Women of the Twelfth Century. Vol 2: Remembering the Dead (review)

Parergon ◽  
1999 ◽  
Vol 17 (1) ◽  
pp. 218-221
Author(s):  
Carole M. Cusack
Keyword(s):  
2015 ◽  
Vol 2 (1) ◽  
pp. 19-31
Author(s):  
Gioia Filocamo

Abstract In the fourteenth century a huge change took place in thinking about death: the kingdom of the beyond became full of dreadful suffering. This new mentality derives from the belief in Purgatory that took hold in the twelfth century, but reached its high point only in the fifteenth: the judgement of the dead would take place immediately after death. Prayers and money invested in order to obtain remission of sins encouraged the expansion of a true “economy of death” manageable from earth. The birth of the Observance movement inside the Mendicant Orders may be connected with this new sensibility, in which the faithful are more concerned with their personal salvation. The “death-spectacles” evoked by Girolamo Savonarola became lenses through which to look at life, but even before him many authors of laude – vernacular religious songs mainly composed for civic confraternities – express the same modern thought on death inspired by Holy Scripture, but excluding high poetic models. The common practice of “cantasi come …” – the reuse of music known with a different text now turned to fear of death – confirms the strong contiguity between life and death, read as a true “extension” of life.


1978 ◽  
Vol 10 (4) ◽  
pp. 341-351
Author(s):  
Edward J. Kealey

Sometime in the second decade of the twelfth century an anonymous clerk compiled a long awkward treatise which we call the Laws of Henry I. He pompously began by declaring, “The glorious Caesar, Henry, moderate, wise, just and valiant, sheds radiance over all his kingdom in ecclesiastical laws and secular ordinances, in writings, and in displays of good works.” On the very day that Henry died in Normandy a Saxon physician, priest, and prophet, Wulfric of Haselbury, living in seclusion in Somerset, told his feudal patron that the dead king would enter Paradise because he had kept peace, had sought justice, and had even built a splendid abbey for Benedictine monks. Few later commentators would be as generous as these two. Other historians unfavorably contrasted Henry's wisdom, wealth, and victory with his avarice, cruelty, and lust.The law clerk's short catalog contains several surprises. It suggests Henry generated ecclesiastical laws himself, an odd, but not untrue, observation. It reports that the king performed good works, but these are never specified. Most fascinatingly, it hints that “in writings” Henry composed things other than charters and writs. Unfortunately, no such texts have survived. Thus, what we most seek to learn—the monarch's own intentions and reflections—still elude us. Henry's personal understanding of his monarchial responsibilities must therefore be interpreted from his actions, rather than traced from his plans.


1992 ◽  
Vol 61 (4) ◽  
pp. 367-381 ◽  
Author(s):  
Robert W. Shaffern

By the thirteenth century, Latin Christians had been dispensing and collecting indulgences for two centuries. Though indulgentia was a relatively late term, and first the favorite of thirteenth-century Dominican theologians, remissions of temporal penalty for sin had been granted since the eleventh century, whether they were known as remissiones or relaxationes, the two most popular terms of eleventh- and twelfth-century ecclesiastics. Bishops granted partial indulgences for visitations of holy places. Partial indulgences remitted a fraction of all penalty incurred through sin. Contributions to pious works, such as church, hospital, or bridge constructions, were also rewarded with indulgences. Other prelates granted indulgences until Lateran IV. The popes granted both partial and plenary indulgences (those which remitted all penalty for having sinned). They granted partial indulgences for much the same reasons as other bishops. Plenary indulgences were almost exclusively granted to crusaders or contributors to crusades.


2019 ◽  
Vol 43 (1) ◽  
pp. 60-82
Author(s):  
Ivan Drpić

For John DuffyThis article explores the fate of the Stone of Unction — the marble slab upon which, according to tradition, the dead body of Christ had been anointed for burial — in twelfth-century Byzantium. Focusing upon the Stone's association with Manuel I Komnenos, the article examines the imperial handling of this Passion relic in relation to broader trends in the devotional culture of the contemporary Byzantine élite. The special bond between the emperor and the relic, it is argued, should be seen as a manifestation of the pervasive desire, much in evidence during the Komnenian era, to personalise and even privatise the sacred.


1977 ◽  
Vol 28 (4) ◽  
pp. 337-360 ◽  
Author(s):  
R. A. Fletcher

In the spring of the year 1160 archbishop Martin of Santiago de Compostela was expelled from his see by his king, Fernando II of León. Except for a brief period of about six months in the winter of 1164–65 he remained excluded from his church and sometimes from the kingdom until shortly before his death in 1167. For some of this period of seven years he sought to exert pressure upon the king through the papal curia of Alexander III in order to bring about his reinstatement; usually in vain. This cause célèbre in the relations between Church and State in the most westerly of the Spanish kingdoms has attracted little attention from Spanish ecclesiastical historians, and none at all from others. What makes it of more than parochial interest is its timing. Fernando II was not the only western European ruler to be at loggerheads with his archbishop in the 1160s; neither is the spectacle of a pope unwilling decisively to intervene in a quarrel of this kind an unfamiliar one to students of the ecclesiastical affairs of that troubled decade. Only fragments of evidence have survived to shed light on the tortuous diplomacy of those years. To disinter and to attempt to fit together the dead bones of this forgotten dispute may, it is hoped, be to provide a further fragment, which, in its turn, may be of interest to those whose concern is with the larger affairs of empire and of papacy, of Angevins and of Capetians. To historians of Spain its interest will (we hope) be sufficiently obvious to need no commendation.


1997 ◽  
Vol 38 (1) ◽  
pp. 9-41
Author(s):  
Patricia Badir

Appended to Folcard's twelfth-century Vita of Saint John of Beverley is an account of a play of the Resurrection of Christ that was enacted by masked players in the churchyard of Beverley Minster in the presence of a great number of spectators. The story tells of some boys who, apparently desiring a better view of the play, entered the church and climbed up to the vaulting to look down at the performers from a window above. The church wardens, fearing the window might be damaged, chased after the boys in order to punish their rashness. One of the boys was able to dodge the blows inflicted upon his companions by scampering further up the stairs, but a stone was loosened by his foot and fell crashing to the pavement below. Shocked by the noise, the boy lost his balance and tumbled to the floor of the nave, where he lay, presumably dead. A group of people, who had entered the church to escape the crowds outside, gathered around the body that, to their amazement, rose from the dead without a mark of injury. And so it was brought about that those who were unable to see the representation of the Resurrection outside the church were provided with a sign of the Resurrection inside the church.


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