program in a series of legal qualifications: [Rules of Communal Living] “There are two rules whereby we are to walk one towards another: justice and mercy. These are always distinguished in their act and in their object, yet may they both concur in the same subject in each respect; as sometimes

15 IBID., p. 178.

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Sentimental Contracts there may be an occasion of showing mercy to a rich man in some sudden danger or distress, and also doing of mere justice to a poor man in regard of some particular contract, etc.”16

Justice and mercy are the principal means by which the social divide is resolved. Justice here refers to the keeping of oaths, while mercy refers to material and moral altruism. These principles represent a rather broad and vague scheme; the verb “walk” here harkens back to the familiar phrase “to walk in the ways of God” and therefore refers to virtuous life in a broader sense. Virtuous living, accordingly, consists of knowing when to cross the social divide. Helping believers identify these moments are two laws that God bestows on us: [The Double Law of Conversation] “There is likewise a double Law by which we are regulated in our conversation one towards another in both the former respects: the law of nature and the law of grace, or the moral law or the law of the Gospel, to omit the rule of justice as not properly belonging to this purpose otherwise than it may fall into consideration in some particular cases. By the first of these laws, man as he was enabled so withal [is] commanded to love his neighbor as himself. Upon this ground stands all the precepts of the moral law, which concerns our dealings with men.”17

As is typical in the early modern intellectual style, Winthrop distinguishes between two types of knowledge that human beings have access to: the natural law, which is inscribed instinctively into human beings, and the moral law, which is revealed by special divine dispatch of the Bible. [Natural Law] “To apply this to the works of mercy, this law requires two things. First, that every man afford his help to another in every want or distress. Secondly, that he perform this out of the same affection which makes him careful of his own goods, according to the words of our Savior (from Matthew

16 WINTHROP, 1630, p. 179. 17 IBID, p. 179.

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Damien B. Schlarb 7:12), whatsoever ye would that men should do to you. This was practiced by Abraham and Lot in entertaining the angels and the old man of Gibea.” 18

Ever since the Fall, humanity has been unable to recognize the natural law of brotherhood within itself. Therefore, the moral law must be spelled out explicitly via revealed religion in the Bible. Accordingly, the gospels vaunt an exclusivity of the knowledge of love as a communal foundation. The Bible reveals the secret bylaws of this divine commandment: [The Law of Grace] “The law of Grace or of the Gospel hath some difference from the former (the law of nature), as in these respects: First, the law of nature was given to man in the estate of innocence. This of the Gospel in the estate of regeneracy. Secondly, the former propounds one man to another, as the same flesh and image of God. This as a brother in Christ also, and in the communion of the same Spirit, and so teacheth to put a difference between Christians and others. Do good to all, especially to the household of faith. Upon this ground the Israelites were to put a difference between the brethren of such as were strangers, though not of the Canaanites.”19

Love is selfless commitment to the brotherhood of man on the basis of a shared, genealogical status as God’s creatures. However, showing love towards a fellow believer, a brother in Christ, goes beyond this technical rationale. Selfless love not merely announces a commitment to the community but, more importantly, also elevates the community as a whole by transforming it into a congregation of spirit. Through this commitment, the group becomes one body in the eyes of God, overcoming the challenge of the aforementioned social binary. A social order based on such emotional commitment is desirable, primarily because it produces this unifying effect regularly. As Winthrop notes, “[…] the Apostle tells us that this love is the fulfilling of the law, not that it is enough to love our brother and so no further; but in regard of the excel18 IBID, p. 179. 19 IBID, p. 179.

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Sentimental Contracts lency of his parts giving any motion to the other as the soul to the body and the power it hath to set all the faculties at work in the outward exercise of this duty; as when we bid one make the clock strike, he doth not lay hand on the hammer, which is the immediate instrument of the sound, but sets on work the first mover or main wheel; knowing that will certainly produce the sound which he intends. So the way to draw men to the works of mercy, is not by force of Argument from the goodness or necessity of the work; for though this cause may enforce, a rational mind to some present act of mercy, as is frequent in experience, yet it cannot work such a habit in a soul, as shall make it prompt upon all occasions to produce the same effect, but by framing these affections of love in the heart which will as naturally bring forth the other, as any cause doth produce the effect.”20

In this passage, Winthrop links for the first time the idea of contractual obligation to God with the idea of selfless love as the basis of community. Practicing selfless love constitutes the fulfillment of the contract because it perfects the body of community in the image of Christ’s example. This “law” makes caring for each other habitual. Emotional commitment is superior to commitment on the basis of mere reason (or threat of punishment). In framing his sermon as a moment of spiritual and legal constitution, Winthrop vies for emotional assent. His argument shuttles back and forth between rationalist legalism and emotional identification, or, what András Sajó calls “constitutional sentiments”:21 “The definition which the Scripture gives us of love is this: ‘Love is the bond of perfection.’ First it is a bond or ligament. Secondly, it makes the work perfect. There is no body but consists of parts and that which knits these parts together, gives the body its perfection, because it makes each part so contiguous to others as thereby they do mutually participate with each other, both in strength and infirmity, in pleasure and pain. To instance in the most perfect of all bodies: Christ and his Church make one body. The several parts of this body considered a part before they were united, were as disproportionate and as much disordering as so many contrary qualities or elements, but when Christ comes, and by his spirit and love knits all these parts to himself and each to other, it is become the most perfect and best 20 IBID, p. 182-83. 21 SAJÓ, 2011, p. 4.

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Damien B. Schlarb proportioned body in the world. Ephesians 4.16: ‘Christ, by whom all the body being knit together by every joint for the furniture thereof, according to the effectual power which is in the measure of every perfection of parts,’[;] ‘a glorious body without spot or wrinkle,’ the ligaments hereof being Christ, or his love, for Christ is love (1 John 4:8). So this definition is right: ‘Love is the bond of perfection.’”22

Since Protestants see Christ as the human embodiment of divinity, creating a community in his image means achieving perfection. And it is precisely because Christ’s doctrines are based on affection that such communal perfection must include the same kind of unadulterated fellow feeling. Importantly, the image of affect as a bond and ligament of the body community identifies what contemporary affect theory considers affect’s characteristic somatic quality. Winthrop sees affect precisely as this accelerant of physical becoming for his intended community.23 Achieving this kind of harmony is a sign of divine election, both of the individual and the group. While the imitatio Christi has been an exegetical and literary trope since the time of the Gospels, Winthrop ups the stakes by arguing that achieving Christ-like empathy actually constitutes a direct commandment from God with which the New England Puritans are tasked: “We are entered into covenant with Him for this work. We have taken out a commission, the Lord hath given us leave to draw our own articles. We have professed to enterprise these actions, upon these and those ends, we have hereupon besought Him of favor and blessing. Now if the Lord shall please to hear us, and bring us in peace to the place we desire, then hath He ratified this covenant and sealed our commission, [and] will expect a strict performance of the articles contained in it; but if we shall neglect the observation of these articles which are the ends we have propounded, and, dissembling with our God, shall fall to embrace this present world and prosecute our carnal intentions […] the Lord will surely break out in wrath

22 WINTHROP, 1630, p. 183. 23 GREGG/SEIGWORTH, 2010, p. 3.

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Sentimental Contracts against us; be revenged of such a perjured people and make us know the price of the breach of such a covenant.”24

Reading Winthrop’s sermon as a narrative in its historical context reveals the emotional imbrications of his rhetorical appeal and shrewd application of covenant theology: first, political persecution in England had illustrated the dangers of authoritarian government, both in the sense of contingency for private property and the possibility of civil uprisings. Fashioning social harmony equally served to quell potential sources of conflict in a colonial community which consisted of merchants and ministers but also included indentured servants, who had to work off the debt for getting passage to the new world. Congregants are to love each other in spirit while accepting the material division between rich and poor. Therein lies the social conundrum Winthrop seeks to resolve. Now the sentimental character of Winthrop’s legal argument emerges fully. Both the form and the temporality of the Puritans’ covenant with God are important here: First, the form of the contract implies mutual commitment of two or more parties. The divine covenant constitutes an act of unreciprocated love on God’s part. He willingly surrenders part of His sovereignty by committing to a people via contractual relation.25 Secondly, the covenant takes effect once the ship reaches the new world. Safe arrival constitutes contract ratification (there are other signs too, e.g., defense against enemies etc.). That means that the community is under divine obligation to implement Winthrop’s model of community. At the end of their transatlantic journey, the fictitious community that Winthrop envisions in his sermon is transformed into an imagined community, in which members are beholden to divine obligation and each other through their common religious believes. The appeal to fellow feeling and the reference to legal obligation are woven into a narrative sequence designed to bridge the division of human nature. Taken together, typology and narrative function as complimentary appeals: The narrative constructs members of the communi24 WINTHROP, 1630, p. 187-88. 25 According to early modern exegetical convention, such effulgence of divine love is what motivates Creation in the first place. Enlightenment believers saw evidence of this in nature’s systematic arrangement, cf. TURNER, 1985, p. 45f and HOLIFIELD, 2003, p. 188ff.

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ty of saints as assenting to a deterministic vision of history by exercising fellow feeling. They do so not from mere rational assent, but out of emotional commitment to each other and to the example of Christ. On the flipside, the need to enter into a covenant with God in order to make the Puritans’ New World venture successful fosters social cohesion. In fact, their eligibility for this contract depends on the actualization of fellow feeling within the community. In the final reckoning, Winthrop insinuates that achieving communal harmony will effectively reconstitute the prelapsarian state of natural innocence and would allow the colonists to create their very own, temporary heaven on earth.

Literature Source WINTHROP, JOHN. A Model of Christian Charity. 1630 and 1838. Old South Leaflets, Old South Association, Old South Meetinghouse, Boston, Massachusetts, No. 207. in Norton Anthology of American Literature (vol.1), 9th ed., pp. 178-89.

Secondary Sources ANDERSON, BENEDICT, Imagined Communities. Reflections on the Origin and Spread of Nationalism, rev. ed., London/New York 2016. (org. publ. 1983) BRUMM, URSULA, American Thought and Religious Typology, New York 1970. DELBANCO, ANDREW, The Puritan Ordeal, rev. ed., Cambridge 1991. ERBEN, PATRICK M., A Harmony of the Spirits. Translation and the Language of Community in Early Pennsylvania, Chapel Hill, NC 2013. GREGG, MELISSA/SEIGWORTH, GREGORY J., An Inventory of Shimmers. The Affect Theory Reader, Durham, NC 2010. pp. 1-28. HOLIFIELD, E. BROOKS, Theology in America: Christian Thought from the Age of the Puritans to the Civil War, New Haven, CT 2003. MILLER, PERRY, Errand into the Wilderness, Cambridge 1956. 82

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PARKER, HERSHEL, Verbal Icons and Flawed Texts. Literary Authority in American Fiction, Evanston, IL 1984. SAJÓ, ANDRÁS, Constitutional Sentiments, New Haven, CT 2011. TURNER, JAMES, Without God, Without Creed. The Origins of Unbelief in America, Baltimore, MD 1985. VAN ENGEN, ABRAM, Origins and Last Farewells: Bible Wars, Textual Form and the Making of American History in New England Quarterly 86, 4 (2013), pp. 543-92. ID., Sympathetic Puritans. Calvinist Fellow Feeling in Early New England, Oxford 2015. WIMSATT, WILLIAM K., The Verbal Icon: Studies in the Meaning of Poetry, Lexington, KY 1954. WULF, KAREN, Bible, King, and Common Law: Genealogical Literacies and Family History Practices in British America in: Early American Studies 10, 3 (2012), pp. 467-502.

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Narrative Elements in Treaties of Peace and Alliance 1 CHARLOTTE BACKERRA I am closing our panel about narrative elements in legal or semi-legal text with a paper about treaties between European Powers. I am a historian working on early modern Europe, and my example is based on parts of my doctoral thesis, which dealt with international relations in the early 18th century.2 Treaties could have many forms and contexts, they could be signed to end wars, to secure alliances, to further economic relations, to formalise a dynastic union with a marriage treaty – they were the legal form of declaring the state of relations between powers, be they princes or republics.3 Formal and binding agreements between ruling monarchs or other heads of state were a common occurrence during the early modern period in Europe. Their form was based on other legal forms of contracts: after an invocation4 – a call upon God as a higher power to bless the settlement – there was the intitulatio5. It stated the contracting 1

2 3 4 5

This chapter is based on a presentation for the panel “Methodology: Narrative Structures in Legal Texts” held at the ISCH 2006 in Trieste, Italy, on 19th July 2016. The text remains in its original structure, with minor linguistic and formal changes. References as well as sources and literature have been added. The thesis will be published as “Wien und London, 1727-1735. Internationale Beziehungen im frühen 18. Jahrhundert” in the Leibniz Institute of European History’s book series. Cf. DUCHHARDT/PETERS, 2008. Cf. SEELMANN, 2006b. Cf. SEELMANN, 2006a.

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parties. As main part of the preamble followed the narratio6 – here, the main cause or context of the treaty was given, either in concrete terms or in a more general manner. This was followed by the names and statuses of the negotiators, who drafted the text on behalf of their monarch. They had to have full powers to negotiate, which was generally mentioned in the text at that point.7 The main part of any treaty consisted of the articles. They covered the terms agreed upon as well as the time frame for the treaty to be signed and ratified. In addition, there could be separate and secret articles, to which most times an addendum was added saying, “This article/declaration shall have the same force as the treaty”. If an article was declared “separate”, this normally meant that it was not added to the main text because there were unsolved problems with it or to cover any unsolved problems. “Secret” articles had a content that was potentially dangerous to one or more of the contracting parties. Secret articles were not openly read or published to avoid any damage to the concerned.8 This much to the legal form of early modern treaties. As to the content, the treaties I examined were those of peace and alliance. Public tranquillity was the explicit aim of international relations between powers in eighteenth century Europe.9 It was seen as the highest aim of any settlement. During peace talks, diplomats and ministers discussed problems to solve any conflicts obstructing peace between the parties. In the legal text of most treaties signed, the solutions were presented with a narration of eternal peace and friendship between the monarchs or the territories they represented, even though the agreements ended wars or suspended hostilities. I argue that in some treaties, narrative elements were used to obscure the realities behind the settlement and to re-write the past, the present or the future. Legal agreements between heads of states were also used to create pressure to force others to agree to certain terms that were otherwise intolerable to them. The reality narrated in treaties of peace and alliance was not necessarily the reality as the contemporaries saw it, but it could change the way the actors related to each other. It 6 7 8 9

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could limit the possible solutions to a given situation in international relations. As an example, I have chosen a treaty from the early eighteenth century, the Second Treaty of Vienna, which was signed on the 16th of March 1731.10 Even though the treaty’s official language was Latin,11 my analysis is based on a contemporary English translation of the text. The translation has no differences to the Latin text for the purpose of my argument.

A Treaty concluded The story of this treaty as it is told by textbooks and collections of treaties is simple: the “Treaty of Peace and Alliance [was] concluded between the Emperor, the King of Great Britain, and the States Generals of the Netherlands, [and was] signed at Vienna, 16 March 1731”.12 It is also what the text tells us at a first glance.

Legal element: Contracting parties The first part contains the naming of the contracting parties. In the preamble, three ruling entities of European states are referred to as the contracting parties, namely: “the most Serene and most Potent Prince and Lord, Charles VI.13 Emperor of the Romans, King of Spain, of both the Sicilys, Hungary and Bohemia, Archduke of Austria, etc., etc., and the most Serene and most Potent Prince

10 Treaty of Peace and Alliance, between the Emperor Charles VI. and George II. King of Great Britain, in which the States General of the United Provinces of the Netherlands are included. Made at Vienna, the 16th of March, 1731, in: KNAPTON et al., 1732, pp. 217-231. 11 Cf. the edited version of the Latin original in PRIBRAM, 1907, pp. 491-514. 12 Treaty of Peace and Alliance, in: KNAPTON et al., 1732, p. 217. 13 Emperor Charles VI, 1685-1740, as Charles III King of Spain 17031714/25, became emperor of the Holy Roman Empire in 1711.

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Charlotte Backerra and Lord, George II.14 King of Great Britain, France and Ireland, together with the High and Mighty Lords of the States General of the United Provinces of the Netherlands.”15

The treaty is therefore a binding agreement between the emperor of the Holy Roman Empire – it was signed in his principle residence in Vienna –, the king of Great Britain, who ruled over all of the British Isles at the time, and the ruling council of the republic of the Netherlands, which were called “States General”. But this is actually not true, as the first separate article tells us. “[The] Treaty concluded this Day between his Imperial Catholick Majesty, his Britannick Majesty, and the High and Mighty Lords the States General of the United Provinces of the Netherlands, cou’d not be subscrib’d or sign’d by the Minister of the said States General residing at the Imperial Court.”16

And when we are looking at the preamble, searching for the negotiating persons, this divergence is also evident in the preamble. “For which purpose, the most High Prince and Lord, Eugene Prince of Savoy and Piedmont, [...] and also the most illustrious and most excellent Lord, Philipp Lewis, [...] Count of Zinzendorf, [...] and also the most illustrious and most excellent Lord, Gundacker Thomas, Count of [...] Staremberg, [...] on the part of his Sacred Imperial and Catholick Majesty; and Thomas Robinson Esq; [...] Minister of his Majesty, of Great Britain to his said Imperial and Catholick Majesty, on the part of his Sacred Royal Majesty of Great Britain; and on the part of the High and Mighty States of the United Provinces of the Netherlands; being all furnish’d with full Powers, after they had held Conferences together, and exchanged their Credential

14 King George II, 1683-1760, hereditary prince of the electorate of Brunswick-Luneburg (Hanover), since 1714 Prince of Wales, became king of Great Britain and Ireland as well as prince elector of Brunswick-Luneburg in 1727. 15 Treaty of Peace and Alliance, in: KNAPTON et al., 1732, p. 217. 16 IBID., p. 228.

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On the part of the emperor, it mentions his three principle ministers, the minister of war, Prince Eugene of Savoy, 18 the chancellor Count Sinzendorff19 and the minister of finances, Count Starhemberg20. The British negotiator was the envoy of the king of Great Britain to the Imperial court, Sir Thomas Robinson, Esquire.21 But on the part of the Dutch republic, no one is named: it seems as if Sir Thomas Robinson would also be the negotiator for the Netherlands; but, if one looks closer, semicolons separate the negotiating groups, without anyone being named for the Dutch.

Narrative Elements: The Present Now, let us look at the content of the actual narratio, the causes and reasons for this treaty: According to the text, the rulers were concerned by, “[...] the present unsettled and preplexed State of Affairs in Europe, [...] those Evils which must naturally arise from the Cavils and Divisions that were daily increasing, [...] the Animositys, and [...] the Differences of the chief Princes of Europe, which as they are heighten’d among themselves, do greatly endanger the publick Tranquillity.” 22

17 Treaty of Peace and Alliance, in: KNAPTON et al., 1732, p. 218. 18 Prince Eugene of Savoy-Carignan, 1663-1736, military officer in the imperial army since 1683, was president of the imperial council of war since 1703. 19 Count Philipp Wenzel of Sinzendorff, 1671-1742, was the imperial high chancellor since 1715. 20 Count Gundaker Thomas Starhemberg, 1663-1745, was involved in the imperial financial administration since 1703, and became president of the financial council in 1716. 21 Sir Thomas Robinson, 1695-1770, was a career diplomat, having started as secretary to the British ambassador in Paris. George II appointed him the British envoy in Vienna in May 1730. 22 Treaty of Peace and Alliance, in: KNAPTON et al., 1732, p. 217.

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I shall not go into any detail about the state of affairs in Europe at the time, just some key points: there had been war between at least some European powers almost every year over the decades preceding this treaty. Some of those wars had been ended by peace treaties, such as the War of the Spanish succession with the treaties of Utrecht, Rastatt and Baden in 1713 and 1714. In the 1720s, attempts were made to solve any unsettled claims and conflicts between the major powers, which were not successful.23 Especially after a treaty of 1729, which was concluded without the emperor and should be force upon him, historians called these years the “Cold War Years” because of the heightened tensions.24 So this part of the narratio – in general terms – is nonetheless a realistic account of the state of Europe at the time.

Narrative Elements: The Past and the Future “[...] [To] prevent those Evils [...], [...] to establish the publick Tranquillity upon a sure and lasting Foundation, and in as easy and speedy a manner as it was possible: For this end their said Majestys and the said States General, being fully animated with a sincere desire to promote so wholesome a Work, and to bring it to Perfection, judg’d it expedient to agree among themselves upon certain general Conditions, which might serve as the Basis for reconciling the Animositys, and settling the Differences of the chief Princes of Europe, which as they are heighten’d among themselves, do greatly endanger the publick Tranquillity.”25

However, the preamble contains narrative elements changing the past and also the future relations between the European powers. It is said that the “Majestys” – the emperor and the king of Great Britain – and the “States General” – the ruling committee of the Netherlands –, “agree[d] among themselves upon certain general Conditions [...].” On the one hand, this suggests a certain unity and communications between all three ruling entities in the past. But, as we have seen, the negotia23 These were the peace congresses of Cambrai and Soissons, cf. LINGENS, 1991. 24 Cf. for the “cold war” GEHLING, 1964, p. 229. 25 Treaty of Peace and Alliance, in: KNAPTON et al., 1732, p. 217.

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tions, mostly between January and March 1731, were conducted only between plenipotentiaries of two powers; diplomatic correspondence proves that the third – the Dutch diplomat – was actually informed about the negotiations in general, but not asked about the exact conditions or contents of the articles.26 Therefore, the second part to which I would like to draw attention, the narrative elements establishing a specific future based on the treaty and its terms, is equally set apart from realistic expectations. The treaty will easily and as soon as possible “prevent [...] evils”, “reconcil[e] Animositys”, and “settl[e] the Differences of the chief Princes of Europe”, which will “establish the publick Tranquillity upon a sure and lasting Foundation.” But the fact that one party was not included in the negotiation process is enough to see that this might not be the point, and this does not take into consideration the other major European powers at the time, namely the kings of France and Spain, who were not pleased about being excluded from any proceedings.27

Narrating Community The same is true for the community built upon the treaty. Article 1: “That there shall be from this time forward, between his Sacred Imperial Catholick Majesty, his Sacred Royal Majesty of Great Britain, the Heirs and Successors of both, and the High and Mighty Lords the States General of the United Provinces of the Netherlands, a firm, sincere and inviolable Friendship, for the mutual Advantage of the Provinces and Subjects belonging to each of the contracting Powers [...].”28

The “firm, sincere and inviolable Friendship”, which was supposed to be established, was supported by two of the parties, namely the emperor and the British king. Both – and their advisors – decided to include the 26 Cf. DUNTHORNE, 1986, pp. 201-211. 27 This was reported by Robinson to the British secretary of state, Baron Harrington, Vienna, 15th June 1731, The National Archives, State Papers 80, 75, s.f. 28 Treaty of Peace and Alliance, in: KNAPTON et al., 1732, p. 218.

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Netherlands, but the Dutch envoy did not receive his full powers in time. The separate article therefore states: “It is agreed between his Imperial Majesty and his Royal Majesty of Great Britain, that the said States General (there being several Conditions in the said Treaty, wherein they are particularly concern’d) shall be held and reputed as a principle contracting Party, according as they are also nam’d in the said Treaty, in firm Hope and Confidence that they wou’d accede to it, as soon as the usual Form of their Government wou’d admit of it.”29

And they just “hoped” that the States General would join their newly affirmed alliance!

Enforcing the narrated reality The two majesties – or rather their ministers – had cause to support such a hope, as is stated in the separate article. “And because of the Zeal which that Republick manifests for establishing and securing the publick Tranquillity, leaves their said Majestys no room to doubt, that the said Republick is desirous of becoming, as soon as may be, a principle contracting Party in the said Treaty, to the end she may partake of the Advantages therein stipulated for her [...].”30

As far as they were concerned, as the treaty would secure the public peace and tranquillity, and the Dutch were publicly talking about supporting anything to establish such a peace-bearing agreement, they just had to agree to the treaty.31 But even then it was clear that it may not take only six weeks for them to approve and ratify it, as was the norm with any treaty at the time and was stated in Article 9 of the treaty. This time frame was doubled, but it was clear that both signing parties were determined to do

29 Treaty of Peace and Alliance, in: KNAPTON et al., 1732, p. 228. 30 IBID., pp. 228f. 31 Cf. DUNTHORNE, 1986, pp. 201-211.

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everything for the States General to give their consent as soon as possible. “[This] Treaty may be sign’d at the Hague on the part of the said States General, within the space of three Months, to be computed from the Day of the signing of the present Treaty, or sooner if possible; for it appear’d necessary both to his Imperial and to his Royal Britannick Majesty, in order to obtain the End propos’d by the present Treaty, and for completing the publick Tranquillity, that the said States General shou’d enter into a Part and Partnership of the said Conventions.”32

Second Treaty of Vienna The last step of this story is to tell you that, in the end, it took eleven months of further negotiations, until the envoy of the emperor could cosign an act of concurrence in the treaty of the Vienna at The Hague in the Netherlands together with representatives of the States Generals, which was called an “Act of Concurrence of the Netherlands in the Treaty of 16 March 1731 between the Emperor and Great Britain, signed at The Hague, 20 February 1732”.33 This was not a new treaty, but just an agreement to consent to the treaty’s terms: ultimately, the States Generals accepted the narrated story of the Second Treaty of Vienna and saw themselves as one of the original partners of 1731.34

Conclusion In 1731, a treaty of Emperor Charles VI, King George II of Great Britain and the States General of the Netherlands was negotiated and signed, mentioning the common aim of public tranquillity and an end to all differences between European powers at the time. In reality, the 32 Treaty of Peace and Alliance, in: KNAPTON et al., 1732, p. 224. 33 Act of Concurrence of the Netherlands in the Treaty of 16 March 1731 between the Emperor and Great Britain, signed at The Hague, 20 February 1732, in: PARRY, 1969, pp. 457-466. 34 Cf. DUNTHORNE, 1986, pp. 206f.

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Netherlands had taken no part in the peace talks; it took another eleven months before the Dutch side formally acceded to the treaty with a separate agreement. But because of the supposed agreement, all powers had to adhere to the alliance even before it was signed. The analysis of narrative elements in so-called peace treaties thus offers an insight into the complex reality of international relations in the early eighteenth century despite all outward wordings of peace and alliance.

Literature Sources KNAPTON, JAMES et al. (eds.), A general collection of treatys of peace and commerce, manifestos, declarations of war, and other publick papers, from the End of the Reign of Queen Anne to the Year 1731. Vol. IV. [...], London 1732. PARRY, CLIVE (ed.), The Consolidated Treaty Series. Vol. 33: 17271732, New York 1969. PRIBRAM, ALFRED FRANCIS (ed.), Österreichische Staatsverträge England. Vol. 1: 1526-1748, Innsbruck 1907.

Secondary Literature BACKERRA, CHARLOTTE, Wien und London, 1727-1735. Faktoren der internationalen Beziehungen im frühen 18. Jahrhundert, unpublished PhD thesis, Mainz 2017. DUCHHARDT, HEINZ/PETERS, MARTIN (eds.), Instrumente des Friedens. Vielfalt und Formen von Friedensverträgen im vormodernen Europa, Mainz 25.06.2008, http://www.ieg-mainz.de/vieg-online- beihefte/03- 2008.html, 15.02.2018. DUNTHORNE, HUGH, The Maritime Powers, 1721-1740. A Study of Anglo Dutch Relations in the Age of Walpole, New York 1986. ESPENHORST, MARTIN, Geheimhaltung als Instrument vormoderner Friedenssicherung, in: Geheime Post. Kryptographie und Steganographie der diplomatischen Korrespondenz europäischer Höfe wäh-

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rend der Frühen Neuzeit, edited by ANNE-SIMONE ROUS/MARTIN MULSOW, Berlin 2015, p. 73-85. GEHLING, THEO, Ein europäischer Diplomat am Kaiserhof zu Wien: François Louis de Pesme, Seigneur de Saint-Saphorin, als englischer Resident am Wiener Hof 1718-1727, Bonn 1964. LINGENS, KARL-HEINZ, Kongresse im Spektrum der friedenswahrenden Instrumente des Völkerrechts. Cambrai und Soissons als Beispiele frühneuzeitlicher Praxis, in: Zwischenstaatliche Friedenswahrung in Mittelalter und Früher Neuzeit, edited by HEINZ DUCHHARDT, Köln 1991, p. 205-226. SEELMANN, PETER, Intitulatio, in: Friedensverträge der Vormoderne. Lexikon, edited by historicum.net, 2006a, https://www.historicum. net/themen/friedensvertraege-der-vormoderne/lexikon/a-m/artikel/ intitulatio/, 15.02.2018. ID., Invocatio, in: Friedensverträge der Vormoderne. Lexikon, edited by historicum.net, 2006b, https://www.historicum.net/themen/friedensvertraege-der-vormoderne/lexikon/a-m/artikel/invocatio/, 15.02.2018. ID., Narratio, in: Friedensverträge der Vormoderne. Lexikon, edited by historicum.net, 2006c, https://www.historicum.net/themen/friedensvertraege-der-vormoderne/lexikon/n-z/artikel/narratio/, 15.02.2018. ID., Vollmacht, in: Friedensverträge der Vormoderne. Lexikon, edited by historicum.net, 2006d, https://www.historicum.net/themen/ friedensvertraege-der-vormoderne/lexikon/n-z/artikel/vollmacht/, 15.02.2018.

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The Jerusalem Experience Comparing Theme Park Versions of the Ho ly Land CÉLINE MOLTER Today1, I would like to talk about places where Jesus Christ is crucified every day, where his statue rises every hour from a mountain, where I saw Goliath fight a kid in a taco-T-Shirt and where monks with megaphones taught me how to lead a good life: I subsume them under the term “religious theme parks”. The Holy Land is not only a destination for pilgrimage and tourism, it has also a long tradition of being reimagined and re-created in multiple forms of media. Christian theme parks are hyper-media, which combine those imageries to wholesome immersive experiences and, at the same time, create their own versions of the Holy Land, inspired by cultural, ideological, political, economic and denominational considerations. During this talk I shall present two examples of Holy Land representations in theme parks and analyze the multiple influences that shape the very different outcome of what is promoted, each as an authentic experience of the life world of Jesus Christ. In order to provide more detailed information on the strategies of creating immersion and the differences of the representations, I shall compare how both parks depict the iconic scene of the Last Supper. I have visited both parks multiple times; the first, Tierra Santa in Buenos Aires, in 2015 and the second, Holy Land Experience in Orlando, Flori1

Talk held at the ISCH Annual Conference in Umeå, 27.06.2017. This is a slightly revised version of the talk, with photographs being replaced by descriptions.

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da, in 2017. Both refer to the Holy Land in their name and claim on their homepages to take visitors 2000 years into the past, into the lifeworld of Jesus: “Tierra Santa is the first religious theme park in Latin America […]. A cultural and historical bridge that depicts the customs of every religion and transports the visitor two thousand years into the past to Jerusalem of antiquity.”2 “The Holy Land Experience brings together the sights and sounds of the world of the Bible in a unique and interactive way unlike anywhere else. It is a living, biblical museum that takes you 7000 miles away and 2000 years back in time to the land of the Bible.”3

I refer to both places as theme parks, although this definition is problematic. Whereas Tierra Santa uses the term as a self-description, Holy Land Experience remarkably avoids it nowadays – although there are some traces indicating a former self-positioning in a theme park context. In the “History”-section of its homepage it is stated that its founder “purchased property on the I-4 corridor to world famous theme parks” and “Under the direction of Dr. Paul and Jan Crouch, the park began to flourish”.4 In the US, the question whether the place is a theme park, a museum or a ministry is relevant for its treatment under fiscal law, so the avoidance of the term can have multiple practical and ideological reasons. Theme parks, in contrast to living history museums, make no claim for historical accuracy and authenticity, and therefore cannot be criticized for the lack thereof – and Holy Land Experience uses the term biblical museum in favor of history museum, defining the represented past as interpretational rather than historical. The self-definition of Holy Land Experience keeps changing since its foundation and identity politics have always determined the appear2

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http://www.tierrasanta.com.ar/TS/index.php, 10.04.2017. Translation by the author. Original citation: “Tierra Santa es el primer parque temático religioso de América Latina [...]. Un puente cultural e histórico, que representa las costumbres de cada religión y transporta al visitante dos mil años al pasado a la antigua Jerusalén.” https://holylandexperience.com/about/, 10.04.2017. https://holylandexperience.com/history/, 10.04.2017.

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ance of the place to a great extent5 , which I shall discuss later. For this presentation, I shall stay with the term theme park, as my focus is on the theming of the place, meaning the strategies of creating a coherent stage setting that differs from the outside world and aims to transport its visitors with all their senses to, in this case, the Holy Land of the past. As hyper-media, theme parks use multiple techniques to immerse visitors in the presented stories by experiencing them with all their senses (one can feel the small size of adobe houses, visit a mosque wearing socks, smell and taste Middle Eastern food or touch a nail just like the one used to crucify Jesus). I would argue that this is especially true for visitors of religious theme parks, who journey there with the explicit desire to revive stories and places that are already well known to them. One woman I met at Holy Land Experience wanted to see the theme park because her husband had been to Jerusalem years ago and she was eager to “get at least a glimpse of the sublime feeling that he must have had, being there”6. Many of them want the place to feel true; it is the atmosphere that matters more than the historical facts. Hence, as Ada Louise Huxtable demonstrates in her criticism of “authentic reproduction” sites in her book The Unreal America, recreations of historic places or époques reveal much more about what is considered historic and “real” by their creators and visitors than about the actual time and place that is shown.7 In my examples, denominational preferences, state politics and individual taste mingle with very different imaginaries of the biblical Jerusalem.

Example No. 1: Tierra Santa, a Catholic Jerusalem, featuring Gandhi and Luther Tierra Santa is promoted as the first religious theme park in Latin America. It opened in Buenos Aires in 2000 to celebrate the jubilee of the birth of Jesus Christ. After paying the entrance fee of about € 8 during my 2015 visit, visitors to the park, most of them local, Spanishspeaking church and school groups, are ushered into the first show, “El 5 6 7

CALLAHAN, 2010, pp. 60-65. Interview taken by the author at Holy Land Experience, 02.03.2017. HUXTABLE, 1997, p. 18f.

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Pesebre”, the birth of Christ, by park employees dressed as roman soldiers. The show consists of a huge nativity scene with moving, animatronic figures, accompanied by changing lights, music and a voice telling the story from the scripture. The organizational function of the show is to stage an entrance into the represented time-space and to gather the visitors into a group that leaves the auditorium together and is received at the “city gate” by guides dressed in Franciscan robes (random convent robes for the women), and equipped with megaphones, who lead the group through the park and explain the exhibits. The first part of the tour moves past different stations in the life of Christ, presented as life-size figures made from polyurethane, and ends at the next animatronic show (one of the oldest of the park), “La Última Cena”, the Last Supper, immediately after passing through the souvenir shop. The visitor brochures promote the Last Supper as the most emotional of the shows. The setting is comparably small and intimate, only about 30 people fit into the room. Jesus and his disciples are grouped around a table, but the four who sit on the opposite side of the table and would normally turn their backs to the audience, facing Jesus, are positioned on descending steps to his right and left and face the audience, turning their backs to the other disciples. Their hand and face gestures are invitational and the entire depiction creates a bridge from the elevated position of Jesus to the audience down below and makes one feel included into the scene. Accompanied by strings, changing lights and occasionally moving puppet heads, the story is re-enacted. The narrative emphasizes the love Jesus spread that night. The show takes about two and a half minutes and the scene remains illuminated for souvenir pictures afterwards. Unlike the others in the park, this show features neither technical innovation nor a spectacle, and the figures seem to be in very bad maintenance – the mechanics and cables in Jesus’ throat are visible during the performance. But visitors were nonetheless impressed. Immersion happens here because people know the story, they know how it ended, and they are forced to sit through it and focus. After the Last Supper show, visitors are given a lunch break and requested to gather one hour later to learn about the suffering, death and resurrection of Jesus. During Holy Week, which is the park’s high season, life actors perform the crucifixion. However, during my visit in

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March, the tour progressed again through motionless polyurethane figures. The Franciscan tour guide told the story interjecting various moral issues in the form of questions, such as “Would you have asked Jesus to help him carry the cross? Do you know anyone who is carrying a cross right now and might need your help?”. If visitors were to stroll the streets without a tour guide, the chronology of the story would be hard to follow, as it is scattered between a mosque, a synagogue, Gandhi’s study and Mother Teresa’s hospital (to name just a few). The tour halts in an auditorium for a picture slide presentation of Pope Francis and his international journeys, mainly to the Holy Land. It finally ends outside the city gate, in the entrance area, were Golgotha mountain towers on the rooftop of the nativity show. There is an interesting break of immersion, as the entire park is surrounded by high walls; however, from Jesus’ viewpoint at the mountain top, one can see an adjacent public swimming pool and the skyline of Buenos Aires. Every 60 minutes, the main attraction appears, “La Resurrección”, the Resurrection: a huge Jesus statue emerges from the mountain, accompanied by ringing church bells and hallelujah chants, turns around and nods to the people below. The statue is visible from almost everywhere in the park, and people can gather around a small booth and buy ice cream and popcorn while watching the spectacle. Before leaving the park, visitors are ushered into the last and most recent show, which is also located under Golgotha mountain: “La Creación”, the Creation. The technological effects in this spectacle are much more elaborate than in the older shows and visitors are told how the world was created according to the bible (which is presented as a story, not as the only truth). During my first visit, I was confused by this break of chronology, but it seems to make sense to have visitors leave with a fresh memory of the best spectacle the park has to offer. After multiple visits, I subsumed my experience into three contradictions I had observed: x

First, the park is operated and financed by secular institutions; among others a national federation of business entrepreneurs, Sindicato de Empleados de Comercio. But its attractions, the emotion-

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x

x

al shows, rich with moral advice, aim to make visitors’ experience spirituality in general rather than teach about religion. Second, it claims to present Jerusalem at the lifetime of Jesus, but shows the city as a bricolage of times and spaces, by featuring for example the Cafarnaum Synagogue, Al Aqsa Mosque, Gandhi’s house and Martin Luther’s scriptorium. Due to the variety of religious exhibits, the park promotes itself as non-denominational, which leads to the third contradiction: that the rest of it is a representation of the Christian faith from a strongly catholic perspective. A giant blessing by the current pope, Francis, greets visitors at the entrance and numerous altars for the different catholic saints invite for prayers.

All these contradictions can be explained by the circumstances surrounding the creation of the park: The preceding 1990s under president Carlos Menem had seen the most violent interreligious struggles in the history of Argentina: external quarrels with Arab leaders during the Gulf War and severe bomb attacks on Jewish institutions in Buenos Aires required a symbol of unity and peace, like Tierra Santa. By the way, Menem was the last Argentinian president who had to convert to Catholicism (from Islam) by law of the constitution. This law was abandoned under his presidency in 1994. According to a tour guide, the park was constructed under great time pressure. It is located within a large recreation area, Parque Norte and, as rumors go, it was supposed to become a regular amusement park with thrill rides. However, as it is located next to the local airport and airplanes cross it at very low altitude, it was not possible to erect high structures. Thus, the sculptor Fernando Pugliese was hired to realise his idea of a Jerusalem replica, perfectly in time to celebrate the Millennium and the nomination of Jorge Maria Bergoglio as archbishop of Buenos Aires in 1998.8 A blessing by Bergoglio, now pope Francis, greets visitors from a giant billboard right at the park entrance. Although Tierra Santa was constructed with a strong catholic mindset, it also mentions other religions for the sake of a symbolic (and nationalist) message of peace.

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The detailed construction process of the park is shown on a DVD which is sold at the souvenir shop.

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Example No. 2: Holy Land Experience, Orlando’s Christian alternative to Disneyland Holy Land Experience in Orlando, Florida, was opened in 2001 by a Christian Convert to Judaism to inform believers about the Judaist roots of Christianity (and, as critics say, to prove that Christianity has superseded Judaism9). Even after Trinity Broadcasting Network (TBN), an international evangelical media corporation, took over in 2007, this is still a topic in the park, as visitors can buy tallits and menorahs in the souvenir shop, for example. When I visited the park in March 2017, I was surprised by the tight schedule of life shows that structures the visit and leaves hardly any time to stroll around what is called Jerusalem. Visitors have to go through a security control at the entrance gate and are then invited to the park by a costumed high priest who blows his horn. A “morning praise” greets them in front of a replica of the great temple: Israelites in colorful costumes dance, wave their flags and sing “Shalom”, creating a somewhat religious Disney atmosphere. The rest of the park is more a faithfully decorated background than a serious attempt to recreate the Holy Land – there is Golgotha mountain next to a small pond, surrounded by hedges which are trimmed to form the words “He is Risen”, a wall with appellations to Jesus written in different fonts, a closed food stall with a sign saying “Last Snack”, a wailing wall promising the “Monthly transportation to Israel provided free of charge” for posted prayers, a “Jerusalem scale model” inside a souvenir shop, a collection of rare Bibles in the “Scriptorium” and Stations of the Cross carved in stone next to painted roman columns. But visitors spend most of their day inside the Church of all Nations, a huge, colosseum-like auditorium with a large stage, equipped with an LED wall to watch up to five live musical shows, each between 20 and 60 minutes long, featuring stories from the Old and New Testament. The play “The promise” was the most important show during the period of my visit, depicting the life, suffering and death of Jesus Christ. When I decided not to attend the show during my first visit of the park, instead strolling through the empty streets of Jerusalem, 9

E.g. BEAL, 2005, p. 55.

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guides were chasing after me, trying to convince me to return to the theater. The show was advertised as follows: “THE PROMISE. The Life & Ministry of Jesus (A New Passion Drama Experience). A brand new production featuring original music score & songs, takes you on a journey leading to the cross.”10 During the Last Supper scene of the show (which I attended during a subsequent visit of the park), the actors were grouped at one side of the table, just as depicted in Da Vinci’s painting, although missing the individual character traits he had given them. This exact scene was shown again in another play, called the “Miracle of the Upper Room”, which took place several times a day in a smaller auditorium built like a roman brick house, where the story of the Last Supper as a Passover meal was told from the host’s perspective. This show closed with a video projection of the pre-recorded supper scene to one wall of the room, thus turning the play back into its original two-dimensional form of a fresco. When I asked other visitors about the scene as shown at Holy Land Experience, the similarity with Da Vinci’s painting was obvious to most of them, but at the same time, they were convinced that they were watching a “truthful” depiction of the event. “This is how it is remembered, right?” one of them said. This perception might add to Cornelius Holtorf’s idea about the “pastness”11 that is ascribed to a certain object. Holtorf applies the concept to modern-day reconstructions of imagined pasts, which would show, for example, Greek temples in the form of ruins. But the concept can be useful, too, when extended to immaterial objects such as the reenactment of the Last Supper. At Holy Land Experience, it takes place in a state-of-the-art performance theater, the scenery is provided by an LED picture. But, just like an artificial patina, the evocation of Da Vinci’s image composition adds to the perception of the situation as historical, because this picture is a solid part of collective memory. Present day visitors still learn about the life of Jesus through the intertextual reference, the lens of renaissance artistic style, and remain mostly unconscious of the fact.

10 http://www.holylandexperience.com/calendar/live_shows_2010.html, 10.04.2017. 11 HOLTORF, 2016, p. 31.

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In the Holy Land Experience version, the disciples are dressed rather modestly and their individual personalities cannot be identified. During the last years, the park had featured many different versions of the Last Supper scene. In one of them, Jesus and his disciples were wax figures grouped around three tables, dressed in precious gowns and jewelry12. The design change of the Last Supper scene reflects the change of representation politics of the park during the past years. Following the Disney Model, TBN had used it as an event location to enhance the immersive potential of its two-dimensional television contents. It became the personal project of co-founder Jan Crouch, who was a televangelist celebrity until her death in 2016. Crouch was known for her eccentric taste and provoked a number of media scandals with her public display of wealth, like renting a luxury apartment for her dogs.13 Heritage struggles after her death led to a complete remodeling of the park, starting with a huge garage sale to get rid of the most precious and thus morally questionable park items (such as a golden Harley Davidson – and the Last Supper scene)14. There are no more wax figures left for display and the focus has shifted towards live performances with human actors. In his famous Essay on Hyperreality, Umberto Eco mentions six wax models of Da Vinci’s Last supper, which he encountered in various wax museums throughout the United States15. Transferring the painting into a life-size, three-dimensional shape was meant to make it “more real”. Wax dummies cannot interact with visitors, so Holy Land Experience shifted back to human actors for more reality, simultaneously promoting a shift from object to subject, thus criticizing the catholic pomposity and following the individualist ideal of born again Christians. In addition to the new, modest theater play, Holy Land Experience visitors can book behind-the-scenes tours to the costume workshop and 12 Tripadvisor review (with photo) by Karen S, Charleston, South Carolina, on March 6, 2015. https://www.tripadvisor.com/ShowUserReviewsg34515-d318444-r258078827-Holy_Land_Experience-Orlando_Florida.ht ml#UR258078827, 10.04.2017. 13 See e.g. ZADRODZNY in The Daily Beast, 06.05.2016: “Goodbye to the Queen of Jesus TV, Jan Crouch”. 14 See e.g. BRINKMANN in the Orlando Sentinel, 20.07.2016: “Holy Land Experience to unload furniture, statues amid financial turmoil”. 15 ECO, 1989, pp. 16-18.

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stage technology or follow guides, dressed in Indiana Jones-like archeologist costumes, around the Jerusalem scale model and Golgotha mountain to learn about the historical background of the places (still from the park’s ideological perspective).

Final remarks I observed religious theme parks to be arenas for the most different discourses that shape the visitor`s imagination of biblical history. Holy Land Experience bears the traces of every transformation it has undergone to date: Its founder’s anti-Judaism, Jan Crouch’s eccentric taste, the heritage struggles, approaches for protestant (meaning “proper” scripture-based) theming and TBN’s televangelization strategies, whereas the Catholic worshipper at Tierra Santa was constantly sidetracked by half-heartedly presented information about Islam and Judaism, for political reasons. It is all mixed together to a self-conscious and compelling re-presentation of the “Jerusalem of antiquity”, being experienced and remembered16 by hundreds of thousands of visitors per year. Religious theme parks promise family entertainment and consider themselves open to everyone who pays the entrance fee, thus seemingly dissolving differences of race, religion, and class among visitors. Yet, stronger than secular theme parks, they aim to represent and teach visitors about a certain world view. Most of them are immersive media for evangelization17, and they are currently evolving, especially in the US, from small individual or family enterprises to million-dollar projects initiated by international missionary enterprises. Lately, the US parks are actively promoting themselves as family entertainment areas for all those, who experience the present as morally depraved due to newly introduced gay marriage rights or the negation of the Christian creation 16 Considering after FREITAG/CARLÀ, 2014, and CARLÀ, 2016, that immersive, first-hand experiences can have a strong impact on how history is being remembered, even if people know that they are in a fictional representation. 17 And as such e.g. listed and described by WARD, 2008, pp. 161-172. The book is published by InterVarsity Christian Fellowship/USA, an association of evangelical students in the USA.

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narrative in favor of Darwin’s theory of evolution.18 Or, as a guide at the Creation Museum (another Christian themed attraction) put it: “Learning about the life and suffering of Jesus Christ in a multi-sensory experience is an enjoyable and educative way to remind people of their accountability to their creator in heaven – especially as the current political leaders, Obama and Trump, have made state politics highly unpopular.”19

Literature BEAL, TIMOTHY K.: Roadside Religion: In Search of the Sacred, the Strange, and the Substance of Faith, Boston 2005. BRINKMANN, PAUL: Holy Land Experience to unload furniture, statues amid financial turmoil, in: Orlando Sentinel, 20.07.2016, http://www.orlandosentinel.com/business/brinkmann-onbusiness/os-holy-land-auction-20160719-story.html, 10.04.2017. CALLAHAN, SARA B. DYKINS: Where Christ Dies Daily: Performances of Faith at Orlando’s Holy Land Experience, Graduate Theses and Dissertations, University of Southern Florida 2010, http://scholar commons.usf.edu/etd/1586. CARLÀ, FILIPPO: The Uses of History in Themed Spaces, in: A Reader in Themed and Immersive Spaces, ed. by SCOTT A. LUKAS, Pittsburgh 2016, pp. 9-30. ECO, UMBERTO: Travels in Hyperreality. Essays, San Diego et al. 1989, pp. 3-58. FREITAG, FLORIAN/CARLÀ, FILIPPO: Ancient Greek Culture and Myth in the Terra Mítica Theme Park, in: Classical Receptions Journal 7/2 (2014), pp. 242-259. HOLTORF, CORNELIUS: Pastness in Themed Environments, in: A Reader in Themed and Immersive Spaces, ed. by SCOTT A. LUKAS, Pittsburgh 2016, pp. 31-38.

18 See e.g. Answers in Genesis’ director Ken Ham at the NRB Christian Media Convention in Orlando 2017, https://www.youtube.com/watch?v =mLU1ecpQPaM, 10.04.2017. 19 Interview taken by the author at the Creation Museum, 02.03.2017.

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HUXTABLE, ADA LOUISE: The Unreal America. Architecture and Illusion, New York 1997. LOWENTHAL, DAVID: The Past as a Theme Park, in: Theme Park Landscapes: Antecedents and Variations, ed. by TERENCE YOUNG/ ROBERT RILEY, Washington D.C. 2002, pp. 11-23. SANTANA, RICHARD W./ERICKSON, GREGORY: Religion and Popular Culture. Rescripting the Sacred, Jefferson 2016. SCHLEHE, JUDITH/HOCHBRUCK, WOLFGANG: Introduction: Staging the Past, in: Staging the Past. Themed Environments in Transcultural Perspectives, ed. by JUDITH SCHLEHE et al., Bielefeld 2010, pp. 720. STEINKRÜGER, ERIK: Thematisierte Welten. Über Darstellungspraxen in Zoologischen Gärten und Vergnügungsparks, Bielefeld 2013. WARD, ANNALEE: Faith-Based Theme Parks and Museums: Multidimensional Media, in: Understanding Evangelical Media. The Changing Face of Christian Communication, ed. by QUENTIN H. SCHULTZE/ROBERT H. WOODS JR., Downers Grove 2008, pp. 161172. ZADRODZNY, BRANDY: Goodbye to the Queen of Jesus TV, Jan Crouch, in: The Daily Beast, 06.05.2016, http://www.thedailybeast.com/articles/2016/06/05/goodbye-to-the-queen-of-jesus-tv.html, 10.04.2017.

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Searching for other spaces, or: How useful is Foucault's concept of heterotopias as a method for historical research effectively? 1 MONIKA FROHNAPFEL-LEIS Trial records of the Spanish Inquisition are a rich source for questions of deviant behavior in historic societies2, as they provide the researcher with the possibility to take a look inside early modern mentalities and daily live. Especially the testimonies offer a colorful inside into the relationships of those involved in a case. Often, this is the direct social environment.

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This article is a completely revised and supplemented version of a paper I presented at the M.A. Students Open Forum at the Dipartimento Tempo, Spazio, Immagine, Società (TeSIS) of the University of Verona, where I had the pleasure to study during a four-week research stay in FebruaryMarch 2015. My sojourn there was extremely inspiring because of the possibility to work together with Professor Dr Alessandro Arcangeli and Professor Dr Federico Barbierato, two important representatives for doing cultural history as early modern historical science in Italy today. They got me in contact with the named Forum. I would like to thank both of them. Further, I am grateful to Mattia Corso, Liana Bonfrisco, Anna Maria Vantini and the other members of the Forum, who discussed this paper vividly with me in March 2015, for their valuable suggestions. Last but not least: Thanks to the Research Unit Historical Cultural Sciences at the Johannes Gutenberg-University, Mainz for the generous research grant. For an overview of recent research on deviance and deviant behavior in historic societies cf. ROGGE, 2016.

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I am interested in sorcery and false saintliness in early modern Spain – both counted as typically female delicts3 –, especially in the question, how these religious practices were perceived by the nearest environment of the accused, normally family members, neighbors, friends, colleagues and so on. The trial acts sued by the Spanish Inquisition are the perfect source for this aim, because this institution’s intent and official charge was to control any deviant behavior in a wider religious sense4. In the following, I would like to explain how I made use of the concept of heterotopias in my thesis, where I focused on the situation in early modern Spain. While working on these religious deviances, I wondered how I could discover something “new” within an already quite well studied area of research, that is to say: How I could achieve results beyond the mere description of the various types of sorcery and false saintliness? So, I examined the sources I used looking for key words, and then marking them with colored pencils. For example: yellow signified a woman who had visions and also followers5, green meant that a love spell was performed6, blue for the mixing of sacred and profane items for sorcery purposes 7, red signified a woman who caused scandals by her behavior, for example by talking about her vi-

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Although there had also been male sorcerers and male “false” saints, the majority of them happened to be female, cf. FROHNAPFEL-LEIS, 2018 (forthcoming). For the contrasting of male and female magic cf. TAUSIET, 2004, p. 553. The number of studies concerning the Spanish Inquisition and its impact and social control on society and religion in early modern Spain is extensive. Thus, I would like to name just some of the most important works on the topic here: MARTÍNEZ MILLÁN, 2009; ANDERSON, 2002; POSKA, 1998; KAMEN, 1997; NALLE, 1992; HENNINGSEN, 1980. Focusing especially on women before the Spanish Inquisition are SCHLAU, 2013; VOLLENDORF, 2005; GILES, 1999. For example the tertiary nun Francisca Rosellò, whose trial in Valencia took place between 1624 and 1626, cf. Archivo Universitario de València, Varias 42/10. For example Ana Bautista, cf. Archivo Histórico Nacional (= henceforth ‘AHN’), Section Inquisition (= Inq.) 2022, Expediente [‘file’] (= Exp.) 36, folio [‘sheet’] (= f.) 1r-3v (1620-21) or Juana de Roda, cf. AHN, Inq. 2022, Exp. 38, f. 19v-21r (1623-24), both accused in Murcia. For example Florentina López, who had to face an Inquisitorial trial in Murcia in 1621, cf. AHN, Inq. 2022, Exp. 36, f. 4v.

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sions8, orange told about deception by acting the saint9, brown stood for obedience and disobedience by religious women 10, and so on. This way, I managed to find a certain “order” within this great mass of statements. Although I had a corpus consisting of 18 cases only, it was meaningful enough. In the course of time, I found that those key words I had colored in fact signified various reasons for exclusion. They were the motivation for neighbors, friends, and family members to declare, to label a woman as being deviant11 and to finally decide to denounce her before the Inquisition. The following was the second step: So far, I had gathered a broad variety of reasons for exclusion. In order to have it clearly arranged, I created three groups of reasons, three groups of exclusion categories: one was directly owed to the form of practicing one’s faith, one to “social” reasons and, last but not least, reasons with a direct reference to the gender. So far, so good – now that I had found those three groups of exclusion categories, how could I make use of them? I asked myself what exactly happened when those heterodox, disobedient, deviant women performed their religious practice. They were moving in a certain kind of space! And then I discovered Michel Foucault’s essay “Of other spaces”12. Even prior to this discovery, I had been convinced of using “space” as a method for seeing “more” and for seeing it in a more differentiated way13, but now I was utterly fascinated by it due to Foucault’s heterotopias. His comments about heterotopias and of crisis heterotopias in the so-called primitive societies as “these are privileged or sacred or forbidden places, reserved for individuals who are, in relation to society and to the human environment in which they live, in a 8 9 10

11 12 13

For example sister Clara de San Francisco, Canary Islands 1639-42, cf. AHN, Inq. 1823, Exp. 1. For example the lay nun María de San Bartolomé in 1639-42 on the Canary Islands, cf. AHN, Inq. 1823, Exp. 1. For example again Francisca Rosellò and also Teresa Valle de la Cerda, Toledo 1628, cf. Biblioteca Histórica de la Universitat de València, MS 310/7: Acusación y sentencia de Doña Theresa Valle de la Çerda Priora del Monasterio de San Plaçido de Madrid. For the concept of labelling a person’s behavior as deviant cf. BECKER, 1981, p. 8. FOUCAULT, 2005. RAU, 2016, p. 24; introductive to the concept of space as a method in historical research cf. RAU, 22017.

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state of crisis”14 called my attention. As examples he names adolescents, menstruating women, pregnant women, the elderly” 15, and so on. Foucault states that these crisis heterotopias were more and more disappearing, although some traces could still be found also in later societies: for example, the honeymoon trip for girls or the first manifestations of sexual virility for men were supposed to take place “elsewhere”16. Foucault remarks further that theses heterotopias of crisis would disappear today (this means in 1967) and would be replaced by some other type of heterotopias, heterotopias of deviation: when one’s “behavior is deviant in relation to the required mean or norm”, for example: rest homes, psychiatric hospitals or prisons17. And so I wondered whether the reasons for exclusion I found in my sources could also be some sort of heterotopias of deviation, “other places”. Following this thought, I wondered which kind of places I could identify in the sources I studied: I found real as well as metaphorical spaces. Examples for real spaces were: women meeting at one of their houses in order to perform a spell18. This indication reminded me of other “female spaces”, such as backing bread together in the public oven or doing the laundry together19, or the sitting order of men and women on the left or the right side in an early modern church 20. Another example could be the close living arrangements in early modern cities, which did not leave much room for private spheres (a little like Venice or Regensburg still today). In this narrow housing situation, the doors between houses and dwellings as well as the windows towards the streets would normally remain open. Under these terms, the neighbors could communicate continually – perfect conditions for social control21. If one of the residents decided to close the doors and the windows – during the day – so that none could observe her or his doings for

14 15 16 17 18

FOUCAULT, 2005, p. 936. IBID. IBID. IBID., p. 937. For example in the trial against Ana Bautista, cf. AHN, Inq. 2022, Exp. 36, f. 1 r-v. 19 Here I follow María Tausiet, cf. TAUSIET, 2004, p. 374. 20 For the church seating arrangements cf. SIGNORI, 2004. 21 Cf. EIBACH, 2011, p. 623.

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a while, it was considered to be improper and caused suspiciousness22. The same applied for hiding items under one’s bed or under the floorboards, as it was practiced by Isabel Rodríguez in 160723. When thinking about space in a metaphorical, non-material and nonlocatable sense a knowledge space could be an example for it. One type of female knowledge space could be created by the transfer of sorcery insights from one woman to another, for example when a sorceress told another woman how to perform a love spell, which she herself had been told by another woman before. It could also be seen in love spells appearing in the form of protection spells against a violent husband, when women formed a kind of help-network by counseling each other to seek out any sorceress or even one in particular24. Looking at the complex of false saintliness, we can find even more examples: a religious woman who wrote sermons25, who had followers26 or who planned to create a second apostolate27; that means: a woman in a male role – she entered spaces normally reserved for priests or men in general, in any case not for lay women 28. This refers to what Foucault explained in his fifth principle concerning heterotopias: “Heterotopias always presuppose a system of opening

22 Some of the witnesses reported that the accused Isabel Rodríguez kept the doors closed by day, cf. AHN, Inq. 1824, Exp. 4, f. 6r-v, 13r. 23 Isabel Rodríguez hit forbidden devotional items, namely a picture of Saint Marta, who counted as a ‘heterodox’ saint, under her bed, cf. AHN, Inq. 1824, Exp. 4, f. 16v, 18r-20r. 24 For example in the trial in Murcia against the 20-year old Cecilia López who admitted having made use of a spell in order to protect herself against a violent prone husband, cf. AHN, Inq. 2022, Exp. 31, f. 15r. 25 For example the tertiary nun Isabel del Castillo in Córdoba, cf. Biblioteca Histórica de la Universitat de València, MS 752/14: Proceso en la Inquisición de Córdoba a Isabel del Castillo. 26 Like for instance again Francisca Rosellò. 27 For example the nun and prioress Teresa Valle de la Cerda in her cloister San Plácido in Madrid, cf. Biblioteca Histórica de la Universitat de València, MS 310/7: Acusación y sentencia de Doña Theresa Valle de la Çerda Priora del Monasterio de San Plaçido de Madrid. 28 I am very grateful to the Arbeitskreis Historische Frauen- und Geschlechterforschung (AKHFG) and would like to thank especially Anne Conrad, Michaela Bill-Mrziglod, Susanne Schulz and Lina Peiffer for their precious suggestions; concerning this topic cf. my forthcoming article FROHNAPFELLEIS, 2019.

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and closing that both isolates them and makes them penetrable. […] the heterotopic site is not freely accessible like a public place”29. Deviant women often found themselves being excluded from certain spaces, for example from male spaces or spaces exclusively reserved for clerics. But this did not mean that they were deprived of all their possibilities to act: on the contrary, this exclusion and the women’s own acting also opened spaces by creating a metaphorical space of knowledge concerning sorcery. A group of women performing a love spell could be one example for such an unclosed space in a “material” sense, because during this special performance it could be locatable in one of their dwellings. In conclusion of these considerations, Foucault’s heterotopias helped me to delve deeper into the context of knowledge – spaces – exclusion without necessarily trying to explore the protagonists’ “real intention”, which is hardly manageable in any case. Instead, I was able to concentrate on what the witnesses and accused effectively stated without the necessity to interpret it. By making use of the concept of heterotopias, I was able to see “more” in the way that I simply tried to register testimonies without trying to construe them. Coming back to the question of the benefit of operating with Foucault’s concept of heterotopias as a method for historical research, I would like to affirm that it was very useful to me.

Literature Sources Archivo Histórico Nacional, Madrid: - AHN, Inq. 1823, Exp. 1 [Clara de San Francisco] - AHN, Inq. 1823, Exp. 1 [María de San Bartolomé] - AHN, Inq. 1824, Exp. 4, f. 1r-27r [Isabel Rodríguez] - AHN, Inq. 2022, Exp. 31, f. 14r-15v [Cecilia López] - AHN, Inq. 2022, Exp. 36, f. 1r-3v [Ana Bautista] 29 FOUCAULT, 2005, p. 940. Translation of this quotation and Foucault’s whole essay from the French into the English by Jay Miskowiec in: Diacritics 16 (1986), pp. 22-27, here p. 26.

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- AHN, Inq. 2022, Exp. 36, f. 3v-5v [Florentina López] - AHN, Inq. 2022, Exp. 38, f. 19v-21r [Juana de Roda] Archivo Universitario de València, Varias 42/10 [Francisca Rosellò] Biblioteca Histórica de la Universitat de València, MS 310/7: Acusación y sentencia de Doña Theresa Valle de la Çerda Priora del Monasterio de San Plaçido de Madrid. Biblioteca Histórica de la Universitat de València, MS 752/14: Proceso en la Inquisición de Córdoba a Isabel del Castillo.

Secondary Literature ANDERSON, JAMES M., Daily life during the Spanish Inquisition (The Greenwood Press “Daily Life through History” Series), Westport und London 2002. BECKER, HOWARD S., Außenseiter. Zur Soziologie abweichenden Verhaltens, Frankfurt am Main 1981 (unchanged imprint of the edition of 1973). EIBACH, JOACHIM, Das offene Haus. Kommunikative Praxis im sozialen Nahraum der europäischen Frühen Neuzeit, in: Zeitschrift für Historische Forschung 38 (2011), p. 621-664. FOUCAULT, MICHEL, Von anderen Räumen. Aus dem Französischen von Michael Bischoff, in: DANIEL DEFERT/FRANÇOIS EWALD (eds.), Michel Foucault, Schriften in vier Bänden, Band IV, Frankfurt am Main 2005, p. 931-942 [„Des espaces autres” [1967/1984], in: MICHEL FOUCAULT , Dits et Ecrits, Bd. 4, Paris 1994, p. 752-762, first in: Architecture, Mouvement, Continuité 5 (1984), p. 46-49]. FROHNAPFEL-LEIS, MONIKA, Jenseits der Norm. Zauberei und „fingierte“ Heiligkeit im frühneuzeitlichen Spanien (Hexenforschung 18), Bielefeld 2018. ID., Aufruhr und Skandale. „Männliche” Handlungsspielräume der Terziarin Francisca Rosellò, Valencia 1624-26, in: ANNE CONRAD (ed.), Katholische Laienreligiosität in der Frühen Neuzeit (SOFIE. Schriftenreihe zur Geschlechterforschung), St. Ingbert 2019 (in preparation). GILES, MARY E. (ed.), Women and the inquisition. Spain and the new world, Baltimore 1999.

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HENNINGSEN, GUSTAV, The Witches’ Advocate. Basque Witchcraft and the Spanish Inquisition (1609-1614), Reno 1980. KAMEN, HENRY, The Spanish Inquisition. A historical revision, London 1997 (revised edition of the older edition). MARTÍNEZ MILLÁN, JOSÉ, La Inquisición española (Alianza Editorial, Historia – Humanidades), Madrid 2009. NALLE, SARA TILGHMAN, God in La Mancha. Religious Reform and the People of Cuenca, 1500-1650 (The John Hopkins University Studies in Historical and Political Science, 110th Series, No. 2), Baltimore/London 1992. POSKA, ALLYSON M., Regulating the People. The Catholic Reformation in Seventeenth-Century Spain (Cultures, Beliefs and Traditions: Medieval and Early Modern Peoples 5), Leiden et al. 1998. RAU, SUSANNE, Raum: Theorien und Konzepte – eine Annäherung, in: KAUPP, ANGELA (ed.), Raumkonzepte in der Theologie. Interdisziplinäre und interkulturelle Zugänge, Ostfildern 2016, p. 21-38. ID., Räume. Konzepte, Wahrnehmungen, Nutzungen (Historische Einführungen 14), Frankfurt am Main/New York 22017. ROGGE, JÖRG (ed.), Recounting Deviance. Forms and practices of presenting divergent behaviour in the late Middle Ages and Early Modern period (Mainz Historical Cultural Sciences 34), Bielefeld 2016. SCHLAU, STACEY, Gendered Crime and Punishment. Women and/in the Hispanic Inquisitions (The Medieval and Early Modern Iberian World 49), Leiden/Boston 2013. SIGNORI, GABRIELA, Links oder rechts? Zum ‚Platz der Frau‘ in der mittelalterlichen Kirche, in: SUSANNE RAU/GERD SCHWERHOFF (eds.), Zwischen Gotteshaus und Taverne. Öffentliche Räume in Spätmittelalter und Neuzeit (Norm und Struktur. Studien zum sozialen Wandel in Mittelalter und Früher Neuzeit Bd. 21), Köln et al. 2004, p. 339-382. TAUSIET, MARÍA, Ponzoña en los ojos. Brujería y superstición en Aragón en el siglo XVI, Madrid 2004. VOLLENDORF, LISA, The lives of women. A New History of Inquisitorial Spain, Nashville 2005.

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Man as Victims Speaking and laugh ing abou t vio lence against men 1 DOMINIK SCHUH I

Gendered violence and the ideals of manhood

The paper at hand presents and discusses some thoughts on the possibility to obtain an insight into late medieval ideals of manhood by examining fictional sources narrating the non-fulfilment of those ideals. The paper is structured in five parts: I shall start with a few short comments on gendered violence and the ideals of manhood in the medieval period, before briefly characterising the material at hand. In the main part of the paper, I shall examine two texts to substantiate my final conclusion on the usability of such sources for the history of masculinity. There was no fundamental proscription of violence in premodern times, but the (permitted) use of violence was – as in our times – restricted to certain positions. The legitimacy of violent actions was founded in the divine order. Using violence to secure this order was seen as an inevitable action. Corporal punishment was – although not uncontested – considered to be a healthy and helpful action for the 1

The paper at hand was written for and presented at the VII Congress of the Italian Society of Women Historians SIS as part of the panel “Masculinity and Violence” on February the 3th 2017 in Pisa. The panel was organised by members of the Research Unit Historical Cultural Sciences. The paper was slightly revised for publication, adding only a few titles of further literature.

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punished person, particularly for his or her soul.2 Such ‘educational’ use of violence against adults was restricted to rulers, the church, representatives of a community or the head of a household, who were in most cases men. ‘Domestic violence’ was seen as a ‘man's right’ and, as long as it was used ‘moderately’, not seen as problematic behaviour. English law provides a striking example for this conception: “If a man killed his wife, he committed murder; if a woman killed her husband, she committed petty treason. In the legal statuses of 1325 (25 Edward 3), a homicidal wife was destined for the stake, just as a traitor to the crown would be, because she had turned on the lord of the household.”3 This general perspective on the use of violence leads to my second point, the question of victimisation: Although it seems not entirely inappropriate to subsume soldiers under the term “war victims”, one would hesitate to call the defeated participator of a boxing match or a tourney or a person sentenced to dead by a legitimate court as a “victim”. There seems to be a distinction between people suffering violence based on their (in)ability to defend themselves, their participation in violent actions and the legitimacy of the inflicted violence. Following this thought we would hardly call common male characters in medieval literature victims, although they regularly suffer substantial violence.4 This description of the status of a victim seems to me to be a helpful distinction as it leads to the conception of manhood, by differentiating between those, who willingly suffer violence by taking the risks of physical conflicts and those, who are made victims of violence as they were unwilling and / or unable to take part in such conflicts. Following the common use of Middle High German and English terms regarding the gender quality of men, this can be seen as a central part of medieval conceptions of masculinity. Terms such as “manly”, “manfully”, “manhood” or “manliness”, which Christopher Fletcher

2 3 4

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For the perspective of canon law see BRUNDAGE, 2000, inter alia p. 184185; regarding domestic violence in a wider context: HANAWALT, 2000. SALISBURY et al., 2002, p. 10; see also HANAWALT, 2000, p. 197. Perhaps we would call Siegfried a victim of Hagen, as he is killed in a treacherous manner from behind, but we would probably hesitate to call Roland a victim of his Muslim opponents.

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examined in his work on Richard II5 or, in Middle High German, the terms “manlich”, “manhaft”, “manheit” or “menlichkeit”6 strongly refer to the qualities of courage, boldness or fortitude. In courtly, heroic or didactic literature they could be used to distinguish between those, who were male – regarding to their sex – and those, who were seen as acting and therefore being manly – regarding the fulfilment of gendered ideals. To test such ideals of manhood, I shall examine two examples of narratives showing male characters in the position of victims.

II The material: humorous tales The examples I shall present can be seen as part of a group of short late medieval narratives called “mären”, or partly more specific “schwänke” or “schwankmären”, terms, which are difficult to translate, but are comparable to “comic or droll stories” or, in a wider sense, “tales”.7 The genre “märe” is not clearly defined, 8 although scholars have made several approaches to develop a sharp distinction to related genres. It can be described as a short, usually versified narrative of didactic or – since late 13th century – humorous content. Especially during the 14th and 15th century, the humorous narratives tend to display very rough and frivolous humour, having more or less delicate sexual relations as one of their most popular topics. Other popular topics included 5 6 7

8

See the chapters “The Language of Manhood I: Strength, Violence, and Honour” and “The Language of Manhood II: ‘Humanitas’, Decorum, and Largesse” in FLETCHER, 2008. Compare for a first look the corresponding entries in the dictionaries of the Middle High German: BENECKE, MÜLLER, ZARNCKE and LEXER, both accessible online under www.woerterbuchnetz.de. Although my second example (“Ein liet genant der poß rauch”) is not part of this text group in the narrower sense but to the genre of “Meisterlieder”, its narrative character and the comic elements make a comparing view plausible. Considering its brevity it could properly be called a “Schwanklied” or “droll poem”. See for an extensive discussion of the question of genre regarding short medieval narratives: GRUBMÜLLER, 2006, who states – concerning the conditions of literary history of the genre – that the terms “Fabliau” and “Märe” are – in difference to the “Novelle” mere constructs while the contemporary use of language involved a wide spectrum of understandings, pp. 21-23.

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fools and foolery or the uncourtly behaviour of peasants. The group of texts is closely related to and inspired by Latin exempla (German “bîspel”), French “fabliau” – and less intense “lais” – and the Italian “Novellino” – especially those created by Boccaccio. These short German narratives arose in the first half of the 13th century. The narratives are not found in series or cycles but as separate texts without being part of a greater narrative composition. It can be assumed that most of these stories were written for oral recitation rather than private reading. In the urban context, some of these stories became models for carnivalesque plays during the 15th and 16th century. The humorous narrations about gender disorder are commonly not created as presentations of equal alternatives to the existing order. The interest behind them is to use the perceived absurdity of such scenery to entertain the audience. Using gender stereotypes attributed contrary to the common arrangement, those stories stabilise the established order by representing the reverse. Especially because the structure of the narrations makes it necessary to depict these stereotypes as detailed and sharp as possible in order for them to be easily recognised and thereby more fun to hear or watch them being ‘incorrectly’ attributed. Due to this feature, we are able to use humoristic stories to identify the conception of the ‘rightful’ gender order. This kind of representation can allow us a more ‘realistic’ perspective on this part of social structure than ‘heroic’ or ‘didactic’ literature, because it is not interested in idealising a character or a social practice – although the before-mentioned tendency to show exaggerated characters has to be considered in a deeper interpretation.

III 'Ritter Beringer' – unfit to be a knightly man My first example is a tale by an unknown author, found in only one early print version from Strasburg 1495. Scholars date the origin of the story between late 13th and late 14th century9. The tale is called “Die historien von dem ritter beringer” or “The history of the knight ber-

9

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WILLIAMS-KRAPP, 1978, col. 722.

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inger”.10 The tale is probably based on a French fabliau (Bérengier au lonc Cul), although the German version of the story differs in several points from its French precedent. The battered knight in the French version is a parvenu, which leads to the topic of social disorder regarding the mixing of different estates. The German version does not contain such elements of social criticism; it was partly interpreted as an accusation of a perceived decline of the contemporary knighthood. 11 What is the storyline of the tale? Structurally, the entire tale appears like a classic fairy tale, beginning with: Es was ein ritter so rych, gar edel und gar herrlich12

Once there was a mighty knight, splendid and of noble birth

And ending with: ir truw die was stet. Sy lebten furbaß tugentlich. Nun geb uns got das hymelrych. Amen.13

Their loyalty was constant. They lived really virtuous. May God give us his heavenly kingdom. Amen.

However, if we look at the story told between these two statements, the picture changes substantially. In a sharp contrast to the status of his family, the main character is described as a bad representative of his knightly estate. He is a stingy and nasty head of household, displeased to see people eat or celebrate courtly feasts; a man counting every loaf of bread and grumbling all day long. Even worse, he is unable to distinguish the sexes of his animals, as the narrator tells us in reference to chicken and eggs:

10 The following English translations originate from the author of the paper at hand. The translations shall provide the not German-speaking reader with an insight to the plot, they are no verbatim translations. 11 For a comprehensive consideration of the tale of the knight Beringer in the context of ‘Gender-Trouble’ see WENZEL, 2003, pp. 261-276. 12 ANONYMOUS, Die Historien von dem Ritter Beringer, V. 1-2. 13 IBID., V. 413-416.

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Dominik Schuh wenn sich der geyle han geliesz mit sinen wybern an, er wond, es tet ein henn. Zu dem keller sprach er denn: ‘du hast mir unrecht thon, ich solt noch ein ey hon!’14

When he saw the horny rooster Engaged himself with his women, He thought, it was a hen. He said to his cellar master: ‘You have betrayed me, I should have another egg!’

This same knight is married to a beautiful and virtuous lady, who has no joy in their marriage. Sir Beringer is in the habit of going to every tournament near or far. But, instead of participating in the jousts, he only watches the other knights fighting and wounding each other, stating: nun vechtend ir, so lug ich; You may fight, I will watch. ir schlahend einander on mich.15 You may beat each other without me.

After returning home from these journeys, he plays the hero in front of his wife and his household, showing off what a bold fighter he was. One day, his wife wonders why her husband’s body and armour never showed any damage when he returns. On this occasion the narrative may indicate a reference to its French precedent, when the wife is referring to her father as an aristocratic male role model:16 sy gedacht ‘ich hon den vatter min erwan von turnier sehen ryten, das im sin naß waz verschniten, ein geziert was zerstochen, sin waffen rock was erbrochen17

She thought ‘I saw my father Returning from tournaments. His nose was cut, His crest pierced, His tunic torn in pieces

As her husband rides to the next tournament, she decides to follow him in disguise to watch, how brave a fighter he is:

14 15 16 17

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IBID., V. 19-24. IBID., V. 51-52. See WENZEL, 2003, pp. 273-275. ANONYMOUS, Die Historien von dem Ritter Beringer, V. 72-76.

Man as Victims also gieng sy getrat in ein kemnat, da sy harnasch fand. Darin bereit sy sich zu hand. Sy hieß sattlen ouch ein pferd, was wol .xx. Marck wert. Daruff sy sich schier schwang - kein bruch gurtel sy nit zwang -18

Swiftly she went Into a chamber, Where she found an armor. She ordered a horse to be saddled, Which was worth twenty marks, And climbed on horseback - No pant belt hindered her actions -

The narrator adds the information, that she doesn’t wear underpants or a ‘male’ belt, to the description of this cross dress. This notice can be understood as part of a sexualised joke but also a marker of her femininity, which can be compared with the notice, that ‘they carry a sword under their skirt’, in narrations of men disguising themselves as women.19 Dressed like a knight, she finds her husband beside the tournament ground trying to damage his own equipment as proof for his made up deeds. Seeing this, she flies into a rage and attacks her husband vigorously, shouting: o we du laster bure, Oh dear you vicious peasant, das du ie ritter wurde, It shall be complained to the sweet lord, das sy dem sussen got geklagt!20 That you ever became a knight.

Beringer is defeated in no time, laying on the ground begging for mercy. As a penalty, she demands from him three kisses on her bottom: wider sich selb dacht er do: He thought to himself: ‘dis ist gar ein geringe busz‘ This is a lesser penalty weder einer, der sterben mus.’21 Than dying.’

This can be seen as a reversal of the widespread proverb “Better to die with honour than live with shame”. After returning home, Beringer keeps the events secret, unknowing that his wife is his former enemy – 18 19 20 21

IBID., V. 115-122. See PUTTER, 2000, p. 189f. ANONYMOUS, Die Historien von dem Ritter Beringer, V. 161-163. IBID., V. 193-194.

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who he should have recognised by kissing her bare bottom, as one central joke of the narrative makes clear.22 Beringer tries to live on as he did before, treating his wife and household badly. But this time, his wife forces him to improve his behaviour by threatening him with her alternative role, which she claims to be her cousin. Beringer obeys willingly and henceforth they live happily and peacefully together, while the clever wife does not use her position to demand any unjust things. What sense can we make out of this narrative? Although the tale does not include any moral or a clearly distinguished didactic advice, it makes a few points on the conception of gender order. The told actions of the wife can be seen as a reaction to her husband’s misbehaviour. Because he is unfit to perform like a knightly man, she fills in and creates an alter ego to discipline him and compensate his inability. In consequence this correcting act leads to a fully functional aristocratic household and a – from now on – manly acting husband, who is even willing to go on a crusade if so ordered.

IV 'der pös rauch' – unfit to be the head of household My second example was written by barber and physician Hans Folz.23 Folz was one of the so-called “Meistersinger” – a group of urban craftsmen and semi-professional writers, who saw themselves in the tradition of high medieval German poets.24 Born between 1435 and 1440 and died in 1513, Folz was a prolific writer with a widespread oeuvre, ranging from advisory literature and partly medical, scholarly texts up to carnivalesque plays and traditional love poetry. Folz owned a printing house and published most of his works personally. Some of his creations were read and played into the 17th century. 22 His wife names herself “ritter Wienant / mit der langen ars krynnen” (V. 222-223), “knight Wienant with the long arse chink” as Beringer asks her, who she (he) is. 23 The authorship for the examined poem is not fully undoubted, nevertheless the attribution to Folz is very plausible, seeing the context of its first publication and especially Folz’ palinode “Wider den bösen Rauch”. See Janota, 1980, col. 778. 24 See BRUNNER, 1993.

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The poem I am examining is called “Ein liet genant der poß rauch. In der flam weiß” (which can be paraphrased as “a poem called the nasty smoke (written) in the manner of the flame”). It was transformed into a popular carnivalesque play by 16th century ‘Meistersinger’ Hans Sachs.25 The storyline of the poem can be described as follows: “A man good and simple” (“ein gutter einfeltiger man”)26 is unluckily married to an “outrageous woman” (“einem weib so vngeheur, / dar mit betrogen warte”),27 who never speaks a nice word to him and who is arguing with him at every opportunity. To bring an end to this situation, the husband proposes to his wife to have a physical competition. The winner of the battle shall be the ruler of the house: einß malß er ernstlich an sie kort One day he seriously asked her und macht mit ir ein punde And made an agreement with her, ob sie der man ym hauß sein wolt To find out, if she should be the man in the house, das sye die pruch im an gewun By winning his pants, so wolt er thun alles das er solt28 Then he would do everything she demands.

Each of them takes a baton and the wife hits her husband hard, even before he is ready to fight. Swiftly, she prevails over him, beats him several times and pulls him by his hair. The man, unable to return her attacks or guard his limbs, soon loses his courage and tries to surrender to his wife. Unwilling to accept his capitulation, she throws her husband down the stairs, tossing both batons at the defeated man and ordering him to stay quiet until she commands otherwise. Finally, she throws a bucket of water over her husband who consequently sits in front of their house wet and crying desperately. As the narrator states:

25 The “flam weiß” (“manner of the flame”) is a verse form (ton) originating from the work of Wolfram von Eschenbach, the form hints to two other poems with related topics, see VIEHHAUSER, 2014, p. 153f. Folz himself wrote several carnivalesque plays, which were performed in Nuremberg. The play of the “bös rauch” was written by Hans Sachs, published in 1551. 26 FOLZ, HANS, Ein liet genant der poß rauch. In der flam weiß, V. 4. 27 IBID., V. 2-3. 28 IBID., V. 9-13.

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Dominik Schuh Daß en den athem kaum gezoch Nearly unable to breath, sein manheit waß gelegen29 His manhood was broken.

To a neighbour asking for the cause of his condition, the husband responds that there was a fire in his house and that he had gotten wet by trying to extinguish it. His crying was a result of the “nasty smoke” getting in his eyes. The neighbour, trying to help the poor man, enters the house and is beaten up by the wife, believing that her husband was returning. The poem ends with a few advisory verses to Folz’s obviously male listeners and readers: Ich rat dir man ob dich an zant dein weib vnd vm dich mauset

I advise you man, if you are annoyed By your wife and she is sneaking around you all the time leg ir funff finger auff den kopff Put five fingers on her head daß sie zu erden tauchet To bring her down to earth. dustu das nit du pleibst ein tropff If you don’t do that, you’ll be a fool, stetigs sie auff dich hauchet She’ll spit on you. und foch es neur pey zeyten an Begin as early as you can, wan einer mag harren so lang Because if you will wait too long, das er ir numer meister kann!30 You’ll never gain control again!

What sense can we make of this story? What does it say about late medieval conceptions of manhood? Contrary to the tale of knight Beringer, the author of this poem gives us clear advice on how to understand his story. In summary, it can be said that the husband’s first and crucial mistake is seen in his gentle behaviour preceding the narration itself. Following this, he misinterprets the relation between him and his wife as one of equality, in which she is accepted as a rightful competi29 FOLZ, HANS, Ein liet genant der poß rauch. In der flam weiß, V. 46-47. 30 IBID., V. 96-104. The poem ultimately ends with a rather ironic commentary on the narrators own marriage, raising the question of the seriousness of the prior notice. See VIEHHAUSER, 2014, p. 139f, who reads this ironic “revocation” as an indication that male violence is depicted as an instrument as pointless as the prior shown female violence is. The selfincrimination of the narrator may contest or even negate his position as an authority, the morale itself gets its authorisation by the story narrated before.

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tor for authority in the household. Although the wife is described as ‘evil’ in some way, the narrator clearly criticises the husband for his unmanly behaviour, and therefore for being the originator of the entire conflict.

V Verifying ideals of manhood by looking at 'ridiculous men'? What can we gather from these examples? Can they be seen as useful for the research on the history of masculinities at all? As a conclusion, I would like to highlight three main characteristics of manhood depicted in the examples: 1) In both texts occurs a vestimentary code for gendered-power relationships: (under)pants / “pruch” – as a symbol of male dominance, existing as such from the medieval period up to the middle of the 20th century. Interestingly, commonly invisible until late medieval times as it was mainly used as underwear, it becomes visible through fundamental changes in male clothing, which lead to early modern and modern trousers. The ‘fight for the trousers’ becomes one of the most popular symbols for the ‘battle of the sexes’ in literary and pictorial tradition.31 2) The inability and unwillingness to resist physical violence is used in both narratives as the main marker of unmanly behaviour. This topic clearly hints back to the essential meaning of the central male quality “manhood”, which was commonly used in the sense of “courage”, “fortitude” or “boldness”. 3) Although the female protagonists of these stories are shown as very active (partly aggressive) and capable figures, their characteristics do not seem to be the main causes for them defeating their husbands. The narrations cannot be easily interpreted as tales of women defeating men, or rather stories of women defeating unmanly men, men unfit to be ‘real’ men. The told social disorder in these stories arises from the inability of the male protagonists to act up to 31 On the history of the symbol see METKEN, 1996.

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ideal male behaviour. The male narrators explain the conduct of the female figures as a consequence of this visible lack of manhood. Beringer’s wife is acting as a knight, disciplining her husband violently because he fails to perform as a proper knightly man. The husband in the “poem called the nasty smoke” is beaten up by his wife because he misunderstood the functioning of gender order and matrimonial roles. His mistake is to think the position of the head of household as being achieved, not as a predetermined position. In my opinion, these stories do not initially tell us about the empowerment of women, but rather of the self-made disempowerment of their men. They therefore provide an insight into the conception of rightful and proper male behaviour in the late medieval period. The measure for the characters’ behaviour is manhood. While the male protagonists fall below this measure, the females overstep the ‘limits’ of their gender and thereby act somewhat appropriate to the demands of manhood. The narratives deal with the ideals of manhood by telling stories of men, who do not live up to these ideals, who are male underachievers. They actualise these ideals in a primarily humorous interest. The joke, in this case, works by falling short of the audiences’ expectations, showing a world or scenery that does not match the common conception of life and social order. These humorous narratives thereby provide us with the opportunity to cross-check the results of the research on heroic, courtly, scholarly or didactic literature.

Literature Sources ANONYMOUS, Die Historien von dem Ritter Beringer, in: Novellistik des Mittelalters. Märendichtung (Bibliothek deutscher Klassiker Vol. 138), ed. by KLAUS GRUBMÜLLER, Frankfurt am Main 1996, pp. 220-243. FOLZ, HANS, Ein liet genant der poß rauch. In der flam weiß, in: Die Meisterlieder des Hans Folz aus der Münchener Originalhandschrift und der Weimarer Handschrift Q. 566 mit Ergänzungen aus anderen

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Quellen (Deutsche Texte des Mittelalters Vol. XII.), ed. by AUGUST L. MAYER, Berlin 1908, Nr. 95, pp. 357-359.

Secundary Literature BENECKE, GEORG FRIEDRICH/MÜLLER, WILHELM/ZARNCKE, FRIEDRICH: Mittelhochdeutsches Wörterbuch, accessible online in the Wörterbuchnetz des Kompetenzzentrums für elektronische Erschließungs- und Publikationsverfahren in den Geisteswissenschaften, http://woerterbuchnetz.de/cgi-bin/WBNetz/wbgui_py?sigle=B MZ (20-03-2018). BRUNDAGE, JAMES ARTHUR, Domestic Violence in Classical Canon Law, in: Violence in Medieval Society, ed. by RICHARD WILLIAM KAEUPER, Woodbridge 2000, pp. 183-195. BRUNNER, HORST, ‘Meistersinger’, in: Lexikon des Mittelalters, 10 vols. (Stuttgart [1977]-1999), vol. 6, cols 486-488, accessible online in Brepolis Medieval Encyclopaedias - Lexikon des Mittelalters Online. FLETCHER, CHRISTOPHER DAVID, Richard II: manhood, youth, and politics, 1377-99, Oxford 2008, accessible online: DOI:10.1093 /acprof:oso/9780199546916.001.0001. GRUBMÜLLER, KLAUS, Die Ordnung, der Witz und das Chaos. Eine Geschichte der europäischen Novellistik im Mittelalter: Fabliau – Märe – Novelle, Tübingen 2006. HANAWALT, BARBARA A., Violence in the Domestic Milieu of Late Medieval England, in: Violence in Medieval Society, ed. by RICHARD WILLIAM KAEUPER, Woodbridge 2000, pp. 197-214. JANOTA, JOHANNES, Hans Folz, in: Die deutsche Literatur des Mittelalters. Verfasserlexikon, 13 vols (Berlin/New York 1978-2007), part 2 (1980), col. 769-793. LEXER, MATTHIAS, Mittelhochdeutsches Handwörterbuch, accessible online in the Wörterbuchnetz des Kompetenzzentrums für elektronische Erschließungs- und Publikationsverfahren in den Geisteswissenschaften,http://woerterbuchnetz.de/cgi-bin/WBNetz/wbgui_py? sigle=Lexer (20-03-2018).

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METKEN, SIGRID, Der Kampf um die Hose: Geschlechterstreit und die Macht im Haus. Die Geschichte eines Symbols, Frankfurt a.M. 1996. PUTTER, AD, Transvestite Knights in Medieval Life and Literature, in: Becoming male in the Middle Ages, ed. by JEFFREY JEROME COHEN/BONNIE WHEELER, New York 2000, pp. 279-302. SALISBURY, EVE/DONAVIN, GEORGIANA/PRICE, MERRALL LLEWELYN, Introduction, in: Domestic Violence in Medieval Texts, ed. by the same, Gainesville, Fla. 2002, pp. 1-27. VIEHHAUSER, GABRIEL, Regeln für den ‚gattungsfreien Raum‘. Generische Muster der Gewaltdarstellung in Hans Folz’ Erzähllied vom Poß rauch. In: Rules and Violence – Regeln und Gewalt. On the Cultural History of Collective Violence from Late Antiquity to the Confessional Age – Zur Kulturgeschichte der kollektiven Gewalt von der Spätantike bis zum konfessionellen Zeitalter, ed. by CORA DIETL/TITUS KNÄPPER, Berlin, Boston 2014, pp. 131-156. WENZEL, HORST, Rittertum und Gender-Trouble im höfischen Roman (Erec) und in der Märendichtung (Beringer), in: Männlichkeit als Maskerade. Kulturelle Inszenierungen vom Mittelalter bis zur Gegenwart (Literatur – Kultur – Geschlecht: Kleine Reihe Bd. 18), ed. by CLAUDIA BENTHIEN Köln 2003, pp. 248-276. WILLIAMS-KRAPP, WERNER, Art. Beringer, in: Die deutsche Literatur des Mittelalters. Verfasserlexikon, 13 vols. (Berlin/New York 19782007), part 1 (1978), col. 722-723.

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Courageous surgeons, enduring patients The performance of masculinity in medieval military medicine (14 t h -15 t h centu ry) 1 JUDITH MENGLER “There are two persons, to whom you should never lie”, a friend told me once, “one is your lawyer before your trial and the other is your anaesthetist before your surgery.” Without any medical experience or education, my friend somehow hit the nail on the head. Today, the essential moment in surgery is the anaesthesia. The patient becomes a compliant body; he or she loses his or her consciousness and therefore no longer distracts the surgeon by way of too much interaction between surgeon and patient. The very basic functions of the body are monitored by the anaesthetist and the surgeon can concentrate on the body – or on the body part in question.2 Without anaesthesia, the patient is not just a body, he is an injured, suffering person, full of fear and pain, screaming, weeping, wriggling around wildly and worrying about his recovery.

1

2

This talk was given at the conference Gender and History: New Research’s Perspectives, VII Congress of the Italian Society of Women Historians SIS, Pisa, 2nd-4th February 2017, as part of the panel Give them hell! Masculinity and Violence. The text remained unaltered but supplemented with some bibliographical references. HIRSCHAUER, 2004, pp. 83-88.

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I called my paper “Courageous surgeons, enduring patients”, because surgery was quite an ordeal for both surgeon and patient during the Middle Ages. We have already heard about “manfully or manly men”. On the battlefield, one moment of carelessness, one silly mistake or simply bad luck could change the status: The proud, very manly warrior becomes a patient. In the chronicles of the late Middle Ages, the injured warrior is not mentioned very often. Usually, we only get scattered pieces of information like many wounded, many killed or some lists of those killed in action.3 If there is more information about the injury and the person concerned, the complete lack of several expectable facts is striking: There is no screaming, no complaining, no pain. Struck by a lance, the potential patient is able to fight on, bring his troops together, give a dramatic speech to motivate his men and, last but not least, win the battle – before he seeks out some kind of medical help concerning his problem.4 If a warrior is undergoing medical treatment – a case very seldom mentioned in chronicles – pain seems to be absent. The narration focuses on the astonishing conduct of the patient: He is able to comment on the situation or even to actively participates in his treatment.5 He never complains, never screams because of pain or desperation, never asks for something to ease his burden. Spoken very generally, in chronicles, the men injured on the battlefield do not become patients – they become silent men or heroes or a combination of both.6 It should be clear that the description of the patient’s conduct is based on the set of values of military masculinity: fortitude, bravery, temperance and the capacity to suffer.7 An excessive emotional response or, one should say, the description of it in chronicles, could be read as personal failure. The patient endures his treatment; he remains silent about his pain and unaffected by the unpleasant circumstances. Weeping, screaming, vomiting and lamenting would depict the injured person as being incapable of fulfilling the requirements of the set of values of his social status – he would disgrace himself – as a warrior and as a man. Thus, the depiction of the patient’s proper conduct in the 3 4 5 6 7

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See e.g. COMMYNES, 1952, p. 54; pp. 358f.; GESCHICHTEN, 1870, pp. 137f. See e.g. COMMYNES, 1952, pp. 16-20. MOROSINI, 2017, pp. 186f. ; COMMYNES, 1952, pp. 270-276. SCHUH, 2017, p. 262. MOROSINI, 2017, pp. 168-172; WALTER, 2014, p. 25.

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chronicles is necessary to emphasise the masculinity of the person in treatment. Of course, the medical staff recognised that some patients coped better than others in distressing situations, be that on the battlefield or beside. And thus, some of them, especially those with a more theoretical approach, tried to make sense of what they saw. The theoretical basement of medical considerations was the humoralism: Health and illness depend on the balance of the four bodily fluids or humors, black bile, yellow bile, phlegm, and blood. The complexion, meaning the composition of the humors of a person, is also influenced by gender, age, diet, climate, place of birth and so on. This complexion determines not only the physical but also the mental condition: According to the balance of the humors, the person shows certain character traits. Qualities such as bravery are, according to humoralism, linked with the complexion and could – as the logical conclusion – be explained scientifically or even changed by external influences. 8 To give one example: In a middle English adaption of Vegetius’ De Rei Militari, bravery is linked with the place of birth and the local climate. It is stated that men in warmer countries are more fearful or less brave because they have less blood due to the warm and dry climate at their birthplace. That is the reason why they are more afraid of losing blood due to injuries, which could ultimately cause the lack of bravery. 9 Of course, the individual complexion of the patient should be observed in medical treatment. Because of the warmer complexion of people from southern countries, injuries of the head are riskier for them. Most complications of wounds result from too much heat, especially on the head, because the heat ascents and gathers there. In combination with the warmer complexion of people with a more southern birthplace, the balance of the humours is severely confused and the recovery takes longer.10 Heinrich von Pfolsprundt, a surgeon of the 15th century11, advices his reader to use a special potion against bad breath in summer

8

“For a boy or man to remain immoderately hot and soft is to fall short not only of chivalric identity but also masculinity, producing weakness and effeminacy.”, WALTER, 2014, p. 27. 9 VEGETIUS, 1935, p. 7f.; WALTER, 2014, pp. 29-31. 10 BRUNSCHWIG, 1970, p. XV; p. XL. 11 KEIL, 1999, cols. 2104-2015.

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for treating young, but in winter for treating old patients.12 To find the right treatment according to the constitution of the patient as well as the external influences is the task of a good surgeon. The required qualities of fighters in times of war should be clear, but what is about the qualities of the surgeons? As already mentioned, surgery during the Middle Ages was quite uncomfortable for everybody participating. Were there any strategies to cope with it? The first possible solution could be to try some kind of anaesthesia in order to calm down the patient. There were, indeed, some attempts to make the patient lose consciousness. Heinrich von Pfolsprundt wrote about spongia somnifera, sponges soaked with, besides other substances, opium poppy and hemlock.13 In combination with the same active substances taken orally, they should cause a very heavy sleep. But those sponges were used rarely, firstly because in some occasions there was not enough time to wait for the effect and secondly, because the usage was very risky: The heavy sleep could last forever. One very popular narcotic was alcohol. It seemed to be a very good idea for the patients to have a couple of drinks before surgery to suppress pain and fear. It was not a secret that all alcohol stored in the cellar would not be enough for some injuries. It was also not a secret that even some surgeons thought that having a couple of drinks before surgery would be a good idea. Henri de Mondeville, a physician and surgeon of the 13th and 14th century14, lists the well-founded exceptions when a surgeon is, in his opinion, was allowed to do surgery drunk. Besides understandable exceptions, such as “When the urgency for action is great”, he also tells his readers of surgeons, who are simply not able to do their job without alcohol, because without some drinks in the morning, their hands are trembling or they need a little wine for the courage to act.15 Obviously, that is a sign of chronic alcohol abuse. This may be the first hint of a strategy, although less promising, to cope with the challenging situations of the medical profession. Unsurprisingly, one major concern of the surgeons was pain felt by the patient. In the medical treatises of the 14th and 15th centuries, the 12 13 14 15

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PFOLSPRUNDT, 1868, p. 48. IBID., p. 21. LAUER, 1999, cols. 2100-2101. MONDEVILLE, 2003, p. 290.

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patients are anything but silent men. Of course, there were several reasons to relieve the patient’s pain: It was a common believe that pain could impede the healing, because it confuses the humors.16 Compassion could be another reason. But above all, the pain and its effects – the screaming, wriggling and so on – made the work of the surgeon more difficult or impossible and mentally distressful. Pfolsprundt often writes that one should not hesitate to continue the treatment because of the expression of pain: “Don’t be frightened!”, “If he is screaming, that should not bother you.”, “If he suffers pain, that should not bother you.”.17 Especially the recurring advice not to be impressed by the reaction of the patient seems to be an ongoing encouragement – for himself and for the readers, who are interested to practice surgery themselves. It seemed hard not to be impressed without some customization and practical training. Mondeville explains that the surgeon should train his assistants in getting used to the smells, sounds and sights of surgery. Inexperienced assistants could faint, which would force the surgeon to care for another patient – formerly his assistant – and disturb the original treatment.18 As we see, having a thick skin is essential in this profession.19 The surgeon needs inner strength and fortitude to pluck up the necessary courage at the right time and in the right manner. Another quality requested was acting talent. Facing multiple traumas, especially in military context, and working with people sometimes more dead than alive, the surgeon had to keep a cordial manner. It might be good advice that a patient should not lie to his physician, but, in the point of view of a medieval surgeon, it is a good advice to lie to the patient. He should display hope and optimism and act confidently. How to talk to dying, badly injured or very sick persons is a topic, which is discussed in nearly every medical treaty.20 If death is sure or very probable, it is better to be honest, so that the patient could organize his worldly matters and 16 MONDEVILLE, 2003, p. 410. 17 PFOLSPRUNDT, 1868, p. 62; p. 69; p. 58. 18 Mondeville about fainting assistants and onlookers, see MONDEVILLE, 2003 p. 364; p. 374. 19 “He must be able to tolerate noisome stench, to be able to use the knife and destructive instruments as fearlessly as an executioner…”, see MONDEVILLE, 2003, p. 286. 20 To give only one example: BRUNSCHWIG, 1970, p. X.

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make provisions for the meeting with his Creator. If his condition is not that bad, excessive optimism should be displayed. Lasting damages should be kept a secret, the time until recovery understated, the effect of the medication overstated. Moreover, all servants and relatives with contact to the patient should be instructed to keep bad news away from the sickbed. They are required to talk about the injury or illness of an enemy or competitor (willingly imaginary), pleasant events to come up, for example the sure victory of the own party in war, or the patient’s bright prospects after recovery – his promotion or a new office. 21 As one can imagine, to maintain a credible friendly and optimistic facial expression in times of war was a difficult exercise. Another means is to perform the expected and necessary hocuspocus in order to impress the patient and make him believe in the exceptional nature of the medicaments and the surgeon. To make it clear: The surgeons usually did not believe in this hoo-ha, but they believed that the patients believe in it and need it for their recovery.22 To give one example: The aforementioned Heinrich von Pfolsprundt coloured one ointment very white. He was convinced that it would be more effective – from a medical point of view – without the addition of the whitening colour. But he was also convinced that the ointment would not look medical enough for his patients without it and that they would refuse to take it.23 But what if there was no white colour at hand? Especially in times of war, on campaign or under siege, it was very difficult for the surgeon to obtain the required ingredients for his medicines. During the siege of Marienburg, Pfolsprundt was forced to cure nearly every injury or illness with Artemisia Vulgaris, mugwort, just because this plant grew in the cracks of the walls and he was running out of stock of other therapeutic substances.24 Hieronymus Brunschwig, a 15th century surgeon of Straßbourg25, modified his recipes because he was active “in a wide field”. He replaced some ingredients by others, much easier to find in a rural environment, for example goat milk.26 When things went from bad 21 22 23 24 25 26

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MONDEVILLE, 2003, p.254f. IBID., p. 397. PFOLSPRUNDT, 1868, p. 114. IBID., p. 114f. KEIL/DILG, 1999, cols. 793-794. BRUNSCHWIG, 1970, p. XLI.

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to worse, not even goat milk or other curative substances based on victuals were available. The threat of malnutrition was common in medieval armies and, naturally, this also affected surgeons. The problem intensified for them, because their concerns were threefold. The surgeon had to care for his own needs, he had to manage the diet and food supply of his patients, who needed plentiful food due to their poor condition, and he had to worry about where to get the ingredients and the therapeutic substances. In times of need, the number of patients increased, because they were prone to illnesses such as scurvy and to infections and epidemics. Especially the appalling hygienic conditions resulted in gastrointestinal disorders, which spread epidemically through the entire army. In addition to his concern for the fate of his patients, the surgeon had to cope with his own fear of contamination. All in all, the surgeon needed good character traits when interacting with his patients. He needed bravery when facing the badly injured and courage when treating them; he needed inner strength to display optimism and hope, however desperate the situation may be, he needed the capacity to suffer from the same hostile environment as every other participant in military actions. He needed sensitivity and discretion, because a manly fighter would not be amused, if the story of him weeping like a little girl on his sickbed were to become the hottest gossip in camp and his comrades would die of laughter. When examining medical treatises, it is striking to see that the reaction to pain is very often omitted in case studies concerning people mentioned by name.27 Although, as mentioned previously, pain relieve was essential and dealt with prominently. Case studies concerning gastrointestinal or proctologic problems are lacking this kind of tactfulness.28 To associate even persons of higher rank with such problems seems to be possible and acceptable to society, however, to associate

27 See e.g. the treatment of Matthias Corvinus, King of Hungary, BRUNSCHWIG, 1970, pp. XXIXf. 28 The surgeon John Arderne started his treaty about anal fistula with the case of Sir Adam de Everyngham and went on with a list of further patients of higher rank. ARDERNE, 1910, pp. 1f. Which remedy cured the king from his proctological problems is disclosed later on in the treaty. ARDERNE, 1910, p. 74.

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them with pain seems to be somewhat difficult. Compared to today, it is just the opposite. Another quality a surgeon needed to have was the ability to assert himself. That did not mean that the medical staff was required to prevail with a sword in the hand on the battlefield. In the 15th century correspondence of the Grand Master of the Teutonic Order, one surgeon is recorded as wounded in action.29 However, this seemed to be the rare exception. Usually, surgeons tried to heal injuries and not inflict them. According to Mondeville, they had their very own battlefield and their own enemy forces. “After the interrogation, they leave the sickroom and go to a place where they may confer in private. They may argue with each other until they reach a consensus as a result of free (because it is private) debate. If they are overheard, it would cause their assistants and other strangers to believe that there was a battle in progress, verbal or other.”30 What Mondeville presents here somewhat ironically is the fierce competition of the medical staff among each other. At a large military operation, many more or less well trained medical persons were present. They went through different courses of education, some were phisici, trained more theoretically at university, others were surgeons with on the job training, and some were, well, one could say quacks with a Bachelor’s degree in Obscure Mixtures without Effect and a Master’s degree in The Extraction of the Patient’s Money.31 Whom the patient consulted with his problems depended on his wallet, his confidence in the treatment and his level of desperation. Especially the quack promised miracle healings and full recovery in record time. After the treatment came to nothing and the patient had spent his money, the quack left the problem, often worse due to the elapsed time, to his very dear colleagues, so that the patient could accuse them for not having being healed. Not only the wrong type of doctors could complicate the surgeon’s job, but also the superfluity of the right kind could be troublesome. If money was not an issue for the patient, he usually called several surgeons or physicians to his sickbed. That is the situation, Mondeville made reference to in the quoted sentence. Brunschwig was also familiar with such situations, because he was very keen to 29 ORDENSBRIEFARCHIV, GStA PK, XX. HA, OBA, Nr. 16393. 30 MONDEVILLE, 2003, p. 302. 31 IBID., pp. 197-203.

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advice his readers not to discuss and argue about medical matters in front of the patient.32 One can vividly imagine the amazing picture of harmony and concord presented by the doctors.33 Another natural antagonist of the well-meaning surgeon is the stubborn patient. We have already seen that the patient was sometimes tricked. However, there were some aspects of live where all the cleverness of the medical profession was of no avail. Especially the complaint about the patient’s unwillingness to keep to the diet seems to be as old as medicine itself. And it is similar with the impatience of the convalescent.34 I could go on to enumerate the positive qualities required of a good surgeon, but I believe I was able to give you an impression of the focal point. Medical staff, as physicians and surgeons, also had a code of conduct. As with the fighters, they had to meet the expectations in order to do their job; the non-performance of the required qualities would be a sign of failure, professional and personal. I have explained the key qualities and the situations in which they were necessary and I have labelled them: bravery, courage, inner strength, the capacity to suffer and the ability to assert oneself. I have labelled them this way in order to show that these qualities are comparable to those expected of fighters. They are based on the same ideals of manliness, a combination of physical and mental strength and the ability to overcome oneself and others. As a result, non-performance would be synonymous with failure and threaten the self-conception regarding the profession and the masculinity. Thus, there were three possible sources of jeopardising the masculinity during the process of the treatment of injuries. Firstly, the surgeon could fail. He could be too drunk, too hesitating, too timid, or he could faint or vomit. Secondly, the fighter could fail and not bear it like a man. Thirdly, the interaction between surgeon and fighter could fail. Here, the qualities of sensitivity and discretion come to the fore. It is not important what happened or whether or not the patient’s behaviour was ideal. The compensation of the surgeon and his confidentiality are important. What happens in the operating theatre stays in the operating theatre. At least as far as the expression of pain is concerned. To ob32 BRUNSCHWIG, 1970, p. X. 33 COMMYNES, 1952, p.407. 34 MONDEVILLE, 2003, pp.255f.

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serve the rules, to act in a correct and adequate manner is the prerequisite for successful surgery – not taken into account the required medical skills. In many sources, the brave warrior becomes a silent man due to his injuries. To recover his strength and physical skills as a fighter, he needs the unsung hero in acts of war: the courageous surgeon.

Literature Unedited Sources ORDENSBRIEFARCHIV, Geheimes Staatsarchiv Preußischer Kulturbesitz, GStA PK, XX. HA, OBA, Nr.16393.

Edited Sources ARDERNE, JOHN, Treatises of Fistula in Ano and haemorrhoids clusters (Early English Text Society, Original Series 139), ed. and with a foreword by D’ARCY POWER, London 1910. BRUNSCHWIG, HIERONYMUS, Dis ist das Buch der Cirurgia. Hantwirchung der Wundartzny, [Copy of the original 1497 Strasbourg] Stuttgart 1970. COMMYNES, PHILIPPE DE, Memoiren. Europa in der Krise zwischen Mittelalter und Neuzeit, ed. and translated by FRITZ ERNST, Stuttgart 1952. GESCHICHTEN VON WEGEN EINES BUNDES, ed. by MAX TÖPPEN, in: Scriptores rerum Prussicarum. Die Geschichtsquellen der preußischen Vorzeit bis zum Untergange der Ordensherrschaft 4, Leipzig 1870, pp. 75-211. MONDEVILLE, HENRI DE, The surgery of Master Henry de Mondeville, translated into English in two volumes, with annotations, comments and appendices by LEONARD D. ROSENMAN, Philadelphia 2003. PFOLSPRUNDT , HEINRICH VON, Buch der Bündth-Ertznei, ed. by HEINRICH HAESER/ALBRECHT THEODOR MIDDELDORPF, Berlin 1868. VEGETIUS RENATUS, FLAVIUS, Knyghthode and Bataile. A XVth century verse paraphrase of Flavius Vegetius Renatus’ treatise “De re military” (Early English Text Society 201), ed. with introduction, 140

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notes and glossary by ROMAN DYBOSKI/ZYGFRYD MARJAN AREND, London 1935.

Secondary Literature HIRSCHAUER, STEFAN, Praktiken und ihre Körper. Über materielle Partizipanden des Tuns, in: Doing Culture. Neue Positionen zum Verhältnis von Kultur und sozialer Praxis, ed. by KARL H. HÖRNING/JULIA REUTER, Bielefeld 2004, pp. 73-91. KEIL, G., Heinrich von Pfalzpaint, in: Lexikon des Mittelalters, Stuttgart 1977-1999, vol. 4, cols. 2104-2105. KEIL, G./DILG,P., Hieronymus Brunschwig, in: Lexikon des Mittelalters, Stuttgart 1977-1999, vol. 2, cols. 793-794. LAUER, H., Henri de Mondeville, in: Lexikon des Mittelalters, Stuttgart 1977-1999, vol. 4, cols. 2100-2101. MOROSINI, GIULIA, The Body of the Condottiero. A Link Between Physical Pain and Military Virtue as it was Interpreted in renaissance Italy, in: Killing and Being Killed. Bodies in Battle. Perspectives on Fighters in the Middle Ages (Mainz Historical Cultural Sciences 38), ed. by JÖRG ROGGE, Bielefeld 2017, pp. 165-197. SCHUH, DOMINIK, Summary and Conclusions. Silent Men and the Art of Fighting, in: Killing and Being Killed. Bodies in Battle. Perspectives on Fighters in the Middle Ages (Mainz Historical Cultural Sciences 38), ed. by JÖRG ROGGE, Bielefeld 2017, pp. 251-265. WALTER, KATIE L., Peril, Flight and the Sad Man. Medieval Theories of the Body in Battle, in: War and Literature (Essays and Studies on Behalf of the English Association 67), ed. By LAURA ASHE/IAN PATTERSON, Cambridge 2014, pp. 21-40.

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Clash of Civilisations in Medieval Scotland or C an Culture Explain Conflict? 1 MATTHIAS BERLANDI The idea of culture being a metahistorical factor in Scottish History is as old as the discipline itself. Throughout the 19th century, an imagined clash between Gaelic and Anglo-Norman culture was commonplace in Scottish History. It can still be found in Geoffrey Barrow’s standard work about the 1st War of Independence. He held the success of certain Anglo-Norman saints such as St Margaret and the administrative development towards the continental Frankish feudalism as a benchmark for the enforcement of Anglo-Norman culture.2 A profound review of this Thesis can be found in Mathew Hammond’s ground-breaking study about the Gaelic and Anglo-Norman dualism in Scottish Historiography. For medievalists in the 19th century, the contemporary narrative to explain historic processes was race. Many people believed that affiliation to a certain race determined a human’s social behaviour, creativity and historical significance. This 19th century racism is the root of the described dualism and was of crucial importance to historians of that time.

1

2

This paper, based on ideas developed in my M.A. Thesis, was written for a doctoral students’ colloquium at St Andrews University on 12 th October 2015. For this publication it was slightly adjusted to the current state of research. BARROW, 2005, p. 11.

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Duncan Keith believed the Teutonic race to be superior to the Celtic and that their descent was crucial for the Scots’ place in human hierarchy. 3 William Forbes Skene, arguably the most prominent historian in the field of Scottish History of this time, contributed his interpretation to the Celtic/Teutonic debate, which is still favoured in recent attempts to describe the cultural development in medieval Scotland. In his opinion, Celtic culture was slowly replaced by Teutonic culture, while this was seen as an innovative and progressive process. 4 Geoffrey Barrow then transported this idea, freed from its racist roots, into the second half of the 20th century. Celts and Teutons are no longer distinguished. The new dualistic line runs between those parts of Scottish society that, based on contemporary views, supported the progressive course of the Scottish nation, which is in most cases associated with centralism, political effectiveness of crown politics and the maintenance of national independence, and those parts opposed to this development. Although one could think that a debate of culture-related conflicts ceased to exist under the new national paradigm of Scottish historiography, the opposite is the case. There are many possible answers; one is the increased interest in the Culture as a factor for violent conflicts in contemporary history, another is that chroniclers in medieval Scotland also referred to cultural differences when explaining conflicts among the Scottish society. Generally, these cultural groups are divided by the geographical border between the lowlands and highlands. Research terms Gaelic culture to Scots living in the highlands and Anglo-Norman culture to the Scots in the south. The term Gaelic derives from linguistic criteria developed by Skene, who determined the Celtic race in Scotland via linguistic features. The Celtic dialect spoken in Scotland was Gaelic and this cultural benchmark is still in use when we try to map the geographical extent of certain cultures in Scotland.5 One year after Mathew H. Hammonds published his critique on the ethnical dualism in Scottish historiography, Martin MacGregor argued that the troubles not only stem from believing in authorities but are also fed by the absence of proper source criticism. Following this argument, Skene’s influence as an authority in Scottish historiography is not re3 4 5

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sponsible for the popularity of the ethnical dualism in Scotland, but the fact that the most important Scottish chroniclers’ face value offers the exact described narrative. According to MacGregor, the account found in John Forduns, chronica gentis Scottorum that described the different ethnical groups in Scotland was constantly repeated without considering the possible motives to portrait the Scottish society in this specific way. 6 This blind spot in research has to be explained as being multicausal. The conveyance of political narratives in the past, the present and in historiographical tradition led to an internalisation of the idea that there was a Clash of Civilisations in Scotland.7

The Wolf of Badenoch – A Personalization of Gaelic Culture? As MacGregor aptly pointed out, the disqualification of the Highlander is nothing new. It is a common technique; as he puts it: a “timehonoured and universal topos of civilised versus barbaric man”.8 Surprisingly, especially historians should be aware of the political use of this topos. Most commonly, it is used in areas of military expansion to justify violence used against the barbaric man, since the good-willed civilised man cannot argue reasonably with savages. There are some events preferentially described by referring to the mentioned topos, which seem to harden the prejudices established by Fordun, Bower, Boece and others. The most prominent candidate is Alexander Stewart (1343-1405), the infamous ‘Wolf of Badenoch’, who is so closely associated with highland barbarism and hence a promising start for any examination of the political use of the barbaric-manframe. His notorious byname was given to him due to the private war he fought with the bishop of Moray, Alexander Bur (d. 1397). The 6

7 8

SKENE (ed.), 1871, p. 38; MacGregor puts it even more drastically. In his opinion, Fordun’s text was often quoted but never properly studied. Even sever mistakes in the translation were discovered lately, MACGREGOR, 2007, p. 8; cf. GRANT, 1994, pp. 76-77. For instance, even racist views on the highland/lowland cleavage can be found in the 90ies: DONALDSON, 1990, pp. 3-4. MACGREGOR, 2007, p. 11.

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chronicler Hector Boece (1456-1536)9, heavily favouring Bishop Bur, defamed the Earl of Buchan as a barbaric man in his chronicle murthlacensium et aberdonensium episcoporum vitae written in 1522. „Tum Alexander, quidam regis notus ut ferebatur homo nefarius cuius improbitatem omnes fuerant perosi tempus adesse ratus quo episcopum, sibi ob vitae impuritatem infensum, suo oprimeret arbitrio, adiunctis impuris quibusdam, ut paternam iniuriam ulcisci videretur, episcopi rem pecuariam omnibus cum fortunis abegit, agrestibus gregumque custodibus contumeliose caesis agros ecclesiae subtractos sceleratis quibusdam, nec deum nec homines verentibus, sua libidine partitus tradidit colendos.”10

The violent climax of this conflict was the destruction of the Elgin cathedral in June 1390. However, there are other incidents of the extensive use of violence against political opponents. Walter Bower found one of Alexander Stewart’s illegitimate sons, Duncan, to be guilty of murder. According to this account, he attacked Walter Ogilvie, sheriff of Angus, and killed him together with 60 of his men.11 From these narrations, Stephen Boardman developed an archetypal strategy applied by the Badenoch-Stewarts to exercise power in their domains and beyond, to which I shall refer as the cateran-strategy. The word cateran derives from the Gaelic term ceatharn, which signifies professional warrior. Imported into administrational language Latin it was commonly translated as maleficator, wrongdoer. Its adaption in Scots also has a negative implication and became a synonym to brigand or robber.12 According to Boardman, the specific feature of the use of caterans is that Alexander of Badenoch gave land to those mercenaries, which he did not own. The caterans occupied the disputed lands and began to raid the original owner’s remaining property. Since the oppo9

Hector Boece hold the title of a magister of theology and teached since 1497 at King’s College in Aberdeen. His Vitae are some mixture between historiography and hagiography, cf.: ROYAN, 2004, http://www.oxforddnb. com/view/article/2760, accessed: 07.02.2018. 10 BOECE, 1821, pp. 25-28. 11 „Conflictus de Glenbrerech, ubi interfectus fuit nobilis vir dominus Walterus Ogylby vicecomes de Angus […] per ketheranos quorum caput fuit Duncanus Stewart filius domini Alexandri comitis de Buchan […]”, see: WATT (ed.), 1987, pp. 6f. 12 BOARDMAN, 1996, pp. 83f; GRANT, 1984, p. 205.

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nent wished to generate income from his other estates, he then agreed to formally transfer his lands to Alexander of Badenoch. In this manner, the entire process received ex post pretended legal justification; hence, the new owner was able to present himself with a fresh charter as the rightful possessor. There is plenty of charter-evidence found in the edited charters of the bishopric of Moray that give insights into exactly this procedure.13 One might rightly ask, how that should be linked with Gaelic culture, yet it is argued that Alexander Stewart, an AngloNorman nobleman descended from the royal Stewart-family, was somehow absorbed by Gaelic culture, which relies less on judicial procedures and more on violence.14 The argument that Gaelic culture is defined by the actions of people some researchers associate with Gaelic culture is clearly circular reasoning. Hence, we shall now focus on possible alternative explanations of the violent escalation of conflicts in which Wolf of Badenoch participated. The most evident reasons for violence are diverting interests and, consequently the struggle for political influence and power. Alexander Stewart’s first appearance as a politically active nobleman was on 14 August 1370. He issued letters patent to assign his men to protect the lands of the Bishop of Moray. Only six month later, he was granted his first and primary domain Badenoch, since David II reviewed landholding throughout Scotland to reverse alienations of crownlands during his captivity in England. Robert Stewart, Alexander’s father acquired Badenoch through his second marriage with Euphemia of Ross and assigned his son, perhaps as bailie, to administrate Badenoch.15 From the very beginning of Alexander’s appearance in the Scottish Highlands, he obviously offered protection to the Bishop of Moray and probably had access to some resources of the bishopric. There is no need to assume that Alexander blackmailed the Bishop of Moray from his first appearance in the north to the 1390ies. As an impartial observer one can only notice, since there are no recorded complaints under David II, that Alexander held some lucrative rights and services associated with the bishopric of Moray. Considering the relatively small base of income it should not be considered to be too bold to assume that the 13 INNES (ed.), 1837, p. 189-191, no. 162; pp. 196f, no. 168. 14 BOARDMAN, 1996, p. 88. 15 GRANT, 1993, p. 143.

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resources gained by this arrangement were of some significance to Alexander. Following Robert Stewart’s ascension to the throne on 22nd of February 1371, he soon planned on providing his many sons with sufficient land. The eldest one John became earl of Carrick, the second born earl of Mentieth (later he also acquired the earldom of Fife), and the firstborn son of Robert II’s second marriage, David, obtained the title earl of Strathearn. Alexander instead obtained a considerable portion of Moray; on 30th March 1371 he gained the lordship of Badenoch and the castle and forest of Lochindorb. He perhaps was compensated with more crownlands. The Exchequer Rolls state that the royal income from Moray decreased to a mere £11.16 Nevertheless, Alexander had to share authority in Moray with two other members of the higher nobility. The most valid claim to Moray was held by the Dunbar family, who were the rightful heirs to John Randolph, 3rd earl of Moray, who died at Neville’s Cross in 1346. Furthermore, the Dunbars had supported Robert Stewart and expected to be rewarded. Robert II granted John, the younger of the Dunbar brothers, the title of Earl of Moray, but excluded large parts of the former Randolph-earldom. As mentioned, the lordship of Badenoch was excluded along with Lochaber, which was held by John MacDonald, Lord of the Isles, and the barony of Urquhart, which went also to the younger half-brother David. John Dunbar was compensated with lands in Aberdeenshire and a royal marriage with Marjorie Stewart, Robert’s second daughter.17 After a short review of the political situation in Moray, it is obvious that there was at least a Clash of Interests between John Dunbar and Alexander Stewart, who both had the ambition to control the whole of Moray. Both men were able to claim close connection to the royal house, John Dunbar by marriage, Alexander by descent and, naturally, the reorganisation and exemption of Badenoch from the jurisdiction of the Earl of Moray could only lead to more potential sources of conflicts. The usual non-violent instruments to settle a dispute by social rank, proximity to the crown or jurisdictional powers could not work in this case. Arguably, Alexander was the more ambitious one of the two men. In 1371, he leased the barony of Urquhart from his half-brother and 16 BURNETT, 1878, p. 363. 17 GRANT, 1993, p. 144.

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expanded his influence in Moray. In October of the same year, he became a royal lieutenant for lands in Aberdeenshire and even north Perthshire.18 The fact that Alexander held his lordship of Badenoch in regalitatem, which made it impossible to revoke his extensive powers, made the situation even more complex; but one could clearly prove that he was guilty of high treason.19 Still, Alexander was not at the peak of his power. In June 1382, he married Euphemia countess of Ross, the heiress to the largest earldom of Scotland. As her husband, Alexander was granted Ross in life-rent together with other lands such as the Isle of Skye, Dingwall-castle and the baronies of Nairn and Kinnedar belonging to Euphemia. In the meanwhile, John Dunbar seemed to be focused on the Borders as the traditional area of his family’s influence, leaving the ambition of Alexander Stewart unchecked.20 With no other secular lord in Ross and Moray, the bishops in this region were the only possible opponents with the resources to oppose Alexander Stewart were the bishops in this region. And in fact, there is a longer history of diverse interests between the bishops and the lords in the north. For instance, David Murray, Bishop of Moray, supported Robert I mainly because of his struggle with the Comyn-family, who was in the same position as Alexander Stewart with Badenoch as one of their power-bases. The relation between bishop and earl was clarified under Robert I, who gave Thomas Randolph and his heirs the jurisdiction over the bishop’s lands and to muster the bishop’s tenants in times of war. Alexander Bur, who had a considerably long episcopate from 1362 to 1397, held the view that the overlordship over his bishopric ceased to exist with extinction of the Randolph-family in 1346. In parts he was successful. In 1365, David II gave him full regality of his lands as well, so that he was technically exempt from the lord of Badenoch’s or the Justiciar’s powers.21 Consequently, there was another Clash of Interest between Alexander Stewart and Alexander Bur over the jurisdictional powers, which was difficult to solve, since Moray was effectively divided between three powers and the diverse interferences in the

18 19 20 21

IBID., p. 145. COOPER (ed.), 1947, p. 249-251; HUARD (ed.), 1776, p. 530. GRANT, 1993, p. 144. INNES (ed.), 1837, pp. 164f, no. 147; pp.171-175, no. 154; pp. 191-193, no. 163; pp. 197-201, no. 169; GRANT, 1993, p. 146.

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bishop-earl relation by Robert I and David II gave both Alexanders the confidence to stand their ground. Matters got worse when Alexander Stewart started to consolidate his power in Badenoch around 1380. When the bishop protested against being summoned to the lord of Badenoch’s courts, Alexander used his regality powers to declare the bishop’s lands forfeit, but the latter issued a pledge to the royal court, which decided in favour of the bishop citing the liberties granted by David II to the church of Moray. In 1381, Alexander Stewart declared himself convinced by the legal evidence presented to him. Obviously, he did not accept the status quo. On 20th April 1383, the bishop leased the most valuable church-lands in Badenoch, Rothimurchus to Alexander Stewart, who promised to keep the bishop’s lands free from caterans. Rothimurchus covered 10% of the entire lordship and was located next to Badenoch-castle, Alexander Stewart’s primary holding. This clearly hints that Alexander – after losing the legal process – used violence to pursue his interests.22 On 2nd February 1387, the lands were still in dispute, because Alexander Stewart, according to the bishop, did not pay the agreed rent for Rothimurchus. In 1385, as Alexander Grant supposes, Alexander Stewart became royal justiciar, an office, which made him the highest authority in the north but the king. Forced in a rearguard action, the bishop accepted Alexander’s control over Rothimurchus and Abriachan, but maintained his principle status as being exempt from the justiciar’s jurisdiction.23 But the Wolf of Badenoch did not stop there. He slowly expanded the boundaries of his lordship. In October 1384, he added the barony of Abernethy to his domains and removed the barony of Bona from Moray and transferred it to the lordship of Badenoch in October 1386. All these acquisitions were also made in regalitatem. Naturally, this met with the displeasure of Alexander’s neighbours, and his younger halfbrother David complained that the barony of Urquhart, which he had leased to him only temporarily, was usurped by his brother, and he reminded his brother of his obligation to return the said lands. Yet another claimant to Alexander’s domains was James Lindsay, who had a hereditary claim to Buchan, held by Alexander since 1382.24 22 GRANT, 1993, p. 146-148. 23 INNES (ed.), 1837, pp.196f, nos. 167, 168; GRANT, 1993, p. 149. 24 GRANT, 1993, pp. 149-150.

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Opposition formed against Alexander; and when Robert II was declared unable to rule the Kingdom and his eldest son John of Carrick took control of the government in 1384, he relied on the support of those nobles who demanded the rearrangement of the power structure in the north. This was not the only reason for the Douglas and Lindsayfamilies to support Carrick’s coup; they also had interests in the south,25 but his failure to balance the power of his brother Alexander gave Robert II’s second-born son, Robert, Earl of Fife and Menteith, the opportunity to seize the government for himself in 1388, after Carrick lost his main supporter the Earl of Douglas, who died at Otterburn. On the 11 th December, Alexander lost his office as justiciar and was replaced by the Earl of Fife and Menteith’s eldest son, Murdac. In October 1389, Fife and his son Murdac attempted to settle the disputes in the north at Inverness.26 At this process, Alexander Bur was cleared from suspicions of being involved in the murder of David Barclay 40 years earlier and the disputes between Bur and John Dunbar were settled. Probably in the attempt to break the supremacy of Alexander Stewart, the legitimacy of his marriage to Euphemia, countess of Ross, was questioned. Since Alexander held the earldom of Ross only de jure uxoris, a divorce would deprive him of much of his lands and powers. The justification for this move was found in his illegitimate relationship with his mistress Mairead. Alexander was only able to retain control of Ross by promising to return to his wife. 27 Alexander Bur, now seeing himself in the offensive, formed an alliance with Thomas Dunbar, eldest son of John Dunbar, who replaced Alexander Stewart as sheriff of Inverness. With the indenture issued on the 22nd February 1390, Alexander Bur promised annual payments for protection by Thomas Dunbar, replacing Alexander Stewart also in this function, which he held from the very beginning of his appearance in the north. Alexander was unwilling to tolerate this additional humiliation. Shortly after the death of Robert II in late May 1390, Alexander attacked Forres. On 17th of June, Elgyn followed, where he burned the prestigious cathedral of bishop Bur.28

25 BROWN, et al. (eds.), 2007, 1384/11/4; BOARDMAN, 1996, pp. 109-111. 26 BROWN, et al. (eds.), 2007, 1388/12/1; INNES (ed.), 1837, pp. 197-201, no. 169; BOARDMAN, 1996, pp. 75, 96, 171. 27 GRANT, 1993, pp. 150-151. 28 IBID., p. 152.

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Alexander Stewart was excommunicated for his sacrilegious deed, but Alexander Bur could not maintain his opposition against him. Robert III cancelled the agreement between Thomas Dunbar and Alexander Bur as a first step of reconciliation. The feud between the bishop and the Wolf of Badenoch was settled at Perth. The excommunication was lifted, and Alexander Stewart promised compensation for the destruction of Elgyn cathedral. Still, the bishops of Aberdeen, Glasgow and St. Andrews proceeded with the project of divorcing Alexander Stewart and Euphemia with eventual success, which lost him the earldom of Ross and much of his power.29 Alexander Grant, who knowledgeably describes Alexander Stewart’s rise and fall, argues that the violent escalation of the Wolf of Badenoch’s conflicts took place in situations, when he had his back up against the wall. In his opinion, this is an indicator for the Wolf’s weak lordship and his inadequacy as a lord, whereby he follows the parliament’s evaluation from 1388: “Inutilis fuit communitati”.30 Grant gathers more evidence for this thesis from the events following the peace at Perth. Alexander’s illegitimate sons were frequently involved in local feuding and, with the Wolf weakened, new players appeared in the north as politically active nobles. These included Thomas Dunbar following his father as Earl of Moray in 1391 and David Lindsay of Glenesk, who left traces in the sources for their organisation of the famous clan battle at Perth in 1398.31 Much of this can be explained by placing oneself in the position of Alexander’s illegitimate sons. They had no chance to inherit the lands of their father and, with Ross lost and no legitimate heir, the BadenochStewart dynasty faced their inevitable extinction in the 1390ies. It is quite understandable that, once judicial instruments failed, Alexander’s sons tried to fight for their place among the nobility in the north. The illegitimate son Alexander, later earl of Mar, widely praised by chroniclers and modern researches alike, implied the same violent approach to extend his territory. His title was acquired by killing Malcom Drummond in 1404 and marring his widow Isabella Douglas by force. The crucial difference that caused him to succeed in contrast to his father’s 29 IBID., p. 153. 30 THOMSON (ed.), 1912, p. 556; GRANT, 1993, p. 158. 31 GRANT, 1993, p. 155.

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failure was that the central government needed Mar to fight off the MacDonalds, who expanded in the power vacuum the Wolf of Badenoch left behind, while the Duke of Albany’s rise to power was bound to the humiliation of his brother Alexander Stewart. It is fully explained by tactical reasons, why Albany supported Mar and antagonised the lord of Badenoch, while Mar’s disrespect of the kingdom’s laws and social rules was arguably worse.32 By reviewing the facts hinting at the Wolf of Badenoch’s career, it should become clear that not a single aspect of his behaviour or applied strategies needs to be explained by the special necessities of the Gaelic culture. Nor were they uncommon among other members of the nobility, or restricted to the highlands. We shall now examine other incidents in Scottish history that prove the application of the Wolf’s strategies in other parts of the kingdom.

The cateran-strategy in Scottish Lowlands To recap the Wolf of Badenoch’s cateran strategy, we have to look back at the use of his cateran-force. The core of this strategy consists of three steps (1) the violent occupation of the disputed lands, (2) the raiding of the original owner’s property and (3) the legalised transfer of the disputed lands to the aggressor. These basic elements of the so called cateran-strategy can be found in the territorial dispute between the monasteries of Dunfermline and Durham. Dunfermline on the Scottish side demanded the lands of Coldingham in Berwickshire that belonged to Durham. In order to force Durham to surrender its claim to Coldingham, the Abbot of Dunfermline, John de Torry, issued a charter to Sir John Swinton granting him the lands of Little Swinton, which were located among the lands of Coldingham. John Swinton was a disinherited, one of those Scottish nobles who supported the Balliol-Comyn faction during the first War of Independence. Robert Bruce declared their lands to be forfeit and gave them to loyal supporters of his cause. Hence, John Swinton fought in 32 Ditchburn, 2004, http://www.oxforddnb.com/view/10.1093/ref:odnb/9780 198614128.001.0001/odnb-9780198614128-e-26452?rskey=YoA8Z7& result=1 (accessed 07.02.2018)

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France for Edward III and obtained considerable wealth as knight errant in English services. The offer of Dunfermline gave him the opportunity to regain control of his ancestors’ lands in Scotland. The Clash of Interests between Dunfermline-abbey and Durhamcathedral, however, had a long history. The apple of discord was Coldingham Priory, whose foundation is ascribed to King Edgar in 1098. The new monastic house was dedicated to St. Cuthbert. The Saint’s remains were kept in Durham, which also received Edgar’s charter for the foundation of Coldingham Priory. Durham sent Benedictine monks from its own ranks to Coldingham to realise Edgar’s foundation and hence regarded itself as the mother of the priory. 33 During the following centuries, Coldingham was showered with wealth and immunities by the various Scottish kings. The high income resulted from the high rents on the one hand and the extensive mulcts of the other. William K. Hunter goes as far as describing the fate of the inhabitants at the mercy of the monks from Coldingham as “state of absolute slavery”. It was not the land itself that was of extraordinary wealth, it was this bundle of rights, which made it lucrative to exploit the lands attached to the Priory.34 Naturally, Coldingham drew interest. Not only among the contending monastic houses Durham and Dunfermline, but also among lords, who sought to hold the lands as tenants in chief exploiting the inhabitants to the maximum while paying a reasonable fixed rent. This made it interesting for John Swinton to fight for the relatively small lands of Swinton.35 Dunfermline acquired Coldingham by force, the abbey sent John Swinton with 60 of his men to raid the lands, the Durham-monks were expelled, and the new land tenure was legalised by Robert II in 1380. Dunfermline now regarded itself as the mother of the convent in Coldingham.36 Quite similar to the cateranstrategy applied by Alexander Stewart Dunfermline used a group of organized professional warriors to imply violence in a private war when the own interests could not be achieved by appealing to a higher authority. Even Rome was not able to settle the dispute between the two monastic houses, due to the Great Schism in 1378, which gave opponents 33 34 35 36

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the chance to switch their obedience to the pope, who judges accordingly. 37 New charter-evidence also points in this direction. Most interesting in this context is another conflict between a laird and a bishop, this time in Fife. Walter Trail, bishop of St. Andrews, charged Henry of Arnot at their feudal superior’s court. In their case this honour appertained to Robert, Earl of Fife and Menteith, the future Duke of Albany. Extensively the document describes how Henry of Arnot entered the lands of Kynneswood and where he took over the resources. After the Earl heard both sides, the laird confessed his wrongdoings and agreed to a perambulation.38 With this judicial instrument, the exact borders of contested lands were determined in the presence of all participating parties and powerful local lairds by riding along the agreed boundaries. 39 Whether the solution and the background of the conflict described in the narratio of this charter happened accordingly is difficult to answer. If it had happened this way, the charter would be direct proof for a Lowlandlaird applying the same strategies we know from the Wolf of Badenoch’s actions in the north. Unfortunately, it is even dangerous to take the face value of charter-evidence to develop one’s interpretation. It is likewise possible that the Earl of Fife and Walter Trail used judicial instruments to consolidate the bishop’s territory. Given the close cooperation between those two powerful political actors, it is hard to understand, why Henry of Arnot, a much less powerful local laird should risk attacking his overwhelmingly more powerful neighbour. Then again exactly this could also be an argument for the use of violence, since the laird could not hope to achieve his aims by a lawsuit knowing that Fife and Walter Trail were close political allies. Which version comes closer to the events can only be answered by other documents of the Arnot family waiting to be found in local archives. At least, in case Walter Trail blackmailed Henry of Arnot to legalise his adjustments to the line of the border between the two men’s

37 The Shism arose after the papal double election in 1378. It was solved during the Council of Constance 1414-1422, see: PAYAN, 2009, pp. 55f. 38 1388 Robert Earl of Fife and Menteith to Bishop Walter Trail, see Scottish Border Archives, call number: SBA 581 32.4. 39 For a detailed description of this legal procedure see: SIMPSON/WILSON, 2017, pp. 3-6.

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territories, the charter is proof of the contemporary conviction that clearly did not limit forcible land acquisition to the highlands.

Conclusions The debate over the impact of Gaelic and Anglo-Norman culture on Scottish history teaches very important lessons about historiography itself. It is not necessary to claim the abandoning of the ethnical dualism in Scotland again. This was done by more learned Historians in the field of Scottish history, such as Hammond and MacGregor. What I can add to these findings is twofold, concerning both methodological and theoretical aspects of historiography. On the methods used I would like to stress the importance of testing frames found in the narrative sources on different categories of sourcematerial. The easiest way to do this is to consider the extensive corpora of charters in the local archives. Many aspects of the conflicts concerning Coldingham, Alexander Stewart or Henry of Arnot, can only be studied via charters. In the process, both source-categories should be treated equally, meaning that we should be bold to abandon frames offered by the chroniclers, if they fail to explain extensive parts of the written records. This is a direct consequence of MacGregor’s critique, who scathed that historians tend to be seduced by beautifully formulated narrations taken at their face-value as historical fact. In respect to theory, we can draw some conclusions for the use of the term culture and the handling of epistemological misconceptions. The latter, for instance, makes it easier to identify those narratives that should be reconsidered and tested with respect to their plausibility. In our example, this regards the ethnical dualism, which leads to the circular link between the behaviour of a so defined culture’s protagonist and this culture he represents. In this case epistemological standards can help shaping progressive heuristics. Another proposal regarding theory is the deliberate use of the word culture. In the described debate about the contending cultures in Scottish history, the term is treated like a black box. Although there is the assumption that there were distinctive cultures, it is unclear how they affected specific behaviour. Modern research more aptly links culture to

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perception, not to behaviour. In a second step a specific perception might lead to a higher probability for certain behaviour, yet this must not lead to a complete disregard of other possible explanatory factors. Cultural theory is only a powerful tool if we use it as a factor in its own right and not as some kind of deposit-category that subsumes every other political or social aspect of a historic event. Finally, it seems to be noteworthy to review the idea of culture as the main factor for violent conflicts. It may be plausible to argue that one may find a Clash of Interests behind every narrative of a Clash of Civilisations. However, the role played by cultures in violent conflicts, feuds and war remains an open question.

Literature Sources BAIN, JOSEPH (ed.), Calendar of Documents relating to Scotland, vol. 4, Edinburgh1888. BOECE, HECTOR, History and chronicles of Scotland, ed. JOHN BELLENDEN, Bd. 1, Edinburgh 1821. BROWN, K.M. et al. (eds.), The Records of the Parliaments of Scotland [RPS] to 1707, St Andrews 2007-2014 (http://www.rps.ac.uk/ accessed 06.02.2018). BURNETT, GEORGE et al. (eds.), Rotuli Scaccarii Regum Scotorum. The Exchequer Rolls of Scotland, vol. 2: 1359-1379, Edinburgh 1878. COOPER, LL. D. (ed.), Regiam Majestatem Et Quoniam Attachiamenta based on the Text of Sir John Skene, Edinburgh 1947. HUARD, M., Traités sur les coutumes Anglo-Normandes, Rouen 1776. INNES, COSMO NELSON, Registrum Episcopatus Moraviensis E Pluribus Codicibus Consarcinatum Circa A.D. MCCCC Cum Continuatione Diplomatum Recentiorum Usque Ad A.D. MDCXXIII, Edinburgh 1837. SKENE, W. F. (ed.), Johannis de Fordun: Chronica Gentis Scotorum, Edinburgh 1871.

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THOMSON, JOHN MAITLAND (ed.), Registrum Magni Sigillum Regni Scotorum. The Register of the Great Seal of Scotland A.D. 13061424, vol. 1, Edinburgh 1912. THOMSON, THOMAS/INNES, COSMO NELSON (eds.), Acts of the Parliaments of Scotland, vol. 1, Edinburgh 1844. WATT, D.E.R. et al. (eds.), Bower, Walter: Scotichronicon, vol. 8, Edinburgh 1987.

Secondary Literature BARROW, GEOFFREY W. S., Robert Bruce and the community of the Relam of Scotland, Edinburgh 42005. BOARDMAN, STEPHEN, The Early Stewart Kings Robert II. and Robert III. 1371-1406, East Linton 21996. DITCHBURN, DAVID, Stewart, Alexander, earl of Mar (c.1380-1435), in: Oxford Dictionary of National Biography, Oxford University Press, 2004; online edition, May 2005 (accessed 21.01.2018). DOBSON, R.B.: The Last English Monks on Scottish Soil: The Severance of Coldingham Priory from the Monastery of Durham 14611478, in: The Scottish Historical Review, vol. 46, no. 141, (1967), pp. 1-25. DONALDSON, GORDON, Scotland: James V–James VII, Edinburgh 1990. GRANT, ALEXANDER, Independence and Nationhood, Edinburgh 1984. ID., The Wolf of Badenoch, in: W.D.H. Sellar (Hg.): Moray: Province and People, Edinburgh 1993. ID., Aspects of national consciousness in medieval Scotland, in: BJØRN, CLAUS/ GRANT, ALEXANDER/ STRINGER, KEITH J. (eds): Nations, Nationalism and Patriotism in the European Past, Copenhagen 1994, pp. 68-95. HAMMOND, MATTHEW H., Ethnicity and the Writing of Medieval Scottish history, Scottish Historical Review 85, 219 (2006), S. 1-27. HUNTER, WILLIAM KING, History of the Priory of Coldingham from the earliest date to the present time, Edinburgh 1858. KEITH, DUNCAN, A History of Scotland, Civil and Ecclesiastical, from the Earliest Times to the Death of David I, 1153, 2 vols., Edinburgh 1886.

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MACGREGOR, MARTIN, Gaelic Barbarity in medieval Scotland, in: BROUN, DAUVIT/ MACGREGOR, MARTIN (eds.): Mìorun Mòr nan Gall. The Great Ill-Will of the Lowlander? Lowland Perceptions of the Highlands, Medieval and Modern, Glasgow 2007, S. 7-48. PAYAN, PAUL, Entre Rome et Avignon. Une histoire du Grand Schisme (1378-1417), Paris 2009. ROYAN, NICOLA, Hector Boece, in: Oxford Dictionary of National Biography 2004; (http://www.oxforddnb.com/view/article/2760, accessed: 06.02.2018). SIMPSON, ANDREW R. C./WILSON, ADELYN L. M., Scottish Legal History. Volume One: 1000-1707, Edinburgh 2017.

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At the forefront of resistance to England? Melrose Abbey and th e Sco ttish Wars of Independence 1 SEBASTIAN WEIL The Anglo-Scottish conflicts of the 14th century have been a prominent area of research for generations of British historians. The Scottish Wars of Independence transformed the relationship between the two kingdoms, and the narrative of Scottish freedom and independence dating back to that time is as important for today’s society as it was 600 years ago. It is therefore surprising that Michael Brown recently noted that the clergy as a whole is entirely absent from studies of the Wars of Independence.2 This paper shall test the narratives used to describe monasteries and their role during the Wars of Independence. Following a short survey of the current state of research, the Cistercian abbey Melrose stands as an example to illuminate the opportunities of a border monastery in times of war. In the following, two prevailing narratives concerning the clergy in the Wars of Independence are tested, namely (1) proto-nationalism or 1

2

This paper was developed from my Master’s thesis “Klöster im angloschottischen Grenzgebiet” (finished in November 2017), in which the monasteries Melrose, Holm Cultram and Lanercost were examined in the times of the Wars of Independence. This version compresses the main arguments derived from the engagement with these monastic communities and applies them to the most prominent example – Melrose Abbey. BROWN, 2012, p. 195.

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patriotism as a precept for action and (2) the monastery as a mere reactive victim. Charter evidence shows that the monastic community acted pragmatically and pursued opportunistic policies, which allowed them to preserve their possessions throughout the 14th century.

The national paradigm in Scottish historiography The past 50 years of research on late medieval Scotland have been dominated by a school of thought, which Michael Brown dubbed New Orthodoxy. Regarding Scotland and its neighbours, their main focus has been to establish the development and existence of a distinctive national identity in delimitation to England. During the past 20 years, Dauvit Broun has shown how this Scottish nation and its identity developed in the high Middle Ages. By using the Melrose chronicle as evidence, he assumes that all inhabitants within the boundaries of today’s Scotland perceived themselves as Scots by the end of the 13th century. 3 This can be used to explain why, by the 14th century, both laity and clergy were staunchly united in the community of the realm acting for the independence and freedom of Scotland. The struggle for national independence is therefore still a prevalent narrative in current research, especially in social and political history. Scottish church history, which is a rather fragmented field,4 views the clergy during the Wars of Independence under the national paradigm, as well.5 In the early 20th century, the clergy was assessed by Barron in the same manner as by English late medieval chroniclers: “Throughout the long struggle, priest and bishop, monk and friar were at the forefront of the resistance to England [...]”.6 50 years later, Eas3 4 5 6

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BROUN, 2007, pp. 19-32. COWAN, 1981, p. 95 still holds true: “The lack of a single standard history of the church is compensated by the existence of a large corpus of specialist studies covering both the organisation and life of the medieval church.” Tom Turpie showed that the idea of a nationalistic liturgy, or a nationalistic agenda of crown and church in regards to the cult of saints is a rather faulty concept: TURPIE, 2015, p. 10f. BARRON, 1914, p. 377. In comparison the chronicler of Lanercost noted: “Nor was it only the secular arm (that was raised) but also the ecclesiastical arm drew a poisoned sword […]”, MAXWELL, 1913, p. 164.

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son restricted at least the role of the border monasteries and pointed out the importance of economic necessities and the vulnerability of monastic communities. At the end of his paper he concluded that the border monasteries were victims, forced to react to troubles created by “the real villain of the story – Edward I”.7 This narrative of helpless monasteries at the mercy of the warmongering laity, primarily described as accommodation or possibility to pillage, was established in contemporary clerical chronicles and has endured until today. Barrow saw no reason to differentiate between clergy and laity in terms of motivation, stating that they were “neither more nor less heroic and patriotic than their fellow country-men”.8 This fits nicely into his powerful interpretation of the Wars of Independence as manifestation of the will of the community of the realm of Scotland to be free and independent of their neighbour England. Oram was first to note that the large border abbeys may have been profiteers of the English rule in the 14 th century; to him, there is a pragmatic recognition of the military status quo by the monks. Very carefully he states that while the bishops of Glasgow and St Andrews had much to lose9 and were therefore very staunchly opposed to the English kings, the border abbeys may not have been trying to uphold a national identity.10 Brown assumes that religious houses like Melrose were not only attacked because they were rich and badly defended, but also as symbols of Scottish identity. 11 Most recently, Jamroziak has published a survey of Cistercian Abbeys in border regions, but her focus rather lies on how they established themselves and their networks than on their involvement in the context of the Wars of Independence.12 By taking a close look at charter sources to supplement the picture emerging from the chronicles, Melrose Abbey and her actions can be 7 8 9

EASSON, 1955, p. 81. BARROW, 1962, p. 20. The Wars of Independence rekindled the fear of the two diocesans to fall under the superiority of an English archbishop, which overrode all material gains that were to be expected from adhering to Edward I. Therefore, during the Wars of Independence many of the Bishops of these two sees can be shown to be active against the English, for example on diplomatic missions or through not ordaining English clerics. 10 ORAM, 2007, p. 142. 11 BROWN, 1998, p. 185. 12 JAMROZIAK, 2011.

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closely examined. The abbey’s charters were published by Cosmo Innes in 1837 as Liber Melros;13 further evidence can be found in both Scottish and English administrative documents.

Melrose Abbey and the outbreak of the War of Independence In 1136, the abbey was founded as filiation of Rievaulx, and its patron David I of Scotland endowed the convent with lands, churches, and tenants.14 The close association of Old Melrose with St Cuthbert, the most important saint of Northumbria, provided a connection with laity on both sides of the Anglo-Scottish border.15 The well-equipped abbey developed into a major landholder in southern Scotland. Its wealth stemmed mainly from land-rents, sheep produce, fisheries and salines – with only eleven appropriated churches, the spiritual incomes were comparably small.16 The abbey’s position was reflected in the abbot’s close connection to the Scottish regnal court, during the 12th and 13th centuries they were often appointed as bishops.17 By the end of the 13th century, Melrose was firmly positioned as a major agent in the border region, with possessions stretching from the east to the west coast. The first phase of the Anglo-Scottish conflicts (c. 1295-1300) presents the only instance were the convent of Melrose can be identified as part of a Scottish cause. In 1295, Abbot Patrick of Selkirk was one of the Scottish clerics who supported an alliance with France against the English. As a consequence, the sheriff of Northumberland seized the 13 Ross has worked out the inherent problems of the 19 th century editions of ecclesiastic sources; while they present the opportunity to get an overview on the existing charters they can barely be used as contemporary source for scholarly research, ROSS, 2006, pp. 202-230. 14 The divergence of the original Cistercian rule became common practice in the course of the middle ages. In the early 12 th century it was still unusual; maybe the reformatory zeal was not as pronounced in Scotland as it was on the continent. FAWCETT, 2004, pp. 19-21. BARROW, 1973, pp. 206f. 15 BROUN, 2007, p. 2. The larger part of Melrose’s landed possessions lay north of the border. 16 COWAN, 1967, p. 222. The neighbouring abbey of Kelso had possession of 40 annexed churches. 17 JAMROZIAK, 2011, pp. 155-157.

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abbey’s lands south of the border and expelled officials and tenants as adherents of the rebel king John I at the outbreak of war in March 1296. After the Scottish defeat at Dunbar, Patrick paid homage to Edward I in Berwick. Nevertheless, he took part in the diplomatic mission sent to France by the Guardians and only returned to Britain in 1299.18 Apparently, the connection to the Scottish Crown established over the past centuries prevailed throughout the first phase of the war. However, the involvement in political events may have been limited to the person of Abbot Patrick. Richard, Abbot of Kelso, was discharged by Edward I due to helping and counselling enemies of the English king – it was explicitly stated that he acted independently of his convent. The English administration recognized Patrick’s diplomatic prowess and he became part of the delegation to Westminster in 1305 to negotiate the Ordinance for the settlement of Scotland.19 With the start of the 14th century, the convent clearly recognised Edward I as sovereign in the Borders. They petitioned the king to confirm their charters of possession and included a request for timber to rebuild their burnt houses. In 1305, the chamberlain of Scotland was ordered to repay £90, which Edward owed the abbey. There is no evidence of the reason for that loan, but it shows the kind of ready money the convent had at its disposal. Economical drawbacks due to the war can also be traced: In 1306, some of the abbey’s lands were seized in order to secure the repayment of debts to an Italian merchant company.20

A king’s burial ground – Melrose and Robert I In August 1330, the Good James Douglas flung Robert I’s heart at the infidels. When it returned to Scotland years later, David II buried his father’s heart in Melrose Abbey. Was this the result of a deep connection between Melrose and the Bruce dynasty? 18 BAIN, 1884, p. 175, no. 736; p. 196, no. 823; p. 271, no. 1071. 19 BARROW, 1962, p. 18; BAIN, 1884, p. 392, no. 1516; p. 457, no. 1691. 20 BAIN, 1884, p. 527, no. 1982; p. 470, no. 1740. The Pullici and Rembertini operated from Hull, England. Donnelly’s survey of Berwick does not show them to trade out of that burgh, so this might be an example of Melrose’s trading connections deep into English territory.

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Robert I seized the Crown in 1306 and the ecclesiastics connected with his coronation were the bishops of St Andrews and Glasgow as well as the abbots of Scone and Arbroath. As mentioned above, the border region and Melrose Abbey were tightly under Edwardian suzerainty. 21 Even after the battle of Bannockburn, abbot William of Fogou stood in contact with the English court at some occasions. The documents of the parliament of 1318 were the earliest in Robert I’s reign to which the abbot’s seal was attached. However, if we accept that Robert’s charter concerning Eskdale was drawn up in 1309, it can be assumed that the interests of Melrose were represented unofficially at earlier parliaments. Since the English grasp on the border region was still fairly secure at least until 1314, the convent had nothing to gain by openly declaring allegiance to the Scottish king. It is striking that other border abbots, such as Kelso (1314) and Jedburgh (1315), were present in earlier parliaments, the convent of Melrose apparently tried to stay in close contact with both kingdoms.22 1315/16 marked a change in Robert I’s focus. He had consolidated his position in Scotland and now turned towards the borders and the north of England. Twice he visited Melrose and some charters are testament of his patronage.23 It was still necessary for the convent to maintain their English contacts; in 1318 and 1319 the abbot was granted safe conducts to visit the English court and his filiation of Holm Cultram. Nevertheless, the abbey intensified its connections to the Scottish Crown and was rewarded with substantial material gains.24 Robert I appears as the moving force – he knew of the monastery’s importance and its connection to the Scottish royal dynasty. The royal attentiveness had the intended results and in the 1320s there are no instances to be found where Melrose approached the English king instead of the Scottish.

21 BAIN, 1887, p. 11, no. 55. Melrose even received teinds out of Durham. 22 See note 46; THOMSON, 1845, p. 290. This needs to be considered carefully, since 1309 marks the year of the synod of Dundee, where the so called Declaration of the Clergy was written. 23 PENMAN, 2014, p. 172; INNES, 1837, pp. 350-400; royal charters can be found with great consistency. 24 BAIN, 1887, p. 115, no. 605; DUNCAN, 1988, p. 532, no. 269; p. 546, no. 288.

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At the end of his days the king was deeply fearful for his salvation, and very precisely-worded grants bear witness of his attempts to counter the long years under excommunication. The convent used their by now close connection to Robert I in order to obtain renewed confirmations of almost all their possessions in free alms.25 Melrose was not the only monastery endowed by Robert, and after his death he was buried in Dunfermline, an abbey more closely associated with his rise as king and Scottish royal dynasties. There is a very peculiar letter which is dated a month before Bruce’s death. It is addressed to his son David and reminds him to honour all grants and payments to the abbey of Melrose, and it also contains the only surviving direction that Robert’s heart be buried there.26 It is unique, as it is the only letter in which a Scottish king counsels his son in such a general manner and cannot be categorised. None of the other important abbeys were emphasised and the instruction to uphold all grants to Melrose seems redundant since Robert I issued plenty of charters securing those in the previous months. The abbey therefore had enough legal security to assert their claims. The written order to bury his heart at Melrose also adds to the question of authenticity. Robert aligned himself with former Scottish kings by having his body buried at Dunfermline – there was no apparent upside to a heart burial at Melrose. All other contemporary sources only know of Bruce’s wish that his heart be taken on a crusade: The English administration, Froissart and Bower noted that it was supposed to be buried in Jerusalem.27 With the added problem of a grammatical anomaly, the examination of the charter’s content led Duncan to proclaim it a forgery. 28 After publishing the Acts of Robert I, he revised his assessment due to a palaeographic similarity, and Simpson therefore argued that the king had planned to have his heart buried at Melrose after the crusade.29 However, the anomalies and inner contentual problems outweigh the exterior match; this letter may well have been a later forgery of the convent to remind 25 DUNCAN, 1988, p. 546, no. 288; p. 547, no. 289; p. 565, no. 308; p. 567, no. 310; p. 625, no. 379. 26 DUNCAN, 1988, p. 625, no. 380. 27 CAMERON, 2000, p.116f. 28 The letter is called litteram, but the chancery regularly used the plural litteras; DUNCAN, 1953, pp. 1-39. 29 DUNCAN, 1988, p. 626; SIMPSON, 1999, pp. 178-179.

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David II of the payments they were due from disputed lands in Roxburghshire. Presumably Robert’s heart returned to Scotland during David II’s first reign (1341-1346), a timeframe which offers a very compelling argument that it was the young king and his council rather than Robert Bruce himself who decided to bury the heart at Melrose. After Edward Balliol had ceded the southern parts of Scotland to Edward III in 1334, many of the burghs and castles (e.g. Jedburgh, Roxburgh, Lochmaben and Berwick) remained firmly in English hands. 30 In 1341/42, Edward III visited Melrose and in 1343, he even spent Christmas at the abbey – already under heavy Scottish attacks. An order for the Exchequer notifies us that Melrose regained their holdings in Northumberland in 1346 (after the Scottish defeat at Durham) and that the convent stood outside the English king’s peace between 1344 and 1346.31 There is no plausible argument as to why the abbey would change adherence at that time, but David II was actively trying to re-establish Scottish administration in the borders. The burial of his father’s heart at Melrose has to fall within those years – David thereby symbolically stated his claims over the region, while he simultaneously established another connection to the Dunkeld dynasty.32

Monastic pragmatism – Navigating through times of war At the outset of the 14th century, the convent was disputing with John and Nicholas Graham for lands in Eskdale. Nicholas Graham had seized lands which the family had previously granted to the monks in free alms, therefore the community petitioned Edward I to resolve the conflict.33 Obviously, the English king was not willing to impair the loyal Grahams, since there is a charter of Robert I in which he adjudicated the disputed lands to the abbey and disregarded all claims of the traitorous Grahams. Unfortunately, this letter is undated, but Penman cannot 30 31 32 33

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MCNEILL/MACQUEEN, 1996, pp. 105-107. MAXWELL, 1913, p. 324; BAIN, 1888, p. 286, no. 1561. Whose last representative Alexander II was buried at Melrose. BAIN, 1884, p. 526, no. 1981.

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be far off when he dates it around the Parliament of St Andrews in 1309.34 This significant episode explicitly shows their opportunistic behaviour in contacting the rivalling kings in order to secure their possessions as well as their meticulous efforts to secure all privileges belonging to a piece of land. The Liber Melros shows eight further charters relating to Eskdale – the convent must have requested confirmations of their privileges year after year until in 1317 Robert I finally granted them the land in free forest.35 In 1333, there was an indenture with Sir John Felton, by which the convent was granted £40 in exchange for prayers for the salvation of John and his wife Sybille. The underlying reason for this agreement was that Felton was infefted with the lordship Ochiltree by Edward Balliol.36 Abbot and convent now had to preserve their claim over the church of Ochiltree against the new lord. At the end of the charter Felton confirmed the abbey’s right of patronage.37 Even though this charter names Edward Balliol as rightful Scottish king, the community at the same time stood in regular contact with the remains of David’s administration. Robert Stewart confirmed grants to the abbey in 1336, which is striking since almost all the monastery’s lands clearly lay in English territory.38 Another interesting grant was made by Randulph Neville, Lord of Darby, in 1353, who was infefted with Lessudden in Roxburghshire by Edward Balliol. After the treaty of Berwick he confirmed his grant to Melrose with a special addendum. During his lifetime, the convent was obliged to pay him half of the land-rents; only after his death would the land fall to the abbey in free alms. Neville achieved two important interests: Memoria of his person and family in the borders as well as access to incomes, in which he would otherwise not have been able to assert his lordship.39 The treaty of Berwick 1357 froze the borders and David had to issue special letters of protection for Melrose’s holdings under his sovereign34 INNES, 1837, pp. 340-341; PENMAN, 2014, pp. 115-117. Both witness list and content support this compelling chronology. 35 INNES, 1837, pp. 341-350. 36 “Edwardi d[e]i gra[tia] Regis Scotto[rum]”, INNES, 1837, p. 412, no. 444. 37 INNES, 1837, pp. 411-412, no. 444; pp. 412-413, nos. 445-446. 38 IBID., pp. 415-416, nos. 448, 449. 39 IBID., pp. 437- 438, nos. 469, 470, 471; FAWCETT, 2004, p. 42.

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ty, since the abbey was per necessity under English overlordship.40 Both governments tried to win over the convent and their considerable economic power by lowering the customs on their wool trade. 41 David II granted Melrose all wool customs in free alms and ordered his officials not to exert payments on sales.42 This meant vast economic benefits if the monks decided to trade their produce in Scottish burghs and harbours. The Scottish king also granted a large part of the Abbey’s lands – even though parts of them were still technically in the English territory – in free regality. All of this pulled Melrose back under the suzerainty of the Scottish Crown, but parts of their holdings remained in Edward III’s territory. It was important for the convent to stay in contact with their English neighbours and they extracted a significant privilege from David. In 1361, the king granted the right to negotiate with the English at their own discretion. This exceptional privilege testifies that the end of the Wars of Independence did not amount to the end of large cross-border landholdings. Unlike the lay nobility, ecclesiastic corporations such as Melrose Abbey were able to navigate through the wars and safeguard many of their interest on both sides of the border.43

Conclusion It has been shown that the abbots and the convent of Melrose had distinctive approaches in order to protect their landholdings. The economical drawbacks of warfare on the monastery, its people and lands cannot be neglected,44 but it is obvious that they were not as helpless as contemporary clerical chronicles would have us believe. Whenever an opportunity arose to assure securities from the seemingly stronger par40 “[…] sint ad fidem et pacem Anglicorum per cim et compulsionem necessariam constitute […]”, WEBSTER, 1982, p. 191, no. 151; INNES, 1837, pp. 398-340, nos. 433, 435, 436. 41 ORAM, 2007, p. 146. 42 WEBSTER, 1982, p. 224, no. 195. 43 IBID., p. 223, no. 194; p. 282, no. 254; ORAM, 2007, pp. 142-144. 44 There is a case to be made for a wilful overemphasis of spoliations in order to reduce the dues, a deceit to which historians have been quick to buy in. E.g. the incomes of Coldingham Priory, despite an undeniable decline, remained at a relatively high level throughout the Wars of Independence.

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ty, the community took action and approached either king, regardless of any national or proto-patriotic sentiment. For ecclesiastics, it posed no moral or cultural problem to shift sides during the conflict. Their identity-establishing role gave them an important advantage over their lay neighbours: Because of their symbolic power, the monasteries received significant grants throughout the Wars of Independence from both sides of the border. The Great Schism of 1378 marked a point when the differences in the spiritual world hardened and ecclesiastic corporations had to choose their adherence more carefully – and rather definitely. With this new dynamic in the Anglo-Scottish conflict, cross-border landholding posed a problem for ecclesiastics as well, as Robert II’s advances against the English monks in Coldingham or the withdrawal of Holm Cultram from Galloway prove. 45 For Melrose, this development lead to the worst destruction wrought by Richard III in 1381, but with the support of their new patrons – the Black Douglases – the abbey was able to uphold their position as one of the most prosperous monastic communities in Scotland.

Literature Sources BAIN, JOSEPH (ed.), Calendar of Documents Relating to Scotland. (Vol. 2), Edinburgh 1884. BAIN, JOSEPH. (ed.), Calendar of Documents Relating to Scotland. (Vol. 3), Edinburgh 1887. BROUN, DAUVIT/HARRISON, JULIAN (ed.), The Chronicle of Melrose. A Stratigraphic Edition. (Vol. 1) Introduction and Facsimile Edition, Woodbridge 2007. DUNCAN, ARCHIBALD A.M. (ed.), The Acts of Robert I, King of Scots, 1306-1329 (Regesta Regum Scottorum Vol. V), Edinburgh 1988. 45 Some thought needs to be given that it is difficult to determine whether the Anglo-Scottish conflicts aggravated due to the schism or if the schism was put forward as reason to aggravate the conflicts.

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INNES, COSMO (ed.), Liber Sancte Marie de Melros. Munimenta vetustiora Monasterii Cisterciensis de Melros (2 Vols.), Edinburgh 1837. MAXWELL, HERBERT (ed.), The Chronicle of Lanercost 1272-1346, Glasgow 1913. THOMSON, THOMAS (ed.), The Acts of the Parliaments of Scotland (Vol. 1), Edinburgh 1845. WEBSTER, BRUCE (ed.), The Acts of David II, King of Scots, 13291371 (Regesta Regum Scottorum Vol. VI), Edinburgh 1982.

Secondary Literature BARRON, E VAN M., The Scottish War of Independence, London 1914. BARROW, GEOFFREY W.S., Benedictines, Tironesians and Cistercians, in: BARROW, GEOFFREY W.S. (ed.), The Kingdom of the Scots. Government, Church and Society from the Eleventh to the Fourteenth Century, London 1973, pp. 188-211. ID., The Scottish Clergy in the War of Independence, in: Scottish Historical Review 41 (1962), pp. 1-22. BROWN, MICHAEL, The Black Douglases. War and Lordship in Late Medieval Scotland, East Linton 1998. ID., The Scottish Wars. 1297-1314, Edinburgh 2004. ID., The Scottish March Wardenships, c. 1340-1480, in: KING, ANDY/SIMPKIN, DAVID (eds.), England and Scotland at War c. 1296-1513, Leiden 2012, pp. 183-203. BROUN, DAUVIT, Becoming Scottish in the 13th Century. The Evidence of the Chronicle of Melrose, in: SMITH, BEVERLY (ed.), West Over Sea. Studies in Scandinavian Sea-borne Expansion and Settlement, Leiden 2007, pp. 19-32. CAMERON, SONJA, Sir James Douglas, Spain, and the Holy Land, in: BROTHERSTONE, TERRY/DITCHBURN, DAVID (eds.), Freedom and Authority. Scotland c.1050-1650. Historical and Historiographical Essays Presented to Grant G. Simpson, East Linton 2000, pp. 108117. COWAN, IAN B., The Medieval Church in Scotland. A Select Critical Biography, in: Records of the Scottish Church History Society (1981), pp. 91-110.

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ID., The Parishes of Medieval Scotland, Edinburgh 1967. DUNCAN, ARCHIBALD A. M., The Acta of Robert I, in: Scottish Historical Review 32 (1953), pp. 1-39. EASSON, DAVID E., The Scottish Abbeys and the War of Independence. A Footnote, in: Records of the Scottish Church History Society (1955), pp. 63-81. FAWCETT, RICHARD/ORAM, RICHARD, Melrose Abbey, Stroud 2004. JAMROZIAK, EMILIA, Survival and Success on Medieval Borders. Cistercian Houses in Medieval Scotland and Pomerania from the Twelfth to the Late Fourteenth Century, Turnhout 2011. MCNEILL, PETER/MACQUEEN, HECTOR, Atlas of Scottish History to 1707, Edinburgh 1996. ORAM, RICHARD, Dividing the Spoils. War, Schism and Religious Patronage on the Anglo-Scottish Border, in: KING, ANDY/PENMAN, MICHAEL (eds.), England and Scotland in the Fourteenth Century. New Perspectives, Woodbridge 2007, pp. 136-156. PENMAN, MICHAEL, Robert the Bruce. King of the Scots, New Haven 2014. ROSS, ALASDAIR, The Bannatyne Club and the Publication of Scottish Ecclesiastical Cartularies, in: Scottish Historical Review 85 (2006), pp. 202-230. SIMPSON, GRANT G., The Heart of King Robert I. Pious Crusade or Marketing Gambit?, in: CRAWFORD, BARBARA (ed.), Church, Chronicle and Learning in Medieval and Early Renaissance Scotland, Edinburgh 1999, pp. 173-186. TURPIE, TOM, Kind Neighbours. Scottish Saints and Society in the Later Middle Ages, Leiden 2015.

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Between Love and Social Advancement The Marriage Arrangemen ts of the Late Med ieval Maxwells of Caerlaverock Castle JULIA NOLL “Reviresco!1 I grow strong again!” This motto of the Scottish family Maxwell not only expresses a special self-image of the family, but perhaps also the faint hope of their early modern decedents to see their family’s prestige and glory restored one day.2 In 1715, William, 14th and last Lord Maxwell, who had joined the Jacobite cause, was captured after the lost Battle of Preston and imprisoned in the Tower of London. Despite his successful escape, he was forced to go into exile and give up his estates and title.3 His ancestors had born the titles Lord Maxwell, Earl of Nithsdale, temporary Earl of Morton and Lord Herries of Terregles. They had also held vast amounts of land and several fortresses. Because of this, it is the purpose of this paper to ask, how the Maxwells of Caerlaverock Castle achieved their rise to this powerful posi1 2

3

FRASER, 1873, pp. 588, 589, 593, 595, 599. This paper is based on the chapter “Heiratspolitik” of my master’s thesis Die Handlungsspielräume des Adels im spätmittelalterlichen Schottland am Beispiel der Maxwells of Caerlaverock Castle, which was handed in on 31st May 2017. The content of the chapter was largely kept. MAXWELL-IRVING, 2005, p. 228.

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tion in Scottish noble society. The options for action which were available to a late medieval Scottish noble family such as the Maxwells played an important role in this matter. Especially the aspect of negotiating proper marriage arrangements provided many opportunities for promotions. Therefore, I intend to present to whom the late medieval heads of the Maxwell family married their heirs and daughters4, under which circumstances the marriage arrangements were negotiated and how they contributed to the social advancement of the family. It should be noted that, beside William Fraser’s Book of Carlaverock, no full-length study of the Maxwells of Caerlaverock Castle exists up to now. In 1873, the Scottish genealogist and palaeographer Fraser wrote his Book of Carlaverock - Memoirs of the Maxwells, Earls of Nithsdale Lords Maxwell and Herries - in two volumes. Whereas volume one relates the family history of the Maxwells, volume two contains family charters and other documents, which had been transliterated by Fraser and which are of enormous significance for any academic research on the Maxwells of Caerlaverock Castle. Today, there are some smaller works which mainly focus on archaeological or art historical questions and only marginally deal with the family and its members.5 This results in the fact that a modern full-length academic study, dealing with the Maxwells of Caerlaverock Castle, has yet to be written. Early traces of the Maxwells can be found in the 11th century when, after the Norman conquest of England, members of the originally Anglo-Saxon family fled to Scotland.6 During the Late Middle Ages, the power-base of the Maxwells focused on the barony of Caerlaverock in south-western Scotland in the region Nithsdale, where the river Nith 4

5

6

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This analysis is restricted to the marriages of the heads of the Maxwells of Caerlaverock Castle and their daughters, because the later-born sons founded own branches of the family and therefore no longer belonged to the family’s main branch, which is the topic of this paper. In this context, especially Alastair M. T. Maxwell-Irving’s The Maxwells of Caerlaverock Castle, contained in the anthology Lordship and Architecture in Medieval and Renaissance Scotland should be mentioned. Although Maxwell-Irving deals at length with the Maxwells of Caerlaverock Castle, most of his information about the family and its members, for example about their origin or how they came to their name, can already be found in Fraser’s Book of Carlaverock. See for example MAXWELL-IRVING, 2005, p. 205 and FRASER, 1873, pp. 1 and 16-17. FRASER, 1873, p. 1.

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enters the Solway Firth.7 Because of the strategic importance of this area, the Maxwells built the stronghold Caerlaverock Castle in this location in the 13th century. It was this castle which gave the main branch of the family its name.8 Especially the late medieval heads of the Maxwells were of considerable importance for the social advancement of the family. Robert I (1373-1409), Herbert IV (1409-1420), Herbert V (1420-1453), Robert II (1453-1485) and John V (1454-1484) mainly determined the fate of their family in the Late Middle Ages and promoted their interests by, for example, establishing advantageous marriage arrangements. Between 1385 and 1386, Robert I Maxwell negotiated a marriage between his son and heir, Herbert IV Maxwell, and Katherine Stewart of Dalswinton.9 Katherine was the daughter of John Stewart I of Garlies and Dalswinton. She was descended from Alexander, 4th High Steward of Scotland and consequently belonged to a side branch of the Scottish royal family.10 The estates of the Stewarts of Dalswinton were situated in close geographical proximity to the Maxwell power-base in southwestern Scotland.11 Because of his marriage to a member of a side branch of the Scottish royal family, Herbert IV gained considerable prestige for himself and for his family. For his son, Herbert V, Herbert IV Maxwell chose a wife from the family Herries of Terregles. The first name of this woman is not known, but she was certainly a daughter of Herbert Herries of Terregles. 12 The estates of the Herries of Terregles were near the land property of the Maxwells, too.13 According to the sources, the families had already been in contact before the marriage was arranged. Both families belonged to the affinity of the powerful Earls of Douglas.14 The grandfa7 8 9 10

11 12 13 14

MCNEILL/MACQUEEN, 1996, p. 205, Y Dumfries, No. 6. SIMPSON, 1953, p. 123. Maxwell Charters, 1873, pp. 418f., No. 23. Katherine was Alexander’s great-great-granddaughter. Although Harvey G. Johnston’s Heraldry of the Stewarts only mentions the male members of the family, this degree of kinship is most likely because of Katherine’s date of birth and death; JOHNSTON, 1906, p. 54 and the pedigree on p. 46. MCNEILL/MACQUEEN, 1996, p. 205, Y Dumfries, No. 8, No. 9. BALFOUR PAUL, 1907, p. 402. MCNEILL/MACQUEEN, 1996, p. 205, Y Dumfries, No. 23. According to Alexander Grant, both families, represented by Robert I and Herbert IV Maxwell and John Herries of Terregles, belonged to the “inner

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thers of the married couple, John Herries of Terregles and Robert I Maxwell, appear for example together as witnesses to a charter of Archibald, 4th Earl of Douglas.15 As a result of this marriage, the Maxwells gained new allies in Nithsdale and tied their family closer to other members of the affinity of the Earls of Douglas. Herbert IV Maxwell not only arranged a proper marriage for his heir, but also for his daughters. Around 1420, Margaret Maxwell16 married John Montgomerie of Eaglesham.17 John Montgomerie was a powerful and prominent supporter of the Earl of Douglas. His estates included Eaglesham in Renfrewshire and Ardrossan in south-western Scotland.18 Again, this marriage arrangement resulted in an alliance with a Scottish noble family whose estates were situated in close geographical proximity to the Maxwell power-base of Caerlaverock. Furthermore, it produced a closer tie between Herbert IV and another powerful family who belonged to the affinity of the Earls of Douglas. Another daughter of Herbert IV and his wife Katherine Stewart of Dalswinton was Janet Maxwell.19 She married William Douglas, 2nd Laird of Drumlanrig, a grandson of the 2nd Earl of Douglas.20 Again, the barony of Drumlanrig was situated in close proximity to the Maxwell barony of Caerlaverock.21 As before, the families knew each other, because they both belonged to the following of the Earl of Douglas.22 This is shown by a charter of Archibald, 4th Earl of Douglas, to William Douglas, 1st Laird of Drumlanrig and father of the bridegroom-to-be,

15 16 17

18 19 20 21 22

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circle” of the affinity of Archibald, 4th Earl of Douglas; GRANT, 2000, p. 246. Maxwell Charters, 1873, p. 417, No. 21. Although there is no direct reference in the sources, BALFOUR PAUL, 1909, p. 474 and FRASER, 1873, p. 582 identify her as a daughter of Herbert IV. The marriage is well proven because of a petition to the Pope and because Margaret is called John’s wife in a royal charter from 2nd October 1427; Calendar of Entries in the Papal Registers, 1896, p. 602; Registrum Magni Sigilli Regum Scotorum, 1882, No. 102. GRANT, 2000, p. 246; MCNEILL/MACQUEEN, 1996, p. 205, X Ayre, No. 2. Janet does not appear in Fraser’s Book of Carlaverock. Nevertheless, she is most likely a daughter of Herbert IV Maxwell; BALFOUR PAUL, 1909, p. 475. BALFOUR PAUL, 1910, p. 115. MCNEILL/MACQUEEN, 1996, p. 205, Y Dumfries, No. 10. GRANT, 2000, p. 246.

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which was witnessed by Herbert IV Maxwell.23 By this marriage, the Maxwells succeeded in directly marrying into the Douglas family. Prior to 1424, it is striking that the Maxwells only entered into marriage with members of families whose estates were located in close geographical proximity to the Maxwell barony of Caerlaverock. It can therefore be suggested that the male heads of the family aimed at gaining powerful allies in south-western Scotland. They found them in the families Stewart of Dalswinton, Herries of Terregles, Montgomerie of Eaglesham and Douglas of Drumlanrig. The late medieval Maxwells started to build up networks of supporters to strengthen their own position in Nithsdale. In addition, it becomes clear that the heads of the Maxwell family used their belonging to the following of the Earl of Douglas to arrange proper and advantageous marriages for their heirs and daughters. By doing so, they tied themselves closer to the vast affinity of the Black Douglas family. From 1424 on, a change of Maxwell policy can be observed. Herbert IV Maxwell had died in 1420. He was succeeded by his eldest son, Herbert V.24 When the return of the Scottish king James I, who had spent 18 years in English captivity, became more and more likely, Herbert V Maxwell tried to get in touch with the royal court to benefit from the arrival of the king and to further promote the social advancement of his family.25 This might be the reason, why he established contact with John Forrester of Corstorphine. Source material indicates negotiations about a possible marriage at the beginning of the year 1424.26 John Forrester has held an influential position at court since 1420 and played an important role in the politics of the realm.27 Therefore, he was the ideal candidate to help Herbert V Maxwell to gain access to court and to get in touch with influential persons there. In 1424, Herbert V’s son and heir, Robert II, married Forrester’s youngest daughter, Janet Forrester of Corstorphine.28 Beside access to court, Herbert V gained through this marriage arrangement also a first ally among the royal 23 Buccleuch Muniments, 1878, pp. 20f., No. 22. 24 FRASER, 1873, p. 124. 25 For detailed information about King James I’s time in English captivity, see BROWN, 2015, pp. 17-39. 26 Maxwell Charters, 1873, p. 425, No. 32. 27 BALFOUR PAUL, 1907, p. 82; BROWN, 2015, p. 51. 28 Maxwell Charters, 1873, p. 425, No. 32; BALFOUR PAUL, 1907, p. 84.

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officials of King James I. Because of the support of John Forrester of Corstorphine, who was especially appreciated by James I and made Master of the Household, Chamberlain and councillor by him, the Maxwells were in the aftermath able to establish direct contact with the Scottish king and rise in his favour.29 After King James I’s death in 1437, Herbert V Maxwell endeavoured to keep his position at court and to further extend the contacts and networks he had built up since 1424.30 Moreover, his first wife, the daughter of Herbert Herries of Terregles, had since died and he was looking for a new bride.31 In addition, the Earls of Douglas, among whose followers the Maxwells still ranked themselves, were faced with a serious crisis in 1439 and 1440. The Black Douglases found themselves on the verge of political ruin after Archibald, 5th Earl of Douglas, had died unexpectedly in 1439 and his son, William, 6th Earl of Douglas, had been executed together with his brother during the Black Dinner in 1440.32 Consequently, it was of increasing importance for the Maxwells to gain new and powerful allies to replace the stricken Black Douglases. That is why Herbert V’s choice for a new wife fell upon Katherine Seton, the daughter of William Seton.33 Herbert V Maxwell was her second husband, after her first one, Alan Stewart of Darnley, had been killed by Thomas Boyd in 1439.34 It should be noted that the Maxwells of Caerlaverock Castle and the Setons certainly knew each other before. Members of both families had belonged to the following of Archibald, 4th Earl of Douglas, and appear together as witnesses to charters of the Earl.35 This relation had then been intensified by Herbert V because of 29 BROWN, 2015, p. 195; BALFOUR PAUL, 1907, pp. 82f. 30 For detailed information about the circumstances and consequences of the death of James I, see BROWN, 2015, pp. 172-193. 31 Herbert V’s first wife had given birth to three children: the heir Robert II, Edward, who became the ancestor of the Maxwells of Tinwald, and a daughter called Katherine; FRASER, 1873, p. 138. 32 For detailed information about the crisis of the Black Douglases, see BROWN, 1998, p. 255-262. 33 BALFOUR PAUL, 1911, p. 575. 34 BALFOUR PAUL, 1908, p. 348. 35 Buccleuch Muniments, 1878, pp. 20f., No. 22. For the abridged version of another charter, see Abridgements of Douglas and Angus Charters, 1885, pp. 412f., No. 373.

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his increasing connections to the royal court, where members of the Seton family held important and influential positions they had been appointed to by King James I. Katherine’s great-uncle, Alexander Seton, Lord Gordon, had been captured together with James I by the English in 1406. In the aftermath, he had become a close friend and confidant of the king.36 Because of this friendship between James I and Alexander Seton, Alexander’s brother, John, 2nd Lord Seton, who was Katherine’s grandfather, had risen in the king’s favour as well and had been appointed councillor.37 This marriage arrangement proved a good choice. Herbert V Maxwell succeeded in extending his network of allies at court and strengthening his position. By doing so, he aimed at gradually detaching himself and his family from the affinity of the Earls of Douglas, which no longer offered any prospects of social advancement. On the contrary, connections to rising men like the Setons appeared to be more advantageous to Herbert V. Since 1440, danger of territorial changes in the regions Galloway and Nithsdale arose from the fact that there was no adult Earl of Douglas after the death of Archibald, 5th Earl of Douglas. This uncertainty about the future of the Black Douglas estates concerned families such as the Maxwells, who had their power-base in south-western Scotland.38 In this situation, Herbert V travelled to Stirling in August 1440. At court, his position as steward of Annandale was confirmed on 6 th August 1440. His father, Herbert IV Maxwell, had been appointed steward of Annandale at Linlithgow by Archibald, 4th Earl of Douglas, on 8th February 1409. In the sources, the post is referred to as “officium senescalli totius dominii Vallis Anandie”.39 Because the office of steward of Annandale was such a prestigious, influential and powerful position in south-western Scotland, Herbert V Maxwell was very anxious to achieve this confirmation from the king.40 He knew that he needed the confirmation to be able to execute the office even though Douglas’ lordship would end in this area. During his visit at court, Herbert V met the chancellor of King James II, William Crichton. In the course of this encounter, the men had 36 37 38 39 40

BALFOUR PAUL, 1911, pp. 572f.; BROWN, 2015, p. 81. BROWN, 2015, p. 51. BROWN, 1998, p. 259. Registrum Magni Sigilli Regum Scotorum, 1882, No. 242. BROWN, 1998, p. 175; FRASER, 1873, p. 123.

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the opportunity to talk about their political ambitions. Herbert V hoped for Crichton’s help to keep his position and influence in south-western Scotland.41 This contact could also have been initiated due to Herbert V’s marriage to Katherine Seton, because the families Crichton and Seton were linked by kin relationships.42 At that time, Chancellor William Crichton sought more political influence outside the king’s council. His family held the barony Sanquhar in the North of Nithsdale and William planned to establish his own power-base in this region. To achieve this aim, he needed powerful allies with local estates and influence, such as the Maxwells of Caerlaverock Castle.43 The alliance with William Crichton and his family was also in the interests of Herbert V. On the one hand, he certainly expected to gain more influence and allies at court and on the other, he hoped to agree with the Crichtons upon their respective areas of influence in south-western Scotland to avoid conflicts about land and property in the Nithsdale region. Shortly after the Black Dinner and therefore after the death of the 6th Earl of Douglas, Herbert V Maxwell came again to meet William Crichton at court. He was at Edinburgh on 14th January 1441. This time, he also encountered George Crichton, Earl of Caithness. This is indicated by the fact that the three of them, Herbert V, William Crichton and George Crichton, witnessed together a charter of the king.44 There is evidence that the alliance between the families Maxwell of Caerlaverock Castle and Crichton prevailed in the aftermath and was, despite the death of Herbert V in 1453 and William Crichton in 1454, cemented in 1454 by the marriage of Herbert V’s grandson, John V Maxwell, and George Crichton’s daughter, Janet.45 Janet Crichton was the only daughter of George Crichton, Earl of Caithness.46 For the Maxwell family, this marriage arrangement meant an excellent match. On the one hand, it provided them with the opportunity to cement their 41 BROWN, 1998, p. 259. 42 Elizabeth, the daughter of Chancellor William Crichton, was the wife of Alexander Seton, 1st Earl of Huntly, who was the son of Alexander Seton, Lord Gordon; BROWN, 2014, p. 11. 43 MCNEILL/MACQUEEN, 1996, p. 205, Y Dumfries, No. 20; BROWN, 1998, p. 264. 44 Registrum Magni Sigilli Regum Scotorum, 1882, No. 258. 45 Maxwell Charters, 1873, pp. 433f., No. 40. 46 BALFOUR PAUL, 1905, pp. 330f.

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alliance with the Crichtons and to finally detach themselves from the affinity of the Earls of Douglas; on the other, the family, and especially John V Maxwell, gained considerable prestige, because Janet Crichton was the daughter of an Earl. Moreover, the Maxwells extended their land property thanks to this marriage arrangement. On 29th March 1454, on the occasion of her marriage to John V Maxwell, Janet’s father, George Crichton, Earl of Caithness, transferred to her and her heirs the barony of Tibbers in Nithsdale47, which King James II had granted to him in February 1451.48 In addition, Janet Crichton also received the lands of Barntoun near Edinburgh from her father.49 Besides these marriage arrangements, Herbert V also tried to establish contact to other politically influential families of the time, such as the Kennedys of Dunure. His daughter by his first wife, Katherine Maxwell50, married Gilbert Kennedy, the son of James Kennedy of Dunure. The sources only mention that the wedding must have taken place prior to 1450, because a royal charter dating from 3 rd August 1450 calls Katherine Maxwell Gilbert’s wife. 51 Nevertheless, there is evidence that this marriage arrangement was negotiated around 1440. In the 1440s, the history of the Kennedys of Dunure was characterised by family conflicts. In the course of these conflicts, Gilbert Kennedy tried to assert himself as head of the family and overlord over the Kennedy’s estates.52 As a consequence, he attempted to strengthen his position and authority by forming alliances with families from south-western Scotland whose power-bases were situated near the land that was in dispute

47 MCNEILL/MACQUEEN, 1996, p. 205, Y Dumfries, No. 24. The barony Tibbers was to be held by Janet and her heirs for ever. If requested, every year at the feast of the Nativity of St. John the Baptist, a red rose had to be rendered to the king in the name of blench farm; see Maxwell Charters, 1873, pp. 433f., No. 40. 48 Registrum Magni Sigilli Regum Scotorum, 1882, No. 418. 49 FRASER, 1873, p. 152; Registrum Magni Sigilli Regum Scotorum, 1882, No. 749. 50 BALFOUR PAUL, 1909, p. 475; FRASER, 1873, p. 138. 51 Registrum Magni Sigilli Regum Scotorum, 1882, No. 381. 52 Around 1392, Gilbert’s grandfather of the same name had made his younger son, James, heir of the Kennedy’s land property. By doing so, he had ignored the claims of his other sons. As a result, these sons had decided to fight against James, his son John and finally Gilbert; MACQUEEN, 2003, p. 85.

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between himself and his relatives.53 Certainly, this was one of the reasons, why Gilbert had chosen a bride from the Maxwell family. In addition, it should be noted that there had already been relations between the two families before, because Gilbert’s grandfather of the same name had married Agnes Maxwell of Pollok around 1384.54 The arrangement was also beneficial for Herbert V Maxwell and his family. Besides gaining new powerful allies in south-western Scotland, Herbert V strengthened his connection to the Scottish crown, as well, because Gilbert Kennedy’s mother, Mary Stewart, was a daughter of the late king Robert III. Gilbert himself was therefore a grandson of Robert III and first cousin of the ruling king, James II.55 Forming a closer relationship to the Scottish king was certainly Herbert V’s main aim when he negotiated the marriage between his daughter and Gilbert Kennedy. His efforts proved fruitful and his alliance with the Kennedys contributed to Herbert V’s rise in the king’s favour. Around 1445, James II made Herbert V Maxwell lord of parliament.56 The promotion to the rank of lord of parliament illustrated the growing significance and influence the male members of the Maxwell family had on the politics of the realm.57 Moreover, this marriage alliance with the Kennedys gave Herbert V the opportunity to established contact between himself and Gilbert’s younger brother, bishop James Kennedy. James Kennedy had become bishop of St. Andrews in 1440. Because of the leading role he played in government, he was, in the eyes of Herbert V, a useful ally for him and his family.58 Furthermore, the Maxwells of Caerlaverock Castle entered into a marriage alliance with the Cathcarts by marrying Janet Maxwell to Alan of Cathcart.59 Janet was certainly a daughter of Herbert V Maxwell and his second wife, Katherine Seton. This fact is proven by a 53 The property of the Kennedys was situated in the county of Carrick und consisted of Cassillis and the barony of Dalrymple; MACQUEEN, 2003, p. 82; MCNEILL/MACQUEEN, 1996, p. 205, X Ayre, No. 5. 54 BALFOUR PAUL, 1905, p. 448; MACQUEEN, 2003, p. 85. 55 MACQUEEN, 2003, p. 85. 56 FRASER, 1873, p. 132; BROWN, 1998, p. 278. 57 BROWN, 1998, pp. 278f. 58 MACQUEEN, 2003, p. 90. 59 BALFOUR PAUL, 1905, p. 509.

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royal charter to her half-brother, Robert II Maxwell, dating from 12th January 1476, where she is called so. 60 Although it is not known, when exactly the wedding took place, it can be assumed that the couple married between 1450 and 1460. Alan’s estates were located in Carrick and in the barony of Sundrum.61 Between July and December 1452, he was made Lord Cathcart by King James II.62 This appointment is quite remarkable, because Alan had been a loyal supporter of William, 8 th Earl of Douglas, who had become an opponent of the king in the 1450s because of his actions and attempts to re-establish Douglas power.63 Alan had abandoned William Douglas and had turned to the king just one year before he was created lord. Most likely, this happened in 1451, when the Earl of Douglas was increasingly initiating contact to England. Like many other followers of the Earl, Alan of Cathcart did not approve of this behaviour and turned away from Douglas. 64 Shortly after, Alan was quickly restored to the king’s favour. One reason for this may have been his marriage to Janet Maxwell, who was the daughter of a man closely linked with King James II and his advisers. Herbert V had a special intention in mind, as well, when he arranged this marriage for his daughter Janet. On the one hand, he again aimed at gaining new allies. On the other hand, Herbert V most likely hoped to weaken William, 8th Earl of Douglas, by wooing former supporters of the Earl in order to gain them for the king’s party. One reason for the growing rivalry between the Earl of Douglas and the Maxwells of Caerlaverock Castle were William’s attempts to restore Douglas power in the regions Galloway, Nithsdale and Annandale, which had dwindled after the death of William, 6th Earl of Douglas, in 1440. This behaviour of the Earl caused conflicts with the Maxwells, who had profited from the weak position of the Earls of Douglas in south-western Scotland and who had tried to extend their own sphere of influence there.65 60 Registrum Magni Sigilli Regum Scotorum, 1882, No. 1217. 61 MCNEILL/MACQUEEN, 1996, p. 205, X Ayre, No. 16; BALFOUR PAUL, 1905, p. 507. 62 BALFOUR PAUL, 1905, p. 507. 63 For further information about the conflict between King James II and William Douglas, see BROWN, 1998, pp. 283-311; MCCULLOCH, 2000, pp. 223-226. 64 BALFOUR PAUL, 1905, p. 508. 65 BROWN, 1998, p. 276.

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Marriot Maxwell, who is sometimes called Mary Maxwell in the sources, was another daughter of Herbert V Maxwell and Katherine Seton.66 She married Thomas Kirkpatrick of Closeburn before 1470.67 Thomas Kirkpatrick was the son of Sir Roger Kirkpatrick of Closeburn. The Kirkpatrick barony of Closeburn was situated in close geographical proximity to the Maxwell barony of Caerlaverock.68 In the middle of the 15th century, there was a feud between the Kirkpatricks of Closeburn and the Maxwells of Caerlaverock Castle. Most likely, Herbert V negotiated the marriage between his daughter, Marriot Maxwell, and Thomas Kirkpatrick of Closeburn about 1451 to settle the conflict with his family and to re-gain the Kirkpatricks as allies.69 Since 1450, tensions between the Maxwells of Caerlaverock Castle and William, 8th Earl of Douglas, had grown dramatically. This happened because of the ruthless and violent actions of the Earl against some of his tenants in Galloway. For example, he is believed to have ordered the execution of members of the families Herries of Terregles and McLellan.70 Due to this fact, it is much likely that the Maxwells of Caerlaverock Castle feared an attack upon their family, too. The attitude of the male heads of the Maxwells suggests that they sought to weaken Douglas lordship in south-western Scotland and that they wished to see the 8th Earl of Douglas deprived of power. Other magnates closely linked to the king, like William und George Crichton, William Turnbull, bishop of Glasgow, and George Douglas, Earl of Angus, who had already participated in intrigues against William Douglas, supposedly shared this wish, as well.71 To carry out this plan, it was necessary to gain the support of additional allies. These allies should ideally have been former adherents of the Earl of Douglas. Because of this, Herbert V and Robert II Maxwell approached Simon Glendinning of Parton. Supposedly in the 1450s, a marriage was arranged between Agnes Maxwell, the daughter of Robert II Maxwell and Janet Forrester of Corstorphine, and John Glendinning, who was the son of Simon

66 67 68 69 70 71

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Registrum Magni Sigilli Regum Scotorum, 1882, No. 1217. IBID., No. 1007. MCNEILL/MACQUEEN, 1996, p. 205, Y Dumfries, No. 7. COWAN, 1977, p. 130. BROWN, 1998, p. 292; MCCULLOCH, 2000, p. 225. MCGLADDERY, 1990, p. 58.

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Glendinning of Parton.72 The exact date of the marriage between Glendinning’s son and Agnes Maxwell is not known, but the time between 1451 and 1452 can be suggested. John’s father, Simon Glendinning, was at first a keen supporter of William, 8 th Earl of Douglas.73 When since 1450, William Douglas had started to fall from the king’s grace, Simon Glendinning feared to fall together with the Earl. He therefore looked for a way to be restored to the king’s favour. Because of this, Glendinning tried to establish contact with members of James II’s council and other followers of the king.74 In the course of this approach, he certainly got in touch with the Maxwell family, too and concluded a marriage arrangement with Robert II Maxwell. Glendinning’s approach to the king’s advisers had started when he was at court at Edinburgh in August 1451.75 Once again, it can be argued that Robert II Maxwell arranged the marriage of his daughter Agnes with Simon Glendinning’s son to gain, on the one hand, new allies and, on the other hand, to weaken William Douglas by removing adherents from the Earl’s side. Because Simon Glendinning had been one of the most committed supporters of the Earl, his alliance with the Maxwells of Caerlaverock Castle meant a severe blow to William Douglas and his cause.76 On closer examining Simon Glendinning’s role in the events of the 1450s, it becomes clear that the aims linked to this marriage between the families Glendinning of Parton and Maxwell of Caerlaverock Castle supposedly went far beyond the sheer recruiting of allies. There is evidence that the advisers of James II may have attached Glendinning’s restoration to the king’s favour to the fulfilment of a certain condition. This condition was his support in depriving William, 8 th Earl of Douglas, of power.

72 FRASER, 1873, p. 151 does not mention Agnes Maxwell as a daughter of Robert II Maxwell and Janet Forrester of Corstorphine, but BALFOUR PAUL, 1909, p. 476 does. 73 BROWN, 1998, p. 293. 74 IBID., p. 294. 75 In August 1451, Simon Glendinning appears as a witness to two royal charters, together with William Crichton and William Turnbull, bishop of Glasgow, see Registrum Magni Sigilli Regum Scotorum, 1882, No. 491, No. 492. 76 BROWN, 1998, p. 294.

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A suitable opportunity came in February 1452, when King James II invited William, 8th Earl of Douglas, to meet him at Stirling Castle.77 Because of his role as Douglas’s adviser, Simon Glendinning accompanied the Earl to Stirling.78 During their meeting, a dispute arose between James II and William Douglas. Suddenly, the king took a knife and stabbed the Earl. Others present joined in the attack and finally killed William, 8th Earl of Douglas. Among these murderers was Simon Glendinning of Parton.79 Due to his participation in the assassination of William Douglas at Stirling Castle, Simon Glendinning had contributed substantially to the fall of the Earl of Douglas. He could therefore hope to be restored to King James II’s grace. In this matter, he was able to count on the help and support of his new allies from the king’s followers and council. The death of William, 8th Earl of Douglas, had certainly not been a premeditated complot.80 However, the participation of Simon Glendinning of Parton, who had once been a dedicated Douglas follower, points to an aristocratic conspiracy, which had been organised to deprive the Earl of power and in which councillors of the king, as well as the heads of the Maxwells of Caerlaverock Castle, had been involved. This assumption is supported by the fact that there is no other plausible explanation for Glendinning’s participating in the killing of his former master.81 A few months later, there was actually a first rapprochement between Simon Glendinning and the king. It is indicated that the heads of the Maxwells of Caerlaverock Castle had taken part in organising the meeting between them. Shortly after the events at Stirling Castle, King James II went on a journey to the South of Scotland in March 1452. He was not only accompanied by councillors, like William Crichton, but also by local nobles, such as Robert II Maxwell.82 During this trip, King James II came to Jedworth and Lochmaben. Besides, he also visited 77 For detailed information about the circumstances of the meeting between King James II and William Douglas at Stirling, see MCGLADDERY, 1990, pp. 64-74; BROWN, 1998, p. 293. 78 BROWN, 1998, p. 294. 79 MCGLADDERY, 1990, p. 66; BROWN, 1998, p. 293. 80 MCGLADDERY, 1990, p. 69. 81 Christine McGladdery agrees that “[h]is [Glendinning’s] motives for taking part in the murder are obscure; possibly he harboured a private grudge against Douglas […]”. MCGLADDERY, 1990, p. 68. 82 BROWN, 1998, p. 294.

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Erksdale, the location of Simon Glendinning’s estates. 83 There, Glendinning’s restoration to the king’s grace almost certainly took place. Robert II’s presence at this meeting suggests his involvement in the events surrounding the death of William, 8th Earl of Douglas. Because of that, it can be assumed that Robert II Maxwell had arranged the marriage between his daughter Agnes and Simon Glendinning’s son, John Glendinning of Parton, to promote William Douglas’s deprivation of power. It should be noted that in the aftermath, the Maxwells of Caerlaverock Castle belonged to those families who profited most from the weakening of Douglas’ lordship in south-western Scotland, which was a result of the fall of William, 8th Earl of Douglas.84 Robert II Maxwell and Janet Forrester of Corstorphine had another daughter, called Christina Maxwell.85 Other than her name, nothing is known of Christina Maxwell. Nevertheless, it can be assumed that her marriage was arranged with a certain political aim, as well. All in all, it can be said that, at first, the marriage arrangements of the late medieval Maxwells of Caerlaverock Castle focused on their immediate geographical proximity and on the affinity of the Earls of Douglas. Because of the return of the Scottish king James I in 1424, the Maxwells had started to shift their interests towards the royal court, where the heirs and daughters of the male heads entered into marriages with members of the families of royal officials and other rising men. Since it became necessary to gain new allies as alternatives to the stricken Earls of Douglas, the Maxwells negotiated marriages in the 1440s to build up new or cement existing alliances. When the conflicts between the Maxwells of Caerlaverock Castle and the Earl of Douglas began to intensify, the marriage arrangements finally aimed at weakening and probably even depriving their opponent of power. Due to their clever marriage arrangements, the heads of the Maxwells not only succeeded in building up networks of allies in the region Nithsdale, but also at court. Furthermore, they gained considerable prestige and rose in the king’s favour. In conclusion, the marriage arrangements of the late

83 MCNEILL/MACQUEEN, 1996, p. 205, Y Dumfries, No. 13; BROWN, 1998, p. 294. 84 MCCULLOCH, 2000, p. 230. 85 FRASER, 1873, p. 151.

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medieval Maxwells of Caerlaverock Castle laid a solid foundation for the social advancement of this family.

Literature Sources Abridgements of Douglas and Angus Charters, in: The Douglas Book. In four Volumes (Vol. 3 Charters), ed. by WILLIAM FRASER, Edinburgh 1885, pp. 391-440. Buccleuch Muniments, in: The Scotts of Buccleuch. In two Volumes (Vol. 2), ed. by WILLIAM FRASER, Edinburgh 1878, pp. 1-328. Calendar of Entries in the Papal Registers relating to Great Britain and Ireland. Petitions to the Pope (Vol. 1 1342-1419), ed. by WILLIAM HENRY BLISS, London 1896. Maxwell and Herries Charters, in: The Book of Carlaverock. Memoirs of the Maxwells, Earls of Nithsdale Lords Maxwell and Herries (Vol. 2 Correspondence and Charters), ed. by WILLIAM FRASER, Edinburgh 1873, pp. 403-504. Registrum Magni Sigilli Regum Scotorum. The Register of the Great Seal of Scotland (Vol. 2 1424-1513), ed. by JAMES BALFOUR PAUL, Edinburgh 1882.

Secondary Literature BALFOUR PAUL, JAMES, The Scots Peerage. Founded on Wood’s Edition of Sir Robert Douglas’s Peerage of Scotland. Containing an Historical and Genealogical Account of the Nobility of that Kingdom (Vol. 2), Edinburgh 1905. ID., The Scots Peerage. Founded on Wood’s Edition of Sir Robert Douglas’s Peerage of Scotland. Containing an Historical and Genealogical Account of the Nobility of that Kingdom (Vol 4), Edinburgh 1907. ID., The Scots Peerage. Founded on Wood’s Edition of Sir Robert Douglas’s Peerage of Scotland. Containing an Historical and Genea-

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logical Account of the Nobility of that Kingdom (Vol. 5), Edinburgh 1908. ID., The Scots Peerage. Founded on Wood’s Edition of Sir Robert Douglas’s Peerage of Scotland. Containing an Historical and Genealogical Account of the Nobility of that Kingdom (Vol. 6), Edinburgh 1909. ID., The Scots Peerage. Founded on Wood’s Edition of Sir Robert Douglas’s Peerage of Scotland. Containing an Historical and Genealogical Account of the Nobility of that Kingdom (Vol. 7), Edinburgh 1910. ID., The Scots Peerage. Founded on Wood’s Edition of Sir Robert Douglas’s Peerage of Scotland. Containing an Historical and Genealogical Account of the Nobility of that Kingdom (Vol. 8), Edinburgh 1911. BROWN, MICHAEL, The Black Douglases. War and Lordship in Late Medieval Scotland. 1300-1455, East Linton 1998. ID., The great Rupture. Lordship and Politics in North-East Scotland. 1435-1452, in: Northern Scotland 5 (2014), pp. 1-25. ID., James I. (The Stewart Dynasty in Scotland 2), Edinburgh 2015. COWAN, IAN B., Church and Society, in: Scottish Society in the Fifteenth Century, ed. by JENNIFER M. BROWN, London 1977, pp. 112135. FRASER, WILLIAM, The Book of Carlaverock. Memoirs of the Maxwells, Earls of Nithsdale Lords Maxwell and Herries (Vol. 1 Memoirs), Edinburgh 1873. GRANT, ALEXANDER, Acts of Lordship. The Records of Archibald, Fourth Earl of Douglas, in: Freedom and Authority. Scotland c.1050-c.1650. Historical and Historiographical Essays presented to Grant G. Simpson, ed. by TERRY BROTHERSTONE/DAVID DITCHBURN, East Linton 2000, pp. 235-274. JOHNSTON, G. HARVEY, The Heraldry of the Stewarts with Notes on all the Males of the Family, Descriptions of the Arms, Plates and Pedigrees, Edinburgh/London 1906. MACQUEEN, HECTOR L., Survival and Success. The Kennedys of Dunure, in: The Exercise of Power in Medieval Scotland. 12001500, ed. by STEPHEN BOARDMAN/ALASDAIR ROSS, Dublin et al. 2003, pp. 67-94.

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MAXWELL-IRVING, ALASTAIR M. T., The Maxwells of Caerlaverock, in: Lordship and Architecture in Medieval and Renaissance Scotland, ed. by RICHARD D. ORAM/GEOFFREY P. STELL, Edinburgh 2005, pp. 205-230. MCCULLOCH, ANDREW, Galloway. A Land apart, Edinburgh 2000. MCGLADDERY, CHRISTINE, James II. (The Stewart Dynasty in Scotland 3), Edinburgh 1990. MCNEILL, PETER G.B./MACQUEEN, HECTOR L., Atlas of Scottish History to 1707, Edinburgh 1996. SIMPSON, W. DOUGLAS, Caerlaverock Castle, in: The Scottish Historical Review 32 (1953), pp. 123-127.

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Contributors

Charlotte Backerra is a researcher of early modern European history. She holds a position as lecturer at the University of Darmstadt (Germany), having previously taught at the universities of Mainz and Stuttgart. Her projects cover the role of dynasties in politics and culture, premodern international relations, and intelligence and espionage of European powers. Matthias Berlandi is a research assistant at the Research Unit Historical Cultural Sciences in Mainz. His main research interests are concerned with landholding and land transactions in late medieval Scotland as well as the philosophy of history and its implications for the present. Matthias Däumer is a postdoctoral researcher and teaching medieval literature at the University of Vienna. His research and publications focus mainly on medieval mediality, serial narration, the Arthurian Romance, and literary journeys to Hell, Purgatory and Heaven. Monika Frohnapfel-Leis is a PostDoc-Researcher at the department of spatial history and culture at the University of Erfurt, Germany. Her current research interests are divination and magic in early modern Europe as well as spatial history. Davina Hachgenei received her PhD in medieval history at the Johannes Gutenberg-University Mainz. Her research interests include theories and methodology, narratology, medieval (Scottish) history, medieval historiography and manuscripts.

193

Doing Cultural History

Judith Mengler is a research assistant at the Research Unit Historical Cultural Sciences, Mainz. She studied history and classical archaeology at Mainz University. Her research interests are medieval medicine and surgery, body history, and the practices of inclusion and exclusion in earlier periods. Céline Molter is a PhD student in Anthropology and African Studies at the University of Mainz, Germany. Her current research is about the materialization of religion in theme parks and theatre performances. She is a member of the DFG-funded project “The village of Christ. Institutional-theoretical and historical perspectives on Oberammergau and its passion play in 19th-21st centuries”. Kristina Müller-Bongard is a research assistant and coordinator of the Research Unit Historical Cultural Sciences, Mainz. She studied art history and cultural anthropology at Mainz University. Her research interests are Counter-Reformation art, political iconography and art literature in the early modern period. Julia Noll is PhD student at the University of Mainz, Germany. She has a doctoral scholarship from the Akademie der Wissenschaften und der Literatur Mainz (Academy of Sciences and Literature Mainz) for her research on medieval stained glass windows and their donors in late medieval Cologne. Her second research interest is the nobility in late medieval Scotland. Cathleen Sarti is a postdoctoral researcher on Northern Europe in the early modern period. She is also secretary for the International Society for Cultural History (ISCH). Her research focuses on political culture on the British Isles and in Scandinavia. Other interests include methods and theories of cultural history, book history, and history of knowledge. Damien B. Schlarb is an assistant professor (non-tenure) at the Obama Institute for Transnational American Studies at Johannes Gutenberg University in Mainz, Germany. He currently works as the managing editor for Amerikastudien/American Studies, the journal of the German Association for American Studies. His research interests include the

194

Contributors

American Renaissance (esp. Herman Melville), the history of religious skepticism and the Bible in the U.S., and the history of science and religion. He recently began a new project on videogames. Dominik Schuh is a doctoral student at the University of Mainz, Germany. His project focuses on lay masculinities in the later Middle Ages. Since January 2013 he works at the University Library Mainz in an Academic Integrity project. His main research interests are gender history, history of masculinities, medieval literature and culture, and the didactics of scientific working skills. Sebastian Weil is a doctoral student at the University of Mainz, Germany. He is currently working on his PhD concerning the territorial policies of the late medieval bishops and chapters of Aberdeen and St Andrews. The research is part of the DFG funded project “Man rent or land rent?”.

195

Historical Sciences Harco Willems, Jan-Michael Dahms (eds.)

The Nile: Natural and Cultural Landscape in Egypt 2017, 374 p., pb., numerous partly col. ill. 29,99 € (DE), 978-3-8376-3615-4 E-Book available as free open access publication ISBN 978-3-8394-3615-8

Gesa zur Nieden, Berthold Over (eds.)

Musicians’ Mobilities and Music Migrations in Early Modern Europe Biographical Patterns and Cultural Exchanges 2016, 432 p., pb., numerous partly col. ill. 34,99 € (DE), 978-3-8376-3504-1 E-Book available as free open access publication ISBN 978-3-8394-3504-5

Laura Meneghello

Jacob Moleschott – A Transnational Biography Science, Politics, and Popularization in Nineteenth-Century Europe 2017, 490 p., pb. 49,99 € (DE), 978-3-8376-3970-4 E-Book: 49,99 € (DE), ISBN 978-3-8394-3970-8

All print, e-book and open access versions of the titles in our list are available in our online shop www.transcript-verlag.de/en!

Historical Sciences Johnny Van Hove

Congoism Congo Discourses in the United States from 1800 to the Present 2017, 360 p., pb., numerous ill. 39,99 € (DE), 978-3-8376-4037-3 E-Book: 39,99 € (DE), ISBN 978-3-8394-4037-7

Hami Inan GümüĴ

American Missionaries in the Ottoman Empire A Conceptual Metaphor Analysis of Missionary Narrative, 1820-1898 2017, 260 p., pb. 34,99 € (DE), 978-3-8376-3808-0 E-Book: 34,99 € (DE), ISBN 978-3-8394-3808-4

Jörg Rogge (ed.)

Killing and Being Killed: Bodies in Battle Perspectives on Fighters in the Middle Ages 2017, 272 p., pb. 29,99 € (DE), 978-3-8376-3783-0 E-Book available as free open access publication ISBN 978-3-8394-3783-4

All print, e-book and open access versions of the titles in our list are available in our online shop www.transcript-verlag.de/en!