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Aiming for Peace and Responding to Crisis: Movement and the Saints in Eleventh-Century Southern French

Miracle Collections

by

Sandy Carpenter

A thesis submitted in conformity with the requirements for the degree of Doctor of Philosophy

Department of History University of Toronto

© Copyright by Sandy Carpenter 2018

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Aiming for Peace and Responding to Crisis: Movement and the

Saints in Eleventh-Century Southern French Miracle Collections

Sandy Carpenter

Doctor of Philosophy

Department of History

University of Toronto

2018

Abstract

Movement, a literal change in physical location, is often overlooked in historical studies of

medieval miracle texts. Instead, scholars largely focus on the “miracle-working power” of the

saints or other cultural economic, political, religious, and social details that can be gleaned from

these sources. This dissertation adds to such readings of texts on saints’ miracles by using

movement as a category of analysis. In the miracle texts of Saints Vivien at Figeac, Privat at

Mende, and Enimie at Sainte-Enimie, all written in the eleventh century in the south of France,

movements abound in a flurry of danger and excitement in reference to their relics. While the

hagiographers never question the movements of relics, their discourse about movement of people

shows a preference for stasis. If people must move, they should do so according to the proper

protocol in support of the saints’ cults; out-of-the-ordinary movements, especially those “bad”

movements made by proven criminals, are condemned and punishable by the saints. The first

chapter introduces the field of research and the second chapter contextualizes seminal themes

and the primary sources (reliquaries, the Peace of God, saints, and settings). After these two

prefatory chapters, each of the three analytical chapters discusses different collaborations and

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directions of movement in the sources. Chapter 3 addresses the movements of relics and the

populace on the road to and at Peace of God councils, portraying a sanctified version of the

Peace. Chapter 4 examines movements of roving dangerous men-at-arms and retaliating saints

wreaking vengeance away from the relics’ presence, showing that the anomalous movements of

wicked men warranted reciprocal, similar movements on the part of vengeful saints. Chapter 5

recounts movements of all social groups drawn toward the saints’ shrines by their spiritual

magnetism in hopes of experiencing transformation. Overall, the descriptions of movement

included in the three miracle collections were meant to establish social norms of movement.

Therefore, this dissertation concludes that movements of relics, with relics, and for relics were

the most acceptable movements in these three miracle texts and that all other movements were

subject to scrutiny.

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Acknowledgments

This monumental achievement would not have been possible without the help of many and I

would not have wanted to complete it on my own, even if I could have.

There were many people who supported me through this process in both small and large ways,

although none was insignificant. I am especially indebted to colleagues and friends who provided

indispensible feedback on my writing with kindness, compassion, generosity, and

thoughtfulness. In this regard, I must thank (in alphabetical order): Andrea, Benjamin, Joel,

Kathleen, Laurie, Michael, Michelle, Paula, Polina, and Robin. This work was only possible

because of your love and support. Others gave me hope and love in the darkest of times with

unending hugs and special goodies to keep me going. For this, I would especially like to thank

Alli and Natasha.

Two unflagging friendly supporters deserve special mention. To Robin: I do not think that I

could have ever made it through all these years without you. From silly reading nights of

laughing our heads off to serious moments of tears and fear, you unquestionably have been there

for me at a moment’s notice. Your brilliant brain helped solve all manner of problems,

sometimes just validated my crabbies and frustrations, and saw the aplomb with which I could

finish this great task. I am also indebted to Michelle for her unflagging support, her unending

willingness to prop me up when I was down as well as her love and generosity as a listener,

problem-solver, and medical consultant when the dissertation wrecked havoc on my physical

self. In this dissertation and I life, I cannot survive without you.

At the core of my supportive team is my fam. To Benjamin, Eleanore, and Audrey: your

continual acceptance of whatever I had to grapple with, to allow me to put myself first when I

really wanted to put you first instead, and your patience to wait until I could come back to you as

my whole, loving person – you showed me what family should be. To my Benjamin: you are a

rock, a strong, unfailing, somewhat unwilling warrior (because you are a pacifist), who

persevered with such strength that I was able to complete this work. You are my champion. May

we hold each other evermore in our PhD-earning arms.

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Finally, to all the felines, past and present, your cuddles and purrs fortified me and kept me

smiling through the difficult spots and giggling in the fun times. Sylvy, Catula, Dimitri, Olivia,

Hawkeye, and Hunnicutt, this is for you.

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Table of Contents

Acknowledgments.......................................................................................................................... iv

Table of Contents ........................................................................................................................... vi

List of Abbreviations ................................................................................................................... viii

Chapter 1 Introduction: The Medieval World of Movement and Miracles .....................................1

1.1 Chapter Summaries ..............................................................................................................7

Chapter 2 Historical Overview: Relics and Reliquaries, the Peace of God, and Saints and

Their Settings ............................................................................................................................18

Chapter Plan ..............................................................................................................................18

2.1 Saints as Objects: Relics and Image Reliquaries ...............................................................19

2.2 Time Period: The Peace of God .........................................................................................34

2.3 People and Places: The Saints and Their Regions .............................................................46

2.4 Chapter Conclusion ............................................................................................................91

Chapter 3 Relics and Miracles on the Road: Movements of Relics and People for Peace of

God Councils .............................................................................................................................93

Chapter Plan ..............................................................................................................................94

3.1 The Peace of God, Movers, and Mobile Sacred Space ......................................................95

3.2 Movements for Peace of God Councils ...........................................................................106

3.2.1 Councils Attended by Vivien’s Relics .................................................................107

3.2.2 Councils attended by Privat and Enimie ..............................................................127

3.3 Chapter Conclusion ..........................................................................................................143

Chapter 4 Dangerous Rovers and Holy Vengeance: Life and Death Consequences of

Criminal Movements ...............................................................................................................147

Chapter Plan ............................................................................................................................149

4.1 Dangerous Rovers and Holy Avengers ............................................................................150

4.2 Miracle Evidence .............................................................................................................161

4.3 Holy Avengers’ Reactive Movements .............................................................................177

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Chapter 5 Journeys to the Shrine: Pilgrimage, Penance, and Obliteration ..................................193

Chapter Introduction ...............................................................................................................193

5.1 Chapter Plan .....................................................................................................................194

5.2 Brief Overview of the Cult of the Saints and Pilgrimage in the Middle Ages ................195

5.3 Journeys to the Shrine for Transformation: Physical and Spiritual Healing ...................203

5.4 Journeys to the Shrine for Penance after Criminal Movements and Criminal Behavior .226

5.5 Negatively-Portrayed Examples of Dangerous Rovers at Privat’s Shrine.......................235


Chapter 6 Conclusion: Movement and Hagiography in Eleventh-Century Southern France ......245

Themes and Future Directions ................................................................................................248

Bibliography ................................................................................................................................255

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List of Abbreviations

AASS Acta Sanctorum, 68 volumes, Société des Bollandistes, Antwerp and

Brussels, 1643-1940.

BHL Bibliotheca Hagiographica Latina antiquae et mediae aetatis, Novum

supplementum, ed. Henry Fros. Brussels: Société des Bollandistes, 1986.

BnF Bibliothèque nationale de France

lat. Latin

Enimie Vita, Inventio et Miracula Sancte Enimie. Analecta Bollandiana 57

(1939): 237-298.

MGH Monumenta Germaniae Historica

Auct. Antiq. Auctores Antiquissima

Capit. Capitularia regum Francorum

Dipl. Karol. Diplomatum Karolinorum

SS rer. Merov. Scriptores rerum Merovingicarum

Privat Les Miracles de saint Privat, ed. Clovis Brunel, 3-26. Paris: A. Picard,

1912.

Vivien Translatio sancti Viviani episcopi in coenobium Figiacense et ejusdem

ibidem miracula. Analecta Bollandiana 8 (1889): 256-277.

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Chapter 1 Introduction: The Medieval World of Movement and Miracles

Recent scholarship on medieval hagiography has mined the sources for the rich data they provide

about society, religion, culture, medicine, and politics; miracle collections in particular have been

a scholarly area of focus. Scholarship on the movement of people and objects in the medieval

period tends to focus on liturgy, trade, and pilgrimage. These two themes, miracles and

movement of people and objects, are often found together in hagiographic texts. Yet, within the

scholarship, the movement of people and objects has not often explicitly been examined

alongside hagiography. Instead, scholars have studied each of these areas separately as a means

to get at the seemingly elusive mentalities of medieval hagiographers and the society that they

described. In this study, I demonstrate that focusing on the interconnectivity of movements of

people and relics within hagiography, particularly miracle texts, can bear useful scholarly fruit.

More specifically, I propose that looking at hagiographers’ representations of the intersections of

miracles and movements of people and relics within these texts provides a new way to access the

medieval worldview as written by eleventh-century French hagiographers in the context of the

Peace of God. This avenue of connection between miracles and movement reveals what the

hagiographers viewed as the proper way to interact with the saints and their possessions, and

what could happen when this was done improperly. In other words, the hagiographers show their

preferences for how medieval people ought to perform movements for peace, masculinity, and

pilgrimage.

For this investigation, I bring to light the particularities of diverse kinds of movement within

little-known miracle collections. I examine the post-mortem miracle collections of three southern

French saints that were written in the eleventh century: Saint Vivien of Figeac, Saint Privat of

Mende, and Saint Enimie of Sainte-Enimie. In reading these miracle texts, I was struck by how

ubiquitous movement was throughout their stories. These three sources will be analyzed together

because they all contain tales about saints and movement, and all have portable relics, thereby

allowing them to participate in social and religious rituals of movement. My research was guided

by the following questions: Why was movement described with such great detail in miracles?

What was the purpose of writing about movement in miracles? What can these movements tell

us about the time period? These questions cannot be answered completely, but I will use a

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cultural historical approach to glimpse the underlying structures of society that linked

movements and miracles in southern French hagiography. In particular, I examine how the

movement of objects and people are embedded within the miracle tales themselves when relics

and people travel to Peace of God councils, commit violent actions, or journey to the saints’

shrines. This confluence of miracles, movements, and relics reveals not only the authors’

agendas, but also the societal influences that shaped their writing.

The hagiographers under discussion here utilized the saints’ miraculous stories as a means to

offset in writing the social disorder they perceived in the world around them, thereby giving us a

window into their mentalities and a glimpse of their worries and the saints as the proposed

remedy. The descriptions of movement included in the three miracle collections were meant to

establish societal norms of movement. The hagiographers’ discourse about movement shows a

preference that people be inert; if people must move, they should do so according to the proper

protocol in support of the saints’ cults. Out-of-the-ordinary movements, especially those harmful

movements done by proven criminals, are condemned and punishable by the saints. All these

movements of people and relics brought about a transformation, be it peace, healing,

punishment, penance, or death. The aim of this investigation is not necessarily to examine

content about the miracles, saints, and people, or movement, but rather to show how these

intersecting themes reveal religious dogma and propaganda.

Considering that miracle texts belong to the genre of historical literature and given a general

prejudice against historical literature in the past, it should hardly be surprising that these sources

have seldom been studied for the movements they contain. Even in 1995, Pamela Sheingorn

reported that “[n]ot so long ago, this vast body of [hagiographic] literature was undervalued by

scholars.”1 Until recently, two factors seem to have prevented full-scale investigations into

medieval miracles. First, modern historiography equated miracles with superstition, leading

scholars to believe that investigating miracles could not offer much historically useful

information outside of religious devotion. Writing in 2007, Michael E. Goodich noted that

historians have been skeptical about miracles since the Enlightenment and that often miracles

1 Pamela Sheingorn, ed. and trans., The Book of Sainte Foy (Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 1995),

1.

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have been tossed in the “historical dustbin filled with myths, folklore and superstition of the

Middle Ages,” relegated as remnants of a preliterate and tribal past or as the weird beliefs of an

uneducated horde.2 Secondly, the believability of miracles has been a block to modern analyses

of medieval miracle texts. Historians have been skeptical of the reliability of hagiography

because it is literature, preferring instead “more aesthetically pleasing and consciously crafted

texts.”3 But this should not be the case: more important for the historian than believability ought

to be the reliability of primary sources to provide a peek into the world in which miracles were

redacted and how those stories functioned in society.4

Despite this past tendency to relegate miracles to the “historical dustbin,” some scholars still

worked with this tricky set of sources. Miracles have not been completely neglected, but for

many years they remained outside of mainstream attention. Sheingorn notes that a “sea change”

in attitudes toward miracles developed from the 1970s, with fresh approaches and new

audiences, leading to alternative questions and analyses. In the late 1970s, Robert C. Finucane

examined the intersections between miracles and pilgrimage in England.5 In the early 1980s,

Benedicta Ward added to the scholarly conversation by discussing the connections between

miracles and mentality in medieval England6 and in the mid 1980s, Pierre-André Sigal wrote his

fundamental text on miracles and mentalities in France.7 In the 1990s, Patrick Geary contributed

2 Michael E. Goodich, Miracles and Wonders: The Development of the Concept of Miracle, 1150-1350 (Hampshire,

England: Ashgate, 2007), 1.

3 Sheingorn, The Book of Sainte Foy, 3.

4 There are, of course, some times when reality is relevant. For example, if a fire burned down a church, this is of

consequence for the people in the community. It is not relevant, however, for historians to decide if the fire was

humanly or divinely inspired. What is most important is how the community in which the fire occurred viewed the

fire and its origins. Benedicta Ward suggests that we relegate the discussion of the believability of miracles to the

realm of theologians and philosophers, Miracles and the Medieval Mind: Theory, Record and Event, 1000-1215

(Aldershot: Scolar, 1987), 215.

5 Ronald C. Finucane, Miracles and Pilgrims: Popular Beliefs in Medieval England (New York: St. Martin’s Press,

1977).

6 Ward, Miracles and the Medieval Mind.

7 Pierre-André Sigal, L’homme et le miracle dans le France médiévale (XIe-XIIe siècle) (Paris: Cerf, 1985).

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his exploration of the daily function of saints and miracles on the European continent.8 More

recently, in the 2000s, Michael Goodich wrote about miracles and the institutionalization and

canonization of saints and miracles in late medieval England,9 and Rachel Koopmans wrote

about the process of miracle collecting, also in England.10 Edina Bozoky, treating the French

context in 2013, exposed the relationships between miracles and relics to texts about living and

dead holy persons.11 Clearly, by now, medieval miracles have been studied in depth by scholars

for all these aspects.12 Yet while all these studies examined hagiography, almost none of them

placed movements at the heart of their analysis.

Two remarkable studies provide exceptions. In 1978, Geary published a seminal work on relics

entitled Furta Sacra: Theft of Relics in the Central Middle Ages. In this monograph, Geary

heavily utilized hagiography to examine the holy thefts (furta sacra) of relics. By discussing

these thefts, he necessarily includes their movement. Geary observed the growing need for and

resulting booming enterprise of licit and ilicit acquisition of relics and the powerful place that

relics played in that medieval world. The second notable work is written by a student of Geary.

Kate Craig’s 2015 PhD dissertation masterfully expands on Geary’s foundation of the movement

of relics by furta sacra, but departs from the one-time-only trips of relics’ translations and

instead focuses on temporary out-and-back-again journeys of relics.13 Craig details a wide

variety of reasons for moving relics temporarily, ranging from processions to attendance at

councils, and shows what could happen when relics were on the road and in the presence of other

8 Patrick Geary, Living with the Dead in the Middle Ages (Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press, 1994).

9 Goodich, Miracles and Wonders.

10 Rachel Koopmans, Wonderful to Relate: Miracle Stories and Miracle Collecting in High Medieval England

(Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 2011).

11 Edina Bozoky, Miracle! Récits merveilleux des martyrs et des saints (Paris: La Librairie Vuibert, 2013).

12 Other notable studies on miracles include: André Vauchez, La sainteté en Occident aux derniers siècles du

Moyen Age (Rome: École française de Rome, 1981); Thomas Head, Hagiography and the Cult of the Saints: The

Diocese of Orléans, 800-1200 (Cambridge, England: Cambridge University Press, 1990); and Robert Bartlett, Why

Can the Dead Do Such Great Things?: Saints and Worshippers from the Martyrs to the Reformation (Princeton:

Princeton University Press, 2013).

13 Kate Craig calls these temporary relic journeys, in which the relics are taken out from and then back to the same

place, “Bringing Out the Saints: Journeys of Relics in Tenth to Twelfth Century Northern France and Flanders”

(PhD diss., University of California Los Angeles, 2015), 6.

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relics. Both of these studies are immensely useful for this dissertation, but each only focuses on

the movements of relics. At times, Craig goes beyond looking at moving relics to discuss the

ramifications of their guardians gathering, but her primary focus remains on the relics and their

temporary movements. Therefore, I build upon these two studies and examine a broader range of

movements that are presented in the three miracle collections of Privat, Enimie, and Vivien.

In the case of movement in the Middle Ages, the scholarship is quite diverse. Previous scholarly

work that addresses the movement of objects and people generally falls into three categories.

Liturgical studies have focused on the procession of relics and people,14 relics trade and Peace-

of-God studies have focused on relic travel,15 and pilgrimage scholarship has focused on human

travel.16 Other studies have diagrammed and mapped concentrations of miracles and the travel of

people toward relics in order to receive miracles.17 While all these studies make use of miracles

and examine movement, those two themes are a part of a whole rather than the center of

scholarly engagement. I aim here to combine and foreground these two themes. Instead of using

14 Two stimulating articles about liturgy and procession are Kathleen Ashley and Pamela Sheingorn, “Sainte Foy on

the loose, or, the possibilities of procession,” in Moving Subjects: Processional Performance in the Middle Ages and

the Renaissance, eds. Kathleen Ashley and Wim Hüsken (Amsterdam: Rodopi, 2001), 53-67 and Rita Tekippe,

“Pilgrimage and Procession: Correlations of Meaning, Practice, and Effects,” in Art and Architecture of Late

Medieval Pilgrimage in Northern Europe and the British Isles, eds. Sarah Blick and Rita Tekippe (Leiden: Brill,

2005), 693-751.

15 On this topic, Edina Bozoky’s works are of special importance. See, for example, “Voyages de reliques et

démonstration du pouvoir aux temps féodaux,” in Voyages et voyageurs au Moyen Age: XXVIe Congrès de la

S.H.M.E.S., Limoges-Aubazine, mai 1995 (Paris: Publications de la Sorbonne, 1996), 267-280. A seminal work on

the Peace of God continues to be Thomas Head and Richard Landes, eds., The Peace of God: Social Violence and

Religious Response in France Around the Year 1000 (Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press, 1992).

16 There are three publications on pilgrimage that are worth a special mention here. The first one specifically and

frequently references Saints Privat and Enimie; it is James F. Skyrms, “The Rituals of Pilgrimage in the Middle

Ages,” (PhD Diss.: University of Iowa, 1986). Two collections of essays outside of the medieval time period are

also useful; they are Simon Coleman and John Eade, eds., Reframing Pilgrimage: Cultures in Motion (London:

Routledge, 2004) and Robert H. Stoddard and Alan Morinis, eds., Sacred Places, Sacred Spaces: The Geography of

Pilgrimages (Baton Rouge, LA: Geoscience Publications, 1997).

17 A few medieval scholars, mostly those studying England, have made impressive diagrams of movement related

to miracles. See Finucane, Miracles and Pilgrims; Simon Yarrow, Saints and Their Communities: Miracle Stories in

Twelfth-Century England (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 2005); Koopmans, Wonderful to Relate; and Graham Jones,

ed., Saints of Europe: Studies Toward a Survey of Cults and Culture (Donington, UK: Shaun Tyas, 2003).

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miracles as one primary source among many to study movement or vice versa, I closely examine

three miracle texts in order to unpack all the ways in which they treat movement.18

The word “movement” has a few meanings in this dissertation. The first sense is the literal

traversal of space, that is, the geographic movement from one location to another. Examples

include pilgrims who move from their home to a saint’s shrine or a troublesome noble who rides

his horse across a saint’s lands. The second sense of the word pertains to movements that occur

in place or across space; these movements are often closely aligned with actions. For example, a

mounted warrior quickly seizes a chicken, the arm of the reliquary statue of Privat moves to

reject a monetary gift, or roof tiles are put to flight by the saint in attack against invaders. These

types of movement also include gestures of humility, such as genuflection, or of thanksgiving,

such as leaping. The third sense of the word is not literal movement across space or in place, but

movement as a campaign. This sense is used in reference to the Peace of God, a socio-religious

movement to mitigate violence that was perceived as especially intense in the south of France in

the tenth and eleventh centuries.

Even with a solid understanding of the shades of meaning and use of movement in the sources,

untangling and categorizing movements linked with relics is a somewhat complicated process.

Movements in the miracle texts of Privat, Enimie, and Vivien are of multiple types, with various

motivations, and are described in very different ways by the hagiographers. There is quite a lot of

information to sift through: the types of movement, the identity of the ones who moved, and the

value judgments of the authors. There were people who walked, crawled, and were carried; there

was the populace, nobles and their men-at-arms, clergy, as well as those described as pilgrims,

penitents, or punished people; and there were both proper and improper movements or stasis.

To further complicate the picture, hagiographers associated certain values with different kinds of

movement. The three post-mortem miracle collections show that both movements and stasis

were significant because they were essential to demonstrating a need for a transformation.

Transformation could be physical, like the desire for healing that required an ill person to move

toward the sacred relics to obtain healing. Transformation could also be spiritual, like a penitent

18 In this study I will not discuss trade or travel outside of the religious context.

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person traveling to the sacred space of a saint’s shrine into the presence of relics to obtain

forgiveness. Yet, movements in these contexts were also accompanied by stasis. If movement in

the miracles signified that something was awry, stasis usually demonstrated that things were

going well. People only moved when they had cause to move. For example, the saint might move

to punish a noble. When social violence was too rampant, relics were moved to assuage these

crises. When people needed healing, they traveled to a moving or stationary saint. Movement,

therefore, was an action that sought to fulfill a need, a lack, or a desire. By contrast, stasis

showed the fulfillment of that need. Therefore, movement demonstrated a need for

transformation while stasis signaled equilibrium.

My study of movements in the miraculous context reveals a series of dichotomies: legitimate

versus criminal movements, chaotic versus ordered movements, active versus passive

movements, and sinful versus holy movements. Furthermore, the binary of movement and stasis

underscores the hagiographers’ assertions that the only sanctioned movements in the three

sources are either those of relics themselves or those towards relics and their shrines. Since

movement is central to the miracle plots, hagiographers manipulated it as a way to show complex

interactions between and among social strata that reinforced their own views. In short, “good”

movements received benevolent healing miracles and “bad” movements received punitive

miracles. Both positive and negative movements are detailed in the texts to underscore the

legitimacy or sinfulness of the movements. The locations where miracles occurred, either near

the saints’ relics and shrines or out-and-about, was also important to the hagiographers. Where

the miracles took place influenced the directionality of movement of saints and their relics as

well as people, both upstanding and criminal. Usually, upright people move toward the sacred

and criminals people move away from it.

1.1 Chapter Summaries

This is a study of pluralities: movements, religions, masculinities, pilgrimages, relics,

experiences, and transformations. Multivocality complicates this picture of the past left by the

hagiographers, but there are threads for historians to follow; I follow them back to movement.

Given the many forms and evaluations of movement in the sources, Chapter 2 provides an

historical overview of the objects (reliquaries), time period (Peace of God), and people, places,

and sources that form the basis of this dissertation. I divide the remaining dissertation chapters

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according to three general types and directions of movement. In Chapter 3, clergy and the people

travel with and toward relics in transit to other shrines where they stay still and wait for miracles.

In Chapter 4, ill-behaved nobles and their warriors move away from saints’ lands and are

pursued by saints delivering miraculous holy vengeance. In Chapter 5, people of all social levels

move toward the saints’ shrines; the populace move there for physical healing, while nobles and

their men-at-arms, and also clergy, move there for spiritual healing or to perform improper

actions. This varying directionality is how the hagiographers most significantly bring movement

into play in their writing. It is fascinating to observe how the authors move people in

stereotypical ways, depending on their social position and desires.19 All movements point to

saints’ shrines with relics present as most important, and all are connected to a transformation.

Ultimately, the authors expressed movement in terms of what they considered acceptable and

unacceptable directions and locations for movement in association with the saints and the

institutions that housed them, thereby offering a model for properly and improperly performing

movement in proximity to the saints’ relics and the goods and people under their protection.

Chapter 2: Historical Overview: Relics and Reliquaries, the Peace of God, and

Saints and Their Settings

Chapter 2 provides integral context for the rest of this study by laying out the themes relevant to

the rest of the dissertation (relics and reliquaries as well as the Peace of God) in connection with

the flawed and complicated stories that come out of the partial extant histories of the saints that

affected how they were read and used. To foreground the importance of relics and reliquaries for

the reader, the chapter first focuses on these objects because the movements in the texts all occur

in reference to moving relics or because of and toward relics. Since Enimie’s, Vivien’s, and

Privat’s relics were housed in reliquaries, Chapter 2 also discusses these symbolic religious

objects. The chapter then situates these objects and movements temporally with an overview of

the Peace of God movement.

19 The locations of the miracles align with Christian Krötzl’s three categorizations of post-mortem miracles. First

are relic miracles, in which the miracle occurs near the relics and usually in conjunction with a preceding request

through pilgrimage (my Chapters 3 and 5). Second are distance miracles, in which the miracle occurs away from the

relics or at another site (my Chapters 3 and 4). Third is an intermediate pattern of bringing relics to another place or

person when needed (my Chapter 3). “Ad Sanctos. Miracles and Everyday Life in the Middle Ages,” in Bilan et

Perspectives des Études Médiévales (1993-1998), ed. Jacqueline Hamesse (Turnhout, Belgium: Brepols, 2004), 263.

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Each of these three miracle texts of Vivien, Privat, and Enimie contain much information about

this dissertation’s central themes of movement, relics, miracles, and peace. All three of these

saints’ communities are in the south of France and within less than two hundreds kilometers

from each other. Most of the scholarship on these three sources is in French and somewhat dated.

Recent French studies often examine Privat, Enimie, and Vivien only cursorily in favor of other

more well-known holy persons, or focus on other parts of their histories and texts than on the

eleventh-century miracle collections. Therefore, one of my contributions is to bring these three

saints and their stories to an English-speaking audience and to focus directly on them.

Saint Vivien is venerated in Figeac in the region of Quercy (modern-day Lot department), in the

bishopric of Cahors, which borders the regions of Rouergue and Auvergne. Vivien had been a

fifth-century bishop of Saintes, where he was hailed as a confessor, but his remains were

translated to Figeac by its monks in the ninth century by furtum sacrum. The Translatio Sancti

Viviani Episcopi in Coenobium Figiacensi et Ejusdem Ibidem Miracula was written by two

monks in the abbey at Figeac sometime between 994 and 1060.

About one hundred and eighty kilometers to the east of Figeac, Saint Privat is venerated in

Mende, the episcopal city of the region of Gévaudan (modern-day Lozère department). Privat

had been the bishop of Gabales, the ancient region around Mende, and was martyred by King

Crocus of the Alamanni in the third or fourth century. By the sixth century, Privat’s cult at

Mende was well enough known that Gregory of Tours mentioned Privat in his Historia

Francorum. In the eight century Privat’s remains were moved to Saint-Denis (just north of Paris)

and then Salone (diocese of Metz). They returned to Mende, where they still remain, sometime

between 815 and 925. The Miracula Sancti Privati was written by a cleric at Mende between the

years 1054 and 1095.

Saint Enimie is venerated at the monastery of Sainte-Enimie, situated about twenty-five

kilometers south of Mende and within its diocese. Of the three saints, Enimie’s origins are most

muddled. Most scholars present Enimie as a Merovingian princess and some as a Persian martyr

who lived between the fourth and seventh century, although both are unlikely. Whatever her real

origins, the hagiographic legend makes clear that Enimie was bound to the place where she

founded a monastery and eventually became abbess. The Vita Inventio et Miracula Sanctae

Enimiae was likely written by the same author as Privat’s miracles.

10

The central sources for this dissertation are the three miracle collections of Saints Vivien of

Figeac, Privat of Mende, and Enimie of Sainte-Enimie. There are four reasons why these three

miracle texts can bear fruit when examined together.

1) The strongest characteristic binding the three miracle texts together is that all contain many

anecdotes about movement. These movements ranged from relics and people traveling to saints’

shrines, to the nobility and their men moving to perpetrate criminal actions. These tales of

movement all include the same general set of themes related to movement: noble depredations

punished by avenging saints, a confluence of relics and people on the roads and at church

councils, and the home shrine as an attractive, central place to venerate and be in the presence of

the saints’ powers.

2) The relics of Enimie, Vivien, and Privat were all portable and contained in image reliquaries.

A central main point to come out of Vivien’s, Enimie’s, and Privat’s miracula is the great

importance of the relics. Indeed, the relics were a main treasure for the church, cathedral, or

abbey, and the hagiographers took great care to show that they were magnificent in their

ornamented image reliquaries, and that the relics themselves were the most precious.20 The

simplest description of reliquary is a physical object that holds the virtus, virtue or power of the

holy person.21 I have opted to adopt Boehm’s term “image reliquary” to designate any reliquary

that is a head, bust, or full-length figure.22 The reliquaries of Enimie, Vivien, and Privat all fit

this description.

3) The sources are also easily comparable due to similarities in production. All three sources

were written within a similar literary context, that is, in Latin and in a monastic or clerical setting

by anonymous authors. They are each about twenty pages in length, share structural similarities,

and were written in close chronological (within fifty years) and geographical proximity (within

20 Pierre-André Sigal, “Le culte des reliques en Gévaudan aux XIe et XIIe siècles,” in Cévennes et Gévaudan: Actes

du XLVIe Congrès organisé à Mende et Florac les 16 et 17 Juin 1973 (Mende, 1974), 105.

21 Cynthia Hahn, Strange Beauty: Issues in the Making and Meaning of Reliquaries, 400-circa 1204 (University

Park, PA: The Pennsylvania State University Press, 2012), 8-9.

22 Barbara Drake Boehm, “Medieval head reliquaries of the Massif Central,” (PhD diss. New York University,

1990), 5.

11

less than two hundred kilometers from each other). They are all post-mortem miracle collections

distinct from other hagiography such as Lives, Acts, or Translations.23 Since miracle texts on the

whole are quite disparate and diffuse, miracle examinations can benefit greatly from regional

studies such as this one, which address some of the lacunae in scholarship on medieval social

and religious life. Indeed, according to Christian Krötzl, a significant problem for comprehensive

hagiographic research is that regional and local histories are still understudied across the Middle

Ages.24 This dissertation is a contribution to that work.

4) The three sources share a common point of view; all were written by insiders of their

communities. These insiders had obligatory and personal connections to the places and saints

they were writing about, producing a highly localized viewpoint. The lack of this local, insider

point of view is the reason for omitting from this study the miracle book of Foy of Conques, a

neighboring community to Figeac, whose relics were also contained in an image reliquary like

Vivien’s, Enimie’s and Privat’s.25 Although they were instigated by local monks, Foy’s first two

books of miracles were written by an outsider, Bernard of Angers, who was living at Chartres.

Even when the miracles were taken up by a local monk after Bernard’s death, his text followed

Bernard’s style. This resulted in a wholly different tone and length than the other three

collections, and may also be one reason why Foy’s cult was much more widely known and than

the three others (Vivien, Privat, and Enimie).

Chapter 3: Relics and Miracles on the Road: Movement of Relics and People for

Peace of God Councils.

The third chapter involves movements and miracles related to Peace of God councils. Both

Chapters 2 and 3 provide background on the Peace of God. For the moment, it is important to

23 Miracles that occurred in the vitae or translationes of the three saints will only be used in this dissertation to

provide historical context and background necessary to understand the miracula.

24 Krötzl, “Ad Sanctos,” 247.

25 A secondary reason is that there is already extensive scholarly works on Foy and Conques and the miracles about

this saint and place. For example, see Kathleen Ashley and Pamela Sheingorn, Writing Faith: Texts, Sign, and

History in the Miracles of Sainte Foy (Chicago: The University of Chicago Press, 1994) and Sheingorn, The Book of

Sainte Foy.

12

recognize that the Peace of God was a socio-religious movement originating in Aquitaine and

Auvergne in the last few decades of the tenth century which then spread east and south toward

the communities where Vivien, Privat, and Enimie were venerated; the Peace of God lasted well

into the final decades of the eleventh century.26 In reaction to a perception of increased violence

in the south of France in this time period, bishops and their lay allies initiated the Peace

specifically to curb inappropriate violence against the Church and its property. Peace organizers

convoked councils, and these counteractive measures were buttressed by the presence of relics at

these events. Mobile image reliquaries of Privat, Enimie, and Vivien introduced in Chapter 2

travel to these Peace of God councils as discussed in Chapter 3.27

The Peace of God is commonly studied from a variety of points of view, but I am most interested

in the social, religious, and popular aspects of the Peace. The essays in Thomas Head and

Richard Landes’ edited collection The Peace of God: Social Violence and Religious Response in

France Around the Year 1000 have been indispensible for my dissertation, especially for their

inclusion of research on councils attended by Vivien’s, Enimie’s, and Privat’s relics.28 I also

make special use of Richard Landes’ article about the sanctified, rather than institutional, nature

of the Peace.29 By focusing on the demotic nature of the Peace, the hagiographers focus on the

sacred nature of the relics that could move their sacred space when they traveled and therefore

affected the space and people around them as they traveled. Accordingly, I also briefly theorize

26 Most scholarship affirms that the 989 council at Charroux was the first Peace council. See Christian Lauranson-

Rosaz, “Peace From the Mountains: The Auvergnat Origins of the Peace of God,” in The Peace of God, 110. The

council at Coler (or Colin) from Vivien’s text was contemporary to Charroux. Pierre Bonnassie, Pierre-André Sigal,

and Dominique Iogna-Prat place Coler either a little before or a little after Charroux, “La Gallia du Sud, 930-1130:

Le Sud-Ouest de la France,” in Hagiographies: histoire internationale de la littérature hagiographique latine et

vernaculaire en Occident des origines à 1550, ed. Guy Philippart (Turnhout: Brepols, 1994/2006), 308. Lauranson-

Rosaz, however, dates Coler to c.980, “Peace From the Mountains,” 121-125.

27 Daniel Callahan, “The Peace of God and the Cult of the Saints,” in The Peace of God, 166.

28 Head and Landes, The Peace of God.

29 Sanctified peace was open, held outdoors, and involved public oath swearing over relics and many miracles.

Institutional peace, by contrast, was closed, held indoors, and involved private oath swearing over relics in front of

peers. See Richard Landes, “Can the Church be Desperate, Warriors be Pacifist, and Commoners Ridiculously

Optimistic? On the Historian's Imagination and the Peace of God,” in Center and Periphery: Studies on Power in

the Medieval World in Honor of William Chester Jordan, eds. Katherine L. Jansen, Guy Geltner, and Anne E. Lester

(Leiden: Brill, 2013), 79-92. Landes defines sanctified peace in opposition to institutional peace.

13

movement in this context, particularly the idea that sacred space was mobile with the relics and

that as relics traveled through the landscape, they also affected the surrounding space.

Despite the hagiographers’ preference for stasis, Peace of God councils were a sanctioned,

necessary occasion for movement to mitigate crisis (from unjust violence, for example) and to

attain peace. Six councils associated with the Peace were attended by Vivien’s, Enimie’s, and

Privat’s image reliquaries: Coler (between c.989 and c.994), Limoges (994), and Lalbenque

(between 1000 and 1010) for Vivien and Mende I (between 1031 and 1052), Le Puy (c.1036),

and Mende II (between 1052 and 1095) for Privat and Enimie. The miracles and movement in

conjunction with the Peace offered in Chapter 3 are performed almost exclusively for the masses.

Many of these miracles occur outside at open-air events. At these events, the relics are portrayed

as surrounded by sacred power that allowed them to heal people while away from their home

shrine. The chapter concludes that this sanctified version of the Peace involving relics and their

mobile sacred space was the first line of spiritual defense against encroachments on Peace, and,

therefore, the status quo of an ordered society. When Peace was not satisfactorily met, the saints

were called upon for vengeance.

Chapter 4: Dangerous Rovers and Holy Vengeance: Life and Death Consequences

of Criminal Movements

The hagiographers preferred a world of stasis, but when movement was warranted, it ought to be

toward the relics or other shrines. In this context of hoped-for prescribed and normalized

movements, all other movements are strikingly obvious in contrast. The fourth chapter concerns

these out-of-the-ordinary movements; they are of two types. First I discuss the violent behavior

and movements of criminal nobles and their men-at-arms, whom I call dangerous rovers, while

they were out and about performing their masculinity. Second, I discuss the retaliatory

movements of saints in holy vengeance, who, especially Privat, doled out violence in kind. Paul

Rousset’s article on the conception of saints as immanent avengers for crimes against the saints

and the Church forms a helpful support for this chapter about holy vengeance.30 In addition, I

30 Paul Rousset, “La croyance en la justice immanente à l'époque féodale,” Le Moyen Âge 54 (1948): 225-248. Even

after almost eighty years in print, it is still cited by scholars.

14

use works by Pierre-André Sigal,31 Edina Bozoky,32 and Anne-Marie Helvétius33 to understand

the function of punishment miracles in the eleventh century. More specifically, I employ

Bozoky’s work to analyze the category of miracle punishments that disrupted the social order,

which category is visible in the three miracle texts.

Through their portrayals of dangerous rovers moving violently and criminally in practice of their

masculinity, the hagiographers decry certain types of violent movements. While the dangerous

rovers, as portrayed in the sources, were simply performing social-acceptable forms of

masculinity, they did so in a way that threatened the Church, its places, people, and objects.

Therefore, the hagiographers present an alternative form of masculinity performance that

conformed to their ideals of peace in relation to the Church. To right this social disruption of

dangerous rovers, the saints mirrored their movements when punishing them. This is a

complicated message; violence is portrayed as both a problem and a solution. Yet, in the reading

or hearing of the miracles, it is clear which ones the hagiographers sanction, movements of

saints, and which the hagiographers condemn, movements of dangerous rovers.

Concerning retaliation, the authors distinguish between the words used to describe the saints as

people (who acted invisibly) and “relic” or “image” (as an object that was moved by others).34

The saints in this chapter, acting in retaliation, were the former; they appeared and meted out

31 Sigal, L’homme.

32 Edina Bozoky, “Les miracles de châtiment au haut Moyen Âge et à l’époque féodale,” in Violence et Religion,

eds. Pierre Cazier and Jean-Marie Delmaire (Villeneuve d’As: Université Lille, 1998), 151-168.

33 Anne-Marie Helvétius, “Le récit de vengeance des saints dans l’hagiographie franque (VIe-IXe siècle),” in La

Vengeance 400-1200, eds. Dominique Barthélemy, François Bougard, and Régine Le Jan (Rome: École française de

Rome, 2006), 421-450.

34 For example, in the three miracle texts about Vivien, when the authors wanted to portray a living saint or saint as

an invisible force, they use the terms martyr (martyr), confessor (confessor), virgo (virgin), depending on the status

of the saint; the term sanctus/sancta (saint or holy); or call them by name. When describing the relics or image

reliquary, they saints’ remains are called ymago (image or likeness), majestas (majesty), pignus (symbol), and

effigies (image or likeness). To our minds, terms such as saint, relic, and image may seem like the same thing, but in

the miracle collections, the authors clearly distinguished between the movements and actions of the saints and as

distinct from those of the relics. Both senses of the saint, however, were mobile. The mobility of saints was shown

by their ability to appear wherever they were needed as an invisible force via visions or mysterious miracles to

punish or heal. In the form of relics, the power to punish or heal required proximity to holy objects. This is why their

mobility is an exciting part of the miracle tales. Both saints working unseen and relics in person were key aspects of

the three miracle collections that demonstrated the saints’ power of simultaneous presence.

15

punishment out-and-about while away from their sacred relics and their shrines to avenge the

crimes of sinful men. In doing so, they are described not as the objects of their remains, but as

independent persons moving toward the evildoers. The chapter concludes that when men

behaved badly, it was mostly while moving away from the shrine, and the saint then traveled to

the criminal to deliver punishment. Therefore, these punishment movements of the saints were

reactive and warranted proactive peace seeking.

Chapter 5: Journeys to the Shrine: Pilgrimage, Penance, and Obliteration

Most likely, the miracle tales were written to highlight the shrine. Therefore, Chapter 5, which is

about movements toward or at the saints’ shrines, fits well as the final analytical chapter of this

dissertation. A majority of the miracles analyzed in this chapter pertain to pilgrimage.35 Like

studies on miracles, studies on pilgrims and pilgrimage have a relatively recent history. The

publication of Victor and Edith Turner’s Image and Pilgrimage in Christian Culture in 1978, a

keystone text for the field, was not initially fully utilized. Instead, pilgrimage and their seminal

study remained largely neglected by social scientists and historians of religion until the 1990s.

James J. Preston surmises that this neglect can be partly attributed to the Turners’ conception of

an ideal pilgrimage as extroverted mysticism in which pilgrimage takes on subjective

connotations that send social scientists and historians running.36 Yet, just as with miracles,

historians have now written extensively on pilgrimage. Pilgrimage studies have also benefitted

from scholarship conducted by anthropologists and geographers. There is a great variety of

analyses of pilgrimage, be they Christian, medieval, or otherwise. However, most studies on

pilgrimage tend to analyze the ritual of pilgrimage and its function in society while neglecting

the variety of movements that constitute a pilgrimage. Movement itself has only recently become

a common central focus of studies of pilgrimages, but even when it has been used, it has not been

treated systematically.37

35 A handful of miracle examples in Chapter 5 are about violent men moving toward or at the saint’s shrine with

destructive and fatal consequences.

36 James J. Preston, “Spiritual Magnetism: An Organizing Principle for the Study of Pilgrimage,” in Alan Morinis,

ed., Sacred Journeys: The Anthropology of Pilgrimage (Westport, CT: Greenwood Press, 1992), 32.

37 Scholars have explored various viewpoints of movement related to pilgrimage from Hindu pilgrimage

participants as connection points between sacred shrines so that their actual footsteps connect and create a pan-

16

The previous chapter about dangerous rovers centers on violent movements; Chapter 5 turns to

the mostly positively-portrayed movements of the populace and a few penitent lords as well as

some criminal movements of lay and religious men. People are portrayed as attracted to move

toward the shrines because of the spiritually magnetic power of the saints and their relics held at

their home churches. Indeed, especially on the saints’ annual feast days, people of all social

levels flocked to the shrines. Most of the pilgrims who arrived there were seeking

transformation, either spiritual or physical healing, and were recorded as rewarded for their faith

with miracles from Enimie, Vivien, and Privat. But there were also others who, because of their

improper movements at the shrines, were recorded as punished with obliterating death.

What is quite intriguing is how much detail hagiographers judged necessary to give regarding

how the people who traveled to the shrines moved through space. For example, there are stories

about people so disabled that they crawled on their bellies or were carried around by their loved

ones. There were also nobles (from Chapter 4) who sought forgiveness from the saints and thus

moved penitentially toward the saints’ shrines to gain forgiveness. In one case, the arm of the

statue of Privat animated to reject a noble man’s gift until he returned Privat’s property, after

which point the statue remained still, thereby signaling that all was right again. This chapter

concludes that when people moved toward the shrine, the relics remained mostly still, showing

that crises that required healing miracles (both physical and spiritual) necessitated movement of

people, but not movement of the relics. All these examples reinforce that there was a proper way

to move toward or at the shrines to perform pilgrimage.

Chapter 6: Conclusion: Movement and Hagiography in Eleventh-Century

Southern France

In this dissertation, I show that depictions of movement are a useful lens through which to

examine these three eleventh-century miracle collections. Movements are portrayed as

precipitated by three types of crisis: social violence, social disruption, and physical and spiritual

Hindu sacred space with implications for tourists and pilgrims co-traveling the same roads, Coleman and Eade,

“Introduction: reframing pilgrimage,” in Reframing Pilgrimage, 8-9.

17

illness. The solutions offered in the miracles are punishments, assembly at church gatherings for

Peace, and pilgrimage to obtain healing (both physical and spiritual). Therefore, movement as

written in the texts revealed a crisis that needed a solution, and moving facilitated that solution.

Using these three miracle collections, this dissertation shows three directionalities of movement.

Chapter 3 shows dual directionality with relics being moved for crisis mitigation and people

meeting the relics wherever they were to seek healing from these portable, on-the-move sacred

objects. In Chapter 3, the sacred relics and popular masses moved toward each other. Chapter 4

features movements away from sacred spaces with violent men on-the-move and saints moving

toward them to punish. Chapter 5 reveals mostly pilgrims moving toward the saints’ shrines to

celebrate the saints or to seek physical and/or spiritual healing, but also includes a few wicked

men moving toward or at the shrines. The churchmen who penned these stories were most

interested in movements that were in line with supporting the saints’ cults and upholding social

order. To demonstrate this, the hagiographers ascribe values to the movements depending on

who was moving, the direction they were moving, and their proximity to either the holy relics or

the saints’ shrines. All these miracles and movements were connected by the context of the

socio-religious movement of the Peace of God.

While none of the moral lessons from the miracles are exceptional, what is innovative in this

study is the central place of movement as a category of analysis of miracle texts that overall

portray the hagiographers’ desire for a society in stasis or approved movements. Moving in

prescribed ways for healing is sanctioned, while incorrect movements resulted in dire

punishments. By promoting proper and improper ways to move, the hagiographers establish

social norms of movement performance for their society with movements toward and with the

relics as the most acceptable movements. Yet, movement is merely one of the fascinating ways

to reinvigorate scholarship on medieval miracles and to show the social crises of Midi France in

the eleventh century. Therefore, Chapter 6 concludes with some future directions for research.

***

In order to understand this complex world of crisis and peace, we now turn to the historical

context of relics and reliquaries, the Peace of God, and the regional and textual situation of the

three central saints and their primary sources.

18

Chapter 2 Historical Overview: Relics and Reliquaries, the Peace of God,

and Saints and Their Settings

Saints Vivien, Privat, and Enimie are at the heart of this dissertation. It is through their

hagiography that we glimpse movement for analysis in this dissertation. Hagiography literally

means “holy writing” and is used to describe biographical texts of the saints. In particular, this

dissertation uses miracula and analyzes the movements contained therein. Miracula are

collections of miracles performed by the saints after their death.1 While there is a corpus of

hagiography about saints Vivien, Privat, and Enimie, their historical details remain obscured. In

addition to this historical cloudiness, there is also a general lack of scholarship on each of the

three saints that fully and directly addresses all aspects of their context and sources.

Despite these complications, their relics and miracles are worthy of close study because they

were part of the phenomenon of mobile image reliquaries that was facilitated and supported by

the Quercinois and Gévaudanais Peace movement. This historical context will set the scene for

the rest of this dissertation’s analysis by laying bare pertinent background on the dissertation’s

main themes (relics, Peace, and miracles) as well as the basic histories and controversies of each

saint and their hagiographical corpus. In order to use these sources well, I lay out the flawed and

convoluted stories of the context and sources of the saints that affected how their miracles were

read and used. By identifying the inherent complications of using these sources, I bring to light

ways that we can use what we do know about the sources to help us understand them and their

hagiographers’ message.

Chapter Plan

This chapter provides an historical overview of the objects, temporal context, and people and

places central to Chapters 3, 4, and 5 of this study. I begin with an introduction on the most

1 By contrast, vitae, lives of the saints, contain miracles performed by saints while they were alive. See the

introduction to Pierre-André Sigal’s L’homme et le miracle dans le France médiévale (XIe-XIIe siècle) (Paris: Cerf,

1985), 9-15. It may seem contradictory to call miracle stories performed by saints after their death biography, but to

the medieval mind, physically deceased holy persons were considered members of the society that venerated them.

See Patrick Geary’s Living with the Dead in the Middle Ages (Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press, 1994).

19

important objects for this dissertation, relics and reliquaries, because one first needs a sense of

what they are and how they were used before being able to understand their specific application

in the Peace of God and in Privat’s, Enimie’s, and Vivien’s histories. Reliquaries in particular are

important because the placement of Enimie’s, Vivien’s, and Privat’s relics in image reliquaries

made them mobile. After an overview of objects, I situate their use within the historical context

of the Peace of God, which topic frames the temporal boundaries of this dissertation. After all,

the Peace of God was the reason in the three texts to take these mobile image reliquaries on

journeys, which also prompted hoards of the populace to move with and toward them. With

those two contextual scenes set, reliquaries and the Peace of God, I then introduce the specific

regions affected by the Peace of God where the saints were venerated in the eleventh century

(when their miracle texts were written). This includes a regional summary of Vivien in Quercy

and Privat and Enimie in Gévaudan. I provide a brief history of each saint, including a discussion

of common controversies or difficulties in presenting their histories and sources.

2.1 Saints as Objects: Relics and Image Reliquaries

The main point to come out of Vivien’s, Enimie’s, and Privat’s Miracula is the great importance

of the relics. Accordingly, movements in the miracle texts of these saints are all in coordination

with or in relation to the saints’ relics. Indeed, for the church, be it cathedral or abbey, relics

were a main treasure. Medieval writers took great care to show that relics in their ornamented

image reliquaries were magnificent, but that relics themselves were the most precious.2 The

power of relics, to heal or impose power, hinges on several variables. Relics are prized religious

objects, but they are also political and economic objects, they are connected to pilgrimage, link

the past and the present, and keep the saint relevant through the veneration of their remains.3 All

these aspects and functions of relics could vary from century to century, place to place, and saint

to saint.4 Besides being a receptacle for relics, reliquaries and image reliquaries as objects were


du XLVIe Congrès organisé à Mende et Florac les 16 et 17 Juin 1973 (Mende, 1974),105.

3 Karena Gupton Akhavein, “‘Reman say in aquesta terra.’ The Function of Translatio in the Occitan Vita of Saint

Enimie” (PhD diss., Columbia University, 2002), 14.

4 Isabelle Darnas and Fernand Peloux, “Évêché et monastères dans le Gévaudan du haut moyen âge,” Annales du

Midi 271 (2010): 348.

20

open to great interpretation by their beholder and, therefore, also “open to remarkable

manipulation.”5 Given this variety, it is no wonder that the historian Dominique Barthélemy in

2009 wrote “[t]he cult of the saints was debatable; it raised questions.”6 They are multifaceted

objects, with a multiplicity of meanings and experiences that was expressed by various forms of

piety.7 We can only catch glimpses of medieval people’s interactions with these precious,

powerful, objects in our studies of them.8 Therefore, a close examination of objects similar to

the image reliquaries can reveal the subtleties and complexities of the relationship between the

saints and their medieval society.9

One of their main uses was to provide a visible, earthly anchor of the power of God and his

representatives, the saints, to their powers on earth and to celebrate the life of the patron saint of

a community by giving them a visible presence in the church.10 Indeed, relics and reliquaries are

intimately connected with the development of the cult of the saints; they were a point of

5 Cynthia Hahn, Strange Beauty: Issues in the Making and Meaning of Reliquaries, 400-circa 1204 (University

Park, PA: The Pennsylvania State University Press, 2012), xiii.

6 Dominique Barthélemy, The Serf, the Knight and the Historian, trans. Graham Robert Edwards (Ithaca: Cornell

University Press, 2009), 278.

7 Jean Hubert and Marie-Clotilde Hubert, “Piété Chrétienne ou paganisme? Les statues-reliquaries de l’Europe

carolingienne,” in Cristianizzazione ed organizzazione ecclesiastica delle campagne nell’alto medioevo: Espansione

e resistenze, 10-16 aprile 1980, volume 1 (Spoleto: Presso la sede del Centro, 1982), “Piété Chrétienne ou

paganisme?,” 258.

8 Søren Kaspersen, “Preface,” in Images of Cult and Devotion: Function and Reception of Christian Images in

Medieval and Post-Medieval Europe, eds. Søren Kaspersen and Ulla Haastrup (Copenhagen: Museum Tusculanum

Press University of Copenhagen, 2004), II and Sara Lipton, “Images and Their Uses,” in Christianity in Western

Europe c.1100-c.1500, eds. Miri Rubin and Walter Simons (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2009), 281.

Lipton adds: “The history of Christian imagery suggests that ideas and images, doctrine, art and society existed in a

complex relationship, with innovation appearing in sometimes one and sometimes the other realm. Finally, and most

basically, the manifold, overlapping and conflicting uses of images surveyed here confirm the centrality of the

religious images in the lives of high medieval Christians.” “Images and Their Uses,” 281-282.

9 Foy’s majestas is the oldest surviving of these image reliquaries, Jean-Marie Sansterre, “Après les miracles de

sainte Foy: présence des saints, images et reliques dans divers textes des espaces français et germanique du milieu

du XIe au XIIIe siècle,” Cahiers de civilisation médiévale Xe-XIIe siècles 56 (2013): 41.

10 Barbara Drake Boehm, “Medieval head reliquaries of the Massif Central,” (PhD diss. New York University,

1990), 60, 85, and 89 and Hahn, Strange Beauty, 6-7. Lipton writes that the most cited functions by medieval

theologians were didactic, affective, and anagogic, “Images and Their Uses,” 255.

21

intercession between the living and the dead.11 As teaching objects, their relics were supposed to

lead the viewer to faith through their splendor;12 they were not meant to replace words about the

faith but to complement them.13 They functioned as art,14 but had a host of other prosaic

functions as well as attracting pilgrims and increasing prestige and privilege of the communities

that housed them.15 The uses and functions of reliquaries were inextricably tied together. Sara

Lipton, writing in 2009, sums up the complication well: “These objects, like the institutions that

housed them, worked on several registers at once, simultaneously fulfilling liturgical, spiritual

and practical functions, and conveying meaning through form and medium as well as subject

matter.”16 The diverse significations of image reliquaries also affected their function.17

Relic veneration was not clearly established by the Christian Church until the fourth century.18 In

the early centuries of the cult of relics, the remains of the holy dead were most often found in a

crypt or tomb somewhere within or nearby their home church.19 By the Carolingian period, it

was regular practice to distribute relics among Christian churches.20 In 801 and 813,

Charlemagne reinstated an earlier decree to have a relic in every church altar.21 After this

11 Hahn, Strange Beauty, 16.


13 Lipton, “Images and Their Uses,” 264.

14 Hubert and Hubert, “Piété Chrétienne ou paganisme?,” 251.

15 Lipton, “Images and Their Uses,” 257-258.

16 Lipton, “Images and Their Uses,” 256. Hahn concurs, writing that “As an object of continuing power, the

reliquary has been repeatedly revised, physically or contextual, and brought up to date, surviving today as a token of

prestige for the modern Church.” Therefore, it is representative of the saints and its powers, and used to represent,

manipulate, and present its meaning and power, Strange Beauty, 7.



19 Hahn, Strange Beauty, 24 and James F. Skyrms, “The Rituals of Pilgrimage in the Middle Ages,” (PhD Diss.:

University of Iowa, 1986), 150.

20 Boehm, “Medieval head reliquaries,” 23.

21 A church council in Carthage c.400 demanded the destruction of all altars that did not contain the relics of a saint.

Charlemagne (742-814) later revived this local ruling. In 801 and again in 813 he made it general policy. Thereafter,

any preexisting altars without saints’ relics were to be destroyed and all newly consecrated altars must contain relics,

22

revival, relics became more diffuse across Gaul; they were easily portable because of burial

practices that already dismembered the bodies. It was a simple step to spread one body across

multiple churches, but to be distributed, they had to be moved.22 In some cases, as with Vivien at

Figeac, the head might be separated from the body and put in a reliquary in the church proper

while the rest of the body was in a tomb;23 Privat’s image reliquary was displayed on the altar in

the crypt of the church at Mende.24 When relics were placed in tombs, they were not usually

available to the public unmitigated; instead, tombs might have an opening for people to reach in

and touch the holy body. Some other tombs were made so that people could lie on them while

waiting for healing.25

The saints’ relics are recognizable in the texts by a variety of words. For example, in the three

miracle texts about Vivien, Privat, and Enimie, there is a difference between the words used to

describe saints when they are performing miracles as distinct from those used when the saints’

remains are moved. When the saints perform miracles, they are described as though they are

alive. The authors use the terms martyr (martyr), confessor (confessor), virgo (virgin), depending

on the status of the saint. They also use the term sanctus/sancta (saint or holy) or call them by

name. The language used to describe the saints when they are moved by living people in the

stories is markedly different. On these occasions, their remains are called gleba (dead body),

reliquus (remains), vestigium (vestige), corpus (body), and membrum (part, limb); their images

Daniel E. Bornstein, “Relics, Ascetics, Living Saints,” in Medieval Christianity, ed. Daniel E. Bornstein

(Minneapolis, MN: Fortress Press, 2009), 83 and Patrick Geary, Furta Sacra: Thefts of Relics in the Central Middle

Ages (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 1978), 42-43 and 43n23. Charlemagne’s decrees can be found in

MGH Capit. 1:170.

22 Skyrms, “The Rituals of Pilgrimage,” 131-132.

23 Boehm, “Medieval head reliquaries,” 78. This separation usually coincided with renovations of the church,

Boehm, “Medieval head reliquaries,” 82. Boehm writes that this was the case with Gerald of Aurillac. It would have

been the responsibility of the abbot or bishop of the church: “In each of these instances, it was the abbot of a

monastery or a bishop who oversaw the exhumation of a saint’s body and the creation of reliquaries. In most cases,

the clear preference for the skull as the principal relic is demonstrated by the fact that only it was retained for special

veneration, while all other relics were returned to the tomb.” “Medieval head reliquaries,” 81.

24 Boehm, “Medieval head reliquaries,” 80-81. This holy location is profaned in his miracle story by a sacrilegious

man who dared to complete mass there. See Chapter 5 for the specific instance.

25 Skyrms, “The Rituals of Pilgrimage,” 151.

23

are called ymago (image or likeness), majestas (majesty), pignus (symbol), and effigies (image or

likeness). Thus, the hagiographers use certain words to emphasize the role the saint is playing in

the narratives.

When the hagiographers describe Enimie’s, Privat’s, and Vivien’s remains, they are talking

about relics housed in reliquary sculptures. In the early Middle Ages, reliquaries had expanded in

forms to include full, free-standing sculptures that represented the saint in human form, much

like that of a living human,26 to remind the viewer that saints were present in their remains.27

What made image reliquaries so popular for devotional use was that they were seen as the

embodiment of the saints’ miraculous powers.28 I have chosen to adopt Barbara Drake Boehm’s

term “image reliquary” to designate any reliquary that is a head, bust, or full-length figure.29

Considering the variety of influences and the variety of forms possible for reliquary images,

image reliquary is most appropriate for this dissertation.

Image reliquaries in the Middle Ages emerged from the combination of two influences. On the

one hand, the cult of relics developed hand-in-hand with hand with Christianity. For example,

the New Testament promoted the miracle-working power of Christ and the specialness of his

apostles. After their deaths, Christ and the apostles were natural first choices for holy men

worthy of Christian veneration. Their bodies and material objects touched by them or associated

26 Hahn notes that the relics represented a living saint, not a dead one, 12. Boehm also writes that a great innovation

of the Middle Ages was that the image reliquaries mimicked a body part of the saint in appearance, “Medieval head

reliquaries,” 25.

27 Ilene H. Forsyth, The Throne of Wisdom: Wood Sculptures of the Madonna in Romanesque France (Princeton,

New Jersey: Princeton University Press, 1972), 2 and 4. Boehm writes: “Given their sheer numbers alone, the role of

bust reliquaries must have been significant and widespread, if not universal. Something of their individual

importance is suggested by the fact that the reliquaries for the heads of some saints were intimately bound with the

chief pilgrimage sites of medieval Europe, such as the shrine of Thomas Becket at Canterbury and the shrines of

Saint Martial and Saint Foy on the road to Santiago de Compostela.” “Medieval head reliquaries,” 2.

28 Claire Wheeler Solt, “The Cult of Saints and Relics in Romanesque Art of Southwestern France and the Impact

of Imported Byzantine Relics and Reliquaries on Early Gothic Reliquary Sculpture,” (PhD diss., The Catholic

University of America, 1977), 9.

29 Boehm, “Medieval head reliquaries,” 5. Given the use of majestas in the hagiography, some scholars use this

term instead of image reliquaries. I use Boehm’s term image reliquary instead of majesty/majestas because image

reliquary reflects a wider range of reliquary statues. Without having the medieval reliquaries of Enimie, Vivien, and

Privat, we cannot be certain what the images looked like. Therefore, the more overarching term image reliquary is

more appropriate to me.

24

with them became the first relics of Christianity.30 On the other hand, in the late imperial Roman

period, putting an important person in “majesty” or making a bust of them was a common

practice.31

Because relics were special, it naturally followed that the reliquaries that contained them should

also be special.32 Saints’ relics were often kept in some sort of receptacle, which varied from

inconspicuous boxes to ornate reliquary containers to full-sized or body-part shaped ones; these

containers for relics are called reliquaries. One of the most basic functions of the reliquaries was

to redound the glory and splendor of God through the ornamentation of his sanctuaries. Beauty

was also a significant reason to create image reliquaries. Eleventh-century reliquary art,

therefore, sought to capture the glory of “up there” in heaven and to bring that “elsewhere down

here” to earth. Wherever they were placed in the church or taken on procession, the reliquaries

would have been quite an impressive sight to visitors and onlookers who desired saints’

intercession. Furthermore, their intricate and lavish ornamentation was an essential part of

advertising the power of their contents, the actual relics, as miracle-working saints.

Their sculptural presentation defies artistic conventions and classifications.33 Fashioned in three

dimensions, finished on all sides, image reliquaries with heads show a forward gaze with

gestured arms to engage the view of the beholder.34 Their recognizable human form lent further

credibility to the presence of the saint.35 Yet, the exterior decoration was often superficial.

Studies show that the image reliquary of Saint Foy was wooden underneath precious metal

sheathing affixed to it; extant documentary evidence shows that this was how other similar

30 Boehm writes that the New Testament of the Bible alludes to the emergence of these touchable relics, either

primary or secondary, while the Old Testament had taboos related to death and death bodies, “Medieval head

reliquaries,” 11. For an example of New Testament allusions to relics, see Matthew 9: 20-22.




34 Boehm, “Medieval head reliquaries,” 86-87

35 Sansterre, “Après les miracles de sainte Foy,” 42.

25

reliquary statues were made up to the twelfth century.36 Regardless of the depth of the exterior

adornment, Boehm writes: “Idealized images in precious materials, enlivened by life-like gesture

and eyes, created to be seen from both front and back, their form reflects their importance and

their animate, active function.”37 Gems for eyes could intensify this experience.38 Spolia taken

from other precious objects were often used to adorn them.39 Skyrms reminds, us, however, that

just because many reliquaries were lavish does not mean that all of them were.40

Since reliquaries hid the relics from plain view, we must also consider the relationship between

the container and what was contained. Statue reliquaries were a symbol of authority and of the

powers, manifested through miracles, of the person inside the effigy.41 The artist sculpted

anthropomorphic images to create an effective resemblance of a human as a point of

intercession.42 Pamela Sheingorn writes that for the medieval beholder, “the reliquary statue was

the living saint who could hear and see them and, most important of all, could grant their

petitions [emphasis Sheingorn’s].”43 People were not meant to venerate the image itself, but that

which the image represented. It was a substitute for the person and a means to mediate between

36 Boehm, “Medieval head reliquaries,” 123 and Hubert and Hubert, “Piété Chrétienne ou paganisme?,” 243. The

bust of Saint Baudime at Saint-Nectaire has a hollowed out tree trunk for its torso, Boehm, “Medieval head

reliquaries,” 125.




40 Skyrms, “The Rituals of Pilgrimage,” 152. The exterior beauty of the reliquary could even obscure discussion of

the contents. Hahn, Strange Beauty, 10. Forsyth adds that art historians have not considered the aesthetic merit of

the statues because of all the amazing things that were attributed to them such as flying, weeping, or punishing,

Throne of Wisdom, 3.



43 Pamela Sheingorn, ed. and trans., The Book of Sainte Foy (Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 1995),

17.

26

the two worlds of heaven and earth, serving as a channel for communication between

experienced reality and the sacred realm beyond.44

Reliquaries were supposed to proclaim the contents; however, they did not always contain what

they advertised. For example, an arm-shaped reliquary might actually contain a leg bone, but the

arm was meant to symbolize power and action.45 In cases of synecdoche, a reliquary that

contained one part, for example the head of a holy person, was meant to stand in for the whole.46

Ultimately, reliquaries and the contained relics were complicated and multi-layered. Since there

was slippage between the meaning of the container and what was contained within, Hahn

cautions that the essential purpose of image reliquaries was utilitarian: to bring about veneration

of the relics.47 Image reliquaries, such as those of Vivien, Enimie, and Privat were generally

quite ornate; covered in precious metals and gems. The earthly treasures that adorned them

symbolized their spiritual power. The art historian Cynthia Hahn describes decoratively ornate

reliquaries as the “bling” of the Middle Ages with the power of presence to communicate more

information than traditional iconography.48

Unlike relics housed in altars or crypts, a key feature of relics in reliquaries is their portability. In

order to be taken on procession or to councils, the relics had to be in an image reliquary, feretory

(bier),49 or chase (box).50 The permanency of relics made them seem like “essentially stable

objects” on permanent display.51 But their mobility shows clearly that relics were not as static as

44 Forsyth, Throne of Wisdom, 7. Forsyth also argues that majesties have kept their charisma even into our times

because they highlight this relationship between the observer and the observed, Throne of Wisdom, 2.

45 Lipton, “Images and Their Uses,” 256.


47 Hahn, Strange Beauty, 9. Sansterre similarly discusses this topic, “Après les miracles de sainte Foy,” 42-43 and

49.

48 Hahn, Strange Beauty, xiii.



51 Kate Craig, “Bringing Out the Saints: Journeys of Relics in Tenth to Twelfth Century Northern France and

Flanders” (PhD diss., University of California Los Angeles, 2015), 1.

27

they might seem. Indeed, not much about reliquaries is inert; “they are subject to constant

revision and adjustment, to bring them up to date, to allow them to do their work, to make them

more beautiful and compelling.”52 Therefore, Kate Craig urges that scholars see relic mobility as

a spectrum that covered a range of movements from proscribed calendrical movements to

everyday out-and-back movements.53

Hahn offers that function was more exciting than the flashy decoration of reliquaries; “they had

the potential to take the saint out into the world in complex and fascinating ways.”54 As liturgical

objects, image reliquaries were taken on procession to avert calamity or ward off plague55 and

were moved to synods and other Church councils.56 Because these moving relics traveled across

landscapes that were already influenced by religious and secular forces, moving relics offered

both opportunities and problems that would not have happened, and really could not have

happened, if the relics had remained at home.57 Craig, who writes about temporary relic

journeys, notes that in the period between the tenth and twelfth centuries, relics moved much

more often and regularly than has been thought. She describes this period as “a new level of relic

mobility” that initiated responses that were both complex and sometimes antagonistic from the

groups of people that the relics encountered (this included ecclesiastical and lay people) when

they went on journeys. Until the twelfth century, the displacements of mobile relics remained

highly experimental.58


53 Craig, “Bringing Out the Saints,” 27.


55 Boehm, “Medieval head reliquaries,” 90; Hubert and Hubert, “Piété Chrétienne ou paganisme?,” 260 and 261;

and Lauranson-Rosaz, “Peace from the Mountains,” 126.

56 Boehm, “Medieval head reliquaries,” 91-92.



28

First documented in the ninth century,59 image reliquaries were a central piece of Christian

devotion in the Massif Central by the eleventh century.60 At this point, they were still considered

a bit of an oddity in the north of Gaul. While Christian cult sculptures first appeared in the

Carolingian north they were later quite pervasive in the south of France.61 Yet, it is hardly

surprising that image reliquaries were more common in the south than the north given the

relative hostility by northern churchmen against cultic images for fear that they might inspire lax

or ostentatious piety.62 Bernard of Angers brought image reliquaries to widespread attention by

their inclusion in his miracles about Foy in the early eleventh century.63 We have evidence of

several image reliquaries in the south of France.64 Foy’s majestas is the oldest extant one,65 a

rare survival. But there were others, such as image reliquaries of Vivien, Privat, and Enimie

known from depictions of them in their Miracula.

Unfortunately, surviving documentation on these objects, when available, is spotty.66 We either

have only the statue itself67 or texts that cursorily mention the objects. And when texts do talk

59 Hubert and Hubert write that extant records indicate that the first medieval bust reliquary appeared between the

870s to 880s; the first bust of Saint Maurice of Vienne had been commissioned by King Boson of Provence, “Piété

Chrétienne ou paganisme?,” 235. The first extant reference to a “majesty,” which typically denoted an image

reliquary, comes from Bernard of Anger’s Liber miraculorum sancte Fidis, written after 1020. Foy’s statue was

made contemporary to the Maurice/Boson statues in the 870s and 880s, Hubert and Hubert, “Piété Chrétienne ou

paganisme?,” 235. See also Boehm, “Medieval head reliquaries,” 174.

60 Boehm, “Medieval head reliquaries,” 61. Solt adds that Southern France had a rich early Christian history with

churches and monasteries all over the countryside that were dedicated to early Christian martyrs, “The Cult of Saints

and Relics,” 7. Skyrms writes that some of the most striking reliquaries are those statues that were common in the

south of France, “The Rituals of Pilgrimage,” 153.

61 Kaspersen, “Preface,” III.

62 Hubert and Hubert, “Piété Chrétienne ou paganisme?,” 242. The use of images of saints in the south of France

akin to those of Vivien, Enimie, and Privat was not an attempt to start a new tradition, but to revive an old one, Solt,

“The Cult of Saints and Relics,” 8.


64 Image statues were also present in the rest of France as well as Germany, Belgium, Switzerland, Scandinavia,

England, Spain, Italy and even Hungary and Poland, Forsyth, Throne of Wisdom, 4.

65 Sansterre, “Après les miracles de sainte Foy,” 40-41.

66 Hahn, Strange Beauty, 10 and Hubert and Hubert, “Piété Chrétienne ou paganisme?,” 237 and 246.

67 Forsyth, The Throne of Wisdom, 4.

29

about reliquary statues, they only do so for exceptional events or scandal.68 The objects are not

described for the sake of posterity because they were taken for granted by the society that

produced and venerated them.69 Since most often the statue reliquaries are no longer extant,

historians must rely on the written sources about these statues describing them as representatives

of a larger phenomenon of similar reliquaries in southern France.70 There is also the issue of the

loss and destruction of reliquaries and image reliquaries. In the Middle Ages, it was customary to

melt down certain objects made of precious metal to use them for other purposes, but most

scholars attribute the biggest loses in medieval religious artifacts in France to the sixteenth-

century wars of religion and the eighteenth-century French Revolution.71 Others were simply lost

over the years through theft or deterioration. Claire Wheeler Solt, writing in the 1970s, describes

this loss well: “The ravages of time, war, and economic need have left us precious few examples

of this indigenous flower of French art which depicted local saints.”72 With such great losses, it

is impossible to know how many representations had even been in existence. We are fortunate to

have the account of Bernard of Angers; without him we might think that the statue of Foy, as

well as that of Vivien, Enimie, and Privat, were mere anomaly.73

As a result of this destruction, we know very little about the image reliquaries of Vivien, Privat,

and Enimie. The earliest reference to Vivien’s image reliquary comes from a miracle text written

in the eleventh century. Boehm contends that this object was made no earlier than the ninth

century but at least by 1031 when the image reliquary was taken to Limoges for a Peace of God

council.74 Boehm adds that the body of Vivien was apparently divided up with the body being


69 Forsyth, Throne of Wisdom, 4.

70 Sansterre writes that indeed, the objects about which they speak most often have disappeared, so the written

sources, although disputed, show the larger phenomenon of these sort of statues in the West, “Après les miracles de

sainte Foy,” 40.


72 Solt, “The Cult of Saints and Relics,” 14.

73 Boehm, “Medieval head reliquaries,”14.


30

placed in a burial sarcophagus and the head placed in the image reliquary.75 Privat’s image

reliquary was covered in gold and gems and was displayed on the altar in the crypt of the church

at Mende. It was created at least by 1036 when it was taken to the council at Le Puy. The

historian Jean-Marie Sansterre argues that there is no doubt that the image of Privat is no longer

extant.76 Privat, however, was not only a local saint, but also a universal saint and cited in many

and diverse legends and manuscripts that contained representations of his iconography.77 In all

of his medieval representations, Privat is shown as a bishop;78 therefore, one could reasonably

surmise that his image reliquary also portrayed him as a bishop.79 We know the least about

Enimie’s image reliquary. The historian James F. Skyrms writes that both her relics and those of

Privat were kept in image reliquaries that were taken to councils for the Peace of God.80 The

extant images of Enimie usually represented her as a royal person, according to her legendary

status,81 and thus it is possible that her reliquary portrayed her that way.

Boehm’s research on image reliquaries in the Massif Central shows that image reliquaries made

in the south of France in the Carolingian and Romanesque period were most likely constructed

by monks in their own communities.82 The requirements to make such images were simply that

the community was established for some time, monks had time to spare (as a result of a large



77 Isabelle Darnas and Fernand Peloux, “Identité et dévotion: le représentations des saints locaux en Gévaudan du

Moyen Age à nos jours,” in Regards sur les objects de dévotion populaire, eds. Isabelle Darnas and d’Agnès Barroul

(Actes Sud: Arles, 2011), 43.

78 His likeness was variously used by the bishops of Mende on their seal, episcopal money, and tokens of the

cathedral to dramatize their power, Darnas and Peloux, “Identité et dévotion,” 43. Thus, his image shows the local,

religious, and political power of Privat.

79 Privat saint also became a symbol of temporal power. The bishops of Mende used Privat’s image to cement their

authority continuously through the saint’s illustrious powers and to combat those who threatened their diocese,

namely the nobility, Darnas and Peloux, “Identité et dévotion,” 43.

80 Skyrms, “The Rituals of Pilgrimage,” 153-154. See also Chapter 3 of this study about relic trips to Peace of God

councils.

81 Darnas and Peloux, “Identité et dévotion,” 43.


31

enough community), precious metal or gems for adornment were available, and the community

was wealthy enough or supported enough to have a goldsmith in its enclosure.83 Therefore,

having mining and minting locations nearby, usually near large, urban communities, was helpful

for this enterprise.84 Sadly, the lack of surviving works for comparison makes it almost

impossible to identify the workshops or individuals who created the images.85

Audience was key to reliquaries.86After all, an audience that believes in its power -- a power that

is institutionally acknowledged and often represented through its miracles -- defines the relic’s

power.87 Therefore, relics need an audience if they are to be more than dust or bone. But as

objects, image reliquaries were subject to different forms of interpretation than written texts. For

example, they had the power to draw in the viewer to experience the present and the past in the

same moment in a way that texts do not. Sheingorn notes, “these statues blurred the distinction

between image and reality, between memory and presence.”88 Yet, the surviving texts that write

about the images are the only source for how audiences experienced the image reliquaries. This

is further complicated by the layers of observation, that is, the distinction between the relics,

hidden inside the reliquaries, and the exterior of the reliquaries that were meant to represent the

powers of the saints and God.89

These devotional objects’ comparison to pagan idols have often relegated them to the category of

superstition or pagan remnants.90 Even today’s scholars are susceptible to bias against them.

Hahn explains: “To the modern mind, reliquaries are at best uncanny, at worst only the utilitarian


84 Boehm, “Medieval head reliquaries,” 128-129 and 131-132.





89 Hahn, Strange Beauty, 6-7.


32

instruments of misdirected piety.”91 While veneration of image reliquaries was a widespread

practice, their acceptance was not undisputed. Part of the reason that reliquary objects were at the

center of controversy was because the interpretation of these physical objects is constantly

revised and inherently unstable.92 For a long time these image reliquaries were cited as remnants

of idolatry and paganism – yet, there is evidence that the image reliquaries had a considerable

place in the piety of the masses. Jean Hubert and Marie-Clotilde Hubert, who study medieval

image reliquaries, therefore, ask: Were they really venerated like pagan idols? Or was there a

form of piety surrounding relics, which was practiced in the Carolingian period?93 There was a

tendency in the Midi to think of saints’ rituals and images as pagan in custom (and possibly also

in belief), leading to a question of heresy or true Christian belief. The resemblance of image

reliquaries to pagan idols caused further ambiguity.94 In the veneration of image reliquaries,

antique idolatry mingled with Christian beliefs in the southern mountain regions of central

Gaul.95 Lauranson writes: “The exacerbated religiosity of the southern regions around the year

1000 – thinly veiled transformations of pagan idolatry – is well known.”96

Yet, the Second Nicene Council (787) paved the way for the eventual adoption of images in

Western doctrine by declaring that when honor is given to an image, that honor is passed on to

the object represented by the image.97 While medieval church leaders were critical of the


92 Hahn, Strange Beauty, 5 & 9.

93 Hubert and Hubert, “Piété Chrétienne ou paganisme?,” 236-237.

94 Christian Lauranson-Rosaz mentions a few examples, such as Baudime at Saint-Nectaire, Pierre at Bredons,

Théofrèd/Chaffre at Monastier, but there were others in the surrounding areas, such as Gerald of Aurillac, Sainte

Foy of Conques, Vivien at Figeac, Sainte Enimie at Sainte-Enimie, and Privat at Mende, “L’Auvergne,” in Les

sociétés méridionales autour de l’an mil: repertoire des sources et documents commentés, ed. M. Zimmermann

(Paris: CNRS, 1992), 24.

95 Lauranson-Rosaz, “L’Auvergne,” 24.

96 Christian Lauranson-Rosaz, “Peace From the Mountains: The Auvergnat Origins of the Peace of God,” in The

Peace of God: Social Violence and Religious Response in France Around the Year 1000 (Ithaca, NY: Cornell


97 Forsyth, Throne of Wisdom, 7.

33

similarity between pagan idols and reliquary-statues,98 in Midi France, Bernard of Angers (d.

c.1020), the author of the miracles of Saint Foy of Conques, helped to normalize their use as

objects of sanctioned Christian devotion in the eleventh century.99 Therefore, it is erroneous to

say that the church largely decried veneration of relics as steeped in pagan tradition.100 Craig

concludes that whatever or not the acceptance of the golden image reliquaries, “relics occupy an

uneasy position within the history and historiography of medieval relationships between the

clergy and laity.”101 Thus, relic images require interpretation to ensure that improper veneration

did not lead to dangerous, idolatrous worship.102

In conclusion, relics and reliquaries are complex and fascinating objects. As objects, reliquaries

equally had the potential to inspire devotion and controversy. Adorned with precious metals and

gems, they signified the power and glory of God on earth through the saints; and their possessors

hoped their display would bring the illiterate masses to pious devotion by accompanying the

images with stories of the saints’ miraculous powers. Yet, relics’ similarity in appearance to

pagan idols caused some concern; therefore, hagiographers and relic guardians were careful to

send the right message about how to venerate God through these images. For this analysis, image

reliquaries are especially important because mobile image reliquaries that held the remains of

Vivien, Enimie, and Privat are what allowed them to be moved in their miraculous tales. In

particular, Vivien’s, Privat’s, and Enimie’s mobility in image reliquaries facilitated their

participation in the Peace of God movement.

98 Barthélemy, The Serf, 275.

99 See Lipton, “Images and Their Uses,” 254-282. Lipton notes how surprised Bernard of Angers was when he first

saw the idol-like images in the south of France, but in the course of writing the first two books of the miracles of

Foy, he warmed up to the use of images in Christian veneration, “Images and their Uses,” 258. See also the

discussion in below concerning disputes about relic veneration.



102 Kaspersen, “Preface,” III.

34

2.2 Time Period: The Peace of God

Moving relics to Peace of God councils is the most well-known and well-documented assembly

of relics.103 Indeed, the presence of image reliquaries is the most consummate feature of the

Auvergnat peace.104 Image reliquaries were taken to Peace of God councils in the belief that

through the saints, the faithful could solicit God to intervene in their problems. To this end,

image reliquaries were brought to councils to guarantee Peace oaths decided there. Therefore,

given the predominance of image reliquaries in the south of France, it is no surprise that the

Peace of God was born in Auvergne, an area that was particularly rich in these images of saints,

where saints reigned, and their imagery was easily exploited.105 Indeed, the version of the Peace

of God that originated in Auvergne was distinct from other versions of the Peace because the

Auvergnat organizers of the Peace used image reliquaries.106 The Peace of Auvergne is seminal

to this dissertation because Quercy and Gévaudan, the home regions of Vivien, Enimie, and

Privat, bordered on Auvergne; not only that, but the places important to them (Figeac, Mende,

and Sainte-Enimie) were very close to that border, as were the most important places in

Auvergne connected to the Peace of Auvergne. But before we turn to the use of reliquaries in the

Peace of God, I will provide background on the Peace movement itself.

It is commonly believed that the Peace of God began with the 989 council of Charroux,107 that it

developed in Auvergne and Aquitaine, and then spread to Burgundy.108 For early scholars of the

103 Craig, “Bringing Out the Saints,” 84-85.

104 Thomas Whitney Lecaque, “The Count of Saint-Gilles and the Saints of the Apocalypse: Occitanian Piety and

Culture in the Time of the First Crusade,” (PhD diss., University of Tennessee, Knoxville, 2015), 104-105.

105 Lauranson-Rosaz, “Peace From the Mountains,” 126.

106 Lecaque, “The Count of Saint-Gilles,” 73.

107 Several authors assert that Charroux (989) was the originating council of the Peace of God. For example, see

Barthélemy, The Serf, 257; Barbara H. Rosenwein, “Feudal War and Monastic Peace: Cluniac Liturgy as Ritual

Aggression,” Viator 2 (1972): 155; and Hans-Werner Goetz, “Protection of the Church, Defense of the Law, and

Reform: On the Purposes and Character of the Peace of God, 989-1038,” in The Peace of God, 264. Head and

Landes both qualify that Charroux was the earliest council with surviving canons in Thomas Head, “The

Development of the Peace of God in Aquitaine (970-1005),” Speculum 74.3 (1999): 656 and Thomas Head and

Richard Landes, “Introduction,” in The Peace of God, 4. Pierre Bonnassie, Pierre-André Sigal, Dominique Iogna-

Prat, and Christian Lauranson-Rosaz nuance the dating of Coler in relation to the dating of Charroux by stating that

we do not know definitely which came first, although we do know that Charroux occurred in 989. See Pierre

Bonnassie, Pierre-André Sigal, and Dominique Iogna-Prat place Coler either a little before or a little after Charroux,

35

Peace of God, the movement owed its origins to the enfeeblement of public authority in

conjunction with rampant private warfare that was especially felt in the south of France. By the

year 1000, violent disorder had reached new heights109 and touched all parts of the

méridional.110 This period of violence and transformation has been termed by one scholar as the

mutation of the year 1000.111 The feudal mutation, or feudal revolution as it is sometimes called,

was the fragmentation of powers that was perceived to have fundamentally changed the feudal

way of life. This concept was believed to be most strongly and uniquely felt in eleventh-century

France.112 To combat this social crisis of violence, church leaders first used spiritual sanctions to

attempt to limit the violence and later instituted additional judiciary and armed associations to

keep the peace.113 Viewed in this way, the Peace was a reaction to the changes brought on by

social crises and terrors that aimed to restore public order. Scholars further elaborated on the idea

“La Gallia du Sud, 930-1130: Le Sud-Ouest de la France,” in Hagiographies: histoire internationale de la

littérature hagiographique latine et vernaculaire en Occident des origines à 1550, ed. Guy Philippart (Turnhout:

Brepols, 1994/2006), 308 and Lauranson-Rosaz, “Peace From the Mountains,” 122 and 122n62. The topic of

anteriority of Charroux and Coler is taken up below in greater detail in Chapter 3.

108 See Kathleen G. Cushing, Reform and the Papacy in the Eleventh Century: Spirituality and Social Change

(Manchester: Manchester University Press, 2005), 39; Goetz, “Protection of the Church,” 261 and 263; Head,

“Development of the Peace of God,” 657; and Head and Landes, “Introduction,” 4.

109 Nicholas Bru and Gilles Séraphin, Archives de pierre, les églises du Moyen Age dans le Lot (Milan: Silvana

Editoriale, 2012), 7-8. Jean François Debons agrees and adds that this disorder disrupted not only religious

communities, but also interrupted commerce and made traveling even more insecure, Annales ecclésiastiques et

politiques de la ville de Figeac en Querci, diocèse de Cahors (Aurillac: A. Manavit, 1829), 75-76, accessed 12

October 2012,

https://books.google.ca/books?id=6PnS0hByMw4C&pg=PA525&source=gbs_selected_pages&cad=2#v=onepage&

q&f=false.


111 Guy Bois, La mutation de l’an mil: Lournand, village mâconnais, de l'Antiquité au féodalisme (Paris: Fayard,

1989). Thomas Head and Richard Landes add that this period “seemed to marry disorder and creativity” in Head and

Landes, “Introduction,” in The Peace of God, 1.

112 Some scholars, such as Dominique Barthélemy, however, are sceptical of the occurrence of an actual feudal

mutation; see Barthélemy’s La mutation de l’an mil a-t-elle eu lieu? Servage et chevalerie dans la France des Xe et

XIe siècles (Paris: Fayard, 1997). For a succinct and tidy explanation of the feudal debate, see Lecaque, “The Count

of Saint-Gilles,” 68-70.

113 Frederick S. Paxton, “History, Historians, and the Peace of God,” in The Peace of God, 22. It was not until the

thirteenth century that the French monarchy was again strong enough to assert responsibility for public order.

https://books.google.ca/books?id=6PnS0hByMw4C&pg=PA525&source=gbs_selected_pages&cad=2#v=onepage&q&f=false


36

that the Peace involved a power struggle requiring protection for those who could not defend

themselves, such as unarmed peasants and clergy, from those with the most power, that is, so-

called anarchic warrior elites.

While there is a great deal of value to these lines of inquiry into the Peace of God, most recent

scholarship has further nuanced the study of the Peace of God to show what seems to be its most

probable origins and rationale. Although there are still a few who disagree, the following

summarizes what is currently accepted by most scholars about the Peace of God that occurred in

late-tenth- and eleventh-century France.114

The decline of the Carolingians and the rise of the Capetians changed political structures.

Writing in the 1950s, Bonnaud-Delamare points to the Carolingian period as the real instigation

point of what would become the Peace of God. He argues that it originated among canonical

authorities who were enthralled with the vestiges of a peace of the Church.115 However, while

this transition in political power did manifest in a change of order, it did not create complete

disorder.116 Yet, what is clear is that the seigneurial violence commonplace in the north seemed

rather abnormal and unacceptably violent to landholders in the south of France.117 To those

living in this period, this may have felt like a descent into anarchy.

In 2015, Thomas Whitney Lecaque argues that even if the social structures of the south did not

necessarily change, there had to have been changes to political structure.118 After all, there was a

genuine void of power after the collapse of the Carolingian empire that was felt especially in the

114 Barthélemy is particularly critical about whether or not we can really call the Peace of God by that name. He

questions not only the Peace of God nomenclature, but also the feudal mutation, the so-called anarchic violence of

the year 1000, and the medieval millenarian fear. See Chapter 8 “The Peace of God in the Days of the Millennium”

and Chapter 9 “New Perspectives on France around the Year 1000” in The Serf, 245-313.

115 Roger Bonnaud-Delamare, “Fondement des institutions de paix au Xie siècle,” in Mélanges d’histoire du moyen

age dédiés à la mémoire de Louis Halphen (Paris: Presses Universitaires de France, 1951), 21.

116 This phrasing of change of order but not disorder is borrowed from Goetz, “Protection of the Church,” 260.

117 Lauranson-Rosaz, “Peace From the Mountains,” 132.

118 Lecaque, “The Count of Saint-Gilles,” 83-84. Lecaque directly counters the argument of Dominique

Barthélemy, who is a strong proponent that the feudal mutation was a perception not a reality. Lecaque argues that

this was mostly likely the case in the north of France, from where Barthélemy draws most of his research, but was

certainly not the same case in the south, the area which Lecaque examines, “The Count of Saint-Gilles,” 83-84.

37

south and that was filled by bishops creating what Lecaque calls ecclesiastical seigneurship.119

In their politically augmented capacity as bishop-lords, Lecaque continues, they ushered in a

cultural shift by their heavy use of image reliquaries as a centerpiece of the cult of the saints and

the Peace of God.120

Spearheaded by local Midi bishops, what would come to be known the Peace of God movement

involved all levels of society. In this disordered landscape, bishops intervened to preserve and

enact civil authority as defensores civitatis.121 Aligned with like-minded nobles, bishops sought

to redress the perception and the reality of increased violence, which was directed at

ecclesiastical landholdings and was felt most acutely in the Midi. These bishops were

particularly interested in protecting church property, such as churches, relics, and the goods and

means of production, which included both animals and food yields as well as peasant workers.122

Lay supporters were integral. Since bishops could not directly retaliate against those who

violently attacked their livelihood, there was little chance of stopping attacks on ecclesiastical

lands and goods without the support of the laity. Holy collaborators, the saints in their relics

contained in image reliquaries, were equally necessary; oaths were sworn on their relics as a

threat of spiritual redress if lay promises were broken. While not essential for the Peace of God’s

institutional success, popular participation fuelled religious fervor and made the Peace of God

councils lively affairs. Therefore, the Peace of God brought together all levels of society,

including both the living and dead, to institute and support the Peace movement in defense of the

Church.

We can distinguish four elements and two phases of the Peace of God movement to aid our

understanding of it. The first element is the response to the three main problems outlined in

conciliar canons at the first Peace council at Charroux. The historian Hans-Werner Goetz

summarizes them as follows: “(1) the violent invasion of churches and robbery committed in




122 Goetz comments that “All these measures were meant to maintain the production of food.” “Protection of the

Church,” 267.

38

churches (canon 1), (2) assault on unarmed clergymen (canon 3), and (3) theft of cattle from

peasants and the poor (canon 2).”123 Although these canons were later extended, they appeared

in some form in every iteration of the Peace. These canons demonstrate that the Peace was not

strictly anti-seigneurial. Neither was it an effort to cease all violence, but, rather, to protect the

defenseless from violence perpetrated against the Church and its property.124 This is important

because the Peace of God has mistakenly been considered anti-seigneurial since most of the

violent peace-breakers were aristocratic lords and their lesser men.125

The second element is the convocation of councils. The Peace consisted of at least twenty-four

councils that took place between 989 and 1038, with the most prominent ones held at Charroux,

Narbonne, Limoges, Poitiers, and Bourges.126 Convoking councils is prime evidence of the

interconnectivity of the various Peace movements that fall under the umbrella of the Peace of

God movement.127

The third element for understanding the Peace of God is the movement of saints’ relics to the

councils where they were used to reinforce the threat of spiritual sanction and as objects of

devotion upon which to swear oaths of peace.128 To this end, ecclesiastical leaders marshaled the

power of their patron saints and the populace. The miracles of Vivien, Privat, and Enimie are

123 Goetz, “Protection of the Church,” 264. The original canons in the Latin text read: “I. Anathema infractoribus

ecclesiarum…II. Anathema res pauperum diripientibus…III. Anathema clericorum percussioribus.” For the Latin

text of the conciliar decrees see G.D. Mansi, Philippe Labbe, Gabriel Cossart, Nicolo Coleti, Jean Baptiste Martin,

and Louis Petit, eds., “Concilium Karrofense apud Karoffum Pictavensis,” in Sacrorum conciliorum nova, et

amplissima collectis: in qua præter ea quæ Phil. Labbeus, et Gabr. Cassartius…et novissime Nicolaus Coleti in

lucem edidere ea omnia insuper suis in locis optime disposita exhibentur, quæ Johannes Dominicus

Mansi…evulgavit, volume 19-20 (Florence: Expensis Antonii Zatta Veneti, 1759), 89-90.

124 Goetz, “Protection of the Church,” 266.

125 Chapter 4 discusses movements in Enimie’s, Privat’s, and Vivien’s miracle texts related to violations of these

three peace edicts.

126 For a list of the twenty-four Peace of God councils, see Goetz, “Protection of the Church,” 262-263.

127 The councils attended by the relics of Enimie, Vivien, and Privat are discussed in depth in Chapter 3 of this

study.

128 Relics and oath swearing were the most powerful weapons for the Peace. H.E.J. Cowdrey even argues that at

these councils, the relics were more powerful than bishops, “The Peace and the Truce of God in the Eleventh

Century,” Past and Present 46 (1970): 55. The participation of Vivien’s, Enimie’s, and Privat’s image reliquaries in

Peace of God councils is the central preoccupation of Chapter 3.

39

part of the scant evidence of the use of image reliquaries in the Peace in this period. All the

problems that necessitated the Peace of God are overtly present in the three miracle collections,

making them rich sources for consideration of this historical phenomenon.129

The fourth element is the relative accessibility of the events. Held outdoors, the early Peace

councils were open-air affairs that attracted great crowds of the populace in addition to bishops,

lay magnates, and saints’ remains. Clerics controlled the written word of the saints and their

miracles, but saints worked miracles for people of all social levels; or, if one prefers, the people

believed that the saints worked miracles for them. The people spread the miracle stories by word

of mouth and through their healed bodies. Although elite laity were usually instigators of

movements that the hagiographers portrayed negatively, they too elicited favorable miracles

through penance and thus contributed to the narrative of miracles and movement. Miracles for

the masses at the Peace of God gatherings feature heavily in the texts about Privat, Enimie, and

Vivien. In fact, this popular element was more evident in the hagiographers’ description of

events than powerful lay participants or the official edicts of the Peace.130

In addition to these four elements, scholars of the Peace of God talk about two phases. The first

phase of the Peace of God occurred between c.989 and c.1000 and was centered on Aquitaine

(Charroux), the Berry, and the Auvergne (Le Puy).131 Bishop Hilduin (r.990-1012) of Limoges

connected Aquitaine and the Berry through the Peace of Limoges (994).132 Vivien’s Miracula

contains stories about the saints’ participation in the 994 council at Limoges. The bishops of

Clermont and Le Puy, who had attended the 994 Limoges council, also contributed to the

129 Firstly, secular and monastic churches were victims of predatory local lords, and wanted to stop them. Secondly,

clergy did not have the same recourse to violence and justice to protect themselves as the laity did and thus invoked

protection, from local allies, such as the saints, fellow clergy, and lay elites. Thirdly, disorderly violence was felt

worst on the peasants, and with the gap between peasants and the milites widening, the church was obliged to protect

the unarmed lay classes, along with themselves, since both groups were vulnerable to such violations, Cowdrey,

“The Peace and Truce of God,” 46-48.

130 This is the central argument of Chapter 3 of this work.

131 Edina Bozoky, Voyages de reliques et démonstration du pouvoir aux temps féodaux,” in Voyages et voyageurs

au Moyen Age: XXVIe Congrès de la S.H.M.E.S., Limoges-Aubazine, mai 1995 (Paris: Publications de la Sorbonne,

1996), 271 and Lauranson-Rosaz, “Peace from the Mountains,” 105.


40

Auvergnat Peace movement.133 After an approximately twenty-year hiatus, phase two of the

Peace began around 1019 and reached its height in the late 1030s.134 In this second period, the

Peace of God was revised and expanded, involving for the first time areas such as the southern

parts of Bourges province, the duchy of Burgundy, and parts of the Sens and Reims provinces to

the north.135 Georges Duby argues that in this second phase, the Peace took a strongly penitential

turn and emphasized the use of the relics as an intermediary of justice between God and

humanity.136 Both Privat’s and Enimie’s miracle collections show examples of this penitent

aspect of the Peace.137 After 1027, the Peace of God was also revived in Aquitaine.138 From

1020 onwards, in addition to the local lords and bishops, the councils increasingly came under

the supervision of the papacy and secular rulers.

This institutionalization of the Peace of God ushered in what has become known as the Truce of

God, which eventually ended the Peace.139 The Truce developed within the Peace, not separate

from it;140 for a while they coexisted. The Truce was less concerned with protecting individual

people, property, or places and instead focused on limiting warring behavior by forbidding

fighting on certain days. The first signs of the Truce of God emerged at Toulouges in 1027 and

the Truce continued in the 1030s and 1040s until it was formalized by canons at the 1054 council

of Narbonne.141 The second council of Bourges (1038) marked the end of the Aquitinian Peace


134 Bozoky, “Voyages de reliques,” 271 and Goetz, “Protection of the Church,” 263.


136 Georges Duby, The Chivalrous Society, trans. Cynthia Postan (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1977),

130.

137 See Chapter 5 of this study for specific examples.


139 Cushing, Reform and the Papacy, 40.

140 Cowdrey, “The Peace and the Truce of God,” 52.


41

movement – it did not accept the Truce.142 After 1054, the Peace waned significantly; the

Church did not yet have ready the institutional structures to support the Peace centrally, thus it

disintegrated from its original form, later to be reimagined into the Crusades.143 Pope Urban II

was the first to effectively use the Peace for the papacy. As a French aristocrat and former grand

prior of Cluny, he was familiar with the Peace and was apparently able to marshal the Peace and

its core objectives into the service of the Crusades.144

Scholars generally discuss the Peace of God both as a general and a specific phenomenon, which

makes it tricky to assess historically. H.E.J. Cowdrey argues for a coherent Peace of God

movement, writing that the similarities warrant it, such as Peace promoters using the same

safeguards for natural and human disaster,145 the religious fervor that created it, and the

inclusion of all levels of society.146 If one is just examining the broad strokes, Cowdrey is right.

However, most scholars would disagree with him; a Peace that takes into account the

circumstances of each location where the Peace of God manifested is more appropriate.147

Therefore, most scholars call for attention to the independent and regional variety of activities

for peace. Yet balancing the broad similarities and place-specific aspects of the Peace is not

simple.

Two factors limit conclusions about the Peace of God and, therefore, present further

complications for the study of the Peace of God as a whole. First is an historical problem: the

paucity of extant sources about the Peace of God restricts the scope of possible conclusions. For

example, the Coler and Lalbenque council are only known from Vivien’s miracle text. Therefore,

we are quite limited in what conclusions we can draw from such scant evidence. Additionally,




145 By this I think Cowdrey means the saints and their relics, but his writing is unclear.


147 For example, Thomas Head states that “It is easy to overemphasize the coherency of the programs pursued by

bishops at the many synods associated with the Peace of God.” Head, “The Development of the Peace of God,” 657.

42

the miracle sources of Vivien, Enimie, and Privat are deficient for an institutional examination of

the Peace because they do not record any conciliar agreements nor any specific lay participants

at the councils. Second is an historiographical problem: Peace of God scholarship is not easily

separable from other contentious, concurrent topics, such as Church reform, concerns about the

new millennium, the perception of increased violence, and the so-called feudal-

transformation.148 Therefore, when studying the Peace of God, one must also take into account

these other debated and overlapping factors.

Instead of looking at the Peace as a unified phenomenon, noted scholar of the Peace of God

Thomas Head writes that “historians have persuasively suggested that it is better to view these

events as constituting a number of Peace movements, regional in character.”149 Yet, the councils

associated with the Peace of God generally started from the same concerns, with the three

prohibitions against crimes against the Church.150 In addition to these original prohibitions,

Peace council organizers responded to their local needs with independent initiatives based on

local problems rather than an organized or institutionalized movement.151 Head adds that

“contrary to holding a unified ideology, [the Peace of God] actually evolved its purposes and

methods over time.”152 To further complicate the matter, some historians have questioned

whether or not the term Peace of God is even appropriate.153 For example, Dominique

148 Barthélemy parses out this complicated overlapping in his Chapter 9 “New Perspectives on France around the

Year 1000,” The Serf, 302-313.

149 Head, “The Development of the Peace of God,” 657. Scholars who agree with Head’s sentiment include Jane

Martindale, “Peace and War in Early Eleventh-Century Aquitaine,” in Papers from the Fifth Strawberry Hill

Conference 1990, eds. Christopher Harper-Bill and Ruth Harvey (Woodbridge, UK: The Boydell Press, 1992), 152-

153n4; Amy G. Remensnyder, “Pollution, Purity, and Peace,” in The Peace of God, 280; and Barthélemy, La

mutation de l’an mil a-t-elle eu lieu?, 297-361.

150 Cushing, Reform and the Papacy, 43-44.


152 Head, “The Development of the Peace of God,” 658.

153 Cushing, Reform and the Papacy, 39. Barthélemy questions if we should even continue to speak of the “Peace of

God,” The Serf, 307. He continues: “It would be better to say “peace made with God by the mediatorship of saint

with relics” (if not “peace of the saints”), or “peace made between faithful people present,” meaning a coalition of

the subscribing parties and, potentially, a just war abasing those absent and reticent.” The Serf, 307.

43

Barthélemy discusses peaces of God rather than a Peace of God.154 He argues that the general

historical concept that we call the “Peace of God is simply a collective term for intermittent

politico-religious actions of one type, namely, the individual peaces of God, which were

sometimes coordinated and were often partial and aggressive.”155 However, for simplicity’s

sake, I use the Peace of God as shorthand for the more complicated conception of the peaces of

God because I am evaluating the evidence of a Peace that is associated with two specific

communities at Figeac for Vivien and Mende and nearby Sainte-Enimie for Privat and Enimie.

Despite this variety, it is important to see the connectivity of these various peaces or movements.

With so few extant primary sources on the topic, specialized regional and local studies are

essential for seeing the bigger picture of medieval society. Therefore, we must turn to the

individual sources for guidance on how best to study and contextualize them.

The miracles of Privat and Enimie in particular were also written at a time when the bishops of

Mende and the viscounts of the region were in collaboration to provide security in the diocese

through the Peace of God.156 To help uncover regionally-specific details about the Peace of God

in Gévaudan, we are fortunate to have a primary source document of the Gévaudanais peace: the

breve de la paz de Memde.157

The breve shows an agreement between Bishop Raymond of Mende and viscount Richard de

Peyre to jointly appoint judges to maintain stability and peace and to oversee disputes that arose

from the disruptions of the peace.158 While it does not explicitly define peace, the breve does

154 See Barthélemy’s Chapter 8 of The Serf, “The Peace of God in the Days of the Millennium,” 245-301.


156 Fernand Peloux, “Hagiography, Territory, and Memory in Medieval Southern France: The Diocese of Mende,”

in Cuius Patrocinio Tota Gaudet Regio, Saint’s cults and the dynamics of regional cohesion (Zagreb: Hagioteca,

2015), 113. The connections between the bishop of Mende and the lay lords are discussed below.

157 In the documentation, Mende has various spellings, such as this source’s spelling of Mende as Memde.

158 Jan K. Bulman, The Court Book of Mende and the Secular Lordship of the Bishop (Toronto: The University

of Toronto Press, 2008), 19. See also Clovis Brunel, “Les juges de la paix en Gévaudan au milieu du XIe siècle,”

Bibliothèque de l’école des chartes volume 109 (1951): 32-41, accessed 12 February 2015,

www.persee.fr/web/revue/home/prescript/article/bec_0373-6237_1951_num_109_1_449425.

http://www.persee.fr/web/revue/home/prescript/article/bec_0373-6237_1951_num_109_1_449425

44

connect it to the group of these men to arbitrate it.159 Unfortunately, it does not offer more than

the location of the meeting and first names of the participants; no titles of the men are given.160

Nor does it give any name of a space or territory to be overseen by the twelve pacificators listed

by Raymond and Richard.161 Another peculiarity is that although the breve explicitly mentions

twelve, it actually lists twenty iudiciarii to institute stability and maintain peace by adjudicating

disputes that threatened peace.162

A peace like that outlined in the breve was necessary because baronial families, such as the

Apcher, Peyre, Tourney, and Randon, challenged the bishop of Mende’s power,163 whose lands

surrounded the episcopal domain.164 The focus on the bishop of Mende as an agent of Peace

comes out clearly through the context and the document of the breve, which demonstrates the

desire to attain peace through arbitration over retaliation. All these themes are developed in the

following analytical chapters.

Despite these challenges, the breve demonstrates a collaboration between bishops and lay lords

establishing judicial structures to support peace after other attempts to achieve peace had

failed.165 In 1038, the bishop of Mende, in association with the bishop of Bourges, created a

militia responsible for compelling the cessation of warring.166 Since it was not possible to easily

159 Brunel, “Les juges,” 36,

160 Brunel, “Les juges,” 35. Brunel comments that this is what we would today call a circular letter.

161 Peloux, “Hagiography, Territory, and Memory,” 115.

162 Brunel, “Les juges,” 35-36 and Gregory Allan Pass, “Source Studies in the Early Secular Lordship of the

Bishops of Mende,” (PhD diss., Harvard University, 1996), 60.

163 Bulman states, however, that most of these patrimonies were outside the borders of Gévaudan, which

diminished their influence within it, The Court Book of Mende, 9.

164 Bulman adds: “Indeed the episcopal demesne was negligible and hemmed in by lands of powerful barons: the

Tournel to the east, the Randon to the north, the Mercoeur and Apcher to the far north, the de Peyre to the northwest,

the Anduze to the southeast, and the Canilhac and their successors to the viscounts to the west. The barons

manipulated church revenues and offices under the pretext that they were best able to offer protection to the church;

the powerful barons enjoyed the right of spoils after the bishop’s death and filled important diocesan offices from

their own ranks. In fact, until 1222 every bishop of Mende was drawn from the local nobility,” The Court Book of

Mende, 19.

165 Pass, “Source Studies,” 56.

166 Brunel, “Les juges,” 34.

45

implement a military institution on the ground in Gévaudan, its creation was delayed. Instead,

Bishop Raymond of Mende (r.c.1027-1050) and viscount Richard (eleventh century) established

the Breve de la pax de Memde as a secondary solution; it is the only official diplomatic peace

document from eleventh-century Gévaudan.167 Other than bishops attending councils, this

document provides the only extant information about how peace was organized and implemented

in Gévaudan.168 What is more, this documentary fragment provides evidence of the bishop’s role

in keeping the peace. Regarding its date, we only know that it was done during the episcopacy of

Raymond at Mende, between 1031 and 1051. No more precision than that is possible for dating

the charter.169

Peace, then, in eleventh-century Gévaudan was settled by a group of men who submitted

themselves to the task of maintaining the peace and who were appointed by the bishop and the

count to oversee that association of men. Although the language of the breve seems to be a

formal constitution of peace, there are no oaths to support it, no statues, nor any economic

obligations connected to the document that have survived.170 It seems to have been an

association that the men joined voluntarily.171 Thus, despite the lack of detail in the breve, it

shows that in the second half of the eleventh century named men chosen in common by the

bishop and a lay lord were in charge of arbitrating conflicts.172 For Gregory Allan Pass, who

writes on the growing episcopal power of Mendois bishops in the twelfth century, Privat’s

miracles show the intertwining of the bishop and his rights to secular lordship and the Peace of

167 Peloux, “ Hagiography, Territory, and Memory,” 115 and Pass, “Source Studies,” 56-57. This document

survives in a late eleventh- or twelfth-century copy in the French national Archives, J 304, number 112, folio 8 and

it is reprinted in Brunel, “Les judges,” 40.

168 Pass, “Source Studies,” 60; Bulman, The Court Book of Mende, 19; Pass, “Source Studies,” 56; and Jérôme

Belmon, “Une seigneurie châtelaine en Gévaudan aux XIe-XIIe siècles: la terre de le lignage des sires de Peyre,” in

Seigneurs et Seigneuries au Moyen Âge: Actes du 117e congrès national des sociétés savantes (Éditions du

C.T.H.S.: Paris, 1993), 72-73.





46

God in Gévaudan.173 Brunel points out, however, that despite this organization for peace and the

sanction of arbitration, private wars and conflicts continued.174

In conclusion, the relics (objects) of the saints were integral to the process and success of the

tenth- and eleventh-century Peace of God movement. Control of the Peace of God rested with the

bishops who instigated the Peace, possessed the relics, brought this portable, sacred power to the

councils, and controlled the miracle texts that recorded Peace proceedings. Recording miracles

was one of their attempts to keep sacred power within their hands and to expand that power.175

But the veneration of the saints was not simply of the cleric’s creation. In the miracle collections,

each social group played its own part in the drama of the miracles. The cultivation of saints also

relied upon popular veneration of individual saints such as Enimie, Vivien, and Privat.

2.3 People and Places: The Saints and Their Regions

The objects of reliquaries in the temporal context of the Peace of God relied on an established

tradition of saints being venerated in their communities. In the centuries just before 1150, these

established cults of saints were mostly comprised of “ancient” saints, often martyrs,176 with ties

to early Christianity in Gaul. The lands in the south of France, where Vivien, Enimie, and Privat

were venerated in the eleventh century, was rugged wilderness, ideal for isolated cult centers to

flourish among “forested mountains filled with wolves, impassable except in the river valleys,

and penetrated by a handful of Roman roads connecting the Mediterranean to the plains of

northern France.”177 Here, Aurillac, Cahors, Le Puy-en-Velay, Mende, and Rodez were the few

urban centers.178 Lecaque adds that there was not only deep regional religious identity, but



175 Christian Krötzl notes that questions such as the following still need in-depth research: “Who controlled

sainthood, who promoted it, who was interested in, and for what reasons?,” “Ad Sanctos. Miracles and Everyday

Life in the Middle Ages,” in Bilan et Perspectives des Études Médiévales (1993-1998), ed. Jacqueline Hamesse

(Turnhout, Belgium: Brepols, 2004), 248.

176 After 1150, “hagiography turned to Novii Sancti [New Saints], recently deceased, often local, saints.” Akhavein,

“‘Reman say in aquesta terra,’” 11.



47

identities connected to individual valleys where the cult of the saints provided protection and

safety in a dangerous world.179 This is where the cult of relics took part in the origination of the

Peace of God and, in Lecaque’s words, “where the seeds of this form of governance, of church,

peasant and saints together forcing the laity into doing upstanding deeds, would plant deep

roots….”180 Two regions in specific in the south of France are important for this study. First is

Quercy, the regional home of Vivien and the monastic community at Figeac. Second is the

region of Gévaudan, where lies both the home of Privat at the clerical community at Mende and

the home of Enimie at the monastic community at Sainte-Enimie.

Quercy

Medieval Quercy (modern-day Lot department) is situated in the foothills of the Auvergne and

on the plain of the Garonne, where the Dordogne and Lot rivers flow. The medieval confines of

Quercy were inherited from the ancient province of Cardurques, populated by Gallo-Roman

people, and subject to the bishop of Cahors. Theoretically, this region was also under the

dominion of the dynasty of the lords of Toulouse, what Pierre Bonnassie calls “l’espace

toulousain.”181

It is difficult to grasp fully the history of Quercy for three reasons. First, the borders constantly

shifted along with religious and political entities and activities,182 making the history itself of the

place very fluid at best.183 Second, like most of southern medieval France, the story of Quercy is

obscured by the lack of sources. Jean Lartigaut writes that sixth-century Quercy is like a black



181 Other areas included in this space are Toulousain, Comminges, Quercy, Rouergue, and Albigeois. Pierre

Bonnassie notes that Comminges also had its own county house, “L’espace ‘toulousain’ (Toulousain, Comminges,

Quercy, Rouergue, Albigeois),” in Les sociétés méridionales autour de l’an mil, 107.

182 Bru and Séraphin, Archives de pierre, 7. Bru and Séraphin also note that the boundaries of Quercy were always

in debate, but that Quercy corresponded roughly to the confines of the diocese of Cahors, Archives de Pierre, 6.

183 Jean Lartigaut reiterates Pierre Bonnassie’s question whether it is possible to glimpse the history of the

contentious region, Histoire du Quercy (Toulouse: Éditions Privat, 1993), 81.

48

hole.184 A.F. Debons likewise states that the 900s were a period of violence and obscurity in

Quercy;185 and Bru and Séraphin assert that eleventh-century Quercy is a documentary desert.186

This lack of sources has contributed to gaps in the historical record. Most of the surviving

sources from “l’espace toulousain” are from monasteries, thus suggesting that abbeys were the

center of social and religious life of the region in the period.187 Notable active Merovingian and

Carolingian monasteries include Moissac, Figeac, Conques, Lézat, and Le Was-d’Azul.188 Third,

despite its rich hagiography, for centuries there was a general lack of interest among scholars

concerning Quercy and the saints of the region. For example, scholars did not become interested

in the translation and miracles of Vivien until the nineteenth century.189 With the lack of other

sources and the abundance of hagiography, these sources about the saints must be relied upon to

fill in the gaps in historical knowledge.190

Given the importance of hagiography for understanding the history of Quercy, I highlight four

notable saints before discussing the details of Vivien. Saints Didier and Namphaise are notable

because they set the scene of monasticism in Quercy. Didier was bishop of Auxerre and

184 Lartigaut, Histoire du Quercy, 83.

185 Jean François Debons, Annales ecclésiastiques et politiques de la ville de Figeac en Querci, diocèse de

Cahors (Aurillac: A. Manavit, 1829), 55, accessed 12 October 2012,

https://books.google.ca/books?id=6PnS0hByMw4C&pg=PA525&source=gbs_selected_pages&cad=2#v=onepage&

q&f=false.

186 Bru and Séraphin, Archives de Pierre, 32.

187 Bonnassie, “L’espace ‘toulousain’,” 116.

188 There were also important collegiate churches at Saint-Sernin de Toulouse, Sainte-Cécile d’Abi, and Vieux-en-

Albigeois. Attracting a great influx of donations, these religious communities ended up with substantial patrimonial

estates, Bonnassie, “L’espace ‘toulousain’,” 117.

189 For a detailed discussion of the scholarly interest in Vivien’s Quercinois hagiography, see Sébastien Fray,

“L’aristocratie laïque au miroir des récits hagiographiques des pays d’Olt et de Dordogne (Xe-XIe siècles),” (PhD

diss.: Université Paris-Sorbonne, 2011), 425-427. I discuss Fray’s findings in detail in the sections below.

190 Lartigaut, Histoire du Quercy, 81. Although archaeology fills in some of these gaps, archeological work in the

area is inchoate and thin, according to Lartigaut, Histoire du Quercy, 81. There are a few cartularies from the

eleventh century that shed light on the history of Quercy and the surrounding regions, such as those at Saint-Sernin

de Toulouse and Saint-Pierre de Beaulieu; but, for Bonnassie, the essential documentation comes from two eleventh-

century cartularies at Conques and Lézat, “L’espace ‘toulousain’,” 108.



49

Burgundy from 605 to 623 and then bishop of Cahors from 630 to 655.191 The most well known

personage of Quercy, Didier, is proclaimed to have fathered monasticism in Cahors around 640

with the foundation of the first monastery in Moissac and is renowned for his building

projects.192 By the ninth century, several new monasteries were founded in Quercy and the

surrounding areas, such as Figeac, Marcilhac, Conques, and Souillac.193 Saint Namphaise,

another important figure, also impacted the Quercinois religious landscape. Starting as a civil

servant under Charlemagne, Namphaise rebuilt several monasteries before he retired to the

forests of Quercy to live as a hermit. Not much more is known about Namphaise since historical

sources about him are rare and difficult to use.194 While Didier and Namphaise are little known,

Saint Foy is famous because of the books of miracles written about her. Foy of Conques, in

neighboring Rouergue, was an early Gallic saint associated with the origins of Christianity in

Gaul.195 She was martyred in Agen along with Saints Caprais, Prime, and Felicity.196 Foy’s

sources and history are important for this historical context because of the intertwined and

contentious relationship between Figeac and Conques from the ninth through twelfth centuries.

Of all the saints in Quercy, I have chosen to focus on Vivien. Although Vivien originally came

from Saintes (Saintonge region),197 I focus on his history in Quercy region because my analysis

highlights hagiographic sources on Vivien produced in Figeac after his remains were transferred

there in the ninth century. His Figeacois history provides important historical context for the rest

of the dissertation. For example, the history of the foundation of the abbey of Figeac reveals

191 Didier was from Aquitaine, Quercinois on his mother’s side, and his father was a count of Albi, Lartigaut,

Histoire du Quercy, 84-85. After his brother Rusticus was assassinated, King Dagobert appointed Didier bishop of

Cahors in 630, Bru and Séraphin, Archives de pierre, 7.

192 This is a typical claim about an illustrious saint. There were likely other forms of monasticism in Quercy before

Didier’s arrival.

193 Bru and Séraphin, Archives de pierre, 7.

194 Lartigaut, Histoire du Quercy, 90. Bru and Séraphin report that the Carolingian administration sent missi

dominici to each territory, including Quercy. Saint Namphaise was one of the high functionaries and inquisitors

nominated by Charlemagne, Archives de Pierre, 7.

195 Geary, Furta Sacra, 95.

196 Bonnassie, Sigal, and Iogna-Prat, “Gallia du Sud,” 302.

197 This is the modern-day Charente-Maritime department.

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monastic competition between Figeac and nearby Conques, which competition was the impetus

for the redaction of his miracle text. In addition, the eleventh-century hagiography of Vivien

foregrounds the Peace of God movement, which movement is central to this dissertation. Indeed,

the mobility of Vivien’s relics made it possible for them to move for Peace of God councils. All

of the stories of miracles, competition, traveling relics, and the Peace of God are intertwined,

which makes it difficult to separate them into distinct narratives. Therefore, what follows about

Vivien and Figeac are sometimes overlapping stories, in roughly chronological order, that

provide background for and demonstrate the importance of Vivien and his eleventh-century

hagiography.

The disputes over abbacy in Figeac overshadow the role of the bishop of Cahors, the diocese of

which Figeac was part. The bishop of Cahors’ power over the Figeacois abbey seems to have

been irregular. Debons, writing about the early ninth century, notes that we should not be

surprised that the bishop of Cahors was not mentioned in the sources for Figeac because at that

time he did not hold jurisdiction over the monastery. Instead, royal immunity freed the abbot of

Figeac from the interferences by the local bishop.198 The primary source material explored

below, especially that concerning the quarrel between Figeac and Conques and Vivien’s role in

the Peace of God portrays the abbots of Figeac as active agents while ignoring the bishop of

Cahors. Vivien is called bishop and a few other bishops from other dioceses are introduced, but

they are only vaguely mentioned as attending the councils for Peace.

Gévaudan

Medieval Gévaudan (modern day Lozère department) is situated in the south west of France,

nestled next to Quercy and Auvergne.199 Gévaudan is rich in saints; however, when examining

the history of Gévaudan and the saints venerated there, one faces two problems. First, there are

very few sources for the region and its saints before the year 1000. Therefore, what we know

about Gévaudan and its prominent saints comes from very few extant sources. Very little is

198 Debons, Annales ecclésiastiques, 31. Nearby Conques in Rouergue also had royal immunity which kept

Conques under the power of its own abbot rather than the bishop at Rodez, Sheingorn, The Book of Sainte Foy, 13.

199 Medieval Gévaudan, renamed Lozère after the French Revolution, is roughly equivalent to the department of

Lozère. I have chosen to use the medieval designation of Gévaudan in this work.

51

known for certain and what is written is contentious. Second, as an area of historical study,

Gévaudan has tended to be overlooked and has not received much scholarly attention from

outsiders until recently.200 Most of the scholarship about Gévaudan has been done by those with

a vested interest in the saints and the region, such as archivists, bishops, abbots, and other

persons connected to the area. Although there are few sources available, Isabelle Darnas and

Fernand Peloux protest that Gévaudan around the year 1000 is not “a documentary desert,” as it

has been described in the past; rather, the sources are just difficult to use. These two scholars

propose that Gévaudan hagiographies can be used as long as they are handled judiciously.201

Both Gévaudan and its patron saints are worthy of close study. Some of the most prominent

saints of the region are the bishops of Mende: Saints Sévérien (third century, potentially fabled),

Privat (d.c.260), Firmin (d.c.402), Hilaire (515-535),202 Evanthius (c.541), Ilère (c.628), and

Frézal (c.828). Other notable saints include: Saints Ilpide (d.257), Véran (d.589), Louvent (537-

587), and Enimie (seventh century, potentially fabled).203 Of this list, Privat is especially

important because his cult is the oldest attested verifiable cult in Gévaudan and he is the patron

saint of the diocese.204 As the first or second bishop of Gévaudan,205 Privat holds central

importance in the history of the region. In addition, he is not simply one of the many late antique

martyrs but one of the most important saints of Frankish Gaul in the seventh century; he was one

of the six saints whose relics King Dagobert I (629-639) desired to bring to Saint-Denis.206 After

the monastery at Saint-Privat at Mende, the second largest monastic foundation in Gévaudan is

200 Bulman notes that even though Gévaudan has been considered part of Languedoc, it has also generally been

ignored in that region’s scholarly works, The Court Book of Mende, 14 and 14n.1.

201 Darnas and Peloux, “Évêché et monastères,” 358.

202 After Privat, Hilaire is the best known ecclesiastical personage from the diocese, Akhavein, “‘Reman say in

aquesta terra,’” 9.

203 For a review of prominent saints across southern France in this period see Bonnassie, Sigal, and Iogna-Prat, “La

Gallia du Sud,” 289-344; for Gévaudan see especially 308-311.

204 Darnas and Peloux, “Identité et dévotion,” 41.

205 There is some debate about whether Privat or Sévérien was the first bishop of Gévaudan because his existence is

in historically questionable. See footnote above pertaining to this matter.

206 Félix Remize, Saint Privat: Martyr Évêque du Gévaudan, IIIe siècle (Mende: Pensier, Magne, Solignac, 1910),

311. Clovis Brunel, “Introduction,” in Les Miracles de Saint Privat (Paris: A Picard, 1912), xviii.

52

Saint-Enimie. Enimie was also drawn into prominence by a close association between her shrine

site at Sainte-Enimie with Privat’s at Mende. Both Privat and Enimie are significant in the

context of the Peace of God movement because their mobile reliquaries allowed them to

participate in Peace of God councils. In this context, they were valued as reliable and powerful

protectors of Gévaudan and the diocese of Mende and their eleventh-century miracles

memorialize this power.

The history and sources of Privat and Enimie are interconnected in two important ways. First,

Sainte-Enimie is in the diocese of Mende and, therefore, under the domain of the bishop of

Mende. These two saints are also linked with the three most important religious centers in

Gévaudan: the cathedral and monastery of Saint-Privat at Mende and the monastery at Sainte-

Enimie. Second, the same clerical hagiographer wrote both of their miracle texts at Mende in the

eleventh-century. Since they share an hagiographer and presiding bishop, some of their origins

and histories overlap.

Turning to the individual histories of each saint, I will first provide a synopsis of the histories of

Vivien, Privat, and Enimie before unpacking the central controversies and notable texts about

each saint.

Vivien: Origins and History

Saint Vivien (d.c.460) originated in Saintes, where he eventually became bishop. At age sixteen,

he joined the religious community at Saintes under Bishop Ambrose. Vivien later became a sub-

deacon and then a priest at age thirty. When Ambrose died in 419, Vivien was elected as the

third bishop of Saintes. He performed miracles in his lifetime, and these continued after his death

around 460.207 Vivien is venerated as a confessor and not as a martyr because he defended the

Christian faith during the barbarian invasions, from Goths to Saxons, but his defense of

Christianity did not cause his death.208 We are fortunate to have extant primary sources about

207 Bonnassie, Sigal, and Iogna-Prat, “La Gallia du Sud,” 307.

208 Bruno Krusch ed., Vita Bibiani vel Viviani episcopi Santonensis, in MGH SS rer. Mero., 92 and J. Depoin,

Histoire des évêques de Saintes, volume 1 (Paris: Champion, 1921), 58.

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Vivien, his life, and his burial at Saintes. Four sources are especially worthy of note.209 First is a

mid-sixth century Vita (BHL 1324 and 1325) of Vivien that tells about his life and death at

Saintes.210 Second, there is a c.500 Vita (BHL 1326) most well known through the version edited

by Edmund Martène and Ursinus Durand in the eighteenth century.211 The text describes the

miracles performed by Vivien during his lifetime. Third, is the sixth-century poem by Venantius

Fortunatus written on the occasion of the dedication of the rebuilding of the basilica at Saintes,

which Bishop Eusebius renamed for Saint Vivien.212 Vivien’s tomb was in this church, and his

remains were kept there until they were stolen by a furtum sacrum (holy theft) in the ninth

century. Fourth, there is a passage in Gregory of Tours’ Gloria Confessorum (BHL 1330, written

around 590), that tells of an outstanding miracle that occurred at Vivien’s tomb.213

To tell the story of Vivien at Figeac, we must begin with the origins of the abbey at Figeac. But

as we go through these sources, especially concerning Figeac, we must be wary of false friends.

Several of the sources surrounding the foundation and history of Figeac are suspect.214 To help

the reader follow this complex trajectory, I first offer an outline of Vivien’s history at Figeac

209 Depoin discusses all sources that pertain to Vivien while at Saintes, Histoire des évêques de Saintes, 58-99. I

have chosen to only mention a few because all these sources were written about Vivien before he was translated to

Figeac.

210 See Krusch, Vita Bibiani vel Viviani episcopi Santonensis, 94-100. Krusch contends that this document was

written in the eight or ninth century, Vita Bibiani vel Viviani episcopi Santonensis, 92. Raymond Van Dam agrees

with Duchesne that this Vita was most likely written the sixth century in the context of the reconstructions of the

basilica at Saintes rededicated to Vivien, Gregory of Tours: Glory of the Confessors (Liverpool, UK: Liverpool

University Press, 1988), 63 n.63.

211 Vita S Bibiani Sanctonesis epsicopi auctore anonymo, in Veterum Scriptorum et Monumentorum Historicorum,

Dogmaticorum, Moralium, Amplissima Collectio, volume 6, ed. Edmund Martène and Ursinus Durand (New York:

Burt Franklin, 1968), 757-776.

212 Fortunat, “De basilica S. Bibiani,” in MGH Auct. Antiq, ed. Frederick Leo, volume 4 part 1 (Berolini: Apud

Weidmannos, 1881), 12:14.

213 Gregory of Tours, Gloria Confessorum, MGH SS rer. Merov., ed. Bruno Krusch, volume 1 part 2 (Hannover:

Impensis Bibliopolii Hahniani, 1888), 57:330. Vivien’s entry in Gregory’s work falls between a chapter about Abbot

Martin of Saintes and Bishop Trojanus of Saintes. In the chapter about Vivien, Gregory sates that there is already an

extensive book written about Vivien’s life. Despite Krusch’s objections (see footnote directly above), Louis

Duchesne believes that this book to which Gregory refers is the source that Krusch edited for the MGH; see Fastes

épiscopaux de l’ancienne Gaule, L’Aquitaine et les Lyonnaises, volume 2 (Paris: A. Fontemoing, 1907-1910), 73

n.1, accessed 20 September 2017, http://gallica.bnf.fr/ark:/12148/bpt6k107956w/f77.item.

214 Lecaque explicitly rejects the cartulary evidence of Conques and Figeac that are dated to the ninth century, “The

Count of Saint-Gilles,” 78n279.

http://gallica.bnf.fr/ark:/12148/bpt6k107956w/f77.item

54

through relevant extant texts. In 838, Figeac was founded by royal diploma as an attempt to

relocate Conques. This sparked a two-century long quarrel between the abbeys at Figeac and

neighboring Conques. As part of this quarrel, Vivien’s remains were taken from Saintes by the

monks of Figeac in an effort to outmaneuver Conques. As the quarrel continued, the abbey of

Figeac produced texts to show Figeac’s primacy in the eleventh century. An anonymous monk at

the abbey wrote the Translatio sancti Viviani episcopi in coenobium Figiacense et ejusdem

ibidem miracula about Vivien (BHL 1327 and 1328).215 After a failed attempt at separation

under Gregory VII (r.1073-1085), the community authored Historia monasterii Figiacensis in

dioecesi Cadurcensi and a forged diploma of Pepin the Short dated to 755, but actually written in

the 1090s. This document provided textual evidence of Figeac’s anteriority in relation to

Conques in hopes of separating the two abbey houses. Ultimately, the rivalry was not put to rest

and independence granted to each abbey by Pope Urban II (r.1088-1099) until 1095.

The foundation of Figeac is inextricably tied to the histories of Lunan in Quercy and Conques in

nearby Rouergue216 through the 838 diploma of King Pepin I of Aquitaine (r.817-838).217 The

foundation put Conques and Figeac at odds for centuries, which gave way to a “tangle of

forgeries, interpolated texts, and fictions,”218 that also, unfortunately, obscured their histories.

Since Lunan is the oldest community, I shall start with its origins. The valley of Lunan is on the

banks of the river Lot, where Quercy, Rouergue, and Auvergne draw close to each other. At this

regional crossroads, King Clovis (r.481-511) established a monastery in 507, after his victory

over the king of the Visigoths, dedicated to Saint Martin.219 Regrettably, infrastructure did not

last long in Lunan; over a period of about two hundred years, the monastery was demolished and

215 BHL number 1327 corresponds to the translatio and 1328 to the miracula.

216 Lunan is about six kilometers directly to the east of Figeac and Conques is just less than forty kilometers directly

to the east of Figeac.

217 The diploma is printed and discussed in Recueil des actes de Pépin Ier et de Pépin II, rois d’Aquitaine (814-

848), ed. M. Léon Levillain (Paris: Imprimerie Nationale, 1926), 148-150. Anne-Marie Pêcheur and Bonnassie also

discuss the diploma; respectively Figeac, le langage des pierres (Rodez: Éditions du Rouergue, 1998), 17 and “La

Gallia du Sud,” 306-307. At the outset of this discussion of the diploma, I ought to note that we cannot know with

certainty what actually happened. All we have to rely on is the diploma and the resulting furtum sacrum.

218 Geary, Furta Sacra, 72-73.

219 Debons, Annales ecclésiastiques et politiques, 12-14.

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damaged many times by invasions and floods.220 Consequently, the monastery of Lunan was

transferred to Figeac in 838. But before we get to the transfer of Lunan to Figeac, we must first

discuss the origins of Conques, another important place for this story.

Conques clings to the mountainside at the confluence of the rivers Dourdou and Ouche. This

place is currently the most famous of the three places thanks to its ninth-century acquisition of

the powerful Saint Foy and the subsequently famous book of miracles written about her in the

eleventh century. Despite how well known the community was in the Middle Ages and today,

Sébastien Fray laments that little attention has been paid to the origins of Conques itself,

especially considering its long, contentious history with Figeac, which is directly related to the

story of its origins. Dado, a member of the Rouergate aristocracy,221 had first come to Conques

around 790 seeking refuge as a hermit. He settled there with his companion Medrald.222

Guitbert, count of Rouergue, gave some land to the community and they built the church of

Saint-Sauveur.223 In 800, Dado became the first abbot of Conques.224 He preferred quiet, so he

retired elsewhere and left the community to Medrald.225 In this same year, Conques produced its

first charter.226 Even more gifts and immunities were granted to Conques in 838 by Pepin I of

Aquitaine.227

220 Debons, Annales ecclésiastiques, 14-15.

221 See Fray, “L’aristocratie laïque,” 335-402.

222 Gustave Desjardins, “Essai sur le cartulaire de l’abbaye de Sainte-Foi de Conques en Rouergue (IXe-XIIe

siècles),” Bibliothèque de l’école des chartes 33 (1872): 257, accessed 12 May 2012,

www.persee.fr/web/revues/home/prescript/article/bec_0373-6237_1872_num_33_1_446426 and Marie Renoue and

Renaud Dengreville, Conques: moyenâgeuse, mystique, contemporaine, (Rodez: Éd. du Rouergue, 1997), 24;

Sheingorn, The Book of Sainte Foy, 8, and Henri Enjalbert, Histoire du Rouergue (Toulouse: Privat, 1979), 78.

223 Desjardins, “Essai,” 257.

224 Renoue and Dengreville, Conques, 22.




http://www.persee.fr/web/revues/home/prescript/article/bec_0373-6237_1872_num_33_1_446426

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In the 820s and 830s, Lunan was destroyed by floods, necessitating a new home for its monks.228

This incited the transfer of the obscure monastery of Lunan in 838 from the river valley on the

Lot to Figeac in the river valley of the Célé, about forty-five minutes to the west on foot.229 The

diploma began by first mentioning all the goods recently given to Conques, including those

donated by a certain Lautarius and his wife Petronilla, and placed Conques and all these

possessions under royal protection so that they need not fear interference from counts.230 Next,

Pepin’s diploma gave the hermitage of Lunan to Conques.231 After this transfer of goods, the

diploma stated how difficult it was to travel to Conques and that King Pepin judged Conques too

small to support a larger population.232 Thus, after visiting Figeac in the 820s and 830s, he chose

Figeac on the river Célé as a preferred site for the monastery of Conques.233 Unlike Conques,

Figeac is in a geographically privileged area, at the crossroads of Quercy, Auvergne, and

Rouergue on the Massif Central in the Aquitinian basin.234 Since Figeac was located on an old

Roman road, it would be easier to provision than Conques clinging to the hillside.235 This

diploma, however, did more than reestablish Lunan at Figeac – it also commanded the transfer of

Conques to Figeac, which was to be called New Conques. Figeac’s abundant natural resources

228 Pêcheur, Figeac, 17.

229 Debons, Annales ecclésiastiques, 3-4 and Jean-Baptise Champeval de Vyers, Figeac et ses institutions

religieuses (Marseille: Laffitte Reprints, 1898/1976), 28.

230 Levillain, Recueil des actes de Pépin Ier, 148-150.

231 Levillain, Recueil des actes de Pépin Ier, 149. For a summary about this move, see also Geary, Furta Sacra, 73.

232 Levillain, Recueil des actes de Pépin Ier, 150. Desjardins adds that the location at Conques was too small for the

Lunan population to move to, “Essai,” 258.

233 Pêcheur, Figeac, 17.

234 These crossroads were connected by an old Roman tin route, so there was an already-established and readily-

available line of communication and commerce in place once the inhabitants of Lunan migrated to Figeac, Pêcheur,

Figeac, 18.

235 Amy G. Remensnyder also notes that Figeac would be easier to provision than Conques, Remembering Kings

Past: Monastic Foundation Legends in Medieval Southern France (Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press, 1995),

271. Skyrms similarly summarizes Pepin’s intention to close inaccessible Conques (due to inaccessibility) and his

desire for all future growth to be at the new site, “The Rituals of Pilgrimage,” 1-2.

57

benefitted the fledgling religious community in the mid-ninth century.236 This diploma ordered

that not only all the goods, but also the monks of Conques ought to be transferred to New

Conques.237 According to the diploma, once they arrived at the location in New Conques, the

abbot and monks were instructed to find one among them, as long as they were able, to rule over

them as abbot according to the Benedictine Rule and under the protection of the king. The

monastic community of Lunan was also told to unite with this newly aggregated group in New

Conques under a newly-elected abbot from Conques.238 Therefore, the abbey at New Conques

was to remain under the authority of the abbot elected from the monks of Conques, but in the

new location.239 Since Pepin had put Conques under royal protection, the transfer to New

Conques was, in effect, a royal refoundation.240

Despite Pepin’s intentions to relocate the religious men of Conques in a more accessible location

and the monastery of Lunan away from recurring natural disaster, the transfer of Conques to

New Conques was unsuccessful. The monastic community at Conques refused to transfer to New

Conques and maintained its place at Conques where it remains even today.241 New Conques was

founded, but was called Figeac. Instead of creating one community, Pepin’s diploma established

236 From the Célé, watermills were powered; tanneries had plentiful water for their toxic work; rich soil, humid

conditions, and sunny sloping hills were ideal for diverse cereals and vineyards; nearby forests provided abundant

wood; and hard, resistant stone could be mined to create infrastructure, Pêcheur, Figeac, 21.

237 Levillain, Recueil des actes de Pépin Ier, 150-151. See also Pêcheur, Figeac, 17.


239 Geary, Furta Sacra, 73.

240 Pêcheur, Figeac, 17. The monastery was, therefore, under the sole royal authority of Pepin, who doted on the

monastery of Figeac richly.

241 The sources are unclear about who actually moved to this new location. Given the resistance shown by the

monks of Conques, perhaps it was only the monks of Lunan. No one speaks about whether or not Lunan

successfully transferred to Conques or Figeac, so I assume that if the men from that location joined one or the other

of the two new locations, they did so without protest. It is also possible that there were two factions of monks at

Conques and some went to New Conques/Figeac and the rest stayed at Conques. This is just an hypothesis, but it

could at least partially explain the continued quarrel between the two for over two hundred years.

58

a rivalry between Figeac and Conques that would smolder until the end of the eleventh

century.242

Initially the crux of this ineffectual amalgamation centered on abbatial dominion, with Conques

as the head; but as we shall see below, it later turned into a competition for prestige and

anteriority.243 Soon after the foundation of Figeac, the problem of abbatial rule changed to a

competition for prestige, which spurred Figeac and Conques to acquire relics.244 It is in this

context that the theft and translation of the relics of Vivien took place.245

Only seven years after Pepin’s diploma, the monks of Figeac were first to complete furtum

sacrum by stealing the remains of Saint Vivien and Saint Marcel from Saintes in 845.246 Abbot

Aigmar, head of the Figeacois abbey, sent a monk to Saintes, who took advantage of the

242 Geary adds that in the eleventh century, the rivalry erupted with fresh force, Furta Sacra, 73. He also writes

about the animosity between the two locations because of their imposed union, Furta Sacra, 72-73, as does

Bonnassie, Sigal, and Iogna-Prat, “Gallia du Sud,” 306. Pêcheur emphasizes the negative effects of this unification

effort by explaining that the attempt was a terrible error from which bitter conflicts arose, Figeac, 17.

243 Levillain’s and Remensnyder’s assertion that Figeac had already its own abbots before 838 is likely incorrect;

respectively, Recueil des actes de Pépin Ier, 133-147 and Remembering Kings Past, 272. Debons provides a line of

abbots from the early eighth century, Annales ecclésiastiques, 29. To me, this assertion of pre-ninth century abbots

at Figeac seems spurious and connected to Debons’ belief in the authenticity of the 755 foundation charter by Pepin

the Short, which I will discuss below.

244 Geary explains that furta sacra were a common reaction to religious foundation and religious competition, Furta

Sacra, 159.

245 The translatio of Vivien’s relics from Saintes to Figeac occurred in the ninth century, but was not written until

the early tenth century. For the curious reader, the story, according to the Translatio sancti Viviani episcopi in

coenobium Figiacense et ejusdem ibidem miracula, Analecta Bollandiana 8 (1889) is as follows. The translatio

narrates that Abbot Aigmar, presumably of Figeac, was always eager to acquire more holy bodies, so he sent some

scouts to Saintes to see when they could take Vivien’s body. When Saintes’ monastic custodians were preoccupied

by Norman invaders besieging their town, one of the men sent by Aigmar feigned demonic possession to gain

entrance easily and inconspicuously to the church where Vivien was buried. Once inside, they opened the tomb and

recognized Vivien by his bishop’s ring. They packed Vivien and Saint Marcel, who was buried with Vivien, into

boxes, and set off with haste. The account continues with the familiar tropes of extreme fear of being caught, but

after a brief stop, a great crowd was convoked to celebrate Vivien at Espiet (just under thirty kilometers straight to

the east of Bordeaux), at which place they no longer feared pursuit. They all proceeded to Figeac, leaping and

praising and witnessing miracles. Finally, upon arrival at Figeac, Vivien was celebrated by a great crowd of people

and was taken to the abbey church Saint-Sauveur. See Sébastien Fray, “Les gesta abbatum de Conques et

l’historiographie monastique conquoise du début du XIIe siècle,” Etudes aveyronnaises, Recueil des travaux de la

Société des lettres, sciences et arts de l’Aveyron (2014): 353. The Figeac monks brought the remains of Saint Marcel

from Saintes to Figeac, but Marcel is absent from most all the records about Figeac and seems to have disappeared

from the record in favor of Vivien.

246 Bonnassie confidently dates this translation to 845, “Gallia du Sud,” 307.

59

distraction of Viking raids to steal the remains of Vivien and Marcel.247 The translation of

Vivien’s relics to Figeac aimed to address the immediate ninth-century needs of the Figeacois

monastic community by drawing on the power of relics associated with the distant past into the

service of its present problems of monastic competition with Conques.248

Conques’ similar acquisition of Foy’s relics in the ninth century appears to be a theft in

deliberate response to the “increasing popularity and importance” of the monastery at Figeac,

“which was more favorably located to attract the devotion of the laity.”249 A monk from

Conques stole the remains of Foy from Agen and Saint Vincent from Pompéjac. The date of the

transfer of Foy and Vincent to Conques is unclear, but likely occurred between 856 and 875.250

The lengthy process of acquisition, which took about ten years, accounts for the uncertainly of

dating the events. J. Angély concludes that the story of Foy’s furtum sacrum was fictional.

Regardless of the uncertainty of dating or even the historical veracity of these events, by 883

Foy’s relics were entrenched in Conquois liturgical practice.251

247 Unfortunately, all that seems to have been recorded by the hagiographer at Figeac concerning Marcel is that he

was taken in the furtum sacrum with Vivien. There are no other details about him either in the other records about

Vivien or in the secondary sources about Figeac.

248 Besides complications of distance between events and their redaction, historians also face problems of

panegyric. Translationes reveal fascinating aspects concerning the context in which they were written, such as for

the glorification of the saint and memorialization of that saint’s entry into the local community and annual

celebrations; they were concerned with a specific historical event and thus tell the story of a specific time and place,

but with a purpose of permanent memorialization, Geary, Furta Sacra, 12. As a piece of literature, translationes

were also steeped in topoi and formulaic language, making them documents of interest not for their veracity, of

which there was quite often very little, but for the attitudes and ideals of sanctity and Christian piety that they

delivered, Geary, Furta Sacra, 11 and 14.

249 Geary, Furta Sacra, 71-73 and Sheingorn, The Book of Sainte Foy, 8. Foy’s translatio story is as follows. A

monk from Conques called Arinisdus went to Agen, posing as a secular priest. After several years, Arinisdus was

appointed as guardian of Foy’s tomb. He took this opportunity to steal Foy’s remains and brought her back to

Conques.

250 Pêcheur, Figeac, 17 and Geary, Furta Sacra, 73.

251 Geary, Furta Sacra, 71-72. It is also worth mentioning that Foy was not actually the first choice of relics for the

community at Conques. At first, they tried to acquire Vincent from Saragossa. When that furtum sacrum went badly,

they tried for another Vincent at Pompéjac, near Agen. Geary suspects that they picked the second Vincent because

they considered one as just as good as another. While they were stealing this second Vincent from Pompéjac,

located nearby Agen, they also stole Foy. Yet, only Foy was mentioned in the final translation story; see Geary,

Furta Sacra, 73-75. Desjardins also notes the failed attempt at stealing the first Vincent and the ultimate theft of

Vincent from Pompéjac, “Essai,” 268. He adds that there was some question of whether or not Vincent was actually

held at Pompéjac in the mid-ninth century. The abbey’s records say that he was, but the breviary at Agen says that

60

After this initial burst of relic-based competition in the ninth century, the conflict tapered off in

the course of the tenth century. Gustave Desjardins explains that the 960s will of Raymond I,

count of Rouergue, showed the two communities living in relative harmony.252 This tenth-

century peace is most clearly demonstrated by a lack of sources produced either by Conques or

Figeac to fuel their competition with each other. Given this partial peace, Fray cautions current

historians against anachronizing the quarrel between Conques and Figeac by portraying it as

perpetually intense.253 The apparent pause of their competition in the tenth century is supposedly

due to a lack of sources; but all we really know is that Pepin (supposedly) issued the 838 diploma

and then each community completed furtum sacrum in succession. Regardless of whether or not

the competition cooled, soon the two monastic houses would be in open conflict.254

Since Vivien’s translation and miracles were likely written in response to Foy’s miracles, it is

appropriate to start with the history of the redaction of Foy’s text. The earliest source that

contributed to the prestige of Conques is the Liber miraculorum sancte Fidis, for which Foy is

most well known today. The history of the eleventh-century redaction of Foy’s miracles begins

in the tenth century. Around 900, many donations flooded into Conques and a new church

dedicated to the Holy Savior was built there between c.940 and c.980. Not much later, Foy

miraculously restored the violently removed eyeballs of one Guibert, bringing great fame to Foy

and Conques.255 The miracle was popular enough that donations funded a new golden altar

Pompéjac no longer housed him. Nevertheless, the community at Conques began to celebrate him after this

supposed theft.


253 Fray, “Les gesta abbatum de Conques,” 356. For Fray, the temptation to attribute ongoing venomous conflict

between Conques and Figeac in the tenth century stems from the acrimonious relations between them in the mid

eleventh century, “Les gesta abbatum de Conques,” 256. In particular, Fray notes that Amy Remensnyder, Katrinette

Bodarwe, and Moritz Rother make these links too strong; additionally, Fray openly criticizes Frédéric de Gournay’s

subjective treatment of the topic saying that it lacks real conviction.


255 Sheingorn suggests that this miracle happened around 983, The Book of Sainte Foy, 10.

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frontal for the abbey.256 The famous miracle about Guibert also attracted many pilgrims to

Conques, including Bernard of Angers (d.c.1020), a schoolmaster at Chartres Cathedral. Bernard

first went to Conques in 1013. He started the first book of the Liber miraculorum sancte Fidis

(BHL 2942 and 2943)257 sometime between 1013 and 1020.258 He wrote the first two books on

his multiple trips to Conques from his residence at Chartres. He was not, however, the only

author.259 The prologue of Book Three announces the death of Bernard and the change in

authorship to an anonymous monk at Conques. Pamela Sheingorn states that this third book was

written between 1020 and 1050;260 Frédéric de Gournay suggests that it was written closer to

1020.261 Sheingorn places the fourth book of the Liber to the middle of the eleventh century; she

adds that it seems to have been written by multiple authors.262

Around 1020, an anonymous monk at Figeac wrote the Translatio sancti Viviani episcopi in

coenobium Figiacense et ejusdem ibidem miracula (BHL 1327 and 1328).263 Until quite

recently, scholars knew very little about the Translatio sancti Viviani episcopi in coenobium

Figiacense et ejusdem ibidem miracula except that they were written in the context of

256 Indeed, gifts continued to flow in regularly until the early twelfth century, Sheingorn, The Book of Sainte Foy,

10.

257 This document is extant in several manuscript copies. See the introduction to Sheingorn, The Book of Sainte Foy

and Bonnassie, Sigal, and Iogna-Prat, “Gallia du Sud,” 304.

258 Bonnassie, Sigal, and Iogna-Prat, “Gallia du Sud,” 304 and 305. Desjardins adds that the Bollandists originally

thought that the whole Liber had been written by an anonymous author, but later it was proven to be partially

authored by Bernard, who dedicated it to Fulbert of Chartres, bishop of the same place between 1007 and 1029,

“Essai,” 271. Geary notes that by the eleventh century, when Foy’s miracles were written, Foy had eclipsed Vincent,

who had also been stolen along with Foy, to the point that only Foy was present in the translation account, Furta

Sacra, 75-76. The Liber, as in the miracula of Vivien, Privat, and Enimie discussed below, was written in the

context of the pacifist movement of the Peace of God in Aquitaine between the 980s and 1050s, Bonnassie, Sigal,

and Iogna-Prat, “Gallia du Sud,” 306. Vivien’s connection to the Peace of God will be discussed below.

259 Sheingorn, The Book of Sainte Foy, 10 and 25.


261 See Frédéric de Gournay, Étude du Cartulaire de l’abbaye de Conques (actes postérieurs à 1030) (PhD. Diss.:

Toulouse 2, 1988), 398.


263 This is about the same time that Foy’s miracles were being written in Conques.

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competition and conflict with Conques. Pierre Bonnassie proposes that this source was written in

response to the Liber miraculorum sancta Fidis, just after 1020.264

Sébastien Fray exposes a more complicated picture of its redaction than has previously been

presented. To underline the difficulty in unraveling the history of the Translatio sancti Viviani

episcopi in coenobium Figiacense et ejusdem ibidem miracula, Fray gives an historiography of

its study.265 This document was actually first called the Liber almi pontificis Bibiani. For a long

time, it remained unstudied. Both Etienne Baluze and the Bollandists in the seventeenth century

knew about the text, but chose not to edit it. For Fray, this document remained unedited due to

what he calls “dédain éditorial” (editorial disdain). This attitude must have been strong because

the text was not examined closely until the second quarter of the nineteenth century.266 It was a

Saintongeais (from Saintonge, on the Charente river and close to Angoulême) scholar, Abbot

Briand, who became interested in Vivien’s translation and miracles as recorded in one

manuscript (Paris, BnF, lat. 2627) and he published a paraphrased translation of them.267 After

Briand’s publication, the Liber almi pontificis Bibiani became better known and was eventually

renamed Translatio sancti Viviani episcopi in coenobium Figiacense et ejusdem ibidem miracula

by the Bollandists when they edited it.268

Based on a close reading of the Translatio sancti Viviani episcopi in coenobium Figiacense et

ejusdem ibidem miracula, Fray has identified three authors of the text, one for the translatio and

two for the miracula. Most scholars accept the translatio’s assertion that Vivien was taken from

Saintes and went to Figeac in 845 when the relics were stolen. Fray, however, uncovers and

explains dating and authorial notes that other scholars have overlooked.

264 Bonnassie, Sigal, and Iogna-Prat, “Gallia du Sud,” 304 and 307.

265 Fray, “L’aristocratie laïque,” 424-428.

266 Fray, “L’aristocratie laïque,” 425.

267 See J. Briand, Histoire de l'église santone et aunisienne, depuis son origine jusqu’à nos jours, volume 1 (La

Rochelle: 1843), 238-243.

268 The Translatio sancti Viviani episcopi in coenobium Figiacense et ejusdem ibidem miracula is now quite well

known. Medieval historians have become interested in this source in recent years for what it can tell us about the

Peace of God. See Vivien.

63

While the translatio is part of the Translatio sancti Viviani episcopi in coenobium Figiacense et

ejusdem ibidem miracula, Fray demonstrates that the translatio was written by a separate hand

and at a different time than the miracles. The date of the redaction of the translatio was

sometime between 845, when the relics were stolen, and the middle of the tenth century.269

While most scholars take for granted that Figeac was the destination for the furtum sacrum of

Vivien’s remains, Fray proposes that the original destination was Fons, about ten kilometers

north west of Figeac. The Latin in the opening chapter of the translatio is a little ambiguous, but

it seems to indicate that Fons was the intended arrival place.270 Therefore, Fray takes this as

evidence of textual corruption.271 He concludes that the ultimate destination was changed to

Figeac when the stand-alone translatio was integrated in the larger work of the Translatio sancti

Viviani episcopi in coenobium Figiacense et ejusdem ibidem miracula alongside the miracles

between 994 and 1013.272

Fray also concludes that Vivien’s translatio was atypically written. The text itself states that

Abbot Aigmar, not the saint, instigated the relic translation.273 Fray sees this as an abnormal

characteristic that points to his second reason for the atypicality of the translation: that the author

seems hazy on the details of the actual events. This leads Fray to think that the translatio was


270 Fray, “L’aristocratie laïque,” 436. The Latin of the opening chapter of the translation reads: “Cujus quidem

advectionis ratio tali, ut ferunt, contigit occasionis negotio. Fons moderno nomine nuncupatur locus Fiaco vicinitate

contiguus, ubi quondam praedicti confessoris sacrae reliquiae adesse perhibebantur. Hujus vero loci abbas quidam

aderat, nomine Hagimarus, cui semper mos inerat sanctorum corpora undecumque furtivis adimere dolis suisque

componere quibus praeerat locis. Cui etiam sacratissimi confessoris impatiens desiderium menti incidit; et sic,

exploratores mittens, sacrum corpus tanti praesulis clandestina fraude a praedicto loco abstulit.” Vivien, 3, 258. And

if this was the case, that would make Aigmar abbot of both Fons and Figeac, Fray, “L’aristocratie laïque,” 437.


272 These dates correspond to the first author of the miracles of Vivien. This same person, most likely a monk at

Figeac, brought the translatio into this document when he wrote the prologue and most of the miracles, Fray,

“L’aristocratie laïque,” 448 and 457-459. Fray’s analysis makes good sense, otherwise there is no explanation for

why the translatio mentions Fons at the beginning of the document and then Figeac as the final destination.

273 In addition to Aigmar’s instigation of the theft in the story, Fray also finds it unusual that no other person in the

story is named except for the two saints that are stolen, “L’aristocratie laïque,” 445.

64

written by someone outside the community and that it was written in praise of Abbot Aigmar;

both of these points account for the author’s ambivalent attitude toward the subject material.274

Turning to the miracles of Vivien, the first author compiled and wrote the document between 994

and 1013 and is attributed with writing chapters 1, 2, and 10-35.275 Fray uses the date of 994 as a

starting point because that was the date of the Limoges council, recorded by this first author. The

change in authors in the text is abrupt and not mentioned. Fray muses that the change in

authorship does not seem voluntary; he proposes that it was precipitated by the death of the first

author. Chapters 3-9 and 36-41 are attributed to this continuator. Fray dates this second redaction

some time between after 1020 and before 1060. Post-1020 is given because Fray identifies some

miracle stories that he thinks were influenced by Bernard of Angers, the originating author of

Foy’s miracles.276 Since the quarrel between Figeac and Conques, which started in earnest after

1060, is not mentioned, Fray places the end date of the continuator’s redaction to this point.277

As much as possible, these two authors of Vivien’s miracles placed themselves as eyewitnesses.

When they were not present for the miracles, they were careful to reference their sources. Given

that the authors wrote themselves as close to the events, it is most likely that both of these

authors were monks at Figeac. Although there are some differences in the style and organization

by each of these authors, the originator and the continuator, it is clear that the point for each man

was to capitalize on the numinous power of the patron of their monastery, Vivien, and to glorify

Vivien’s shrine at Figeac.

After the tit-for-tat translations of relics in the ninth century and then the eleventh-century

redactions of Vivien’s and Foy’s miracles, tension heightened between the two communities at

Conques and Figeac. Before this quarrel was resolved in 1095, there was more open conflict. In

the middle of the eleventh century, Abbot Odolric II (r.1030-1065) of Conques invoked secular


275 For a detailed table of the three authors of the Translatio sancti Viviani episcopi in coenobium Figiacense et

ejusdem ibidem miracula, see Fray, “L’aristocratie laïque,” 434.



65

aid against Figeac. Odolric asked Bégon de Calmont (c.1045-c.1092), the lord of the castle

Rouergat de Calmont, to forcefully unite Figeac to Conques and ensure that the successor abbot

of Figeac would be appointed by Conques in agreement with the lords of Calmont.278 Bégon

gave the rights formerly assured to the abbot of Conques to Abbot Hugh (r.1049-1109) of the

Burgundian house of Cluny. This provided Figeac the opportunity to escape from Conques’

dominion.279 Sadly, this whole process only caused further quarrelling between the three abbeys.

After the transfer of Figeac to Cluny, Conques initiated a lawsuit against Cluny.280

The next phase of this quarrel involved a letter from Pope Gregory VII (r.1073-1085). Oldoric’s

successor at Conques, Abbot Étienne II (r.1065-1087), presented the situation of Figeac, Cluny,

and Conques to Pope Gregory VII at Rome in 1076.281 The result was a letter dated to 1084 that

ordered the reunion of Figeac and Conques.282 It decreed that Figeac should submit to Conques

like “limbs to the head;” but it also stipulated that whichever abbot should die first, either at

Conques or Figeac, the community with the first deceased abbot should submit to the other so

that they would be reunited under one abbot.283 While it may seem that the matter should have

been settled with this papal letter, unfortunately, that was not the reality. Étienne, the abbot of

278 Desjardins, “Essai,” 259 and Sébastien Fray, “Abbayes et pouvoir comtal en Rouergue (IXe-XIe siècles),”

Trajectoires, Hors volume 2, 29, accessed 14 September 2017, http://trajectoires.revues.org/2235. According to

Remensnyder, Bégon had been a lay patron to Conques, Remembering Kings Past, 273.

279 Desjardins, “Essai,” 259; Pêcheur, Figeac, 18; and Fray, “Abbayes et pouvoir comtal,” 29. The charter of

transfer is held in Cluny’s collection. See Auguste Bernard and Alexandre Bruel eds., Recueil des chartes de

l’abbaye de Cluny, volume 4 (Paris: Imprimerie nationale, 1888), 579-580, accessed 14 September 2017,

http://gallica.bnf.fr/ark:/12148/bpt6k289103/f583.item.r=%223470%22. See also Remensnyder, Remembering

Kings Past, 273. This transfer was not likely an altruistic move on the side of Cluny. Fray asserts that when Cluny

acquired abbatial power over Figeac, it may have done so in order to gain control over Conques’ lands, which were

much more expansive than Figeac’s, Fray, “Les gesta abbatum de Conques,” 355.

280 Pêcheur, Figeac, 18 and Fray, “Abbayes et pouvoir comtal,” 29.


282 Gregory VII, “Epistola LXIII,” in S. Gregorii VII, Romani pontificis, Epistolae et Diplomata Pontificia, ed. J.-P.

Migne, volume 1 (Paris: P.-Petit-Montrouge, 1853), 707-708, accessed 31 Jul 2012/14 September 2017,

http://gallica.bnf.fr/ark:/12148/bpt6k5497305q/f354.image.r=epistola%20gregorii%20VII%20ad%20monachos%20

Conchenses.

283 Gregory VII, “Epistola LXIII,” 707. For a discussion of the papal letter, see also Remensnyder Remembering

Kings Past, 272 and Desjardins, “Essai,” 259-260.

http://trajectoires.revues.org/2235

http://gallica.bnf.fr/ark:/12148/bpt6k289103/f583.item.r=%223470%22

http://gallica.bnf.fr/ark:/12148/bpt6k5497305q/f354.image.r=epistola%20gregorii%20VII%20ad%20monachos%20Conchenses


66

Conques, was the first of the two abbots to die, but the monks of Conques refused to go under

the dominion of Figeac. Instead, in a bold move, they chose another abbot for themselves.284

This thwarted resolution between the two abbeys initiated a new level of competition between

Figeac and Conques, this time concerning origin legends,285 eventually giving way to the “tangle

of forgeries, interpolated texts, and fictions,”286 mentioned above, unfolding through three more

documents: the Historia monasterii Figiacensis in dioecesi Cadurcensi (hereafter Historia), the

Chronicon monasterii Conchensis, and the forged foundation diploma of 755 attributed to Pepin

the Short. These documents illustrate a shift in intention of the quarrel. The goal was no longer

augmenting one’s prestige by singing the praises of one’s patron, but, rather, proving anteriority,

as a way to claim independence from the other. As Remensnyder puts it, Conques and Figeac

were expressing their rivalry “in the symbolic terms of legend.”287

This stage of the documentary quarrel can be summarized as follows. Since Figeac did not have

the documentation to support its claim to independence from Conques, in the 1090s, the abbey at

Figeac decided to create the document it needed.288 While not wholly fabricated, the Historia

contains unverifiable assertions.289 In reaction to the venomous attacks against the Conquois

abbey in the Historia of Figeac, an anonymous author at Conques wrote the Chronicon

monasterii Conchensis (hereafter Chronicon).290 The likelihood of these texts being written in

relation to each other is high considering that, as Remensnyder explains, these two monastic


285 Remensnyder, Remembering Kings Past, 273.

286 Geary, Furta Sacra, 72-73.


288 Desjardins, “Essai,” 260. Remensnyder also discusses the fictions of Figeac’s chronicle, Remembering Kings

Past, 136.

289 This document can be found in Etienne Baluze, Miscellanea novo ordine digesta et non paucis ineditis

monumentis, ed. J.-D. Mansi, volume 4 (Lucca: 1764), 1-2, accessed 15 September 2017,

https://archive.org/details/bub_gb_rODcjx1PmekC.

290 Fray, “Les gesta abbatum de Conques,” 356. The chronicle itself can be found in Edmund Martène and Ursini

Durand, eds., Thesaurus novus anecdotorum, volume 3 (New York: Burt Franklin, 1968), 1387-1390 and

Desjardins, “Essai,” 261-262.

https://archive.org/details/bub_gb_rODcjx1PmekC

67

houses would have been well aware of each others’ traditions.291 Sadly, Conques’ Chronicon did

not solve the quarrel; rather, it fuelled it further.

In a last-ditch effort to assert primacy, the scriptorium at Figeac produced a fake diploma of

Pepin the Short.292 Actually written in the 1090s, this document asserts itself as a diploma from

755.293 The false diploma was so well done that it not only fuelled jealousy between the two

communities, but also sowed doubt in the minds of historians for centuries.294 As a result, the

origins of the monastery at Figeac have long been shrouded by the lengthy quarrel between the

abbeys at Figeac and Conques in their struggle for supremacy and anteriority.295 Some scholars

do not engage in the debate of true or false, but simply write that it was Pepin of Aquitaine who

founded the monastery at Figeac.296 By now, however, most scholars firmly believe it to be a

false document.297

291 Remensnyder, Remembering Kings Past, 275. Indeed, the purpose of the Chronicon was the same as Figeac’s

Historia: to assert primacy over the other abbey, Desjardins, “Essai,” 262. Unlike Figeac’s Historia, Conques’

Chronicon was written using documents that are historically confirmable, Desjardins, “Essai,” 261-262. For

example, with the minor exception of three or four abbots, all the names are still verifiable. Desjardins also notes

that the Gallia christiana has corrected some of these appropriately, “Essai,” 262. This is interesting in light of the

opposite being true for Figeac’s Historia, which only contained two historical abbots. To me, the strongest evidence

for Conques’ bid for supremacy was that the Chronicon asserted the true foundation of Figeac in 838 by Pepin of

Aquitaine and not the earlier Pepin the Short that Figeac tried to claim as founder. In contrast to Figeac’s spurious

Historia, the veracity of Conques’ Chronicon should have ended this competition for precedence.

292 Pêcheur, Figeac, 18. Two versions of this diploma and a French translation can be found in Philippe Wolff,

“Notes sur le faux diplôme pour le monastère de Figeac,” Figeac et le Quercy, Actes du XXIII° congrès d’études

régionales organisé à Figeac, les 2-4 juin 1967 par la Société des études du Lot (Fédération des sociétés

académiques et savantes de Languedoc-Pyrénées-Gascogne, 1969), 88-101.

293 Remensnyder, Remembering Kings Past, 135. Wolff gives a more precise date of 1095, “Notes sur le faux

diplôme,” 298-311.

294 Pêcheur, Figeac, 17 and 18. Writing in 1829, Debons discusses the diploma as if it were authentic, Annales

ecclésiastiques, xxix, 14 and 44. Wolff forgives past historians for using the diploma as if real, but says that

historians of his day simply cannot accept it as real, “Notes sur le faux diplôme,” 83.

295 R. Prat, “FIGEAC (S.-Sauveur), 1° Fondation de l’abbaye,” in Dictionnaire d’histoire et de géographie

ecclésiastiques, volume 16 (Paris: Letouzey et Ané, 1967), columns 1455-1456, accessed 8 June 2012,

http://apps.brepolis.net.myaccess.library.utoronto.ca/DHGE/test/Default2.aspx.

296 By default, this makes the 755 diploma false. See Claude Vic and Jean Joseph Vaisette, Histoire générale de

Languedoc: avec des notes et les pieces justicatives, volume 1 (Toulouse: É. Privat, 1840), 171.

297 See Jean Mabillon, Annales Ordinis S. Benedicti (Luca: Typis Leonardi Venturini, 1745); Desjardins, “Essai,”

264 and 265; Remensnyder, Remembering Kings Past, 70; and Pêcheur, Figeac, 17-18. For a full treatment of the

false diploma, see Wolff, “Notes sur le faux diplôme.” At stake in this competition was not just property but origins

http://apps.brepolis.net.myaccess.library.utoronto.ca/DHGE/test/Default2.aspx

68

Resolution for Figeac came soon after the emergence of the forged 755/1090s diploma. Conques

brought the matter before the Council at Nîmes in 1095 in hopes of a solution in its favor.298 At

the council, Pope Urban II (r.1088-1099) decided to separate Figeac and Conques and allow

them to elect their own abbots.299

The textual battle described above makes quite clear that some communities were aware of and

read their neighbors’ texts;300 otherwise, Figeac and Conques could not have so cunningly

participated in prolonged conflict.301 For Amy G. Remensnyder who studies Foy and her

miracles, this muddle of documents and forgeries was not only about seeking freedom from the

other monastery, and it was not simply about primacy: “As this chronological manipulation

suggests, through its legend Figeac sought not only liberty but preeminence, thus inverting the

original relationship between the two abbeys.”302 In the end, the battle for anteriority was an

attempt to reverse power between the two communities.

and independence, Remensnyder, Remembering Kings Past, 70. Conques was concerned with undermining Figeac’s claim to pre-eminence and the Chronicon of Conques recorded that Figeac was founded by Pepin of Aquitaine, as

we saw above. By asserting Pepin the Short as founder, the community at Figeac aligned itself with what other

monasteries of the region were doing, Remensnyder, Remembering Kings Past, 134. As Remensnyder has shown,

nine southern monasteries in total gave this attribution to Pepin: Saint Pierre of Uzerche, Figeac, Sorèze, Mozac, La

Règle, Saint-Quintin of Gaillaguet, Saint-Pierre of Joncels, Conques, Saint-Michel-de-Cuxz; one house of canons

also used his name: Saint-Yrrieix-de-Perche. Remensnyder thinks it interesting that all but two of these are in

Auvergne or its peripheries – this was the place that Pepin had traversed frequently in his many campaigns in the

760s. But Pippin had burned churches rather than founded them. Like Clovis, Pippin went to the south as a warrior

but was remembered as a benefactor by monasteries, making “the transformative power of monastic imaginative

memory” quite evident, Remensnyder, Remembering Kings Past, 133. Remensnyder adds that “the invocation of

[Pepin] the Short demonstrates that the southern monasteries imaginatively remembered their past not against the

background of a politically independent Aquitaine, but rather in terms of loyalty to the great early Carolingians who

had crossed the region. These monasteries wished to identify their foundation with kings who incarnated the center,

not with those who represented peripheral or centrifugal forces.” Remensnyder, Remembering Kings Past, 145-146.


299 Pêcheur, Figeac, 66. About this topic, there is great scholarly consensus. See Sheingorn, The Book of Sainte

Foy, 8; Remensnyder, Remembering Kings Past, 272; Pêcheur, Figeac, 66; Fray, “Abbayes et pouvoir comtal,” 356;

and Desjardins, “Essai,” 260.

300 For Remensnyder, the stories of Aniane and Gellone and Figeac and Conques are evidence that abbeys often

knew of each other’s legends, Remembering Kings Past, 295.



69

What is most important for this present study is that the miracles were written in the context of

this quarrel and it clearly affected the writing and use of the miracles of Vivien and other

subsequent texts at the monastery. Thus, knowing this history, monastic competition between

Vivien and the patrons of other monastic communities (discussed in Chapter 3) is not surprising.

What is unexpected, however, is that Vivien’s miracles do not mention Foy or Conques. One

possible reason for this is that Figeac’s monks were occupied with fighting Conques through

other documentation and did not choose to bring Vivien’s miracles directly into that quarrel.

Privat and Enimie

Like Vivien’s history, Privat and Enimie’s histories are embroiled in legends; this requires

scholars to wade through the evidence and make best guesses regarding many details about their

lives.303 We begin with a summary of each saint up till their eleventh-century miracle texts,

which are examined together because they were written by the same author, and with a twelfth-

century source about Privat and a thirteenth-century source about Enimie.

Privat: Origins and History

Privat was bishop of Gévaudan in the third century and is credited with evangelizing the

region.304 Around 260, Privat was martyred after being fustigated and, consequently, mortally

wounded when the Alamanni King Crocus (fl.260-306) invaded the region. Privat subsequently

became famous. If not the first bishop of Gévaudan, he was certainly the second.305 He is

celebrated at Mende, where he was martyred and his body preserved.

303 As a result, Sigal laments that it is impossible for us truly to know Privat and Enimie, “Le culte des reliques,”

103.

304 Philippe Maurice, Anne-Sabine Delrieu, and Hélène Duthu tell us that this notion comes from Gregory of Tours,

Diocèse de Mende (Turnhout: Brepols, 2004), 31.

305 There is some controversy about whether or not Saint Sévérien or Saint Privat was the first Gévaudanais bishop.

Both Jean-Baptiste Étienne Pascal, Gabalum Christianum ou recherches historico-critiques sur l’Eglise de Mende

(Paris: Dumoulin, 1853), 285 and Charles Porée attests to Sévérien as the first bishop of Mende, “Review of

Manuscrit ou livre de Saint-Privat, par Aldebert le Vénérable, précédé et suivi de ce qui a été écrire latin sur les

saints du diocese de Mende,” Bibliothèque de l’École des chartes 60: 1 (1899): 306. Duchesne lists Privat as the first

bishop, Fastes épiscopaux, 54. Peloux, however, states that Sévérien was invented as bishop of Mende in the

fourteenth century to benefit the Mendois bishop’s bid for secular power of the episcopacy, “Hagiography,

Territory, and Memory,” 129.

70

The hagiography of Privat includes two Acta that probably date to the third and seventh

centuries, respectively. In the sixth century, Gregory of Tours featured Privat in a chapter of his

Historia Francorum on par with other outstanding French saints, such as Saint Martin of Tours

(316-397), Saint Martial of Limoges (third century), and Saint Julien of Brioude (fourth century).

This text also mentions that the basilica in Mende, where Privat is most commonly celebrated,

was named after him.306 In addition, in the seventh century Fredegar provides some context for

dating Privat. The story of the eighth- to tenth-century dislocation of Privat’s relics is also a

fascinating story worthy of inclusion in Privat’s history. The Miracula Sancta Privati from the

eleventh century is most important to this dissertation. Finally, I briefly discuss the twelfth-

century Opuscula Aldeberti, spurred by the inventio of Privat from the same century.

The oldest sets of documents in Privat’s hagiographic corpus are the Acta of Privat, extant in two

texts: the Acta breviora (BHL 6933) and the Acta longiora (BHL 6932).307 These texts present

the martyrdom of Privat.308 They are difficult to use because there are multiple versions of these

two texts and dating and authorship are uncertain.309 The earliest surviving manuscript of the

Acta breviora and the Acta longiora are dated to the tenth century, but most scholars believe that

they were written much earlier. Given the brevity of the Acta breviora and its lack of the almost-

daily occurrence of miracles included in the Acta longiora, Remize argues the likelihood that the

Acta breviora was written temporally proximate to the third-century events it describes.310

306 May Vieillard-Troïekouroff, “Les monuments sculptés du haut Moyen Âge au musée de Mende: leur

contribution à l’histoire de Mende,” Bulletin de la société nationale des antiquaires de France (1985): 102-103.

307 The Acta breviora S. Privati episcopi et martyris can be found in AASS, Aug., volume 4, 438-439 and the Acta

longiora can be found in the AASS, Aug., volume 4, 439-441. Most scholars, including myself, refer to these

documents as Acta. However, it should be noted that the BHL and some scholars call these documents passio. For

example, Peloux calls the Acta longiora a passio, “Hagiography, Territory, and Memory,” 112. A complete list of

Privat’s hagiography is in BHL, 1009-1011.

308 Remize, Saint Privat, 67.

309 According to Darnas and Peloux, copies of these Acta were collected, modified, and reproduced up until the

fourteenth century, “Évêché et monastères,” 343. Remize offers that in the twelfth century there were one or maybe

two versions of the Acta breviora and three versions of the Acta longiora, Saint Privat, 113-114. Vieillard-

Troïekouroff agrees that there were many manuscripts of the Acta in the tenth century, citing especially the

manuscript at Paris at the Bibliothèque Nationale, lat. 11748 in “Les monuments sculptés,” 104. Peloux states that

the Acta longiora is preserved in thirty-three manuscripts. The oldest manuscripts were written at the end of the 8th

century, in Bavaria and probably in Burgundy.” “Hagiography, Territory, and Memory,” 112.


71

Dating the Acta longiora is a bit more difficult, but Remize, as well as Darnas and Peloux,

triangulate the dating of the Acta longiora based on 1) the location of the bishop’s seat (not

located at Mende before the early tenth century, 2) the lack of discussion of the dislocation of

Privat’s relics between c.631 and c.925, and 3) the fact that it was clearly written after the Acta

breviora.311 However, there is very little concrete evidence remaining besides what is preserved

in the extant texts from the tenth to twelfth centuries, so it is impossible to make solid

assertions.312 In fact, verifiable conclusions of the date of the first draft of either Acta cannot be

drawn with certainty from the evidence because the original is unavailable and no other sources

shed definitive light on this topic.313 Dating of the Acta is further obscured since we do not have

a certain date for the death of Privat. Details concerning Privat’s martyrdom are contentious

because they are based on the dating of the invasion of Crocus and Privat’s resulting martyrdom.

About this event, scholars have had much disagreement.

Two surviving texts provide information about the story and context of Privat’s death, but they

give different dates for events. Gregory of Tours’ famous sixth-century Historia Francorum is

the earlier of these two sources. Gregory names Privat as the bishop of Javols when the

Alamanni king Crocus and his men invaded Gaul. Javols, or Anderitum, was the name of the

capital city of Gabales, or the Gévaudan region. We do not know the exact date of this invasion,

and it has been a recurring topic for studies about medieval southern French hagiographical

literature.314 Gregory dates Privat’s martyrdom to the middle of the third century.315 Gregory’s

account of the martyrdom of Privat reads:

311 Both Remize and Darnas and Peloux also argue for a redaction before their tenth-century manuscript,

respectively Saint Privat, 109-110 and “Évêché et monastères,” 344. Vieillard-Troïekouroff, however, contends that

the Acta longiora was written in the tenth century on the occasion of the return of Privat’s relics to Gévaudan, “Les

monuments sculptés,” 104. Darnas and Peloux state that it had to be written before the middle of the eight century

since the episcopal seat had moved from Javols to Mende sometimes between the sixth and eight century, “Identité

et dévotion,” 42.

312 These assumptions make Remize’s suggestion of Gregory of Tours as an authorial candidate of the Acta

longiora plausible. Gregory was from Auvergne and was writing at a time when Privat was popular, partially due to

him. He had also authored several other hagiographic sources, Remize, Saint Privat, 112.


314 Peloux, “Hagiography, Territory, and Memory,” 111 n.11. See Gustave Bardy, “Recherches sur un cycle

hagiographique: les martyrs de Chrocus,” Revue de l’histoire de l’église de France 90 (1935): 5-29 and Emilienne

72

During the invasion of Gaul by the Alamanni, Saint Privatus, Bishop of the town of

Javols, was found in a mountain cavern near Mende,316 where he was fasting and praying

while his people were shut up in the fortified castle of Grèze.317 This good shepherd was

not willing to surrender his sheep to the wolves, and so the Alamanni tried to force him to

make sacrifices to their devils. Privatus refused to do anything so foul and he made his

revulsion clear. They beat him with sticks until he was thought to be dead. Within a few

days he died as a result of the beating. Chroc[us] was later captured in the town of Arles

in Gaul. He was submitted to various tortures and then died by a blow from the sword,

paying the penalty which he deserved for the sufferings which he had inflicted on God’s

elect.318

After his martyrdom, the relics of Privat were collected in the village at the base of Mount

Mimat,319 where an assembly grew up around the body and memory of Bishop Privat.320

Demougeot, “Les martyrs imputés à Chrocus et les invasions alamanniques en Gaule méridionale,” Annales du Midi

74 (1962): 5-28.

315 Gregory wrote that Privat died under Gallienus and Valerian while Crocus was invading. The Latin reads:

“Vicinsimo septimo loco Valerianus et Gallienus Romanum imperium sunt adepti, qui gravem contra christianus

persecutionem suo tempore conmoverunt.” Cited in Krusch and Levison, MGH SS rer. Merov., volume 1, 1:32, 24.

316 Mount Mimat overlooks Mende, which is at the base of the mountain.

317 Grèze is around eighteen kilometers to the west of Mende and to the south of Javols; it is protected by strong

fortifications.

318 The English translation can be found in Gregory of Tours, The History of the Franks, trans. Lewis Thorpe

(London, England: Penguin Books, 1974), 1:34, 89-90. For the Latin text, see Gregory of Tours, Historia

Francorum, 1:34:26: “De privato martyre et Chroco tyranno. Inruentibus autem Alamannis in Gallias, sanctus

Privatus Gabalitanae urbis episcopus in criptam Memmatinsis montis, ubi ieiuniis orationibusque vacabat, reperitur,

populum Gredonensis castri monitione conclusum. Sed dum oves suas ut bonus pastor lupis tradere non consentit,

daemoniis immolare conpellitur. Quod spurcum ille tam exsecrans quam refutans, tamdiu fustibus caeditur,

quoadusque putaretur exanimis. Sed ex ipsa quassatione, interpositis paucis diebus, spiritum exalavit. Chrocus vero

apud Arelatinsim Galliarum urbem conprehensus, diversis adfectus suppliciis, gladio verberatus interiit, non

inmerito poenas, quas sanctis Dei intulerat, luens.”

319 Pascal, Gabalum Christianum, 38. This village would become Mende.

320 Peloux, “Hagiography, Territory, and Memory,” 111. Robert Latouche, one French translator of Gregory’s text,

thinks that the passage about Privat was an addition by Gregory that was not in the first draft. Gregory of Tours,

Histoire des Francs, volume 1, trans. Robert Latouche (Paris: Société d’edition les Belle lettres, 1963), 57-58 n. 59.

Why rewrite it? Peloux suggests that Gregory may have reworked the text to legitimize the transfer of the episcopal

seat to a new place, from Javols to Mende, adding that conflicts between the Franks and their invaders could have

quite “important consequences for hagiographical production.” Peloux, “Hagiography, Territory, and Memory,”

113. The question of the shift of the Gévaudan episcopal seat is discussed below.

73

The second source of information on Privat’s martyrdom was written by Fredegar in the first half

of the seventh century.321 Not much is known about Fredegar, including even the name.322 The

author of the text wrote anonymously and, although we do not know his real name, he is

conventionally known as Fredegar.323 His origins are also obscure. J.M. Wallace-Hadrill

surmises that he was Burgundian and an elite member of the Burgundian court, providing him

access to government documents as well as Frankish envoys and other men of high political

standing.324 In contrast to Gregory’s text, however, Fredegar’s narration does not mention Privat;

instead, he outlines the invasion of Crocus as he traveled through Gaul.325 His account of

Crocus’ invasion is as follows:

Together with the Suebians and Alans, Chrocus, king of the Vandals, left his original

homeland and went to Gaul. He followed the advice of his mother, who once told him: ‘If

you want to do something new and make a name for yourself, destroy completely what

others have built and eradicate all the people that you conquer. You will not be able to

erect a building that is more beautiful than those of your predecessors, nor will you

achieve anything greater with which you will elevate your name.’326 There, with cunning,

he crossed a bridge over the Rhine at Mainz and first destroyed that city and killed its

inhabitants and then besieged all the cities in Germania. When he arrived in Metz, as a

divine sign the town wall collapsed at night and the town was taken by the Vandals.

However, the people of Trier fled into the city’s arena, which they had fortified, and were

saved. After that Chrocus invaded all of Gaul with the Vandals, Sueves and Alans and

destroyed a number of cities through sieges and others through cunning. Not a single city

or fortification was saved in Gaul. When he besieged Arles, Chrocus was captured by a

certain soldier named Marius and put in chains. As punishment, he was then led through

321 According to J.M. Wallace-Hadrill, Fredegar is thought to have died around 660, “Fredegar and the History of

France,” Bulletin of the John Rylands Library 40.2 (1958): 527.

322 Walter A. Goffart, The Narrators of Barbarian History (A.D. 550-800): Jordanes, Gregory of Tours, Bede, and

Paul the Deacon (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1988), 12.

323 Wallace-Hadrill comments on the lack of a verifiable name for, saying that there are no surviving documents

before the sixteenth century that bear Fredegar’s name. He adds: “Since it is a convenience to preserve the name, let

him be Fredegar; let him be so, moreover, without the pedantic prefix ‘Pseudo’.” “Fredegar and the History of

France,” 527 and 530.

324 Wallace-Hadrill, “Fredegar and the History of France,” 531-532.

325 Duchesne, Fastes épiscopaux, 125.

326 Gerald Schedler, “Lethe and ‘Delete’ – Discarding the Past in the Early Middle Ages: The Case of Fredegar,” in

Collectors’ Knowledge: What is Kept, What is Discarded, eds. Anja-Silvia Goeing, Anthony T. Grafton, and Paul

Michel (Leiden: Brill, 2013), 71.

74

all the cities that he had destroyed and his impious life was put to an end. Trasamundus

succeeded him as ruler.327

This second account situates Chrocus’ invasion in the early fifth century, much later than

Gregory’s account. This dating, therefore, places Privat’s martyrdom around 406 rather than in

the middle of the third century.328 While there is no historical consensus, most historians agree

with dating Privat’s martyrdom through Gregory’s text and thus place the event in the third

century.329

327 Schedler, “Lethe and ‘Delete’,” 76-77. For the Latin text, see Fredegar, Chronicarum quae dicuntur Fredegarii

scholastici Liber II, ed. Krusch, MGH SS rer. Merov., volume 2, 60:84. It reads: “60. Chrocus rex Wandalorum cum

Suaevis et Alanis egressus de sedibus, Galleas adpetens, consilium matris nequissimam utens, dum ei dixisset: ‘Se

novam rem volueris facere et nomen adquirere, quod alii aedificaverunt cuncta distruae et populum, quem superas,

totum interfice; nam nec aedificium meliorem a praecessorebus facere non potes neque plus magnam rem, per qua

nomen tuum elevis.’ Qui Renum Mogancia ponte ingeniosae transiens, primum ipsamque civitatem et populum

vastavit; deinde cunctasque civitatis Germaniae vallans, Mettis pervenit, ubi murus civitatis divino noto per nocte

ruens, capta est civetas a Wandalis, Treverici vero in arenam huius civitates, quem munierant, liberati sunt. Post

haec cunctas Galleas Chrocus cum Wandalis, Suaevis et Alanis pervagans, alias ubsidione delevit, aliasque

ingeniosae rumpens, vastavit. Nec ulla civetas aut caster ab eis in Galliis liberata est. Cumque Arelato obsederint,

Chrocus a Mario quaedam militae captus et vinculis constrictus est. Qui ductus ad poenam per universas civitates,

quas vastaverat, impia vita digna morte finivit. Cui Trasemundus successit in rignum.”

328 Bulman, The Court Book of Mende, 17n11.

329 For example, Remize notes that the majority of seventeenth- and eighteenth-century historians used the dating of

Gregory of Tours, around 258 (Remize, Saint Privat, 10), and that the evidence overwhelmingly supports the dating asserted by Gregory of Tours. Remize notes several times throughout the first chapter on the invasion of Crocus that

Gregory of Tours’ dating of the invasion and martyrdom of Privat is supported by scientific evidence and

discoveries, but he does not mention what that evidence is. Instead, he ends the first chapter of his book on Privat by

definitively stating that Gregory of Tours’ dates are most sound: “Or, Grégroire de Tours fixe l’époque de son

martyre sous le règne de Valérien et de Gallien, c’est-à-dire vers l’an 258, et aucune raison ne s’oppose à

l’admission de cette date. … Or, au contraire, nous l’avons vu, l’autorité de Grégoire de Tours est confirmée par les

découvertes.” Saint Privat, 62. According to Jean-Pierre-Victor Ollier, historians put the date in the year 260 CE,

Notice historique sur le Gévaudan, ed. Félix Remize (Mende: Imprimerie typographique C. Pauc, 1908), 22. Louis

Duchesne agreed with Ollier. Duchesne noted that, according to Gregory of Tours, the events took place under the

emperors Valerian and his son Gallienus, who ruled together from about 253-260. Duchesne believes that the date

proposed by Fredegar is unlikely given Crocus’ connection to the emperor Constantine. Crocus is believed to have

aided Constantine’s bid for the imperial title. He is was known in the historical record from 260, the proposed date

of Privat’s death, until his own death in 306 – the same year that Constantine became Roman emperor, Duchesne,

Fastes épiscopaux, 126. Brunel cites Gregory of Tours and places Privat’s martyrdom at the hands of the Alamanni

King Crocus in the time period of the emperors Valerian and Gallienus (253-260), “Introduction,” in Privat, xvi.

There are, however, those who agree with a later dating of Privat’s martyrdom. Although from the seventeenth

century onwards, most scholars used Gregory’s dating, Remize notes that the chroniclers of the Middle Ages had

unanimously used Fredegar’s early fifth century dating, and, thus, considered it also the date of Privat’s martyrdom,

Remize, Saint Privat, 9. Vaisette and Vic, writing in the nineteenth century, wrote in their Histoire du Languedoc

that Privat’s martyrdom was around 405, see Pascal, Gabalum Christianum, 45. See also the original citation at Vic

Histoire générale de Languedoc, 202. Some scholars are less certain about the dating. Sigal, taking a neutral route,

simply states that according to Gregory, Privat was bishop of Javols in the third century but Fredegar places Privat

in the fifth century, “Le culte des reliques,” 103. Likewise, Darnas and Peloux present the dating controversy, but to

do not actually say when they think Privat was martyred, “Évêché et monastères,” 346. Roger Collins presents a

75

Besides the dating of his martyrdom, the other controversy about Privat’s history concerns where

he held his episcopal seat. At the crux of the debate is whether or not Privat held the seat at

Javols (Anderitum), the capital of the region, or at Mende, a mere vicus at the time of his

martyrdom.330 Concerning the exact location of the Gévaudanais bishop’s seat, there are two

scholarly camps. One argues in favor of the seat starting at Javols (Anderitum) and then

transferring to Mende. This shift would have taken place sometime between the sixth century

and 942, when we have the first instance of a bishop of Mende instead of Javols. If Mende was

not the bishop’s seat, why was Privat praying and fasting at Mende at the time of his martyrdom?

Where was the episcopal seat?

The second group of scholars assert that the seat had always been at Mende. Although bishops’

seats were usually in the capitals of provinces, they sometimes lived in unconventional places,

for example, in grottos or caves, and then reunited with the faithful on Sundays to celebrate the

mysteries of the saints. Remize thinks that Privat had done just that;331 he adds that there is no

evidence to say that Gévaudanais bishops, either before or after Privat, ever resided at Javols.332

totally different dating, designating the martyrdom to the fourth century. Collins uses Ammianus Marcellinus’ Res

gestae XVI.xii.5 to date the event to 350, Early Medieval Europe 300-1000 (London: Macmillan Education Ltd,

1991), 30-35.

330 Sidonius Apollinaris (c.430-489) provides the earliest textual reference to the bishop’s seat. He speaks of the

seat of the Gabalitani, Javols, stating that it had been vacant for some time; he does not mention Privat specifically,

Benoît Ode, “Javols/Anderitum (Lozère) (Civitas Gabalorum) Province d’Aquitaine Première,” Supplément à la

Revue archéologique du centre de la France 25.1 (2004): 432. The English can be found in C. Sollius Modestus

Apollinaris Sidonius, The Letters, volume 2, trans. O.M. Dalton (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1915), 108. It reads: “For

these reasons I would have you consider the secret malady of the Catholic Church that you may hasten to apply an

open remedy. Bordeaux, Périgueux, Rodez, Limoges, Javols, Eauze, Bazas, Comminges, Auch, and many another

city are all similar to bodies which have lost their heads through the death of their respective bishops. No successors

have been appointed to fill their places, and maintain the ministry in the lower orders of the Church; the boundaries

of spiritual desolation are extended for and wide.” The Latin can be found in C. Sollius Modestus Apollinaris

Sidonius, C. Sollius Apollinaris Sidonius, trans. Paul Mohr (Lipsiae: Aedibus B. G. Teubneri, 1895), 7:6:149. It

reads: “Propter quod discite cito catholici status valetudinem occultam, ut apertam festinetis adhibere medicinam.

Burdegala, Petrocorii, Ruteni, Lemovices, Gabalitani, Elusani, Vasates, Convenæ, Auscenses, multoque jam major

numerus civitatum, summis sacerdotibus ipsorum morte truncatis, nec ullis deinceps episcopis in detunctorum

officia suffectis, per quos utique minorum ordinum ministeria subrogabantur, latum spiritualis ruinæ limitem traxit.”

The earliest reference to Privat in the episcopal seat comes from Gregory, who called Privat Gabalitanae urbis

episcopus, Gregory of Tours, Historia Francorum, 1:34, 26.



76

According to Privat’s Acta, bishops had always been buried at Mende.333 Indeed, from the

middle of the third century, there was a vicus at the base of Mount Mimat, which location later

became Mende.334 Remize asserts that the title of bishop was one of the region, not of the place.

Therefore, Privat was bishop of the region of Gévaudan and not the bishop of Mende, although it

was his residence.335

Regardless of the lack of scholarly consensus about when or if the seat was moved from Javols

to Mende, at least by the early tenth century, Mende was the seat of the bishop of Gévaudan.

Unfortunately, the question of the origins of this seat must remain open. What is important for

this dissertation is that the Miracula sancti Privati was written in Mende, when the city was

already the bishop’s seat for some time.

The monastery Saint-Privat is the oldest monastic institution in the diocese of Mende. It was

likely founded just after the death of this martyred bishop.336 One knows from Gregory that the

monastery Saint-Privat existed and bore Privat’s name at least by the middle of the sixth

century.337 By this time, there were also pilgrimages to the grotto where Privat was martyred,

333 Peloux, “Hagiography, Territory, and Memory,” 112. Vieillard-Troïekouroff contends that the bishop at the city

of Gabales or of Gévaudan had always resided at Mende from 300 onwards, and that this was also the eventual

location of Privat’s cathedral. To come to this conclusion, Vieillard-Troïekouroff makes generous use of the

archaeological evidence and also relies greatly on Brunel’s work on Privat and Mende, “Les monuments sculptés,”

101-102 and 108.

334 Pascal notes that the episcopal seat could have been fixed at the base of Mount Mimat even before Privat’s time,

Gabalum Christianum, 37. Pascal then goes on to say that although for a long time it was presumed that the bishops

of Gévaudan had held their seat in the little village of la Canourgue, or even possibly in Sainte-Enimie, this is not

possible because neither place existed before the fifth century – and there is much more proof that Mende was the

favored place for the episcopal seat, Gabalum Christianum, 42-44.

335 Remize, Saint Privat, 106. Remize also aptly points out that language can be tricky and that choices of words

that may seem minor can have lasting and confusing consequences. For example, urbs or civitas can sometimes

mean a city, a territory, or a diocese. Remize continues that Gregory’s expression martyris urbis Gabalitanae could

be correctly translated as the martyr of the region Gabalitainae, the territory Gabalitain, or diocese of Gévaudan,

expanding the possibilities for identifying both Privat’s jurisdiction and place of residence around the time of his

death, Saint Privat, 33-34.

336 Pascal, Gabalum Christianum, 65. Darnas and Peloux ask the important question: was Privat actually buried at

Mende after his martyrdom? The local tradition is clear but there is no text that explicitly states that he was buried

there, “Évêché et monastères,” 346.

337 Gregory of Tours mentioned the place in reference to the abbot-saint Louvent, Lupentius, who was abbot at the

monastery, Historia Francorum, 6:37, 308. The Latin reads: “37. Lupentius vero abba basilicae sancti Privati

martyris urbis Gabalitanae.” Pascal notes that all the monastic institutions of the region of Gévaudan, excepting a

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surely contributing to the increasing prosperity of Mende.338 The cathedral at Mende certainly

existed by the tenth century.339 Around 925, it was destroyed by invading Hungarians and was

rebuilt and rededicated in 951 by Étienne I, bishop of Mende.340 Unfortunately we know very

little about this reconstruction.341

An extraordinary aspect of the history of Privat’s relics is that before resting at Mende for the

past millennium, they were moved around Gaul between the seventh and tenth centuries. In the

sixth century, when Gregory was writing, Privat’s relics were still at Mende.342 They were first

moved to Saint-Denis, north of Paris, in the seventh century because King Dagobert I wanted to

house the six most illustrious saints of Gaul there.343 Three successive diplomas of Charlemagne

each give a different location of Privat’s relics in the late 770s. A September 774 diploma

mentions Privat’s remains among donations in reference to the monastery of Saint Hippolyte

(Alsace), which was founded by Abbot Fulrade (710-784).344 A second diploma from November

few, followed the Benedictine Rule – at least eventually. The monastery of Saint-Privat could not have adopted the

Benedictine rule, however, until after Benedict had created his rule, in the first quarter of the sixth century, but did

so probably much later. The main exception to the Benedictines that Pascal makes is the religious of Mercoire, who

were of the order of Citeaux, Gabalum Christianum, 88.

338 A. Martin and Ferdinand André, Notice historique sur la ville de Mende (Mende: Guerrier, 1894), 4.

339 With so little data available, difficulties naturally arise when trying to date churches, especially the cathedral

church. When churches are mentioned in texts, they do not usually include the date of foundation. In addition, the

hagio-toponyms often do not correspond to the dedication of the churches. In the end, we cannot really know when

the churches at Mende or their communities were formed, Peloux, “Hagiography, Territory, and Memory,” 109.

340 Vieillard-Troiekouroff, “Les monuments sculptés,” 104. See also Jean-Baptise Prouzet, Histoire du Gévaudan,

ou suite aux annales de cette province, volume 1 (Mende: Pécout, 1846), 158.

341 Curiously, scholarship from the period of Etienne’s episcopacy focuses on his role in rebuilding Enimie’s

community and not on the rebuilding of the Mende cathedral, even though both rebuildings happened at around the

same time.


343 Opusculum 3:9, see Privat, 96-98. Remize, Saint Privat, 311. Brunel, “Introduction,” Privat, xviii. This is further

supported in assertions by Vieillard-Troiekouroff stating that the records by the bishop Aldebert III around 1170

held at Mende assert that Dagobert had translated the body of the Martyr Privat from the church at Mende to the

monastery at St-Denis, “Les monuments sculptés,” 103.

344 MGH Dipl. Karol., volume 1 (Hannover: Library of Hannover, 1906), 121.

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775 explicitly states that Privat’s remains rested at Saint-Denis.345 By 777, another diploma

confirms that Privat’s relics had been moved to Salone, also founded by Fulrade, because

Charlemagne had requested a better distribution of the collection of saints held at Saint-Denis.346

This succession of diplomas suggest that Privat’s remains were moved from Saint-Denis to

Salone between 775 and 777. Remize postulates that Privat’s remains returned to Mende

sometime between 815 and 925.347 Despite this evidence of the dislocation of Privat’s remains, it

is not mentioned in the Miracula sancti Privati. The hagiographer either believed that Privat had

rested in his primitive tomb at Mende, not knowing the secret place, or felt it important to

exclude even an allusion to it in his writing.348 Charlemagne’s decree included a provision for

relics to be placed in all church altars,349 causing the mass dismemberment of relics, and this

may be why parts of Privat’s remains were scattered to other locations. This accounts for the

multiple diplomas mentioning Privat’s remains and also why Mende did not seem to recognize

the loss of Privat’s body before the twelfth century.350

Enimie: Origins and History

Enimie is the second Gévaudanais saint closely examined in this study. On the craggy riverbanks

of the Tarn, the main tributary of the Garonne, in the same diocese of Mende in Gévaudan, sits a

small town called Sainte-Enimie. Its history began in the Merovingian period when the so-called

princess Enimie, who despised the riches and advantages that came with her birth and her

beauty, did not want to marry any of her suitors. According to her Vita, Enimie prayed to God to

345 MGH Dipl. Karol., 1:152.

346 Darnas et Peloux, “Évêché et monastères, 347 and MGH Dipl. Karol., 1:166.



349 For these decrees, see MGH Capit. 1:170.

350 In the twelfth century, a body was found in the cathedral garden that was later authenticated by the bishop to be

Privat’s remains. This is discussed below.

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rescue her from marriage; God afflicted her with leprosy, deterring all her would be husbands.351

An angel appeared to Enimie and told her that if she washed herself in the water source at Burle

(Burlatis) in the mountainous valley of the river Tarn in Gévaudan, she would be healed. Enimie

headed to Burle and was made free from leprosy. Afterwards, Enimie dedicated herself to the

service of God in a monastery that she had built near the healing water source.352 In the tenth

century, the little village of Burle was renamed Sainte-Enimie on the occasion of the monastery’s

refoundation.

Understanding the historical details of Enimie and of the monastery Sainte-Enimie is

complicated by the loss of many documents during the Reign of Terror from 1793 to 1794.353

Indeed, we know very little about Enimie and the monastery of Sainte-Enimie between the

seventh and the tenth century.354 The primary sources that do remain assert Enimie’s royal

Merovingian heritage. According to the eleventh-century Vita, inventio et miracula sancte

Enimie and the thirteenth-century Provençal poem La vida de sancta Enimia by Bertrand de

Marseille, from the beginning there were two establishments made at Sainte-Enimie: one for

women dedicated to the Holy Virgin under the patronage of Enimie, where she was abbess, and

one for men under the patronage of Saint Peter.355 This is highly debatable.356 According to

351 M. Ferdinand André, “Histoire du monastère et prieuré de Sainte-Enimie au diocèse de Mende,” in Bulletin de

la société d’agriculture, industrie, science et arts du département de la Lozère, part 2, volume 18 (Mende:

Imprimerie de C. Privat, 1867), 1.

352 Pascal, Gabalum Christianum, 61.

353 At that time, the town of Sainte-Enimie was renamed Puits-Roc and all the paperwork of the place was burned

in a three-day fire that sought to destroy all Catholic objects, André, “Histoire du monastère,” 2-4.


355 J.B.E. Pascal, Recherches historiques et critiques sur Sainte Enimie et sur la ville de ce nom (Paris: imprimerie

Schneider et Langrand, 1846), 20 and Darnas and Peloux, “Évêché et monastères,” 353. Akhavein remarks that

Enimie is venerated and not Saint Peter is evidence that sometimes even apostle-saints could be eclipsed by saints

lower on the holy hierarchy, “‘Reman say aquesta terra,’” 43.

356 Clovis Brunel says the ascription of Merovingian heritage to Enimie is outright fabulous, Enimie, 248. The Vita

says that Enimie’s father was King Clovis and her brother was King Dagobert, Enimie, 2, 253. Sigal, however,

questions the validity of this legendary account because there is no father-son combination of Clovis-Dagobert and

there are no other documents to support the Vita’s claim, “Le culte des reliques,” 103. There are, however, two other

options. There was a Clovis II with a father named Dagobert I and a wife called Abthilde, who had three sons,

Clothaire, Childéric, and Thierry, but there does not seem to be a Dagobert in this family that lived in the seventh

century that could be Enimie’s brother. The seventeenth-century author, Père Dominique de Jésus, in his Monarchie

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Darnas and Peloux, there is no historical veracity in the two narratives in the eleventh-century

Vita and the thirteenth-century Vida.357 Documents from the fourteenth century onwards

attribute it as a royal foundation. But this story might also simply be legend.

Therefore, dating this possibly fictitious woman is problematic. Some scholars have tried to date

Enimie’s life by placing her in reference to the bishop of Gévaudan who is said to have

consecrated her as abbess.358 Others posit alternative possibilities of Enimie’s origins. The

medieval historian Pierre-André Sigal finds plausible Dom Morin’s hypothesis that Enimie, or

Enneim, was part of a group of five martyrs from near Hazza in Persia in 347. After the

martyrdom, her relics were brought to Gaul between the fifth and eighth centuries, where she

was given a more illustrious heritage as a Merovingian princess.359 Abbot J.B.E. Pascal writes

that the places of Mimat and Gabales are also places in Asia Minor, and even Gabales could be a

sainte asserted that Clothaire II who had a son Dagobert I was the father of Enimie and that opinion has prevailed

since then because of the connection between Dagobert the historical person and Dagobert in Enimie’s Vita, Pascal,

Recherches historiques, 6. Pass also posits this possibility, “Source Studies,” 57. André notes that the Vita could

have recorded Enimie’s father as Clovis II; he was the son of Dagobert and king of Neustria and Bourgogne who

died in 656 at the age of twenty-three. If so, perhaps the medieval copyists miswrote the names, and swapped the

father-son relationship. Since Clovis II died at twenty-three years, however, that was probably too young to have

had a daughter, according to André, and that reason alone foils this assertion of Clovis II as Enimie’s father,

“Histoire du monastère,” 7-8. André further notes that P. Leconte in his Annales des Francs posits that Enimie was

the daughter to Clothaire II and his second wife Bertetrude and then Dagobert I would not come from the same king

but from his first wife Haldetrude; see André “Histoire du monastère,” 7-8. Darnas and Peloux, also agree with this

parentage, “Évêché et monastères,” 352. One could object, however, that King Clothaire II had no daughters, but

one can never be certain of this as daughters were often misrepresented in medieval records. For me, this lineage

seems suspect. Needing to the change the parentage in order to fit Enimie into the dynasty tells me that she was

likely not a Merovingian princess. But what is most important is not whether or not she was Merovingian royalty but

that she was celebrated with that lineage in the history and hagiography of Gévaudan.


358 The dating of Enimie through her consecrating bishop brings up its own complications regarding dating. One

must indeed dig into the history of two bishops: Hilaire (Hilarius) from the sixth century and Ilère (Ilerus) from the

seventh. The main confusion between Hilaire and Ilère seems to lie in the similarity of the written variations and the

homophony of the two bishops’ names. Given the surviving evidence, it is not possible to be certain which, if either,

bishop consecrated her. For discussion on this matter, see Pascal, Gabalum Christianum, 7-11 and André, “Histoire

du monastère,” 9-10.

359 Sigal, “Le culte des reliques,” 103-104 and Léon Chaussin and Jules Baudot, Vies des saints et des bienheureux

(Paris: Librairie Letouzey et Ané, 1935-1959), 112.

81

place around Geneva, leading to more confusion.360 It is very difficult to sort through these

obscurities since the hagiographic sources also propose an historically inaccurate lineage.361

Despite musings on alternative origins, most scholars treat Enimie as a Merovingian princess

who was the daughter of Clothair II and the sister of Dagobert I.362 I doubt such was the case.

Since her origins are so confused with attributions of incorrect family lineages and controversies

over her consecrating bishop, it seems most plausible that she did not truly exist; since the matter

is not essential for this thesis, it can be left open.363 This lack of conclusion on Enimie’s

existence might be unsatisfying, but the texts can still be trusted for the historical data they

provide about the context in which they were written, even if the persons that they wrote about

are not historically verifiable.

Regardless of these imprecisions in dating and the possibility that Enimie may not have existed,

we do have historical proof of a community at Burle that was renamed Sainte-Enimie in honor of

her. The foundation in Gévaudan of Saint-Enimie in the vicus of Burle (Burlatis) is the second

largest monastery after that monastery of Saint-Privat.364 Unfortunately, as M. Ferdinand André

shows, there are sparse historical records about the establishment of Sainte-Enimie;365 the

charters from this period are missing and the earliest surviving records of benefactors date to the

360 Pascal, Recherches historiques, 25-27.

361 André, “Histoire du monastère,” 9.

362 One other confusion, or clarification, about Enimie and her parentage that Pascal highlights is that the king

Dagobert II had a daughter named Irmine and he also built the monastery of Oeren in the diocese of Trèves where

the memory of Saint Irmine is celebrated on 24 December. We have already discussed before the various spellings

of Enimie, one of which is Ermine or Irménie, which could easily cause confusion between these two saints, one of

the Tarn and one of the Rhine. Perhaps Irmine of Oeron was the niece of Enimie, but Irminie died in 726 and we

place the death of Enimie around 628, Pascal, Recherches historiques, 29.

This is the same Dagobert that obtained Privat’s relics for Saint-Denis. See the discussion of this above.

363 Akhavein agrees that Enimie’s historical existence or not has no historical bearing, “‘Reman say in aquesta

terra,’” 10.

364 It originally received its name from the fountain Burle that became famous after Enimie was healed there,

Pascal, Gabalum Christianum, 68.

365 André admits that understanding the history of this monastery is not an easy task and it took him great pains to

contact and call upon as many people as possible who possessed documents that had been saved from the fires of the

French Revolution. At the time he was writing, the 1860s, André still thought that there were more surviving

documents that he had not been able to track down. He also admits that he favored some more than others in the

writing of his history, “Histoire du monastère,” 3 and 11.

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eleventh century.366 We do know, however, that an ancient chapel of Enimie was built in a grotto

in the middle of the mountain, tucked away from the town, in the place where Enimie retired for

prayer. That chapel is the end point of a pious pilgrimage at Bagnols-les-Bains, the legendary

site of Enimie’s own healing. In the chapel there is a little basin supplied with clear water where

people come from far away places to seek Enimie’s intercessory power against skin maladies and

to wash their wounds.367 But this was not to be the location of Enimie’s monastic community;

instead it was at Burle (renamed Sainte-Enimie in the mid tenth century). This location at Sainte-

Enimie is sacred in part because of Enimie’s relics and community. Another reason is that like

many of these obscure little villages that hold saints’ relics, it was not easily accessible – it

required fording rivers and dealing with flooding to access it.368 There still remain some vestiges

of the ancient monastery site.369 By good fortune, the relics of Enimie escaped the vandalism of

the Protestant reforms of the sixteenth century and the worst parts of the French Revolution, but

the church dedicated to the Holy Virgin did not.370

We first hear about Enimie’s cult in the diocese of Mende in 951. At this time, Bishop Étienne

(tenth century) of Mende renamed Burle after Sainte-Enimie and handed it over as a priory to the

abbey of Saint-Théofrid, commonly called Saint-Chaffre, in the diocese of Le Puy.371 Peloux

eloquently reports that “[t]he foundations of this story are complex and multitemporal.”372 After

Enimie’s death, the monasteries of Burle had suffered great perturbations. In 951, the monastery

had fallen on such hard times that the community at Burle no longer had the goods or funds to

366 For a list of known benefactors, see André, “Histoire du monastère,” 16-18.

367 Pascal, Recherches historiques, 23 and André, “Histoire du monastère,” 133.

368 M. Gachelin, “Sainte-Enimie du Tarn,” Bulletin de la société de mythologie française 74 April to June 1969,

number V des Actes du Congrès,” 43.

369 Pascal, Recherches historiques, 22.

370 Brunel, Enimie, 237.

371 Sigal, “Le culte des reliques,” 105 and Peloux, “Hagiography, Territory, and Memory,” 117.


83

reestablish itself.373 Therefore, Bishop Étienne set about to reestablish the monastic institutions

at Sainte-Enimie to rescue them from a so-called fallen and debauched state.374 At this time,

Étienne also restored the cathedral at Mende.375 Because he was so burdened by the expenses to

repair and reconstruct his own cathedral, there were not enough funds to also reform and rebuild

the devastated and destroyed church of Sainte-Enimie without outside aid. Therefore, Bishop

Étienne asked Abbot Dalmace of Saint-Chaffre for help.376Most of what we know about this

foundation comes from a cartulary from Saint-Chaffre written by Bishop Étienne at the time

Saint-Chaffre obtained Sainte-Enimie.377 As a result of this reestablishment, the new monastery

of the virgin Enimie followed the regula benedicti (Rule of Benedict) and the place was

redesignated Sainte-Enimie. The abbey of Saint-Chaffre was placed, in perpetuity, as the

superior and the monks of Sainte-Enimie were subject to that abbey.

Thus far, I have provided an historical overview of Privat and Enimie. Now I turn to their

miracle texts because the documents that connect the two saints are by a common hagiographer.

Most of the hagiography of Gévaudan can be found in ms. G. 1446, which is held in the archives

of Lozère.378 Most importantly, it contains the miracle collections of Privat and Enimie. The

content of the manuscript is as follows: 1) a treatise on the miracles of Saint Privat written by an

373 André, “Histoire du monastère,” 13-14; Pascal, Recherches historiques, 20; and Pascal, Gabalum Christianum,

70-71.

374 The charter confirms this saying “…quod per incuriam et sæcularem cupiditatem male direptum erat…,”

Cartulaire de l'abbaye de Saint-Chaffre du Monastier, ordre de Saint-Benoît; suivi de La Chronique de Saint-Pierre

du Puy; et d'un Appendice de chartes, ed. Ulysse Chevalier (Picard: Paris, 1891), 128, accessed 8 June 2017,

http://gallica.bnf.fr/ark:/12148/bpt6k736641/f184.image.r=cartulaire+de+saint+chaffre.langFR. Skyrms says: “The

periodic reform movements which swept through the religious communities of Europe beginning in the tenth

century attempted to introduce a renewed austerity to life under monastic rules and many of the popular pilgrim sites

in this period were new or reformed houses. It is, therefore, hardly surprising that, of the saints venerated by

pilgrims in this period, many were heads of monastic communities.” “The Rituals of Pilgrimage,” 123.

375 Vieillard-Troiekouroff, “Les monuments sculptés,” 104. Hungarian invasions around 925 had devastated the

cathedral at Mende.

376 André, “Histoire du monastère,” 14-15 and Pascal, Recherches historiques, 20. Dalmace was the disciple of

Arnold, the abbot of Saint-Gérard of Aurillac, who fourteen years previously, through his wise administration, had

been able to raise up the Saint-Chaffre abbey into one of renowned reputation, André, “Histoire du monastère,” 15.

377 Cartulaire de l'abbaye de Saint-Chaffre du Monastier, 127-130.

378 Remize, Saint Privat,117; Félix Remize, “Le Livre de Saint Privat,” Bulletin de la Société d’Agriculture,

Industrie, Science, et Arts du Département de la Lozère, volume 48 (Mende, 1896): 172; and Porée, “Review,” 305.

http://gallica.bnf.fr/ark:/12148/bpt6k736641/f184.image.r=cartulaire+de+saint+chaffre.langFR

84

anonymous author at Mende; 2) six treatises on the inventio of the body of Privat in 1170 written

by bishop Aldebert III (r.1153-1187) of Mende; 3) twelve prose writings in honor of Privat; 4) an

abridged Vita of Privat in hexameter verse; 5) a Vita of Saint Hilaire, bishop of Mende during the

second half of the sixth century; 6) some fragments about Saint Saturnin and Saint Loup; 7) a

Vita of Saint Frézal, bishop of Mende during the period of Louis the Pious (b.778-d.840); 8) a

Vita of Saint Enimie; 9) prose writing in honor of Saint Blaise; and 10) verse in praise of Pope

Urban V (1310-1370, pope 1362).379 This manuscript dates to the fourteenth century, but most of

the sources in it originally date to the tenth and eleventh centuries.380 The manuscript is most

commonly called Le Livre de Saint Privat. Nothing in the secondary scholarship indicates how

this title originated; therefore, I surmise it was imposed by the nineteenth-century historians who

published on the manuscript.

We are actually quite fortunate to have this manuscript at all, since it disappeared twice. It was

lost during the French Revolution, but found again in the mid-nineteenth century by a notary of

Mende, M. Plagnes, who handed the manuscript over to the archivist of Mende, Abbot Baldit.381

A copy of the manuscript was then sent from Baldit to Léopold Delisle, who wrote about it in the

1862 publication of Revue des Sociétés savantes.382 In 1896, the original manuscript was sent to

Paris for publishing under the decision of the Société d’Agriculture de la Lozère, but was never

published. Again it was lost,383 but not before Abbot Pierre Pourcher was able to write a work

about it called Manuscrit ou livre de Saint-Privat, par Aldebert le Vénérable, published in

1898.384 Fortunately, in 1908, Deslisle rediscovered the manuscript among the papers of M. de

379 The manuscript contents are listed in Remize, “Le Livre,” 168 and Porée, “Review,” 305-306.

380 Remize, Saint Privat, 117 and Porée, “Review,” 305. Confusingly, Remize originally wrote that the manuscript

dated from the thirteenth century in “Le Livre” on page 167, but I think that his more recently published work, Saint

Privat, is more accurate and more likely his final thought on the dating of the manuscript.


382 Léopold Delisle, “Rapport sur diverses communications de MM. Barbier de Montault, Mathon, Lefebvre et

Baldit,” in Revue des sociétés savantes des départements, second series, volume 8, second semester (Paris: Paul

Dupont, 1862), 47-71.


384 Pierre Pourcher, Manuscrit ou livre de Saint-Privat, par Aldebert le Vénérable (Saint-Martin-de-Roubaux:

imprimerie l’abbé P. Pourcher, 1898).

85

Rozière, who had been the archive inspector in Lozère.385 The recovery of this set of documents

was especially fortuitous because it contained most of the Gévaudan hagiography.

Between the eighth and late-eleventh century, there are no sources written in Gévaudan about

local saints.386 The miracles sources that emerge in the late eleventh century are the Miracula

sancti Privati (BHL 6935) and the Vita, inventio et miracula sancte Enimie, (BHL 2549, 2550,

2551).387 By the eleventh century, Privat’s relics had attracted so many pilgrims and performed

so many miracles that a Mendois cleric commemorated these stories in writing in the Miracula

sancti Privati.388 One can reasonably conclude that the author of Privat’s miracles is the same

author of Enimie’s miracles. First, there are stylistic similarities, such as similar uses of poetic

expressions borrowed from antiquity, the same tendency for certain words and turns of phrases,

and especially the way that the prologues notably convey the same sentiments.389 Both sources

contain poetry in the same rhythm and meter and employ similar Greek formulations that shows

a unique style.390 Second, both sources mention the same Peace of God councils.391

The identity of the hagiographer is, unfortunately, indeterminable because he does not name

himself and only vaguely situates himself into the texts. Yet, because of the documents’ support

of the episcopacy of Mende, it is most probable that these two texts were written by a cleric at



387 Sigal, “Le culte des reliques,” 104-105 and Peloux, “Hagiography, Territory, and Memory,” 114. The full text of

Privat’s miracles can be found in Privat, 1-26. Enimie’s three-part text can be found in Enimie, 277-296. Brunel

further notes on page 243 that the Vita and the Inventio et Miracula were written at the same time by the same

author because the Vita foreshadows the Inventio et Miracula. The BHL ascribes a separate number to each of the

Vita, Inventio, and Miracula of Enimie.

388 Sigal, “Le culte des reliques,” 103.

389 Bulman, The Court Book of Mende, 20; Brunel, “Introduction,” Privat, xix-xx; and Peloux, “Hagiography,

Territory, and Memory,” 116.

390 Enimie 243-244. Poetic versions of some of the more outstanding of Privat’s miracles are appended to Privat,

23-26.

391 Peloux, “Hagiography, Territory, and Memory,” 116. In Privat’s source, councils were attended by his relics in

chapters 7 and 13. In Enimie’s miracle book, councils were attended by her relics in chapters 2, 3, and 9.

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the cathedral.392 Like many hagiographic sources, anonymous clergymen and monks did not

always disclose the dates when they wrote. Scholars must infer dating based on events and

names written in the source. The anonymous author declared that he wrote during the time when

Aldebert was bishop at Mende.393 Most scholars date these two texts to the episcopacy of

Aldebert I, who was bishop from 1054 until his death in 1095 based on the correlation of the

dating of events and Aldebert I’s episcopacy.394 Sansterre argues that without a doubt, the

Miracula was written in the time of the first Aldebert in the second half of the eleventh century

rather than by the second Aldebert in the first quarter of the twelfth century as others have

attributed.395 The author also included himself as a contemporary observer to the events about

which he wrote, further solidifying the probability of the author writing in the late eleventh

century.396 In addition, a handful of times the author mentions that there were still witnesses

living that could attest to the miraculous events that he described.397 Bonnassie further narrows

the dating; he proposes that the texts were written between 1053 and 1075398 for two reasons: 1)

the councils mentioned in it399 and 2) the climate of extreme violence.400 Others, however, such


393 Privat, 4, 8. Aldebert was also featured in the miracle account from Chapter 12, 19-20. In this account, the

author indicated no dates.

394 Remize, writing in 1910 and publishing a monumental work on the documents of Saint Privat also agreed with

the scholarly consensus of dating the Miracula to the eleventh century, Saint Privat, 119.

395 Sansterre, “Après les miracles de sainte Foy,” 48. One should note, however, there were multiple Aldeberts who

held the episcopal seat. Aldebert II was bishop of Mende between 1099 and 1123 and Aldebert III, the author of the

Opuscula, was bishop of Mende between 1153 and 1187.

396 It is unlikely that a cleric writing in the twelfth century episcopacy of Aldebert II was alive for the earlier

eleventh-century events.

397 See Privat, 4, 8; 9, 17-18; and 10, 18 and Enimie, 9, 296. Remize backs up this assertion as well by highlighting

the various times that the anonymous author of the text invoked prominent people and people still living who could

attest to the recorded miracles, Saint Privat, 119.


399 Privat, 7, 14-16. Sansterre, places the Peace of God council of Le Puy mentioned in the Miracula sancti Privati

chapter 7 as the Le Puy council of 1036, or at the very least, between 1031 and 1049, in “Après les miracles de

sainte Foy,” 50. The latest date possible is c.1049 because Odilon of Cluny was in attendance at this Peace council

and he died c.1049, Privat, 7, 15.


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as Darnas and Peloux, are less certain. They contend that the Miracula of Privat was written

either at the end of the eleventh century or the beginning of the twelfth century.401 Others, still,

such as Bulman and Brunel, date the Miracula Sancti Privati to the twelfth century.402 Despite

these few claims to dating the miracle texts to the twelfth century, I am convinced that they were

written in the eleventh century, the period in which the concerns of the Peace of God were most

acute because it makes the most sense given the context.

The Vita of Enimie has been summarized above, so I do not discuss it further here. The Inventio,

however, parallels a miracle within Enimie’s miracle text. Therefore, it is helpful to have a

summary of it here. The inventio begins shortly after Enimie’s death. The text names King

Dagobert as Enimie’s brother, the same Dagobert that had Privat’s relics transferred to Saint-

Denis. Dagobert went searching for Enimie’s body in Gévaudan in order to bring it back to

Saint-Denis, which he was zealously trying to enrich, and where he planned to “exalt [the body]

of his sister with innumerable praises and adorn [her body] with honors.”403 When Dagobert

arrived in Gévaudan, he saw two tombs marked Enimie and mistook the more adorned one to be

the princess-saint’s tomb and thus left the actual remains of the holy virgin on the banks of the

Tarn.404 Enimie's body was discovered there likely sometime in the tenth century thanks to a

vision relayed to the monk Jean of Sainte-Enimie, but the precise date is not known.405 After a

third vision revealing the location of Enimie’s body, the monk Jean finally told the other brothers

and the abbot about his vision; they told the bishop at Mende and he and his clerics came and

opened the tomb.406 The invention of Enimie’s relics was accompanied by typical marks of

401 Darnas and Peloux, “Évêché et monastères,” 344; but they say it cannot be written before the eleventh century,

354. Darnas and Peloux also suggest that Aldebert de Tournel (Aldebert III) revised it in the twelfth century,

“Identité et dévotion,” 42.

402 Bulman, The Court Book of Mende, 20 and Brunel, Privat, xix.

403 Enimie, 1, 278.

404 André, “Histoire du monastère,” 11-12. The legend states that Dagobert mistakenly took the body of Saint

Enimie’s comrade of the same name, Enimie, 1, 279.

405 Sigal, “Le culte des reliques,” 106 and Enimie, 1, 279-280.


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sanctity: a perfume escaped from the vault and a luminous cloud appeared in the church.407 Then

the body began to produce miracles, further proving her identity and sanctity.408 Her body was

placed in the monastery that had recently been reconstructed.409 The discovery of Enimie’s tomb

happened a little after the reconstruction of the monastery at Sainte-Enimie in 951. This

opportune timing served to validate the recently reconstructed monastery at Sainte-Enimie. To

the twenty-first-century mind, this inventio paired with the recent reconstruction of the

monastery may seem calculated, but in the medieval mentality, it would have been considered a

fortunate and timely miraculous occurrence ordained by God.410

Two final texts about Privat and Enimie are worth mentioning. For Privat, there is a twelfth-

century collection of his miracles called the Opuscula Aldeberti, written by Aldebert III, bishop

of Mende from 1153 to 1187, to support his claim for secular lordship.411 The Opuscula

Aldeberti opens with the fortunate inventio of Privat’s relics at the end of the twelfth century. In

1170, Aldebert set out to the court of France, leaving orders at Mende to dig a well in the orchard

of the episcopal residence.412 While digging, the workers found a crypt with a lead

sarcophagus.413 When Aldebert received word of the discovery, he was still in Aquitaine.414

407 Holy bodies frequently emitted pleasant odors and that was taken as proof of their sanctity, André Vauchez,

“Saints and pilgrimages: new and old,” in Christianity in Western Europe c.1100-c.1500, ed. Miri Rubin and Walter

Simons (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2009), 326. See also Paul Anthony Brazinski and Allegra R.P.

Fryxell, “The Smell of Relics: Authenticating Saintly Bones and the Role of Scent in the Sensory Experience of

Medieval Christian Veneration,” Papers from the Institute of Archaeology 23.1 (2013): Article 11, accessed 29 May

2018, http://doi.org/10.5334/pia.430.

408 Sigal, “Le culte des reliques,” 106. For the full account, see Enimie, 278-280.


410 As we will see below, this alignment of inventio and opportune timing was quite similar to the case of Aldebert

III and Privat’s inventio.

411 Bulman, The Court Book of Mende, 14. The Opuscula can be found in Privat, 27-123. Bulman problematizes

Aldebert III as author of the Opuscula stating that it could have been commissioned to be written as if Aldebert were

the author. This is an interesting position that Bulman does not elaborate upon with further evidence, The Court

Book of Mende, 20. Since most of the scholarship assigns the source to Aldebert III, one can reasonably conclude

that at the very least, the Opuscula Aldeberti was written under Aldebert III’s influence.

412 Darnas and Peloux, “Évêché et monastères,” 347-348.

413 Maurice, Delrieu, and Duthu, Diocèse de Mende, 31.


http://doi.org/10.5334/pia.430

89

Since it was almost always the bishop who was in charge of the moving of relics, Aldebert had to

return hastily to properly identify the body and provide it due reverence.415 Upon his return,

Aldebert officially identified the body as Privat because it lacked the lower jaw, which had been

in the altar of the cathedral since at least the beginning of the twelfth century. This osteo-

correlation in conjunction with immediate miracles lent credence to the holiness of the

discovered body.416 Aldebert commissioned a place in the crypt to house Privat’s newly

rediscovered remains.417

After the discovery of Privat’s remains in the episcopal garden, Aldebert wrote his Opuscula.418

The first Opusculum details the discovery of the relics, their translation into the crypt, and the

accompanying miracles, including various healings and in one case divinely punishing a canon

who did not believe that the relics were Privat’s. The second Opusculum relates several miracles,

both positive healings and negative punishments for those who did not properly revere Privat,

including a few apparitions of the saint himself. The third Opusculum, a brief nine chapters,

recounts the discovery of a second crypt and the visions that revealed it.419 The fourth

Opusculum contains more healings and punishment miracles, but also the discovery of a third

crypt and the visions that illuminated its location. The fifth Opusculum, a terse two chapters,

retells part of the inventio story and then concludes the work.

415 Sigal, “Le culte des reliques,” 106. For example, bishops oversaw such activities as translationes, elevationes,

and inventiones.

416 Maurice, Delrieu, and Duthu, Diocèse de Mende, 31.

417 Why had no one noticed that the true body of Privat was not where it was supposed to be, inside the reliquary

statue and the altar? Aldebert maintains that, upon return to Mende in the beginning of the tenth century, the cleric-

monk Clocbert had hid and kept the location of the body secret to avoid future theft, Sigal, “Le culte des reliques,”

106; Remize, Saint Privat, 313; and Opuscula, 3.9, 97. Only one person at a time knew where the body was until the

chain was broken and the place forgotten, Sigal, “Le culte des reliques,” 106. At the beginning of the twelfth

century, the last prévôt of Mende, Guy, who knew their location did not pass on the secret and it was lost, Remize,

Saint Privat, 315 and Maurice, Delrieu, and Duthu, Diocèse de Mende, 31. For about fifty years, therefore, no one

knew where Privat’s body was. Thus, the tomb that was traditionally considered to hold Privat at Mende was empty.

Aldebert, who had become bishop between 1150 and 1153, declared in his Opuscula Aldeberti that he had not

wanted to open the tomb in 1155 because he knew that it was empty, Opuscula, 1.6, 38-39. See also Brunel,

“Introduction,” Privat, xviii. Was he really supposed to admit that fact?

418 Sigal gives a detailed outline of what is in each of Aldebert’s III’s “little works” in “Le culte des reliques,” 104.

419 This text is quite exceptional for the number of visions and dreams contained within it. For more about visions

as part of miracle texts, see Sigal, L’homme, 283-286.

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But was this inventio a pure invention? A handful of scholars think so. Sansterre argues that

Aldebert declared an inventio too conveniently at a time when the nobles of Gévaudan were in

revolt against him.420 Although he was not officially the lord of the region, Aldebert had taken

on the role, at least in relation to the episcopal lands, as had been the precedent for some time.

Bulman agrees with Sansterre stating that Aldebert’s description of the miraculous rediscovery

and translation of Privat’s previously lost remains was related to his right as bishop to subjugate

rebellious barons and to maintain peace in Gévaudan.421 Similarly, Darnas and Peloux suggest

that Aldebert may have fabricated this discovery.422

One last document about Enimie is a thirteenth-century Occitan vernacular document La Vida de

Santa Enimia.423 The Vida itself attests that the prior of Sainte-Enimie commissioned the

poem.424 It was written by Bertran de Marseille.425 While there is no denying that Bertrand was

a poet troubadour, it was long thought that he was not from Gévaudan,426 but had spent some

time at Sainte-Enimie to write the Vida. However, in 1954 Clovis Brunel brought to light that

Bertran was actually a cleric of the bishop of Mende Étienne II (r.1223-1247).427 In 1957, Henry

Dupont pinpointed Bertran’s origins to Marcilia, a fortress in the valley of the Tarn River.428 In

Bertran’s poem, Enimie looks for a place of healing and to make a restful hermitage.429 Bernard

did not mention any miracles that Enimie performed posthumously, but only while she was


421 Bulman, The Court Book of Mende, 6.

422 They assert that Aldebert was clearly inspired by similar discoveries of relics in the hagiography of Enimie and

Hilaire, Darnas and Peloux, “Évêché et monastères,” 348.

423 See Clovis Brunel, ed. La vie de Sainte-Énimie: poème provençal du XIIIe siècle (Paris: Champion, 1916).

424 Peloux, Hagiography, Territory, and Memory,” 127.

425 According to Pascal, it is housed in Paris, Bibliothèque de l’Arsenal, Recherches historiques, 19.


427 Clovis Brunel, “Sur l’identité de quelques troubadours,” Annales du Midi 66: 27 (1954): 245.

428 Henri Dupont, “Marcilia forteresse de la vallée du Tarn,” Revue du Gévaudan, Causses et Cévennes (1957):

230.


91

alive.430 This version of Enimie’s Vida also maintains the royal origins of the saint.431 Peloux

interprets this insistence “as an attempt at turning the monastery of Sainte-Enimie away from

episcopal prerogatives.”432 Clearly, Enimie still enjoyed great renown into the thirteenth

century.433 According to André Soutou, Enimie’s vernacular verse was written by the same

author as Foy’s434 own Vida. Whether or not this is true, to Peloux, it seems obvious that both of

these poems were written with the view of promoting their cults.435

All the sources written about the three saints (Vivien, Privat, and Enimie) and about their sacred

homes (Figeac, Mende, and Sainte-Enimie) provide useful context for analyzing their miracle

texts. Vivien’s sources and history point to a history of monastic competition with neighboring

Conques which drove the monastic community at Figeac to write his miracles in the eleventh

century. Monastic competition, with other communities than Conques, surface in the text in the

context of the Peace of God, a seminal theme in this dissertation. Likewise, the texts and

histories of Privat and Enimie, somewhat intertwined through their diocesan connection and the

shared hagiographer of their miracles, also help set the stage for later analysis in this work. These

texts were written as statements of autonomy and prestige to assert their places as best over other

saints’ shrines.

2.4 Chapter Conclusion

This analysis of relics, reliquaries, and image reliquaries in the south of France during the

Middle Ages shows the power of the relics of Vivien, Privat, and Enimie that were able to move

in the stories recorded in their miracle collections. It was the power inherent in the relics of these

dead holy people that attracted others to move as recorded in their miraculous tales. The saints’

430 The poem speaks at length about a resurrection performed by Enimie, which Pascal describes in Recherches

historiques, 23-24.

431 According to this poem, Enimie was the daughter of Clovis and Astorga.



434 André Soutou, “Le château natal du troubadour Bertrand de Marseille,” Revue du Gévaudan, Causses et

Cévennes (1967): 53-59.


92

power, embodied in the image reliquaries, made them into powerful intercessors who crossed

boundaries between heaven and earth. It was through this powerful display that devotees felt that

they could call upon the saints for help in crisis by participation in the Peace of God.

The Peace of God movement that originated in the south of France made use of the relics of the

saints. Bishops and their lay allies gathered with relics and the populace to discuss peace. In

particular, Vivien’s relics and miracles in this Miracula portray the first phase of the Peace while

Privat’s and Enimie’s relics and miracles as recorded in their Miracula represent the second

phase of the Peace in the south. The Peace movement ought to be viewed as a series of loosely

connected peaces across the Midi.

Looking at the contexts for Vivien and Figeac has brought to light their rich history through an

exposition of the primary sources and secondary sources available about this saint from his

origins in fifth-century Saintes through to his miracles in the eleventh and twelfth centuries

written at his new home at Figeac. I highlighted the fact that the foundation of Figeac was

connected to the histories of two other religious communities, that of Lunan and Conques; these

foundations set the stage for quarrel between the abbeys of Conques and Figeac. The trajectory

of this fraught relationship between Figeac and Conques was triggered by Figeac’s 838

foundation and not resolved until 1095. It is within the context of this quarrel that the miracles of

Vivien were produced at Figeac. Therefore, I propose that these miracles both influenced and

were influenced by this competition.

Given what we have seen of Privat and Enimie above, their hagiography makes clear that they

were spiritual powerhouses in Gévaudan. Privat’s deep history as a third-century bishop-martyr

made him a powerful patron upon which to call in the climate of eleventh-century violence

against the Church. Although Enimie’s origins are disputed, the consistent recording of her as a

Merovingian princess gave extra credence to her holy power, and thus extra validity to the

Church institution in Mende, pushing her cult into prominence by association with that diocesan

seat.

With this history of objects (reliquaries), the temporal parameters (the Peace of God), and people

and places laid out, we now turn to an analysis of movements in the sources related to the Peace

of God.

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Chapter 3 Relics and Miracles on the Road: Movements of Relics and

People for Peace of God Councils

Movement abounds in the miracles recorded about Privat, Vivien, and Enimie. In particular, the

miracles associated with the Peace of God are described in a flurry of motion and stasis. In

Chapter 1, I noted that the Peace of God was a medieval religious movement headed by Midi

bishops who used spiritual sanctions to counteract violence directed at the Church, its men, and

its property. In Chapter 2, we saw that the relics of Privat, Vivien, and Enimie were mobile,

contained within image reliquaries. This portability allowed the relics to travel to councils for the

Peace of God. Indeed, the Peace of God councils prompted a great deal of displacement because

they attracted relics, church leaders, the laity, and the populace. Bringing relics to councils was

an innovation of the Peace. It was the first time that relics were present at Church councils and in

some cases they were brought from great distances.1 Relics were carried to councils for Peace

because their relic keepers hoped to restore social order that had been disrupted by criminal

movements of dangerous rovers. For example, relics were used in the swearing of oaths at

councils and as a threat of spiritual sanction if those oaths were broken.

While the Peace of God movement has been studied extensively, no one has deeply examined the

movements recorded in miracle texts in relation to the Peace of God.2 This may be due in part to

the paucity of specific descriptions of those journeys. Sigal explains that travel to councils was

generally excluded from texts for two reasons. 1) Many of the miracle accounts from the

eleventh century are quite brief and do not have many details. 2) Most of the miracles took place

1 Daniel Callahan, “The Peace of God and the Cult of the Saints in Aquitaine in the Tenth and Eleventh Centuries,”

in he Peace of God: Social Violence and Religious Response in France Around the Year 1000 (Ithaca, NY: Cornell

University Press, 1992), 166. Edina Bozoky adds that these ritual outings carried eschatological expectations both

within the councils and outside them towards an effort of peace, “Voyages de reliques et démonstration du pouvoir

aux temps féodaux,” in Voyages et voyageurs au Moyen Age: XXVIe Congrès de la S.H.M.E.S., Limoges-Aubazine,

mai 1995 (Paris: Publications de la Sorbonne, 1996), 274. The ancient custom of reliquary statues in Auvergne aided

this innovative custom of moving relics to councils, Dominique Barthélemy, The Serf, the Knight and the Historian,

trans. Graham Robert Edwards (Ithaca: Cornell University Press, 2009), 274-275. Unfortunately, Barthélemy

provides neither references nor examples of this ancient practice.

2 There have been numerous legal studies of the decrees of the Peace councils; there have also been examinations of

the social implications and uses of relics in the context of the Peace of God.

94

at the sanctuary or in the presence of the relics3 and those miracles took precedence. Yet

movement in relation to the Peace of God is a worthwhile line of study because the

hagiographers of Privat’s, Enimie’s, and Vivien’s miracles include many movements in their

descriptions of the relics’ participation in Peace of God councils. This inclusion of travel for

councils in sources on Peace seems to be somewhat rare.

This rarity adds significance to the present study. The hagiographers’ depictions of relics on the

way to, at, and on the way back from councils include a contingent of people who are attracted to

the relics’ presence by the desire to receive healing from saints gathering at councils. Stories

about these miracles-on-the-move written in their texts mingle church leaders, relics, and

common people. Clearly, participation in the cult of saints provided ample opportunity for

interactions between all social groups.4 At these events, relics came face-to-face with the nobles

and their warrior milites that were creating and perpetuating the problems that relic keepers

sought to eradicate by bringing relics to councils. But this interaction does not appear to be most

important to the hagiographers. In fact, neither the often-studied decrees of the councils nor the

specific aristocratic lay attendees are even mentioned in the hagiography.5 Each text’s call to

council provides peace as the purpose to gather, but does not include any concluding decrees

from each specific council.

Chapter Plan

To parse out these movements and stasis for the reader, this chapter first offers some further

background on the Peace of God, especially its popular, sanctified elements portrayed in the

sources that foreground the multivocality of the movements associated with the Peace. I also

delineate each of the movers associated with the Peace in Vivien’s, Privat’s, and Enimie’s

hagiography. This is followed by a brief overview of sacred space and sacroscape relevant to my

discussion of the movement of relics and their portable power. The critical evidence is provided

3 Pierre-André Sigal, L’homme et le miracle dans le France médiévale (XIe-XIIe siècle) (Paris: Cerf, 1985), 80.


5 In fact, only one instance each from Vivien’s and Privat’s miracle accounts even mention the presence of notable

lay men at the councils, Vivien, 18, 266 and Privat, 13, 20-21. Enimie’s miracles do not mention lay men, but there

is one account of two noble lay women at a council, Enimie, 3, 286.

95

by stories of miracles en route to, at, and on the way back from the six councils that Vivien,

Privat, and Enimie attended in their texts. These stories highlight the centrality of movements

associated with Peace of God councils showing that the hagiographers portrayed councils as

opportunities for both unity and conflict when multiple relics and people were collected in the

same place. Focusing on these movements of the relics illuminates how the saints’ power was

mobile and could travel along with their relics and those who carried them, and that the authors

saw them as acceptable movements because they were all portrayed positively. All this adds up

to a view of movement and stasis as collaborative and group journeys that offered the

hagiographers’ preferences for performing movement in reference to the saints and their mobile

sacred space.

3.1 The Peace of God, Movers, and Mobile Sacred Space

In a climate of violence and uneven local power, church leaders sought to mitigate the crises of

unsanctioned violence with proactive peace measures. One of the counteractive measures to

combat this disorder, imagined or real, was to hold councils for Peace that were attended by

religious and secular people of all social strata. These councils were spearheaded by bishops

seeking protective peace for unarmed clerics and their property from the violent and pillaging

attacks of the warring class. The mobility of relics was essential for their participation at

gatherings for Peace. The presence of these relics also functioned as a portable form of

jurisprudence underpinned, as we shall see below, by their portable sacred power. In the

presence of secular lords at councils, the saints were meant to trump lay powers and stand in as

the authority in the south of France where royal authority did not reach. In this capacity, the

relics were the real spiritual and temporal powerhouses at the councils next to their bishops and

abbots. It is no surprise, then, that the miracle stories downplay the presence of lay lords at these

assemblies. Indeed, it was the intersection of relics and people at councils that enlivened and

solidified the decrees of the Peace of God. These basic tenets, as defined by Goetz, stemmed

from the 994 Le Puy council; they covered edicts that protected, preserved judicial order, and

supported reform.6

6 See Chapter 2 of this work; Hans-Werner Goetz, “Protection of the Church, Defense of the Law, and Reform: On

the Purposes and Character of the Peace of God, 989-1038,” in The Peace of God, 259-279; and Thomas Whitney

96

Since the Peace of God was established and maintained through the leadership of church officials

instead of lay ones, Peace scholars have come to define the early movement as a sanctified peace

rather than an institutional one.7 Sanctified peace is characterized especially by its informal,

demotic nature. According to Richard Landes, sanctified councils had the following elements:

open-air venues, usually a field, where miracles had a fundamental role in conjunction with the

zeal of the crowds; warriors taking oaths in front of groups of people of all ages and both sexes;

and a predominance of religious sanctions, such as those of excommunication, interdict, and

punishments by saints.8 Institutional councils, in contrast, were dominated by elites, they

excluded the crowds with closed venues, warriors swore oaths in front of their superiors and

before collections of relics, and there were secular sanctions to threaten punishment for any

lapses.9 For Landes, this disparity between councils as they ought to be (institutional) and

councils as they likely occurred (sanctified) is evidence of a desperate Church.10

The sanctified peace portrayed in these miracle collections was a reconstruction of a moral

landscape in which all people involved, both the clergy and the laity, had their own part to play

Lecaque, “The Count of Saint-Gilles and the Saints of the Apocalypse: Occitanian Piety and Culture in the Time of

the First Crusade,” (PhD diss., University of Tennessee, Knoxville, 2015), 94.

7 Thomas Bisson, “The Organized Peace in Southern France and Catalonia, ca.1140-ca.1233,” The American

Historical Review 82.2 (1977): 293; Barthélemy, The Serf, 256; Richard Landes, “Can the Church be Desperate,

Warriors be Pacifist, and Commoners Ridiculously Optimistic? On the Historian's Imagination and the Peace of

God,” in Center and Periphery: Studies on Power in the Medieval World in Honor of William Chester Jordan,

eds. Katherine L. Jansen, Guy Geltner, and Anne E. Lester (Leiden: Brill, 2013), 79; and Christian Lauranson-

Rosaz, “Peace From the Mountains: The Auvergnat Origins of the Peace of God,” in The Peace of God, 110.

8 In his article, “Can the Church be Desperate,” Landes examines eight characteristics of the sanctified peace

assemblies and “how they violate virtually every socio-political and religious norm of early medieval (and especially

Carolingian) society.” These eight characteristics are: 1) outside, open-field venues; 2) relics brought from far and

wide; 3) gathering of people of all ages, sexes, and rank; 4) religious fervor; 5) multiple days of exposure to others;

6) the role of miracles in legitimizing councils’ decisions; 7) the prominence of spiritual sanctions; and 8) oaths used

to restrict warrior violence. See pages 81 to 84 for his descriptions of each category.

9 Landes, “Can the Church be Desperate,” 79.

10 For Landes, the millennial bias was a belief that the final apocalypse was about to occur and that this was felt by

medieval people in all walks of life, “Can the Church be Desperate,” 81. Landes’ assertions on this topic are

hyperbolic and not all scholars agree. Guy Lobrichon, for example, sees the millenarian trope in medieval historical

documents as polemic, “The Chiaroscuro of Heresy: Early Eleventh-Century Aquitaine as Seen from Auxerre,” in

The Peace of God, 80-103.

97

in renegotiating their role in the emerging Peace.11 While the hagiographers’ descriptions of the

councils show peace in line with Peace of God sentiments, such as the three originating canons

from Charroux, their descriptions of the councils portray a very different Peace pertaining more

to miracles than decrees.12 Indeed, the descriptions of the councils mingle essential elements of

the Peace, such as collecting bishops and relics, alongside the assembling of the masses of

common people. All these elements were accepted by medieval people as inextricably

intertwined in the social context.13 In addition, this type of sanctified peace movement did not

distinguish clearly between secular and spiritual motivations, nor did it differentiate between

temporal peace and eternal peace. The hagiographers’ focus on a sanctified rather than

institutional peace reveals their priorities to highlight social and sacred interactions in their

telling of the miracles because those were the movements they wanted to champion. By their

descriptions of movement of people and relics in the context of the Peace of God, the

hagiographers show a sacred space that was portable with mobile relics.

Before providing a brief overview of sacred space and sacroscape, it is important to delineate

those who moved in the sources to participate in the Peace of God. There are four groups of

movers related to Peace of God councils in the three miracle tales of Vivien, Privat, and Enimie,

creating a multidimensional web of participatory connections and interactions. On the religious

side, there were the saints’ relics as well as bishops who convened the councils and clerics and

monks who cared for the relics. On the secular side, there were elite and popular participants.

Although bishops and their lay allies called the councils, the relics were the centerpieces around

which all Peace of God participation hinged. The three social contingents interacted with the

relics in important and differing ways in the three miracle texts. To parse out this interconnected

picture of Peace participation, I first outline the role of the relics at councils and then introduce

the other social groups and their interactions with the saints’ relics in the context of Peace

11 Kathleen G. Cushing, Reform and the Papacy in the Eleventh Century: Spirituality and Social Change

(Manchester: Manchester University Press, 2005), 49.

12 For more details about early council decrees that were used and augmented as the Peace of God developed, see

Chapter 2 of this dissertation.


98

councils. While doing this, I highlight the role of both movement and stasis of each group as

portrayed in the sources.

Saints’ relics were integral to the Peace of God. Moving these value-laden, priceless objects

containing relics outside of their normal ritual space in the church was to move them into a

liminal state. Kathleen Ashley and Pamela Sheingorn have discussed this as a “liminal zone

…[of] many alternative possibilities.”14 These multiple possibilities were often unpredictable. To

move relics through unusual spaces had the potential for loss of control of how people might use

or interpret these objects.15 Bringing relics to councils was an innovation of the Peace. It was the

first time that relics were present at church councils and in some cases they were brought from

great distances.16 In this foot travel, I observe, in the words of Michel de Certeau, walking a as

“pedestrian speech act” that communicates a physically enacted movement into a point of

communication.17 The message of the hagiographers through these movements, in this case of

people and relics walking to Peace of God councils, is that such communal acts were normalized,

welcome, and acceptable.

Moving relics sometimes meant encountering other relics; this was the case with relics and the

Peace of God in my sources.18 Relic meetings could go a couple of ways. One the one hand, the

collection of relics together offered chances for the expression and maintenance of positive inter-

monastic and or monastic-clerical relationships. Kate Craig characterizes this as horizontal

relationship networks between monasteries. On the other hand, when relics came together, there

14 Kathleen Ashley and Pamela Sheingorn, “Sainte Foy on the loose, or, the possibilities of procession,” in Moving

Subjects: Processional Performance in the Middle Ages and the Renaissance, eds. Kathleen Ashley and Wim

Hüsken (Amsterdam: Rodopi, 2001), 54.



16 Callahan, “The Peace of God,” 166.

17 Michel de Certeau, The Practice of Everyday Life, trans. Steven F. Rendall (Berkeley, CA: University of

California Press, 1984/1988), 97-100.

18 Rita Tekippe adds that relic-relic interaction was also a valid reason, separate from Peace of God councils, for

relics to travel, “Pilgrimage and Procession: Correlations of Meaning, Practice, and Effects,” in Art and Architecture

of Late Medieval Pilgrimage in Northern Europe and the British Isles, eds. Sarah Blick and Rita Tekippe (Leiden:

Brill, 2005), 725.

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was also opportunity for conflict if the guardians of the relics imagined these interactions as

vertical or even hierarchal,19 as we shall see with the example of Vivien’s relics at the Coler

council. Since the cult of relics relied on lay popularity, the presence of lay people could

heighten competition when relics gathered.20

Stasis also played an important role in the movements related to relic travel. Since the travelling

relics were written as passive, they were carried to and from locations and could not move on

their own. Thus, there were often times when the relics were motionless. This occurred whenever

the relics arrived in some notable place. This periodic stasis is significant because it meant that

everyone else had to move in order to be in the presence of the relics.

The main religious participants were the bishops of the Midi and the monks and canons who

accompanied their relics and assembled with the populace and lay lords to curb aristocratic

violence by non-violent means.21 Typically, lay disputes could be settled by bearing arms, but

church leaders were prohibited from using violence to solve problems. Therefore, they attempted

to settle disputes by non-violent arbitration. The Peace of God was one such solution. H.E.J.

Cowdrey writes: “The Peace councils were the churchmen’s self-defense, so far as any was

possible.”22 In this way, clergy and religious used relics for their own purposes.23 Therefore,

they fulfilled two essential roles regarding movement and the saints in the context of the Peace of

God: they called for the gathering of people and saints’ relics to councils, and they provided the

essential service of transporting relics to councils. Even though bishops were entrusted to care

for relics, Cowdrey argues that at councils, relics were even more powerful than the presiding

bishops.24 But the saints’ relics in this chapter still had to move in collaboration with their relic

19 Craig, “Bringing Out the Saints,” 75-76.


21 Lauranson-Rosaz, “Peace from the Mountains,” 110. It is generally agreed that bishops initiated the Peace

movement with ecclesiastical councils and decided its dispositions relying on secular support, Goetz, “Protection of

the Church,” 260.

22 H.E.J. Cowdrey, The Peace and the Truce of God in the Eleventh Century,” Past and Present 46 (1970): 46.



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keepers in order to arrive at the councils to participate in the Peace of God.25 While clergy and

monastics instigated movements for the councils, they were not usually depicted in the sources

as moving. Most often, bishops are positive and inert, while monks and canons moved more

frequently. When church leaders did move, the hagiographers are very clear about whether or not

their movements were acceptable by portraying them in an obviously positive or negative light.

In addition to monks, clerics, and bishops, lay people also actively participated in the Peace of

God. While at first glance the Peace of God may have seemed anti-seigneurial, it actually

required lay support for demands for Peace. Without lay cooperation, the Peace sought by

bishops would have been impossible.26 Two significant lay supporters of the Peace were William

IV Iron Arm (937-994), duke of Aquitaine and count of Poitou, and his son William V the Great

(969-1030).27 Like the rest of the attendees, lay male nobles had to move to arrive at the

councils. Once there, these men interacted with the saints’ remains by swearing oaths on them.

However, elite lay participants seem to be the least important to the hagiographers of Enimie’s,

Privat’s, and Vivien’s miracle collections. In these sources, elite lay participation is almost non-

existent. No oaths are mentioned at the councils recorded in Vivien’s, Privat’s, and Enimie’s

miracles. There are only two instances (one at Coler and one at Mende II) that record their

presence at these events, although prominent lay persons do appear in a few instances on the

road to Vivien’s councils.28 Therefore, I do not focus much on this social group’s movements

concerning the Peace of God because the authors almost completely exclude them from the

Peace process in these texts.

25 In this process of ritual transportation, Kate Craig suggests that the relics keepers likely felt a sense of collectivity

with the common people traveling with them, signaling that they understood well their reliance on commoners,

“Bringing Out the Saints,” 93. The importance of this collaboration is discussed below.


27 Thomas Head, “The Development of the Peace of God in Aquitaine (970-1005),” Speculum 74.3 (1999): 658 and

Cowdrey, “The Peace and the Truce of God,” 59. William V was particularly active in the early Peace. He helped

convene the Limoges council in 994 and called the council at Poitiers c.1011-1014. Sadly, this ducal support did not

survive much longer than William V, Cowdrey, “The Peace and the Truce of God,” 59.

28 Two noble women are also the central characters in one of Enimie’s miracles on the way back from the Le Puy

council, Enimie, 3, 286. Because these two women are drawn back to Sainte-Enimie and into Enimie’s service, their

miracle story will be discussed in Chapter 5 of this study.

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In contrast to the lack of elite lay men and their movements at the councils, the populace are

portrayed as moving a great deal, thereby emphasizing their importance in the miracle stories.

Popular participation was a combination of religious fervor and receiving saints’ miracles, which

is evidence of the sanctified rather than institutional nature of the peace.29 The hagiographers

portray a faithful populace that sought out chances to be near the image reliquaries when they

passed by them, that tried to touch and be in contact with them, and that understood that the

space surrounding relics was a likely place for healing to occur. Traveling relics attracted crowds

who were, for the most part, a nameless, numberless mass of people that flocked to and from

councils while also following the saints’ relics on their way to such events. Occasionally,

however, when the populace is mentioned in reference to a specific miracle for their benefit, they

are named in the source and described as individuals. More important than their identities,

however, the sources portray crowds at councils to be most interested in the saints’ relics and the

potential for miracles once in the relics’ presence. The Peace promoters clearly were aware of

this and might have played up the potential for miracles in order to attract great crowds for these

occasions.30 Töpfer even argues that the masses were a means through which clerics spread their

ideas among the laity.31 The populace also had moments at rest. When they desired miracles,

they usually went into the presence of saints’ relics and waited, without movement, until they

attained their desired healing. Therefore, the coupling of their movement and stasis was the

necessary formula for attaining their desires for miracles.

While the masses of common people at councils are often easily dismissed, the Peace certainly

relied on the popularity of the cult of the saints. In addition, their visibility gave the populace a

place in the peace process.32 Lauranson-Rosaz advocates not dismissing the role of the populace

at Peace of God councils outright. Whether the common crowd were present, and in what

numbers, is less important than the clear role that they played in the narratives by virtue of their

29 Lauranson-Rosaz asserts that the Laprade council (978/980) was the first time that the populace was included in

the Peace councils, “Peace from the Mountains,” 119.

30 Lauranson-Rosaz, “Peace from the Mountains,” 111.

31 Bernard Töpfer, “The Cult of Relics and Pilgrimage in Burgundy and Aquitaine at the Time of the Monastic

Reform,” in The Peace of God, 41.


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inclusion in such a prominent way.33 If the populace was not consequential, there would have

been no need to hold Peace meetings outside in public, open-air locations. Dominique

Barthélemy and Kathleen G. Cushing, however, warn that scholars need to be careful about

assigning too much power to this social group at the councils. Barthélemy argues that the

populace’s main role for the hagiographer was the probable exaggeration of their numbers.34

Cushing writes that the populace’s participation was likely largely rhetorical; she adds that “[i]t

would be a very long time before the populace could exercise a political role independent of their

lay or ecclesiastical masters.”35 Yet, their repeated inclusion in these three sources shows that the

populace had clear significance for the hagiographers, even if, to their minds, the populace could

not influence the Peace proceedings.

Ultimately, the sanctified nature of the Peace resulted in the mingling of all classes in various

stages of movement and stasis. Yet the hagiographers emphasize the interaction between the

relics and the populace. This all adds up to quite a complicated scene of solemnity and outbursts

as well as flurry and stillness that created powerful scenes at the councils where the relics

reigned supreme. Although the hagiographers of the three miracle texts portrayed a world in

which stasis was preferred, some occasions warranted movement, such as the congregation of

people and relics for Peace of God councils. Therefore, this chapter focuses on the movements

and people that appear most important to the hagiographers: the movements and interactions of

relics and their guardians with the populace moving toward, at, and away from councils.

We know that the hagiographers of Vivien’s, Privat’s, and Enimie’s miracles were concerned

with the interactions between the populace and relics while on the move because they included

so many stories involving the populace that took place on the way to, at, and returning from

councils. This is similar to what Thomas A. Tweed observed in his analysis of a modern-day

Catholic feast day celebration.36 In his Crossing and Dwelling: A Theory of Religion, Tweed




36 Thomas A. Tweed, Crossing and Dwelling: A Theory of Religion (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press,

2006), 5-7.

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notes three intermingling themes: movement, relation, and position. In the three miracle sources

of this present study, each of these themes also coincides in important ways in the context of the

Peace of God. It is this inclusion of movements all classes of society in the sources that gives us

a first glimpse of interaction between movement and relation.

Indeed, the movements of relics and the crowds facilitated their engagement. While the relics

were on these ritual outings, they were available to the populace outside their normal

environment. Usually access to the saints was mediated by their location in the shrine and their

caretakers, but while the relics were on the road, people had much freer access to them.37 Indeed,

some people who may not have had the opportunity or knowledge of the saint to travel to its

shrine could experience the mobile power of the relics when they traveled nearby them. This is

apparent from the examples below of the miracles that occurred en route to council events; it is

even clearer when examining the miracles that occurred at the councils where the populace

gained access to not only one set of relics, but often more than one at the same time.

People and objects move, and in the case of travel to councils, they move across and in space.

The sources present six councils to which the hagiographers call for the mass movements of

relics and people. Miracles and movements linked with the Peace of God in the miracle

collections show a Peace that included all levels of society, but the examples of movements

given in the texts related to the Peace of God are almost exclusively examples of the populace

and relics on the move. Most of the movements in the texts related to the Peace of God are

healing miracles for the populace performed by the relics. This is especially important because

the healing of limbs and of the sick were symbols of the “restoration of order and the Church,”38

a clear goal of the Peace. Through the miracle accounts, the hagiographers offer these restorative

miracles as examples of what acceptable movements look like and as a mechanism to reset the

balance of good in the face of the disorder of roaming nobles and their men-at-arms, or

dangerous rovers as I call them in Chapter 4.

37 See Chapter 2 on reliquaries’ placement at shrines, which placement was often obstructed to mediate between

visitors and the precious reliquaries.

38 Barthélemy, The Serf, 296-297.

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Relation shows itself in the convergence of people of all social strata as well as in the

convergence of religion and politics through attempts to use saints’ relics to quell, or at least

lessen, the violence of roving dangerous men. Taken together, the three texts highlight the

variety of interactions and collaborations triggered by these diverse movements and point not

only to a pattern of movement, but also stasis. The hagiographers portray movements positively

when they happened in conjunction with the relics or toward the relics; once in the presence of

relics, people were expected to be at rest in their presence. The exclusion of decrees and elites

provides a view of the importance of position and movement in the Peace of God. Relation is

also important for both planned and happenstance interactions. Kim Knott proposes that shrines

are more than a physical space to navigate; they are also social spaces that include and exclude,

as well as cluster around an imagined community center.39 In my study, this center is the relics.

While on the road, the relics had the same social and centralizing effect on space. As people

passed through their portable sacred space, either as conscious followers or casual passersby,

they engaged with and benefitted from the relics’ portable healing power.

For Tweed, position refers to his own vantage point as an interpreter of religion. Position in the

case of my evidence can be used on multiple levels. First, I position myself as a white, female,

twenty-first century observer who is distant in time from southern French medieval Christianity

and is separated practice from any form of Christianity since my youth. But I propose two more

layers of position. There is also the positioning of the hagiographers as male clerics and monks

who prioritized the glorification of God through the saints above all else in their redaction of

miracle accounts. I also include positioning in terms of physical space since I am writing about

movement. On this level, positioning varied depending on where the sacred relics were, either at

home, on the road, or at another shrine.

All these movements portrayed in the sources occur in relation to and near mobile relics. Even

though relics’ power was active when they traveled, their movements were described as passive

because in order to get to their destination because they had to be moved by approved men.

While the relics and their carriers moved, so too the populace moved in similar ways when

participating in the Peace of God councils in the texts. Like the saints’ relics, many people from

39 Kim Knott, The Location of Religion: A Spatial Analysis (London: Equinox Publishing Ltd., 2005), 60.

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the crowds had to be carried to the presence of the relics thereby necessitating collaborative and

communal movement of not only people and objects, but also the sacred space imbued in the

relics that created a type of mobile sacred space within a fluid sacroscape. In examining

movement in the miracle context I see the importance of movements through space by showing

that space is not just a place to be in but also a medium of transit. It was within space, both

sacred and not, that movements in the miracles collections were described by the authors as a

means to attain a desire, to solve a problem, or gain forgiveness. Space, then, was not just a

location in the miracles, but somewhere that movement could and did take place.

At the home shrine, the space occupied by the relics was considered sacred because it was in the

presence of these holy relics that miracles occurred. Imbuing relics with sacred power marked

the space they occupied as sacred space with the relics constituting a boundary distinguishing the

sacred from the profane rest of the world.40 This manifestation of the sacred is what

anthropologist Mircea Eliade has called hierophany, “an irruption of the sacred that results in

detaching a territory from the surrounding cosmic milieu.”41 Miracles at the saints’ shrines in

fixed locations are examples of this hierophantic irruption. What I find particularly fascinating is

that “somewhere” was not always fixed but could move in tandem with mobile relics. When

these relics were mobile, their sacred space moved with them.

Tweed, who introduced the term sacroscape,42 does not consider it grounded in the sacred; as

such, he departs from Eliade’s claim that religion involves hierophany that mark distinct spaces.

Instead, sacroscape, for Tweed, implies a fluidity, what he calls aquatic analogies, because they

are ever changing. He writes:

They are not fixed. … They are not static. And they have effects. They leave traces. They

leave trails. Sometimes those trails are worth celebrating…. So this term, sacroscapes,

40 Mircea Eliade, The Sacred and the Profane: The Nature of Religion, edited by William R. Trask (New York:

Harcourt Brace, 1959), 26

41 Eliade, The Sacred and the Profane, 26.

42 Veikko Anttonen, “Landscapes as Sacroscapes: Why Does Topography Make a Difference?,” in Sacred Sites and

Holy Places: Exploring the Sacralization of Landscape Through Time and Space, ed. Sæbjœrg Walaker Nordeide

and Stefan Brink (Turnhout: Brepols, 2013), 15.

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invites scholars to attend to the multiple ways that religious flows have left traces,

transforming people and places, the social arena and the natural terrain.43

But even if sacroscape is distinct from sacred, as a way to talk about religion, sacroscape can

provide space for and is affected by movements of the sacred. In this vein, I follow Veikko

Anttonen’s adaptation of Tweed’s sacroscape. Anttonen agrees with Tweed, as do I, that

“sacroscapes are not fixed, but transitive due to their very nature as conglomerations of culture

and cognitive processes.”44 In particular, Anttonen is interested in sacroscapes as a behavioral

category.45 This is what I have observed in my evidence; that when relics moved for Peace of

God councils, they left traces of behavioral patterns of interacting with the sacred in their wake.

This will be seen below with examples of bodies healed along the road to, at, and on the way

back from councils and changes to the physical landscape at councils as a result of relics’

inherent sacred power.

3.2 Movements for Peace of God Councils

Travel to Peace of God councils with relics was one way that clerics tried to regain Peace. The

manifestation of the Peace and Truce of God in the eleventh century can be partially explained

by the disquietude and the hopes of the time. The Peace offered an attractive route to human

tranquilly.46 Considering the perception of violence that caused the Peace of God, there was a

desire for cosmic order to set things right. In this period of widespread violence, bishops worked

to protect the Church’s, and by extension the saints’, temporal goods with the help of God and

their saints through councils that included the saints’ relics. Men of the Church were the primary

reactors since they were the first ones to feel the brunt of the violence they sought to quell. As

the instigators of the Peace, they also were the first to benefit from the Peace of God.47 In their

43 Tweed, Crossing and Dwelling, 61-62.

44 Anttonen, “Landscapes as Sacroscapes,” 15.

45 Anttonen, “Landscapes as Sacroscapes,” 16.

46 Roger Bonnaud-Delamare, “Fondement des institutions de paix au Xie siècle,” in Mélanges d’histoire du moyen

age dédiés à la mémoire de Louis Halphen (Paris: Presses Universitaires de France, 1951), 21-22.

47 In reality, secular lords still held power of their own lands and people, Bonnaud-Delamare, “Fondement des

institutions de paix,” 23.

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navigation of these power struggles, the miracula authors offer only the saints’ and their

religious allies’ sides of the conflicts in their texts.

By retelling council events in the miracle collections, the hagiographers used movement and

stasis to make clear the correct ways to move. In these sources, the movements of the relics with

their churchmen and the common people are most important. Both groups are depicted in the

stories following a pattern of movement-stasis-movement. These movements and stasis center on

the congregation of the populace gathered around the saints’ remains. Therefore, the

hagiographers show what acceptable movement looks like. Their repeated inclusion of the

populace to make this point is further evidence that these Peace of God meetings were part of the

sanctified peace. But it also reveals the hagiographers’ perception of the seminal role of the

populace to participate in sacred spaces on the move.

Let us now take the councils in order and see how the hagiographers present the intersection of

the movement of saints’ relics and their servants, and the movement of the populace. There are

six councils to which the relics and people traveled in the three miracula: Coler, Limoges, and

Lalbenque for Vivien and Mende I for Enimie, and Le Puy, and Mende II for Enimie and Privat.

The examination below offers examples of journeys on the way to, at, and from the councils. It

gives special attention to the calls to council and then the role of the movement of relics,

churchmen, and the populace to counteract violence transgressed against them.

3.2.1 Councils Attended by Vivien’s Relics

The examples from Vivien’s text present events that occurred while en route to councils, and

show how Vivien participated in a sanctified version of the Peace of God through movements of

relics and people. Of the three texts, only Vivien’s contains instances of image reliquaries on the

road to councils. All of the en route examples from Vivien’s text feature the movements of both

the relics and the populace. All along the way, the movement is stop-and-go. The relics are

moved on the road, there are stops for breaks or overnight rests, and then they continue on the

journey. Upon arrival at the council location, the relics are set down and remain motionless to

work miracles, set up in a place where people flock toward them. Each of the three councils

(Coler, Limoges, and Lalbenque), are treated in chronological order and demonstrate what could

happen while on the way to these sanctified peace councils. These recordings of Peace councils

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are also historically significant; for Coler and Lalbenque, Vivien’s miracle text is the only extant

proof of their occurrence.

Council of Coler

Coler is the first of three councils included in Vivien’s Miracula. Since this text is the only

extant evidence of the Coler council, scholars know very little about it. Not much attention was

paid to the Coler council until the 1980s when Pierre Bonnassie and Anne-Marie Lemasson gave

a trustworthy date and location for the council and even now scholars of the Peace of God still

only mention it in passing.48 The paucity of evidence makes the council at Coler difficult to date

historically, but it is generally accepted that it took place at around the same time as the one at

Charroux (989) and before the one at Limoges (994).49 There is also uncertainly about the

location. The Latin name for the location is Coler.50 The two most typical candidates for the

location are Colin and Salers.51 Lauranson-Rosaz also proposes two other options: Aurillac, or at

least its immediate surroundings, or Ceuilhes, a hill west of Aurillac.52 All of these locations are

in the same vicinity, so precision of the location is not imperative. But given the uncertainty of

the translated named and real location, I use Coler to refer to the council location for simplicity

and convenience.

48 Lauranson-Rosaz, “Peace from the Mountains,” 122 and Anne-Marie Lemasson and Pierre Bonnassie, Répertoire

des sources hagiographiques du Midi de la France antérieures à 1200, Fascicule I, Quercy, [typescript] (Toulouse:

Laboratoire Etudes Méridionales, 1987), 84.

49 In “Gallia du Sud,” Bonnassie definitively states that Coler occurred before Limoges, 308. Lauranson-Rosaz,

using Bonnassie and Lemasson’s research, concludes that Coler was contemporary to Charroux or a little earlier,

“Peace from the Mountains,” 122. Bonnassie and Lemasson write that there is no evidence to refute that Coler

occurred before Charroux, but it certainly occurred before Limoges, Répertoire des sources hagiographiques, 84.

50 The hagiographer states that Coler was the name given to the place by its inhabitants: “Hujus vero tanti conventus

locum delegerunt qui Coler nuncupatur ab his qui eundem locum incolunt.” Vivien, 13, 263.

51 Colin is about twenty-three kilometers northwest of Aurillac and Salers is about ten kilometers north/northwest of

Aurillac. Bonnassie, Sigal, and Iogna-Prat, “Gallia du Sud,” supports Colin as the location, 307 while the Bollandist

editors of Vivien’s miracle collection propose Salers, Vivien, 13, 263n3.

52 Lauranson-Rosaz suggests these locations for good reason. If not Aurillac or right nearby, how else were the

monks Benedict and the healed boy able to leap all the way from Coler back to Aurillac, as the text suggests?

Furthermore, the hill of Ceuilhes was an ideal spot with lots of open air space, “Peace from the Mountains,” 122-

123.

109

Regardless of the imprecision of dating and location, the council at Coler has a special

prominence in the miracula of Vivien. Traveling to, events at, and returning from this council

occupy seven chapters of the text, which is significant portion of the forty-one total chapters. The

council itself spans three of these seven chapters. This council also includes all the core elements

of a Peace gathering: the participation of bishops and of relics from diverse places, all of them

assembled for the purpose of attaining lasting peace. As evidence of the sanctified peace, Coler

also had crowds in attendance, was held outside, and featured miracles for the masses. Since it

was one of the earliest Peace of God councils, Lauranson-Rosaz still considers Coler a marginal

council that was not yet provincial or diocesan.53

Chapter 13 of Vivien’s text starts with the call to council:

…a great number of bishops came from various cities to hold a council in the Auvergne,

to deliberate about the common good and the ways to re-establish a lasting peace. To add

greater weight to their deliberations, they brought their holy relics, so that by the

intercession of these [ones] God would confirm in the heavens what the authority of the

church decreed, in their presence, on earth.54

The priorities of the author are clear through this call. The consent of the bishops comes first,

then peace, next the saints. All these elements together were used to bring about the desired

stability of the region. Specific attendees are not recorded in the text, but perhaps this is because

they would have been obvious to the readers and hearers of the text; or, as a sanctified version of

events, they were irrelevant.55 For the populace who heard these tales, the specific names of

bishops would likewise be unnecessary; without close associations with bishops, they would

probably have been interchangeable entities to the masses.

53 Lauranson-Rosaz, “Peace from the Mountains,” 124-125.

54 This translation is from Lauranson-Rosaz, “Peace from the Mountains,” 122. The Latin reads: “Labentibus

denique plurimorum annorum curriculis, multorum episcoporum ex diversis urbibus assensu convenit quatinus

Arvernensium in partibus pro statu rei publicae ac pacis inviolabili firmitate concilium stabiliretur; ubi ad

corroboranda patrum decreta sanctorum corpora etiam veherentur, ut quod in eorum praesentia ecclesiasticus vigor

secundum divinae legis auctoritatem decerneret, eorum sacra intercessio stabili perpetuitate aetherio in solio

firmaret.” Vivien, 13, 263.

55 Readers/hearers of the text would perhaps know who the most prominent bishops and saints were in their region,

thus, there was no need for extra explanation.

110

This first set of examples show the active role of the populace while the relics are moving in

transit to Coler. While Vivien’s image reliquary was being transported (veheretur) from Figeac

to Coler, a blind man (caecus quidam) stood out (exstitit) in the crowd. The mob of people

(turba) surrounded the majesty, moving along the road with it, both preceding and following

(praecedens vel subsequens) it. They chided the blind man to quit his repeated pleas, but he

continued.56 In this opening of the story, the relics are being moved and are accompanied by a

crowd moving with them, and from among that crowd one man in particular is anxious to

approach Vivien’s image to ask for healing.57

It is striking that the man is chastised when he tries to approach the relics while moving on the

road. Usually, the approach of the populace to the images of saints is a valid movement, as

evidenced by the mostly positive representations across the three sources. Yet, in this instance,

there seems to be a negative association to the approach or encroachment of this particular man

while the statue was moving. Furthermore, the protest to stay back from Vivien’s image does not

come from the relic-bearers, but, rather, from the flock of common people who are also

surrounding the image as it moved along the road. Perhaps they wanted to discourage others

from getting too close or in their way while they were on procession so as not to lose their own

spot near to the image. If this is correct, the author is setting an example of inappropriate pursuit

of relics while they were on procession. Therefore, this example should be interpreted as

showing that while the populace had a place in this group movement, there was a proper and

improper way to move with the saint’s relics while in transit.58

56 “Quo dum sacratissimi confessoris majestas veheretur, inter infinita gentium agmina caecus quidam viator

exstitit, quem praecedens vel subsequens turba increpans ne incassum fatigaretur saepius arguebat; sed ille

importunius obnoxiusque clamans, sibi per beatum pontificem hactenus invisum dari lumen efflagitabat.” Vivien,

13, 263-264.

57 It is also quite amazing that in this account the man was not healed. This is the only example from all three

miracle texts in which someone asked for aid and it was not granted. But the author did write that the blind man’s

aid was deferred to another time and then briskly moves on to write about the many other miracles that Vivien did

complete at that time. “Cui ad praesens quaesitum in aliud tempus differens donum, aliis largus existebat

innumeraque virtutum genera plurimis erogando dispertiebat; et qui uni soli fiebat spe longus, ceteris in munerum

largitione videbatur prodigus. Vivien, 13, 264.

58 Another similar example of Vivien’s relics healing a blind man while en route to another church, but not to a

Peace council, comes from chapter 28 of his miracle text. While Vivien’s majesty was traveling (deportaretur), this

time to and from a church called Aginac, Vivien performed a miracle that the author thought worthy to record. The

editor of Vivien’s text places the location, called Acenniaco in the text, as Aginac, which is about nineteen

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While on the way to councils, it was necessary at the end of the day for the saints’ entourage to

set up camp for the night. Overnight, the relics might be housed temporarily in churches, private

homes, or under tents outdoors.59 Vivien’s relics are recorded as having camped outside in tents.

During these sleepover events, it was often useful to collect foliage for shelter building. Given

this necessity, the following example shows negative consequences for those who did not give

branches to Vivien’s men while they and his image were resting on the way to Coler. After

Vivien and his following arrived (pervenerunt) at Nieudan, they set up his image in a tent.60 The

people then sought (petentes) the nearby forest of a miles named Gerald61 and started to cut

down (caedere) some branches to make cover since they feared rain.62 While the men in

Vivien’s entourage were taking these branches, Gerald’s servants tried to prevent them. Since

they were not able to deter (deterrere) the men from the work they had begun with insults

(contumeliis) and blows (vulneribus), Gerald’s servants fiercely attacked (crudeliter expulerunt)

kilometers east and slightly to the south of Figeac, Vivien, 270n1. Sadly, we do not know the purpose of this event.

The author only vaguely mentioned Vivien’s travel to another church writing: “Indeed on some day for the benefit

of the monastery, while his majesty was carried to a certain church, which is called Aginac (Acenniaco), another

noteworthy miracle shone forth, which we grant to be added to this narrative.” (“Quandam vero die pro utilitate

monasterii dum ad quandam ecclesiam, quae Acenniaco dicitur, ejus majestas deportaretur, aliud insigne miraculum

claruit, quod huic supponendum fatemur narrationi.” Vivien, 28, 270.) This is all the information we have about the

reasons for traveling to Aginac. The rest of the chapter tersely details the miracle that happened while en route to

Aginac and on the way back. On the way to Aginac, a blind man (caecus) approached (venit) the majesty while it

was on the road and he was healed right away in front of all the people watching. (“Quandam vero die pro utilitate

monasterii dum ad quandam ecclesiam, quae Acenniaco dicitur, ejus majestas deportaretur, aliud insigne miraculum

claruit, quod huic supponendum fatemur narrationi.” Vivien, 28, 270.) These onlookers were likely Vivien’s

entourage and the various masses of the populace attracted by the roving image.

59 Craig, “Bringing Out The Saints,” 110-111.

60 “Cum autem haec mirifice agerentur, oceanis ruente sole sub undis Nantunemdinem pervenerunt; ibique fixis

tentoriis sacratissimi confessoris architypum colossum mediis papilionibus statuerunt.” Vivien 14, 264.

61 While the text does not explicitly say that the forest belonged to the miles Gerald, Barthélemy interprets that

Gerald was the owner, The Serf, 271. I concur that Gerald’s ownership of the forest is implicit in the text. Otherwise,

there is no justifiable reason why would Gerald be so concerned to protect the forest from scavengers.

62 “Inde proximam silvam cum ferramentis petentes, frondicomos arborum ramos caedere arripuerunt, ut ex his

mappalia sibi construerent, metu pluviarum.” Vivien, 14, 264.

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the foragers.63 Since Gerald had not provided for the saint, divine avenging anger soon made the

whole forest wither away (arere). It remained that way until Gerald died (obitum), after which

point the forest returned (rediit) to its original fecundity.64 Thus, while at rest during the

stopover, Vivien still showed his power against the movements of Gerald’s servants’ attack on

his own men. Vivien makes clear the necessity of providing for the saint and his men while out

and about by punishing the negatively-portrayed behavior of Gerald’s men with a withered

forest. In this instance, movements and behavior are closely connected. Movements on the road

led to movements into the forest for branches, which were met by negatively-portrayed

movements of attack caused by the immoral behavior of a miles who did not share with the saint.

Camps moved (moventes) in the morning, and the image reliquary, the multitude of the populace,

and everyone else traveling arrived (pervenerunt) at the council location of Coler. Once the

image reliquary of Vivien arrived at Coler, Vivien’s power attracted many people toward him.

The text states that upon arrival, a large assembly (conventus) was made of saints and a host of

the populace (“infiniti populi multiplex coetus”).65 These people had crowded to this location

“not least”66 to be healed by the collected saints. Among the people who congregated to obtain

healing was a well-known blind man (ille memoratus caecus), perhaps even the blind man from

chapter 13 of Vivien’s miracles who had been waiting on healing since encountering the relics en

route. Whichever blind man this was, his boldness compelled Vivien to heal him. Thus, we see

that once the image reliquary reached Coler, it immediately performed miracles for the crowds

waiting in anticipation. The healing from blindness was described in terms of movement; with

63 “Quos huic operi accinctos famuli cujusdam militis, nomine Geraldi, minis avertere conati sunt; sed nullo modo

deterrere valentes, multis contumeliis atque vulneribus crudeliter caesos expulerunt.” Vivien, 14, 264.

64 “Quarum mox injuriarum ultrix se divina ira intulit, totamque silvam arere fecit, nullumque usque ad praedicti

possessoris sui obitum fructum ex se reddidit. Illo vero extincto rursus pristinam viriditatem et fructuum

fecunditatem rediit.” Vivien, 14, 264.

65 “Mane autem facto, omnes castra moventes pervenerunt ad praedictum locum quem supra Coler meminimus;

ibique factus est multorum sanctorum conventus atque infiniti populi multiplex coetus.” Vivien, 15, 264.

66 “… non minima….” Vivien, 15, 264.

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the darkness routed (fugatis), Vivien allowed the clarity of light to come (admisit) to the man.67

Once Vivien arrived at Coler, he became implicitly motionless. His relics and those of other

saints were set down, attracting people to move toward him, which is noted by the author’s

statement that an assembly was made (conventus factus est). This emphasizes the relationship

between the relics’ stasis and movement. While approaching Vivien’s image on the road was not

proper movement, the flocking of the populace toward the relics once they arrived and were

stationary at Coler was sanctioned movement.68

While the call to council provided above follows the usual patterns and, as expected, mentioned

the gathering of bishops and people, monk-to-monk and monk-to-cleric interactions seem most

important to the hagiographer in his redaction of the Coler council events. Indeed, these

interactions form a focal point for the hagiographer once everyone had arrived at Coler. There

are two such examples from the Coler council involving relics and people in motion that show

how monastic interactions could be competitive. Even though on a theological level saints were

thought to be “joined in heaven, a unified body of holy men and women with little care for their

prestige,” on a practical level, their temporal remains had considerable affect on their cults and

their guardians.69

The first example of competition at the Coler council shows that the miraculous power of

Vivien’s relics was so strong that it incited movements resulting from jealousy. In chapter 16,

Vivien and his entourage had already arrived at Coler for the council arranged for peace. The

monks of Saint Gerald, who had also congregated in Coler for the council, were “so aroused by

jealousy” by the miracles of Vivien that they vehemently tried to denounce those miracles.70

Indeed, Aurillac kept another image reliquary containing the relics of Saint Gerald, the famous

67 “Inter quos etiam ille memoratus caecus, cujus grata improbitas ad sua commoda sanctum confessorem

angariaverat, fugatis tenebris claritatem luminis intra oculorum admisit claustra, novoque ortu diem coepit mirari et

rerum invisas hactenus formas.” Vivien, 15, 264.

68 In a few instances, which will be examined in the next section of this chapter, the relics were also moved around

after arrival at the council location.


70 “Quas virtutes longe lateque divulgatas Sancti Geraldi monachi invidiose coeperunt detrahere atque more

Judaeorum infestis odiis insectari atque ad alia convertere.” Vivien, 16, 264-265.

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lay saint whose Vita had been written by Odo of Cluny (abbot 927-942).71 But there was one

monk among those from Aurillac named Benedict who was not in agreement with his fellow

brothers’ “venomous detractions,” and who instead grew in fervor for Vivien.72

This example of monastic competition follows the formula of movement to congregate at the

relic and stasis to wait once there, thereby signaling the acceptability of these movements to the

hagiographer. Movement enters the story with the monk Benedict travelling from Aurillac to

Coler to prove the power of Vivien. This Benedict secretly took up (arrepto) a boy, who had lost

the function of three of his limbs, hid him inside his cloak, and stuck some candles in his hands.

Bringing (deferens) him to the presence of Vivien’s remains (ante sacratissimi confessoris),

Benedict laid him out (procubuit) in the posture of prayer (oratione).73 Right away, divine power

rushed in (irruente) to answer the prayers “and thus little by little the Lord reformed him into

human stature through the merits of his confessor.”74 Benedict was so happy about this

restoration that, rejoicing and leaping (exiliens) for joy, he brought the boy back (revexit) to the

incredulous monks to show them that Vivien had healed him.75 The monks of Gerald were

stupefied and repented their previous ill words; they also included Gerald’s image in their

71 See Odo of Cluny, Vita sancti Geraldi Auriliacensis, ed. Anne-Marie Bultot-Verleysen (Brussels: Société des

bollandists), 2009. Mathew Kuefler questions whether or not Odo wrote the long or short version of Gerald’s life;

see Kuefler’s “Dating and Authorship of the Writings about Saint Gerald of Aurillac,” Viator 44 (2013): 49-98 and

Mathew Kuefler, The Making and Unmaking of a Saint: Hagiography and Memory in the Cult of Gerald of Aurillac

(Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 2014). Kuefler’s thesis that Gerald’s Vita was written by Adhemar

of Chabannes rather than Odo has received with scrutiny and scepticism by some scholars. See the review of

Kuefler’s book by Scott G. Bruce, review of Mathew Kuefler, The Making and Unmaking of a Saint: Hagiography

and Memory in the Cult of Gerald of Aurillac, in The Medieval Review 2016, accessed 22 February 2016,

https://scholarworks.iu.edu/journals/index.php/tmr/article/view/21146/27123 and Sébastien Fray, “L’aristocratie

laïque au miroir des récits hagiographiques des pays d’Olt et de Dordogne (Xe-XIe siècles),” (PhD diss.: Université

Paris-Sorbonne, 2011), 254-258.

72 “Inter quos quidam beatae memoriae, Benedictus nomine, affuit, qui ab eorum venenosis detractionibus

dissidens, pro honore sancti pontificis coepit aestuari….” Vivien, 16, 265.

73 “…sicque arrepto puerulo tribus membrorum officiis privato, in utrisque contractis manibus luminaria inseruit, ac

sic in birro suo eum deferens, ante sacratissimi confessoris vestigia in oratione procubuit.” Vivien, 16, 265.

74 “Quo attentius orante, confestim, divina irruente virtute, puerulus ille per singula momenta singula membra

erexit, ac sic paulatim eum Dominus per merita sui confessoris in humanum statum reformavit.” Vivien, 16, 265.

75 “Sicque membrorum erectione et vocis modulatione atque auditus recepta auditione, cum effuso per aurium

orisque meatum cruore, ovans et exiliens ad incredulos monachos Benedictus ille puerum revexit sanumque atque

incolumen eis totum ostendit.” Vivien, 16, 265.

https://scholarworks.iu.edu/journals/index.php/tmr/article/view/21146/27123

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penance making. With naked feet, they came (venerunt) with the image (pignore) of Gerald and

stood before the image of Vivien at Coler. They sought forgiveness of their sin and they gave

due praises to Vivien.76 The final lesson of the hagiographer is that all is made well by

congregating at the relics.

Two interconnected matters seem to be significant for the hagiographer in this cluster of

movements and activities at Coler in connection with Vivien, Gerald, and Aurillac: 1) tension

between the two monastic communities and 2) the pre-eminence of relics, especially of Vivien’s

relics. The author clearly states that the monks of Gerald had pre-existing hatred toward Vivien.

A possible reason for their jealousy could be the proximity of the council and other miracle-

working saints to Aurillac. Indeed, saints had a sort of spiritual jurisdiction around their home

shrines. Given that the hagiographer chooses to focus on this incident makes me think that the

author hoped to squelch this jealousy with a definitive miraculous example.77 The central role of

the relics is intimately connected to the resolution of this jealousy and within the setting of the

Coler council; Vivien’s place on the top of the holy hierarchy within this monastic competition is

evident by all people and relics moving into Vivien’s presence. That Gerald’s monks felt it

important to include their relics in the penance process should be interpreted as the

hagiographer’s insistence that Vivien held a higher position of spiritual power than Gerald.

Lauranson-Rosaz similarly concludes that in this miracle “the relics are at the heart of the matter.

Everything revolved around the saints: the jealousy of the monks of Aurillac, the arrival of the ill

and their healing, the legitimacy of the council’s decrees – even our documentation.”78 And

Gerald’s subordination to Vivien is presented as the main point of the inclusion of these miracles

at Coler since the text neglects to mention the Peace council itself except to write that Vivien

was present and worked miracles.

76 “Quo viso omnes stupore consternati priorum opprobriorum paenituerunt, nudisque plantis cum gloriosissimi

confessoris Christi Geraldi pignore ad sanctum pontificem Bibianum venerunt, veniamque reatum petentes, eum

debitis laudum praeconiis concelebraverunt.” Vivien, 16, 265.

77 Lauranson-Rosaz agrees with the possibility of the Aurillac monks’ jealousy toward Vivien and the spread of his

miraculous powers so close to their home territory. He also claims that Figeac had reciprocal jealousy toward

Aurillac, but does not substantiate this claim, “Peace from the Mountains,” 123.


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While still at Coler, another similar miracle occurred involving movement that again tested

Vivien’s healing power. This time incredulity instead of jealousy is a subtheme. At nearby Saint-

Chamant, there was a deaf and mute man that had been waiting for healing, yet he remained

without hearing or speech. The clerics of Saint-Chamant, doubtful of Vivien’s power, facetiously

said: “Let us send (mittamus)…this mute man to holy Vivien from the vicinity of Saint-Chamant

so that he would confer on him the gift of perfect health.”79 So they sent legates (missi legati)

with the pitiful man. While they all stood (adstiterunt) in the presence of Vivien (ante sancti

confessoris) bowed in prayer, much to the astonishment of those around him, the mute man

began to speak his own prayers out loud.80 And even the man’s prayer included the language of

movement, saying that Chamant had sent (mittit) him to Vivien for intercessory healing.81 After

the legates saw this, they returned (conversi), we can presume to Saint-Chamant (although the

author does not specify), praising and glorifying God and spreading the fame (praedicaverunt) of

this miracle.82

As in the previous miracle, the hagiographer approves of these movements because they follow

the pattern of moving into the presence of the saints and then rooting to the spot. In this case, the

doubting clerics sent a deaf and mute man to see if Vivien would heal him, and to their surprise,

he did. The clerics of Saint-Chamant resided near to Coler, so perhaps they, like the monks of

Aurillac, worried about Vivien’s miraculous powers encroaching on Saint-Chamant’s spiritual

jurisdiction – or at least that is what the hagiographer would like the reader/hearer to understand.

Perhaps the hagiographer paints a picture of conflict because Peace of God councils were a place

to solve that problem. And, like the populace who used occasions like relics traveling to councils

as a way to gain access to other holy objects that they otherwise would not have, these monks

79 “De quo ridiculosam sumentes illic clerici parabolam: Mittamus, inquiunt, hunc hominem mutum sancto Bibiano

ex parte sancti Amantii, ut ei perfectae conferat munera salutis.” Vivien, 17, 265.

80 “Ut ergo missi legati cum eodem misero ante sancti confessoris adstiterunt praesentiam, illis orationi

incumbentibus, ipse repente, caelesti beneficio inspiratus, suam legationem ore proprio peroravit cunctis

admirantibus….” Vivien, 17, 265.

81 “Me, inquam, sanctissime Christi confessor Bibiane, ad te sanctus mittit Amantius, quatinus mihi verba et

auditum tuis reddas sanctis intercessionibus.” Vivien, 17, 265-266.

82 “Quo audito, legati in admirationem conversi, laudantes et glorificantes gratias Deo retulerunt tantique miraculi

virtutem publice praedicaverunt.” Vivien, 17, 266.

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moved for similar reasons, but in their case to test the efficacy of Vivien’s healing power.

Regardless of their motivations, these two examples make clear that Coler was contentious

ground, that Vivien won the holy contest through his healing miracle, and that the hagiographer

approved the movements and stasis by portraying them positively in the text.

These two competitive miracles culminate with an amazing scene of reverence to Vivien in

chapter 18, the last chapter in the text that mentions the events in Coler. After Vivien performs a

miracle involving a naughty thief and the populace,83 the author writes: “Therefore with all these

and [other] miraculous signs of this sort, having been summoned (exciti) from all parts, they

crowded together their saints to the assembly point of the holy confessor, and they worshipped

him (coluerunt) with rather noble honor and they gave up praise before the rest [of the saints’

relics present] in very great harmony of praise.”84 This is quite a spectacular set of movements of

saints. Not only were the relics collected for the council, but they also all gathered around Vivien

and then worshipped him.85 There are no other such examples like this in the three miracle texts

of Vivien, Privat, and Enimie or any other miracle texts I have read. Perhaps this was a bit of an

exaggeration by the author after tests of Vivien’s powers. Nevertheless, it is a fascinating

assertion of Vivien’s superlative power over all other saints at Coler, and it was certainly outside

the norm.86 This is a clear example of what Kate Craig calls vertical or hierarchal relationships

that could surface when multiple relics were gathered in one place.87 It shows that when relics

83 This miracle is described in greater detail in Chapter 4 of this study about negative movements of roving nobles

and their men-at-arms.

84 “His ergo et hujusmodi mirabilium signis omnes undique exciti, suos sanctos ad praedicti confessoris curiam

constipaverunt, eumque nobiliori honore coluerunt ac prae ceteris amplioribus laudum concentibus sublimarunt.”

Vivien, 18, 266.

85 The “they” in this instance is ambiguous. It could mean all the saints and the populace or it could have just been a

private collection of the saints and their guardians.

86 It also fascinating that the text only includes Vivien interacting with the relics and monks of Gerald of Aurillac

and Chamant of Saint-Chamant considering, as Lecaque likewise presumes, that the relics of Foy from nearby

Conques (among others) likely would have also been present at this council, “The Count of Saint-Gilles,” 91.

87 Craig further notes that usually, relic-relic interactions reinforced the horizontal relationships between relics; but

when competition arose, vertical or hierarchal relationships could be revealed, “Bringing Out the Saints,” 75-76.

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were in close proximity to each other, rank and prestige could be immediately and visually

read.88

There is one final example in relation to the Coler council of Vivien on the move providing

access to his relics to immobile people with hopes for a miracle. On the way back from this

event, Vivien’s wonders continued.89 The author writes that while the saints were all being taken

back (reducerentur) to their shrines, Vivien was completing many miracles and no one who

sought his aid left (rediit) without their request being heard.90 Along the way home, the image of

Vivien arrived at (perventum est) Pierrefiche where there was a crippled man (contractus

quidam) who approached (pergens) the saint on his hands and knees (manibus ac gentibus).

Through Vivien’s power, the man merited and received bodily restoration such that he was

transformed and began to walk (deambulans incessu) upright (erectus).91 This man was only

able to encounter Vivien when the relics passed through Pierrefiche, showing that movement

provided access to the saints that otherwise was not accessible. Thus, we see that traveling relics

88 Craig, “Bringing Out the Saints,” 97. Craig adds that the medieval liturgy provided a ranking for saints (apostles,

martyrs, bishops, abbots, confessors, virgins) and that this could affect their treatment in such cases.

89 The return journey narrative begins with chapter 19, 266.

90 “Dum enim a praedicto concilio singula sanctorum monimenta ad propria oracula reducerentur, gloriosus

confessor non minus in virtutum per viam claruit miraculis; a cujus praesentia nemo a suis petitionibus fraudatus

rediit.” Vivien, 19, 266. Another similar exhibition of a miracle occurred while on the way back (reduceretur) from

Aginac (for an unknown reason) to Vivien’s home at Figeac. There was a persistent pilgrim (peregrinus) following

(sequebatur) along behind Vivien’s image, but he was so out of breath from running that he could not catch up to

the image. (“Postquam vero a praedicta ecclesia ad propriam reduceretur stationem, peregrinus quidam eum a longe

sequebatur, sed nullo modo eum attingere valebat currendo nimium anhelus.” Vivien, 28, 270.) When the pilgrim

arrived at (perveniret) the Lot River, in an attempt to reach Vivien, the pilgrim shouted for a small boat to be sent

(adduceretur) across the river to him. (“Qui cum ad litus fluminis, quod Oltis vocatur, perveniret, navem in adverso

portu conspicit et ut sibi adduceretur multis clamoribus postulavit.” Vivien, 28, 270.) Since no one seemed to hear

him, the pilgrim called out to Vivien repeatedly to send him the boat. After these cries, the boat miraculously left

(deseruit) port and went on a straight course (recto cursu accessit) directly to the pilgrim across the river. (“Quae,

mirabile, visu, portum deseruit et ad eum recto cursu accessit.” Vivien, 28, 270.) Sensing that he had received the

boat by divine power, the pilgrim climbed aboard (conscendit) and arrived (pervenit) to the other side of the river.

(“Ille vero ut sibi adesse divinam animadvertit virtutem, limbum conscendit, et sic invisibili rectore gubernatus ad

optati portus stationem pervenit.” Vivien 28, 270.) Thus, the author insinuates that Vivien moved the boat to help

the blind man.

91 “Ubi ergo ad locum qui Petra Levata dicitur perventum est, contractus quidam, manibus ac genibus ei obviam

pergens, communem percipere meruit virtutem, atque in pedibus erectus, de quadrupede factus est homo bipedali

deambulans incessu.” Vivien 19, 266-267.

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not only fulfilled conciliatory functions but also while moving they were readily available to the

populace at large.92

These examples at the Coler council clearly outline the proper movements of saints’ relics, their

guardians, and the common people. First, there was a relationship between expectations of

saints’ stasis and their ability to move. When saints arrived at a council, they were usually

enshrined in one place and no longer mobile. In Vivien’s case, all other saints were made to

move again into his presence. Second, whenever the relics traveled, they brought and distributed

the miracle-working power that attracted people toward them. These two themes are present in

the remaining examples and analysis below.93

Council of Limoges

The second council portrayed in Vivien’s miracle text was held at Limoges, which was also the

second Peace of God council to occur in Aquitaine.94 Sadly, no acts survive from this council;

therefore, the events must be pieced together from extant narrative accounts.95 Compared to the

Coler council, few details were recorded about this council at Limoges in Vivien’s Miracula.

However, we do know the date and location with relative certainty. Scholars confidently date this

92 Chapter 5 of this work, which is about movements toward the saints’ shrines, provides more similar examples.

93 Indeed, the miracles of Foy offer a similar pattern of movements and events at councils to which her relics were

also taken. For example, chapter 28 of Book 1 contains the call to councils, the gathering of relics, the congregation

of the populace, and miracles. Movement is part of this story, but it is not as prominent as Vivien’s movements at

Coler. Chapter 29 of Foy’s first book of miracles provides a standard example of bringing people who needed

healing to see Foy’s relics at a council. What makes Foy’s council stories different from Vivien’s, Privat’s, and

Enimie’s, however, is the relatively low number of trips to councils in Foy’s text in comparison to the other three.

Those two chapters of Foy’s text, 1.28 and 1.29, are the only two in her miracles that concern Peace councils

whereas the miracle collections used for analysis of this dissertation contain many more examples of councils than

Foy’s and in much greater proportion to the rest of their miracles. This indicates that the councils were of greater

importance to Vivien’s and Privat and Enimie’s hagiographers than they were to Foy’s. For the Latin of the chapters

from Foy’s text see Bernard of Angers, Liber miraculorum sancte Fidis: il racconto dei prodigi di una santa

bambina, trans. Luca Robertini and ed. Luigi G. G. Ricci (Florence: Edizioni del Galluzzo per la Fondazione Ezio

Franceschini, 2010), 1.28, 190 & 192 and 1.29, 192 & 194.

94 Head, “The Development of the Peace of God,” 674-675.

95 Head, “The Development of the Peace of God,” 674n82. For a list of other primary sources that mention this

council, see Goetz, “Protection of the Church,” 262n.c.

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council to 994.96 Likewise, the location of Limoges is not disputed;97 it is quite well known and

was the location of subsequent Peace of God councils.98 The council was celebrated in an open-

air environment, with local relics and principes (leading nobles) present, as well as saints’ relics

brought from afar.99 The group met at the see of Bishop Hilduin of Limoges (r.990-1012).100

Thomas Head explains that this council was one of a set of three councils to be held by six sees

over a roughly five-year period.101 This council also had lay support. As was noted above,

William V helped convene this council,102 although he is not mentioned in Vivien’s text.

Nevertheless, William’s participation in this council, known from other sources, further testifies

that the Peace of God councils were convoked to support rather than replace secular judicial

systems.103

The call to council stated that

96 Pierre Bonnassie, Pierre-André Sigal, and Dominique Iogna-Prat place Coler either a little before or a little after

Charroux, “La Gallia du Sud, 930-1130: Le Sud-Ouest de la France,” in Hagiographies: histoire internationale de la

littérature hagiographique latine et vernaculaire en Occident des origines à 1550, ed. Guy Philippart (Turnhout:

Brepols, 1994/2006), 308; Goetz, “Protection of the Church,” 262; and Richard Landes, “Between Aristocracy and

Heresy: Popular Participation in the Limousin Peace of God, 994-1033,” in The Peace of God, 184, to name a few.

97 There is however, one exception. In his 1962 article, Roger Bonnaud-Delamare casts doubt on the occurrence of

the 994 Limoges council, “Les institutions de la paix en Aquitaine au XIe siècle,” Recueils de la Société Jean Bodin

14.1 (1961): 427-428. André Debord argues, however, that Bonnaud-Delamare’s doubt holds no water considering

the survival of corroborating primary sources, “The Castellan Revolution and the Peace of God in Aquitaine,” in The

Peace of God, 157n68.

98 Peace councils were held at Limoges in 994, 1028, 1029, 1031, and 1033. These councils are treated in various

articles in the book edited by Head and Landes, The Peace of God. See specifically the chart of peace councils in

Goetz’s chapter, which gives the same dates as above for Limoges councils save one. Goetz omits Limoges III

(1029), although his chart does show five in total, “Protection of the Church,” 262. Marion Gasmand, however,

writes that six councils were held for peace at Limoges, but does not specify when those took place, Les évêques de

la province ecclésiastique de Bourges (milieu Xe - fin XIe siècle) (Paris: Connaissances et Savoirs, 2007), 191.

99 Head “The Development of the Peace of God,” 676 and Cowdrey, “The Peace and the Truce of God,” 49.

100 Head adds that Hilduin was the strongest proponent from the Charroux council to use excommunication to

punish enemies, “The Development of the Peace of God,” 676.

101 Head, “The Development of the Peace of God,” 684. Representatives from mostly the same bishoprics who had

attended Charroux also participated at Limoges in 994, Head, “The Development of the Peace of God,” 674-675n82.

102 The following scholars link William V to the council of Limoges: Head, “The Development of the Peace of

God,” 684-685; Débord, “The Castellan Revolution,”157; Cowdrey, “The Peace and the Truce of God,” 59; Goetz,

“Protection of the Church,” 273; and Bonnaud-Delamare, “Institutions de la paix,” 437-438.


121

…for firming up the stability of peace, a council was established at Limoges, for its

perpetual alliance the cherished images of many saints were brought (bajulantur). Among

whom also the holy body of the most glorious confessor Vivien was brought

(provehitur): where, in the accustomed manner, he shone forth with innumerable

miracles.104

The priorities of the author seem different in this call to council than for Coler. Rather than

placing the bishops in the prime position, they are not even mentioned, even though several

bishops attended this council.105 Instead, the author highlights an alliance of peace facilitated

through the images of saints brought to Limoges, including Vivien, and the innumerable miracles

worked at this place as a result. Despite the difference in presenting the call to council, what

remains consistent is that the relics were still expected to assemble for this meeting and perform

miracles. As with the council of Coler, notable travellers other than Vivien on the journey to

Limoges are not mentioned, and the populace is not clearly identified. The only travelers besides

Vivien that are explicitly named on the road in procession with the image reliquary to Limoges

are Abbot Gerald of Figeac (abbot 909/910 to 917) and one miles.106

While they were all on their way (tenderet) to Limoges, Vivien’s relics were being carried

(provehitur), and he and his entourage were caught in a rainstorm that was soaking everyone,

104 “Processu temporis, ad corroborandam pacis stabilitatem, Lemovico concilium statuitur, ad cujus perpetuam

foederationem multorum sanctorum cara pignera bajulantur. Inter quos et glorosissimi confessoris Bibiani sacrum

corpus provehitur: ubi solito more innumeris claruit virtutibus.” Vivien, 32, 272. The author typically uses virtus

(virtue, power) to describe miracles. In this source, I propose, that miracles and virtues/powers of the saint are

interchangeable. See Chapter 2 on image reliquaries. Cynthia Hahn says that a relic is a physical object that holds

the virtus, virtue or really the power of the holy person. See her Strange Beauty: Issues in the Making and Meaning

of Reliquaries, 400-circa 1204 (University Park, PA: The Pennsylvania State University Press, 2012), 8-9.

105 Hans-Werner Goetz has charted the bishops and whence they came to the Peace of God councils between

Charroux in 989 and Vich II in 1033, “La paix de Dieu en France autour de l’an Mil: fondements et objectifs,

diffusion et participants,” in Le roi de France et son royaume, autour de l’an Mil: actes du Colloques Hughes Capet

987-1987, La France de l’an Mil, Paris-Senlis, 22-25 juin 1987, edited by Michel Parisse and Xavier Barral I Altet

(Paris: Picard, 1992), 134-135. For the council at Limoges in 994, Goetz records the bishops of Poitiers, Saintes,

Angoulême, Périgueux, Limoges, Clermont, and Le Puy to have attended, “La paix de Dieu en France,” 134. In this

same article, Goetz also includes a map depicting the frequency of bishops’ attendance at the councils, 138-139.

Goetz later revised this chart to include Limoges III in 1029, “Protection of the Church,” 262.

106 As we will see below, chapter 32 of Vivien’s text mentions that abbot Gerald consented to remove the little hat

put on Vivien’s majesty that had been protecting him from rain. It was hoped that if Vivien was subject to rain he

might spare his entourage from the tempest by stopping the rain, Vivien, 32, 272-273.

122

including Vivien’s image reliquary.107 In order to protect the holy statue, a little hat in the shape

of a boat was made and put (imponitur) on the head of Vivien in protection.108 As the storm

continued, a miles jokingly109 suggested to Abbot Gerald that if they took away (auferamus)

Vivien’s hat, perhaps he would stop the storm and they would all be free from the harassing

rain.110 Gerald assented right away. When Vivien was divested (exutus) of his head covering, he

also freed his attendants from the effects of the inundation of rain.111 They continued on their

way while the storm raged in tempest around them, but no one became wet.112 Thus the crowd

following Vivien (sequens) was protected from the storm because they were moving with the

saint, that is, moving correctly.

Another example is similar to the story of taking branches with ill effects on the way to Coler. It

is recorded in chapter 33 of Vivien’s miracles. This example again shows hostile violence by the

men of a forest’s lord while Vivien was once again static. On the way to Limoges for a council,

Vivien’s entourage arrived (pervenientes) at Le Mas and pitched camp for the night. Vivien was

set up (composuerunt) in his own tent but the remaining crowd (turba) entered (intraverunt) the

nearby forest to cut down (caedere) branches to create their own shelters.113 As with the earlier

107 “Inter quos et gloriosissimi confessoris Bibiani sacrum corpus provehitur: ubi solito more innumeris claruit

virtutibus. Qui dum illo tenderet, quadam die inundatio pluviae contigit, omnesque qui aderant sua procellosa

ubertate madidos reddidit.” Vivien, 32, 273.

108 “Qua affluentius caelitus distillante, ne sacra effigies beati confessoris stidria foedaretur, papilio in modum pilei

ejus imponitur, ac sic a nimbosa irrigatione protegitur.” Vivien, 32, 273.

109 Barthélemy, in contrast, interprets “sub jocosa specie” as a mocking comment. And by mocking the saint,

Barthélemy writes, the solider also implicitly mocked Abbot Gerald who traveled with Vivien’s statue, The Serf,

271-272. Perhaps it was sacrilegious mocking, although I do not read it that way, but either way, the miles’

suggestion caused a useful, miraculous effect.

110 “Quod quidam militum, Hictor nomine, cernens, abbati Geraldo sub jocosa specie dixit: Auferamus pileum a

capite sancti Bibiani, quo securus incedit, et forsitan vel sic, molestiam suam indigne ferens, nostrae etiam

miserebitur compatiens; impetrabit serenitatem, ut se et nos liberet a pluviae infestatione.” Vivien, 32, 272-273.

111 “Sicque Dei mira dispensatione actum est quatinus Christi confessor, suo exutus operimento, et se suosque

sequaces a pluviae liberaret impedimento.” Vivien, 32, 273.

112 “Nam undique desaeviente ventorum atque inundationis hieme, caterva sanctum virum sequens ab omni

protegitur procellositate, nec ulla deinceps maduit pluviae irrigatione.” Vivien, 32. 273.

113 “Sequenti vero die pervenientes ad locum qui vocatur Mas breton, ibi propter imminentem noctis caliginem

castra metati sunt, sanctumque confessorem mediis auleis sublimem composuerunt. Cetera vero turba ad statuendas

123

example, we see the movement of people entering forestlands. The lord of this forest, wishing to

expel (expellere) these scavengers, used his personal guards (satellitibus) to drive them out

(excluserunt). The author wrote that “first they [the personal guard] provoked them [the crowd]

with abusive scolding, and afterwards they drove out they [the crowd] [who were] injured by the

savage torments.”114 Vivien did not take kindly to this harsh routing and treatment of his

followers. He immediately punished the lord of the forest by making the woodland suddenly dry

up until it was reduced to nothing, thereby taking away (abstulit) this asset from the lord

(dominus).115 While this punishment was not as severe as some of the other examples from

Enimie’s and Privat’s texts, which are discussed in Chapter 4 below, what is fascinating is that

Vivien supported the movements of his people into the forest by avenging the lord’s stinginess.

In a document that has very few examples of divine retribution or vengeance, these examples of

foraging in Vivien’s miracle text point to an underlying disapproval of local lords and their

soldiers’ actions, and the protection of the unarmed populace that followed Vivien’s relics. These

instances highlight the basic tenets of the Peace movement116 and make clear the hagiographer’s

approval of these reactive behaviors and associated movements of punishment.

sibi casulas escasque praeparandas vicinum nemus intraverunt, actisque securibus condensa arborum brachia

caedere attentius coeperunt.” Vivien, 33, 273.

114 “Quos domini silvae cum suis satellitibus volentes expellere, prius contumeliosis jurgiis eos lacessiverunt, ac

postmodum saevis vulnerum cruciatibus damnatos foras excluserunt.” Vivien, 33, 273.

115 “Quam contumeliam gloriosus confessor Domini indigne ferens, aeterna poena saltum illum damnavit, et ei qui

sibi particulam denegavit totum omnino abstulit. Nam repentino morbo eum arere fecit, et semper in deterius

provolens ad nihilum usque redegit.” Vivien, 33, 273.

116 Although Vivien’s miracles contain only a few examples of divine vengeance, not all other documents of this

period and type were quite as peaceful. For example, vengeance and violence are prominent themes in the miracles

of Saint Foy, which was written in the early eleventh century, likely just before Vivien’s. See the introduction of

Pamlea Sheingorn, The Book of Sainte Foy (Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 1995), 1-31.

Punishment for stinginess against a saint in need is a familiar trope in the miracle literature. These same miracles of

Foy include a miracle story similar to the two explicated above about forest branches in Vivien’s text. While Foy

was also on the way to a council, this one at the behest of Bishop Arnold of Rodez, Foy’s entourage needed

branches for a shelter to protect Foy. Her servants asked a warrior for use of the branches of their forest. The

warrior’s response was to demand payment from the abbot of Conques for the branches since the warrior claimed

that he had already given many to the saint for free. Although Abbot Adalgerius of Conques paid the warrior

Bernard Astrin willingly, Foy punished the warrior. Foy made the part of the forest from which her servants took

their purchased branches never again to regrow. The author of Foy’s miracles surmises that Foy had purchased those

trees so they belonged to her and thus she had the right to control their growth. He ends the miraculous episode with

a lesson about greed. I think that this is the same message from Vivien’s hagiographer: those who do not share with

124

The next chapter describing events on the way to Limoges details the arrival of the relics and

people at their destination. In chapter 34, when Vivien arrived (obtinuit), there are no specific

miracles noted by the hagiographer, but a general spate of miracles. The text vaguely mentions

that there were several incidents of healing from blindness, lameness, demonic possession,

tortuous paralysis, and severe burns, which were the typical fare of miracula trope,117 but which

are framed in terms of movement.118 For example, blindness was driven away (abactis) and

demons were expelled (expulsum).119 But nowhere in this particular redaction is the populace

said to have flocked, although there seems to be quite a crowd present at Limoges to receive

healing.120 Movement and stasis also played a role in a miracle about a man who was healed

from tortuous burns. Three burned bodies were brought to Vivien for healing at Limoges, but

one of them, John, remained (manet) with Vivien’s monks as a witness of the irrefutable truth of

the miracle, and he followed (secutus est) “the holy confessor [Vivien] without turning back.”121

As we shall see in Chapter 5, some people, once in the presence of the relics, stayed there. Thus,

in this case, the man stayed with Vivien, presumably moving back to Figeac with Vivien and his

monks and then staying rooted there.

Council of Lalbenque

the saints will be punished by them. For the Latin text, see Bernard of Angers, Liber miraculorum sancte Fidis,

introduction by A. Bouillet (Paris: Fayard, 1897), 4.11, 195-197.

117 Bendicta Ward, Miracles and the Medieval Mind: Theory, Record and Event, 1000-1215 (Aldershot: Scolar,

1987), 34.

118 “Ubi vero praedictae civitatis obtinuit stationem, solitas virtutum non deseruit opes, quas per singula membranis

tradere nulli mortalium fas attributum est.” Vivien, 34, 273.

119 “Ibi enim plurima caecitas abactis tenebris optatum recepit visum, claudicatio gressum, daemoniaca vexatio

expulsum, tortuosa paralysis reparationis statum.” Vivien, 34, 273-274. Vivien also healed three badly scorched

bodies. “Inter quos trium aridorum corpora, sulfureo igne miserabiliter in parte quadam ambusta, caelestis virtutis

rore perfusa, per merita sancti praesulis meruere ab illo tartareo incendio liberari, ac nullo deinceps sensere carnem

suam supplicio torreri.” Vivien, 34, 274.

120 The only active movement in this story was by the man healed from his burns, a man named John, who

afterwards followed Vivien without reversion. This example of staying with the saint is treated with other examples

of the saints drawing people into their service Chapter 5 of this study.

121 “Sed ut praelata inrefragabilem semper obtineant veritatem, unus eroum adhuc nobiscum manet, nomine

Johannes, qui divino ibi curatus medicamine, sanctum confessorem secutus est absque reversione.” Vivien, 34, 274.

125

The third council to which Vivien was moved, the council at Lalbenque, is recorded in chapter

35. If Vivien’s role is portrayed as less at Limoges than Coler, the Lalbenque council is even

more diminished according to the amount of space it occupies in the text. The Lalbenque council

occurred sometime between 1000 and 1010.122 The hagiographer only provides one short chapter

entry to describe it. Like the Coler council, the Lalbenque council is only known from Vivien’s

Miracula.123 Of the three councils Vivien is recorded to have attended, we know the least about

Lalbenque, leaving all details few and vague. Yet, the call to council at Lalbenque is much the

same as Coler’s and Limoges’, and it also emphasizes the congregation of the populace.

The text offers the call to council:

At another time, there was an assembly of bishops and an innumerable populace, where

also the bodies of many saints were brought (vehuntur). Among whom the outstanding

confessor of Christ Vivien was present (affuit), whose sacred images an infinite flock of

people followed (secuta sunt). The gathering that took place (conjunctio…facta) in the

region of Cahors, in a place that is called Lalbenque, included an influx of a great number

of many peoples (plurimarum gentium).124

The call to council highlights the role of the bishop, then the people gathered for the event, and

finally the bodies of saints, including Vivien. Mentioning the host of people three times signals

that they are very important to the author.

When Vivien’s image reliquary was taken to Lalbenque for the peace council, not only were

many images of other saints brought (vehuntur), but an infinite flock (infinita gentis…agmina) of

people also followed (secuta sunt) Vivien for the festivities.125 Upon arrival (perventum est), the

men bearing Vivien were tired from their labors of carrying the heavy image, so a woman

(matrona), likely a member of the masses, offered a flask to be distributed (tribuit) in charity

among the great crowds of people. So again, on arrival, Vivien became stationary and the people

122 Bonnassie, Sigal, and Iogna-Prat, “Gallia du Sud,” 307.

123 Bonnassie, Sigal, and Igona-Prat, “Gallia du Sud,” 307.

124 “Alio vero tempore rursus facta est conjunctio episcoporum atque innumerabilium populorum, quo et vehuntur

plurimorum corpora sanctorum. Quos inter confessor Christi praecipuus affuit Bibianus, cujus sacra pignera infinita

gentis secuta sunt agmina. Quae conjunctio in partibus Caturcensium, in loco qui Albenca vocitatur, facta,

plurimarum gentium continuit affluentiam.” Vivien, 35, 274.

125 Vivien, 35, 274.

126

flocked. While the flask itself was not explicitly depicted as moving,126 the distributed wine

bottle showed how sanctioned movement was a positive force and a demonstration that Vivien

and God looked after the basic necessities of those who were important to them.

Other than the exhaustion of those who carried the image of Vivien and the miracle of sharing

one flask of wine among many, no other miracles or movements (or any other information about

the council at Lalbenque) appears in the text. What seems most important about this council to

the author was the gathering of people to the place, and the healing miracles that happened once

Vivien arrived. Moving Vivien to Lalbenque clearly also meant attracting people there by

Vivien’s miraculous power. Arriving there is an acceptable movement, but stasis is expected

upon arrival and is rewarded with miraculous provisions of their needs.

The three councils in Vivien’s text each show different intensities of movements. The fact that so

many chapters of the Miracula discussed the Coler council highlights their importance to the

author. As we saw above, the movements associated with the Coler council illuminate contests

between Vivien and other saints. The council at Limoges, in comparison, takes up much less

space in the text, but still offers examples of on-the-road miracles. Fortunately, we can look to

other sources for information on Limoges 994. Finally, the Lalbenque account is sparse, offering

very few details about the attendees, but emphasizes the peaceful trail of people following the

relics. Thus, the calls to councils were expected to result in mobility and movement of both the

relics and the populace, who congregate to see the relics, as well as the bishops and other clergy

who participated in the councils. The calls to Coler and Limoges at least pay lip service to the

institutional purpose of the Peace, but the miracle tales that occurred at them featured monastic

and popular congregations and non-conciliar miracles, thereby portraying the sanctified version

of events.

Overall, the positive portrayals of movements associated with these three councils further

reinforce the sanctified aspects of the Peace. Through these examples from Vivien’s text, we see

that the author was keen on capturing the experience of traveling on the road to the councils that

Vivien attended. Two themes are apparent from these en route tales. First, the movements of the

126 “Quorum inopia matrona quaedam indulgentius miserata, flasconem vini inter tantam gentium catervam tribuit

atque caritatis in amore eum dividi praecepit.” Vivien, 35, 274.

127

relics, and, therefore, their relic keepers, were intertwined with the movements of the populace.

Both are portrayed positively, with one exception of the blind man who, although he was

allowed to travel with the relics, was not sanctioned to solicit the relics while in transit. That the

populace voiced their disdain for the blind traveller’s inappropriate solicitations demonstrates the

active popular participation assigned by the hagiographer. Second, movement is intermittently

interrupted with stasis because travelling obviously included stops along the way and arrival at

the final destination also signaled stopping. In the examples above, when Vivien’s relics stopped

for the night, they were protected while static in contrast to the movements of his entourage who

collected materials for shelters and were met by evil men who repelled their foraging. Once

Vivien arrived at the council locations, however, they were again set in a motionless position, but

in this environment, the people flocked toward them in hope of miracles.

3.2.2 Councils attended by Privat and Enimie

The miracle collections of Privat and Enimie discuss the proceedings of three councils: Mende,

Le Puy, and then again Mende. To avoid confusion, I call the Mende councils Mende I and

Mende II. Enimie’s text includes details of all three; Privat’s miracle text, however, only

contains a record of the councils at Le Puy and Mende II. As notes above, the miracle collections

of these two saints were written by the same anonymous cleric at Mende in the eleventh century.

Therefore, I discuss the miracle examples at councils from both of these texts together and in

chronological order.

First Council at Mende

The earliest council to be mentioned in these two miracula is Mende I. This council is

historically significant because it is the earliest Peace council to occur in Gévaudan for which we

have surviving records.127 Although we cannot precisely date this council, the widest window it

could have occurred within is between 1027 and 1050 during the episcopacy of Raymond, who

127 Gregory Allan Pass, “Source Studies in the Early Secular Lordship of the Bishops of Mende,” (PhD diss.,

Harvard University, 1996), 59-60. There may have been earlier ones, but we cannot substantiate that. Lauranson-

Rosaz writes: “Other than Laprade and the council identified with Le Puy of 1036, we have no trace of other

councils held in the Velay at the end of the millennium.” “Peace from the Mountains, 128.

128

called the council.128 We can further narrow that window to between 1031 and 1036.129 It had to

have happened after 1031 because that was the earliest date we have evidence of Raymond

associated with Peace assemblies, and before c.1036, since it happened before the council at Le

Puy. Not all scholars are convinced that Mende I was an official council, because Enimie’s

Miracula does not explicitly call the council one of peace. Yet Marion Gasmand points out that it

likely was because it shares the characteristics of Peace of God councils, above all the

assembling of relics and people to Mende where miracles occurred.130

Chapter 2 of Enimie’s text offers the call to council:

Mende is a special town among us in the Gévaudan people’s confines…. And let every

order come together to carry the sacred images to the council…. On that account

Christians (christicole) of the monastery of Enimie brought many vigil keepers to the

basilica in the aforementioned town, with all the people watching, and they gathered

(collocant) for her glory and victory.131

Setting the context for the council at Mende within Gévaudan appears rather important to the

author in relating this call. The counsel to be given, the sacred images of saints, including

Enimie, and the people all come after. Movement, as usual, features in this call because it is,

128 Gasmand, Les évêques de la province de Bourges, 190. The earliest connection between Mende and the Peace

councils was in 1031 when Bishop Raymond attended the assemblies at Bourges and Limoges. Raymond

participated in the allied efforts of the Church against private wars in 1031. At parallel councils of Bourges and

Limoges, where the bishops decided to work against those who threatened the peace, Raymond acted as a signatory,

Clovis Brunel, “Les juges de la paix en Gévaudan au milieu du XIe siècle,” Bibliothèque de l’école des chartes

volume 109 (1951): 34, accessed 12 February 2015, www.persee.fr/web/revue/home/prescript/article/bec_0373-

6237_1951_num_109_1_449425.


130 Gasmand, Les évêques de la province de Bourges, 190. Brunel agrees that, although perhaps unofficially linked

to the Peace, Mende I qualifies as a Peace gathering, “Les judges,” 34. Bonnassie seems hesitant to include this first

Mende council among those for the Peace of God. In his “Gallia du Sud,” Bonnassie states that Enimie’s account

mentions two councils: one at Le Puy and one at Mende. For me, the Peace of God elements are present enough to

qualify Mende I to be discussed under the umbrella of Peace councils, especially since I ague that all of these

councils were part of the sanctified peace and, as such, resisted rigid institutionalization and, therefore, true parity

with officially sanctioned Peace of God councils.

131 “Mimatense est oppidum / Inter nostra precipuum / Gabalitanis finibus, / … / Pergant ut ad consilia / In hoc sunt

data monita, / Ut sacra ferant pignora / Omnis ordo conveniat. / Propterea christicole / Cenobii Enimie / Eius magnas

excubias / Deferunt ad basilicas, / Predicto in oppidulo, / Cernente omni populo, / Et collocant ad gloriam / Ipsius et

victoriam.” Enimie, 3, 282.



129

after all, a call for movement toward Mende. Additionally, this first council at Mende is given

primacy of place in Enimie’s document since it follows immediately after the prologue.

As Enimie approached Mende, a great crowd gathered (collocant) due to her glory and power

and she began to perform miracles. The texts says that “immediately (illico) the power of the

virgin [Enimie] is present in benefits to all the sick and disabled, lame, and blind, expelling

(pellens) every demon and equally insanity, she offers health to each single one by her holy

remedies.”132 This scene depicts twofold movement: first Enimie was moved to Mende for the

council and then when she arrived, the throngs of people crowded to her to receive healing from

her. In this example, Mende is central and it is clear that Enimie was welcome there. Since

relations between Mende and Sainte-Enimie were historically amiable, it is logical to infer that

Enimie’s miracles served to reinforce positive relations between the two locations and to glorify

Mende as worthy of Enimie’s miracles.133 Upon arrival at Mende, the two-fold movement

became multidirectional: blindness and other illnesses were sent away and the power of the saint

drew in even more people to her presence. Enimie’s images were collected (collocata sunt) in the

basilica of Blessed Columbus where Enimie worked many miracles. Again we see that once the

relics arrived, they remained still while people came and went from Enimie’s presence in search

of healing; the populace’s movement into the relics’ presence as well as their stasis upon arrival

is portrayed positively.

One instance of the contrast between movements and stasis at Mende is especially dramatic.

After the initial miracles, a blind man named Ramnulf, with unknown aid, came (pervenit) to

Mende to the place where Enimie’s images were amassed (collocata sunt).134 This Ramnulf

132 “Illico virtus virginis / Adest in beneficiis / Infirmis ac debilibus / Claudis et cecis omnibus, / Pellens cuncta

demonia / Pariter et vesanias, / Prestat salutem singulis / Suis sanctis remediis.” Enimie, 2, 282.

133 Indeed, Pass points out that there was a close connection between Mende and Sainte-Enimie. Every seven years,

the whole parish of Sainte-Enimie would proceed to Mende with Enimie’s relics to show their reverence to Privat

and the bishop of Mende, “Source Studies,” 58. See also M. Ferdinand André, “Histoire du monastère et prieuré de

Sainte-Enimie au diocèse de Mende,” in Bulletin de la société d’agriculture, industrie, science et arts du

département de la Lozère, part 2, volume 18 (Mende: Imprimerie de C. Privat, 1867), 12 n5.

134 “Igitur in Mimatense predio, ut prefati summus, in Beate Columbe, que ibi tunc erat, basilica, sanctissime

Enimie collocata sunt pignora. Mox vero illuc, cum primo ductore homo sine oculis pervenit nomine Ramnulfus, qui

morabatur in rure de Dignaco ad iura pertinens beatissime virginis.” Enimie, 2, 282.

130

hailed from a farm at Dignac,135 which was owned by Enimie (“ad iura pertinens beatissime

virginis”). According to the author, for hours on end Ramnulf remained before the relics and

called out to Enimie in prayers to regain his lost sight when suddenly the clouds of blindness

dispelled (discussa) and he was able to see. He praised both Enimie and God and credited them

with his healing. After this miracle, other people flowed forth (confluunt) and were healed by her

power.136 Then “suddenly (repente) the sick beyond number converged and by the miraculous

effect of [her] power their bodies are healed of [their] sickness.”137

Right after this miraculous display, Enimie returned mobility to two more disabled men when

they came into the presence of her remains. First, there was a totally paralyzed man (paraliticus),

without use of any of his limbs, who was set (depositus) in front of Enimie’s urn. Enimie healed

the man, returning him to his former pristine condition, so that each limb functioned properly

and he was able to stand (astaret) as a healed man and thus was able to move on his own

again.138 Another disabled man could not stand upright but had been “dragging himself (se

trahens) throughout the land by slithering (reptando)” because he had no use of his limbs.139 So

while he was able to move, he was not moving properly. He implores Enimie’s aid and on the

spot (illico) his nerves that had been long contracted (contracti) started to extend (extendere),

blood coursed (meatus…humectari) through his veins, and thus the happy man was able to stand

on his own two feet (super pedes constitit) to give praise to God who had restored him through

135 Dignac is in the Charante department, just southwest of Angoulême.

136 “Hic magnis horis ac fidei vocibus sanctam interpellavit Enimiam ut ei denegata, suis precibus apud Deum

obtinendo prestare dignaretur lumina. Parvo interiecto intervallo ac vix uno effluente momento, discussa cecitatis

caligine, denegatum cepit aspicere lumen et Conditorem omnium partiterque datricem sue lucis gloriosissimam

Enimiam multis laudum vocibus exorsus est extollere.” Enimie, 2, 282-283.

137 “Repente confluunt sine numero egroti miroque potestatis effectu infirmorum sanatur corpora.” Enimie, 2, 283.

138 “Porro ante eius, qua vehebantur sacre relique urnam, paraliticus est depositus quem omnium debilitas

membrorum diverso iure discrete dampnaverat; meritis sanctissime virginis pristine incolumitatis augmenta

suscipere meruit et salutis obtinere gloriam, ut vigor artubus redditus singulis, confestim, subfragante remedio,

astaret illesus.” Enimie, 2, 283.

139 “Alius etiam debilis, qui rectus ire nequibat, reptando se trahens per terram, ut pote qui officio destitutus erat

omnium membrorum, advenit implorans omnipotenti Deo, per famulam illius Enimiam, sibi preberi auxilium.”

Enimie, 2, 283.

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Enimie.140 After these many and great miracles, the author noted that Enimie’s reputation as a

healer was known and rewarded.141 The common people and nobles alike heaped praises upon

her and brought so many gifts that the smallness of the basilica church could not accommodate

them all.142 These examples show the recurring theme that even those who had trouble moving

went to the saints for healing and left with increased mobility. These instances of restored

mobility at council events only served to further reinforce the power of the saint and to draw ever

more people to such events.

Movement continues, but changes from focusing on individual movements to collective

movement. Soon after these impressive miracles, everyone left (exeunt) the town of Mende for

an agreeable outdoor area and set up tents.143 Once in the new location, with the holy relics

brought together (collocant), the council for peace was convened.144 And again, while Enimie

remained fixed in place, masses of the populace converged on the place and were healed by her

powers. Therefore, once Enimie moved to the new location, people moved toward her and left

with greater mobility after experiencing her mobile healing power. The hagiographer writes that

strong power ran about to and fro to the ears of the people; crowds of people flowed (confluere)

from all parts. Health was given to many after they prayed to her and she interceded with God on

their behalf. The author noted that there were so many miracles enacted by the magnificent

power of the blessed Enimie that they could not possibly all be recorded, so he simply mentioned

the types of miracles: “Light was restored to the blind, the lame (claudi) run about (currunt) in

the roads, she cleanses the blemishes of the leper, and she puts to flight (fugat) all demons, she

140 “Illico miro modo ceperunt se nervi diu contracti extendere et aridi meatus venarum sanguinis mundatione

humectari, atque ita, Deo volente, per famulam suam, accepto robore, letus super pedes constitit, et curatrici sue,

communem Dominum benedicendo, maximas grates contulit.” Enimie, 2, 283.

141 The author aptly put this reputation-boosting set of miracles early in the narrative of the Miracula.

142 Vulgus et omnes proceres / Laudes certant depromere. / Enimiam santissimam / Vocant et beatissimam. / Sic

offerendo plurima / Munera in basilica, / Loci nequit angustia / Perferre tot donaria.” Enimie, 2, 283.

143 “Mox exeunt ab oppido / Et in loco gratissimo, / Cuius erat per spatia / Amplitudo quam maxima, / Ibi fingunt

tentoria / Et sancta membra collocant.” Enimie, Chapter 2, 283.

144 “Tunc celebrant concilia / Deo satis complacita, / Que decent nam conficiunt / Et pacem omnes statuunt.”

Enimie, 2, 283-284.

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cures those sick in the body, she expels (pellit) weariness of the soul; it is not difficult for her to

complete that which she wishes to do.”145

Thus, Enimie’s miracle-working power at this event was quite prolific and movement is the

centerpiece of these miracles. People, nobles and commoners alike, all congregated at Mende,

some for the healing powers of Enimie and others for the council. But everyone who arrived for

the council was affected by being in the presence of Enimie’s holy relics. This set of miracles

shows the ebb and flow of movement and stasis of the common people and relics. Yet, it is most

curious that Privat, who was the central saint at Mende, was not mentioned as having been

present at this council. This is especially strange since the same author wrote both texts.146

Le-Puy-en-Velay Council

The second council, chronologically, to occur in Privat’s and Enimie’s Miracula was held at Le

Puy-en-Velay. The miracle texts of both Privat and Enimie stated that Bishop Raymond (r.1027-

1050) took the relics of Privat and Enimie with him to the council at Le Puy, which had been

called by its bishop, Étienne (r. 1031-1053).147 Dating this council is a bit uncertain, but the

scholarly consensus is that this council occurred around 1036.148 No formal record of peace

councils at Le Puy earlier than 1036 survive, but the breve described in Chapter 2 above, dated to

145 “Cecis redduntur lumina, / Currunt claudi per tramita, / Leprosi mundat maculas / Omnesque fugat demonas, /

Egros curat in corpore, / Pellit langores anime, / Nec est illi difficile / Implere quod vult facere.” Enimie, Chapter 2,

284.

146 It is, of course, possible the Privat’s remains were not there for Mende I, but is seems unlikely; and there’s no

evidence to say either way. Therefore, his presence or not must remain speculative.

147 Bishop Étienne of Le Puy was also an active participant of the Truce of God, Lecaque, “The Count of Saint-

Gilles,” 97.

148 Brunel states that the first reference of the episcopacy of Étienne (r.1029/1031-1053) bishop of Le Puy and of

Raymond (r.1027-1050) bishop of Mende was in 1031. Brunel puts the council in the year 1036, “Les juges,” 33.

Jan Bulman also gives the date of 1036 to this council, The Court Book of Mende and the Secular Lordship of the

Bishop (Toronto: The University of Toronto Press, 2008), 20. André agrees that this council occurred in 1036 under

Étienne de Mercœur who had convoked an assembly for peace since his town was prey to horrid civil wars, and to

take precautions against warring lords, “Histoire du monastère,” 13. Goetz lists this council as Le Puy II and to have

occurred in 1036, “Protection of the Church,” 262. Jean-Marie Sansterre places this council at Le Puy in 1036 or, at

the very least, between 1031 and 1049, “Après les miracles de sainte Foy: présence des saints, images et reliques

dans divers textes des espaces français et germanique du milieu du XIe au XIIIe siècle,” Cahiers de civilisation

médiévale Xe-XIIe siècles 56 (2013): 50.

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1038 and the miracle texts of Privat and Enimie provide evidence that some sort of peace

association was held in Gévaudan.149

The call to council from Privat’s chapter 7 reads:

At Podium of Holy Mary, which by another name is called Anicium [Le Puy-en-Velay],

Étienne of blessed memory, bishop of the same city, had called a council for instituting

peace, and asked all the neighboring bishops to come together (convenirent) to that place

with the relics of their saints so that by the authority of such ones [bishops and saints]

they would consolidate more firmly those things that ought to be established and would

curb the frivolities of the people, at least on account of the reverence of the saints, and

would lead to firm consensus, with surety given by all.150

In this call, we see that the bishop of Le Puy had primacy as the instigator of the event and that

he collected bishops and their saints’ relics to his see. All of this invokes a much-needed peace

and instigates yet more displacement of people and relics. The populace assembled there

(concurrentibus) together with Bishop Raymond of Mende (r.1027-1050), portrayed as active,

who came (occurit) with the populace, and the clerics who brought (ferens) the image of Privat

to Le Puy.151 Other saints and their relic keepers were in attendance too. Finely dressed bishops

convened (convenerant) there with all the city’s clerics and came (occurrunt) carrying (ferentes)

their saints’ images.152 Even the populace of Le Puy, who had heard the approach of Privat, ran

149 Pass, “Source Studies,” 59-60. See Enimia 2, 283-84, lines 75-84 and 3, 284-85, lines 113-124 as well as Privat,

7, 14. Some evidence of liaisons also exists. Counts of Gévaudan had previously been part of the peace assemblies

when the brothers Pons and Bertrand offered their military power to their uncle, who was the Bishop Wido of Le

Puy, to help enforce the oaths sworn at the assembly in 994. See Pass, “Source Studies,” 60 and Hartmut Hoffmann,

Gottesfriede und Treuga Dei (Stuttgart: A. Hiersemann, 1964), 17.

150 “Apud Podium Sancte Marie, quod alio nomine Anicium dicitur, beate memorie Stephanus, ejusdem urbis

antistes, concilium pro statuenda pace mandaverat, rogavitque omnes vicinos episcopos, ut illuc cum suorum

sanctorum reliquiis convenirent, quatenus tantorum auctoritate que firmanda erant rectius constabilirent et levitatem

populi, saltem pro reverentia sanctorum, compescerent atque ad firmum consensum, data ab omnibus fide,

conducerent.” Privat, 7, 14.

151 “Igitur, concurrentibus populis, episcopus etiam Mimatensis, nomine Raymundus, occurit cum clero et populo,

ferens sancti martyris Privati corporis admirabile pingui.” Privat, 7, 14.

152 “Sed et episcopi qui convenerant cum omni clero civitatis, divinis adornati paramentis, occurrunt, ferentes et ipsi

sua quisque pignora sanctorum.” Privat, 7, 14.

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to meet him (in obviam proruunt) because his reputation was so great there.153 Ultimately, the

purpose of collecting everyone there was to make promises of non-violence.

The most notable miracle that occurred at this council involved a father and his debilitated son; it

shows the prominent role of movement associated with healing in these texts. This familial pair

was among the many people who thronged to the saint’s presence, demonstrating the

considerable movement of the populace toward saints at these public events and thus

emphasizing the sanctified aspect of the Peace. The author notes how the masses met the

procession (obviaret processio) of Privat’s image on the outskirts of the city where it stopped

(statio fit). Kate Craig writes that this kind of special demonstration of welcoming the saint

individually seems to be a unique expression of friendship.154 Among this gathering of people,

there was a father, carrying (deportans) his crippled (contractum) son in his arms, trying his best

to hasten (properabat) his way to approach (accedere) Privat’s majesty.155 The crowds of

people, already having experienced the power of Privat, showed the father how to proceed

(pergat), indicating the way with a gesture, toward the image reliquary to offer (offerat) his

son.156 Thus, the hagiographer, through the gestures of the crowd, shows the father the right way

to move toward Privat’s relics, reinforcing that movement toward the relics is proper movement.

While striving toward Privat’s majesty, the father was seen (respicitur) by the illustrious Abbot

Odilon of Cluny (r.994-1049)157 who had come (convenerat) to this momentous event.158 For

153 “Quod audientes, Anicienses omnes ei in obviam proruunt, quoniam sancti martyris virtus apud eos famosissima

habebatur.” Privat, 7, 14.


155 “Cumque prope extra urbem utraque sibi obviaret processio, statio fit, et clerici laudes resonantes divinas, turba

que tanta convenerat gemitibus et orationibus sancti martyris clementiam propulsabat, inter quos pater filium

membris omnibus contractum ulnis deportans ad sancti Privati properabat, accedere majestatem.” Privat, 7, 14-15.

156 “Quem cernentes fideles, qui martyris potentiam jam erant experti, manu ei annuunt ut citius pergat et firmiter

credens imperant ut sancto martyri contractum offerat natum.” Privat, 7, 15. It was common for miracle supplicants

to desire close proximity to the relics to either touch or kiss them, James F. Skyrms, “The Rituals of Pilgrimage in

the Middle Ages,” (PhD Diss.: University of Iowa, 1986), 164.

157 That Odilon was singled out and named highlights his importance to the author, even though Odilon’s role in the

tale was quite small. Odilon, who, in addition to being abbot of Cluny, was also the uncle of the bishop of Le Puy,

and, no doubt, a notable figure to have in attendance at this event. Goetz offers that given the connection between

Cluny and monastic reform, Odilon is often credited with supporting the Peace of God and Truce of God,

“Protection of the Church,” 273-274.

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such a famous man as Odilon to be in attendance, the gathering at Le Puy must have been quite

large, especially considering the relative paucity of details about the council given in the text and

that is only extant from this text.159 Once the father’s approach was granted (facultate adeundi

concessa), he went up (appropinquat) to the image, and with great crying he offered (profert) up

his son while all the populace and clerics present prevailed upon God and Privat to heal the son.

Miraculously, it happened.160 With his limbs and nerves extended (extendentibus), blood flowing

(adimplente) through his body, a “vital spirit” ran (cucurrit) through the son’s limbs, and while

all his joints loosened (solverentur), each part of his body emitted (emi[t]tebat) groans as it was

healed.161 With his regained health, the son instantly used his mobility: he sprang up (resilivit)

and ran about (currere) with the rest of the people in praise of the miracle.162 Seeing this great

miracle, the whole crowd in common praised the Lord and his martyr Privat. Clearly, Privat’s

reputation had preceded him at Le Puy such that this miracle tale highlighted more the

movement of people toward the relics than the displacement of the relics to Le Puy. These

people are portrayed to have come to Le Puy to participate take advantage of the presence of

Privat’s portable sacred power.

158 “Tum, voce magna illo clamante ut sibi locus quo ad sancti pertingere posset presentiam daretur, respicitur ab

episcopis et maxime a sancto Odilone, Cluniacense abbate, quia et ipse, ob causam memoratam, convenceram.”

Privat, 7, 15.


160 “Itaque adeundi concessa facultate, supplex ad sancti ymaginem appropinquat homo atque cum nimio ejulatu

miserum filium profert, ita ut sepius eum in altum ferendo sustentaret, innumerasque querelas emi[t]tendo, ad sui

misericordiam spectantem populum invitabat. Denique, videntes ejus tantam constantiam universi, tam clerus quam

populus, precibus suis Dominum, rerum factorem, et inclitum martyrem Privatum exorabant ut homini miserrimo et

infelici non tardaretur succurrere.” Privat, 7, 15.

161 “Mox vero, pia virtus sancti manifesta apparuit et in juvene contracto, extendentibus se nervis et sanguine

vacuos venarum aditus adimplente, vitalis spiritus queque per membra cucurrit. Nam, mirum in modum, dum ipsius

compaginarum juncture solverentur, sonitus audiebatur et ad unamquamque corporis partem, dum sanaretur,

gemitum emi[t]tebat eger.” Privat, 7, 15.

162 “Cumque hec audientes communem Dominum et martyrem suum Privatum omnes magnifice conlaudarent, ecce

subito resilivit debilis et, plena membrorum omnium recepta sospitate, ipse jam sue salutis index, cum ceteris

currere et vocibus innumeris recuperatorem suum benedicere cepit.” Privat, 7, 15-16.

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As mentioned above with the examples of miracles en route to councils, Privat’s image reliquary

remained in one place upon arrival at the council and many people came and went from his

presence for healing. So many people were healed that all the miracles could not be recorded.

Furthermore, Privat’s presence at the council highlighted his prominence. The crowd-miracle

demonstrates his power and reputation since he was sought out specifically to heal the boy and

that people were willing to move toward the saint to obtain improved mobility.163 This

cooperation between common people and the relic keepers was necessary for the son to be

healed. And these are the typical collaborations of movement that we see between these two

groups: gathering the relics and traveling en masse to and from another place for a council for

crisis mitigation and then the moving and intermingling of the populace and relic guardians in

the presence of relics to elicit something from them.

While the collected crowds show that Peace of God councils were an occasion for common

people to gather and to receive healing, Bulman argues that the presence and role of the bishops,

like Raymond of Mende, ought not to be neglected. About these above-mentioned miracles on

the way to Le Puy and while there, Bulman concludes:

This story illuminates an important aspect of the bishop’s role in the peace of the

Gévaudan. In the first half of the eleventh century the bishop was associated with the

peace movement, and their prerogatives to enforce the peace was legitimized, or at least

validated, by episcopal control over the relics of St. Privat. …the cult of St. Privat often

would be invoked to lend potency to the bishop’s exercise of secular power in the

Gévaudan.164

That the hagiographer only recorded the names of Bishops Étienne and Raymond implies that

they were the most important episcopal attendees, at least for recording in Privat’s Miracula.

Indeed, we should remember that in Vivien’s text, only once is the abbot mentioned by name,

and no bishops. Yet, in Privat’s source, Étienne, Raymond, and Aldebert (see below) are all

163 Indeed, Sansterre claims that the example of the father going through the crowd at the Le Puy council shows, as

in the miracles of Foy, that Privat was more powerful than the other saints assembled there, “Après les miracles de

sainte Foy,” 50.

164 Bulman, The Court Book of Mende, 20.

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called by name, presumably to lend credibility to events and to add prestige to their

reputations.165

Enimie also went to Le Puy-en-Velay for the council to give authority to the decisions made

there in an attempt to suppress the frivolities of the people and to compel adherence to the

peaceful accords of the council. According to Enimie’s Miracula, her relics were brought to Le

Puy, to which place “many co-citizens and with thousands from the lands bordering on every

side, they came together with the images of holy ones.”166 In this instance, the call to council

was simple, mentioning only the citizens and saints. Following the call to council, portrayals of

movement and stasis associated with her relics seem most important to the hagiographer. Enimie

was brought (defertur) to Le Puy with gladness and received (recipitur) with glory and, as at

Mende, Enimie was set (ponitur) in the basilica, this one dedicated to the Virgin Mary.167 While

static in the basilica, seated on high, Enimie enriched the place with many gifts.168 Although the

text does not explicitly mention people moving toward her while in the basilica, Enimie did heal

many through mighty works, including the removal of demons.169 The author writes that demons

departed “from bodies in the likeness of scaly reptiles or of the likeness of a dreadful bristly

165 I deduce these conclusions because the hagiographers are very select about those names they included in the

sources. Although it should be noted that Privat’s text was most likely to record bishops’ names because his home

shrine was Mende, the bishops seat of Gévaudan.

166 “Post hec, multis temporibus / Decursis atque solibus, / Urbs dicitur Anicium, / Sancte Marie Podium, / In qua

multis concivibus / Conveniunt et millibus / Circumquaque de finibus, / Cum sanctorum pignoribus.” Enimie, 3,

284.

167 “Illuc sancta Enimia / Defertur cum letitia, / Recipitur cum gloria, / Ponitur in basilica / Que genetricis Domini /

In honore mirabili / Omni constat emblemate / Decorata mirifice.” Enimie, 3, 284-285.

168 “Ibi eam Altitronus / Ditavit in muneribus.” Enimie, 3, 285.

169 “Non est qui fari valeat / Que fuerunt magnalia: / Curantur demoniaci, / Omnes sanatos uffici / Christus prestat

rex glorie / In eius sancto nomine.” Enimie, 3, 285. In the next sub-section of chapter 3, Enimie continued to work

even more miracles: “Priscorum est fama, quoniam cum infra templi edes pretiosa foret locata margarita, crebra

illico sun perpetrata miracula. Nam demonum falanga tetris ululatibus emissis, a corporibus exiebat instar scabrosi

reptilis seu scorpii horrende similitudinis. Cecorum vero atque claudorum ac debilium et omnium egrotantium

reddita tanta extitit salus, ut pro ipsa magnitudine omissa sit ad scribendum.” Enimie, 3, 285.

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scorpion.”170 While the author does not mention people coming, he does record demons leaving.

The blind, disabled, and those with all manner of other illnesses are likewise cured.

As at the Mende I council discussed above, after spending some time indoors at the church,

Enimie was brought outdoors thereby emphasizing the sanctified elements of the Peace. Along

with the rest of the bishops present, Bishop Étienne, stepping out (egrediens) of the threshold of

the church, arranged for all the bishops present (aderant) to transport (transportare) their saints’

images to a nearby place (locum) set up for the council.171 This change in location could signify

two stages of the Peace; one that was private and institutional, inside the church among the

bishops, and then another that was public and sanctified, outside the church with free access for

all. Once moved, Enimie’s miracles increased (increvere). She healed people of both sexes

whose limbs were contracted and expunged (purgatis) darkness, giving (indulsit) light to the

blind.172 Her numerous miracles there clearly attested to her potency as an intercessor.173 Sigal

writes that at these outdoor gatherings, the various relics would be set up in tents in a large

meadow or field and each group of monks or clerics would try to attract the faithful crowd to

their saint.174 This is further evidence of the sanctified peace since the relics were in an open,

outdoor area that provided unmitigated access to the saints’ relics and their miraculous powers

for the populace.

So great were the miracles in this outdoor place that even when Enimie had departed, the place

maintained an especial power. Once the saint’s remains were returned (delata essent) home, the

location where they had sat just outside of Le Puy became so sacred that any animal that lingered

170 Nam demonum falanga tetris ululatibus emissis, a corporibus, exiebat instar scabrosi retilis seu scorpii horrende

similitudinis.” Enimie, 3, 285.

171 “Dehinc vero a templi liminibus, presul nomine Stephanus, qui illis sacris tunc presidebat sedibus, cum ceteris

qui aderant episcopis, egrediens, sanctissime Enimie excubias ad locum qui cominus habebatur ad celebrandum

concilium transportare fecit.” Enimie, 3, 285.

172 “Denique multos promiscui sexus quos debilitas miseranda membrorum contraxerat, restitutis usibus, virtutis

medela indiscreta resolvebat. Plurimis quoque purgatis tenebris, lumine oculorum presidium contemplationis

indulsit et redivive lucis compendia desertis habitaculis restauravit.” Enimie, 3, 285.


174 Pierre-André Sigal, “Le culte des reliques en Gévaudan aux XIe et XIIe siècles,” in Cévennes et Gévaudan:

Actes du XLVIe Congrès organisé à Mende et Florac les 16 et 17 Juin 1973 (Mende, 1974), 107.

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(remorari) or tread (calcare) there died immediately.175 Stasis on the spot or even passing over

the spot brought on poor results. The inhabitants (incolis) were so worried about this danger that

they walled (septus macerie) the area for safety.176 Thus, Enimie’s mobile power imbued the

place so deeply that even when she had been moved away, it remained impregnated as a site with

her immovable holiness.177 Sigal confirms that this was a valid fear. Touching revered objects of

the saints, including the place that they had been placed, even if well-intentioned, could lead to

divine punishment.178 But this endowment of power in place is not a common motif and it is the

only instance of any such thing happening in the three miracle texts. This makes me wonder:

why would Enimie leave such a mark of power at Le Puy? While we are not able to ascertain an

answer, this intriguing miracle shows that Enimie’s power both moved with her and could be

static, put in place somewhere, and remain even once she left. This is a great example sacroscape

from the text.179 Enimie’s sacred power left such strong traces of her healing power that they

permanently altered the landscape in which the miracles occurred.

Second Council at Mende

175 “Fertur etiam a multis, quod valde mirabile est, quod post finitum concilium, cum eis sacra membra ad propriam

ecclesiam delata essent, locus ille in quo posita et venerata sunt ita foret horribilis et meritis virginis metuendus, ut

nullum pecus nullaque bestia inibi remorari aut solum calcare auderet, quod si faceret, mox in dispendio accideret

mortis.” Enimie, 3, 285-286. Humans, however, were not the only victims of divine anger. Pierre-André Sigal

observes that sometimes animals who transgressed the taboo of sacred space could also be punished, “Un aspect du

culte des saints: châtiment divin XIe et XIIe siècles d’après la literature hagiographique du midi de la France,” in La

religion populaire en Languedoc du XIIIe siècle à la moitié du XIVe siècle, edited by Édouard Privat (Toulouse: É.

Privat, 1976), 43. Edina Bozoky corroborates animals who suffered the wrath of divine power when they entered

sacred spaces. In the Miracles of Saint Benedict by Raoul Tortaire (c.1063-c.1122), some dogs who entered the

oratory of Saint-Sauveur and drank from the oil lamps became mad, “Les miracles de châtiment au haut Moyen Âge

et à l’époque féodale,” in Violence et Religion, eds. Pierre Cazier and Jean-Marie Delmaire (Villeneuve d’As:

Université Lille, 1998), 155. See also Miracula sancti Benedicti, VIII, II and III, ed. E. de Certain (Paris: Mme. ve.

J. Renouard, 1858), 278-281.

176 “Unde ab incolis pro hoc necis timore undique septus macerie confirmatur.” Enimie, 3, 286.

177 Sigal, “Le culte des reliques,” 110 and Craig, “Bringing Out the Saints,” 262. Craig adds: “Just as new relics

could be created by contact with a saint’s body, so too could physical places become sanctified by their contact with

a relic en route. We might imagine a relic’s journey leaving pinpoints of light behind it; a string of spots that,

however far from their destination or origin, had the potential to be permanently associated with that saint’s name

and power.” “Bringing Out the Saints,” 263.

178 Sigal, “Un aspect du culte des saints,” 43.

179 On sacroscape see Tweed, Crossing and Dwelling, 61-62 and Anttonen, “Landscapes as Sacroscapes,” 12-32.

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The third council from Enimie’s and Privat’s miracle collections was held at Mende, which, for

clarity, I call Mende II. As with most of these less well-known councils, like Coler, Lalbenque,

and Mende I, the date of Mende II is uncertain.180 In 1912, when Brunel first edited Privat’s

miracles, he argued that the miracles were written in the twelfth century and, therefore, that

Mende II was datable to the episcopacy of Bishop Aldebert II (r.1099-1123) of Mende;181 he

specifically pinpointed the redaction of the text to between 1102 and 1112. Since at least the

1960s, however, Harmut Hoffman proposed a dating as early as 1052, and thus claims that the

council was held under the episcopacy of Aldebert I (r.1052-c.1095).182 Gasmand, writing in

2007, further attests to this earlier dating, putting the council in the 1050s.

In the account of Mende II from Enimie’s text, the author does not present a call to council.

Instead, the text begins with the statement that there are still living witnesses of the event.183

This omission seems a little strange given that bishops had come to Mende for the council. The

story then transitions directly into the miracles for which both bishops and people were present;

the bishops were blessing people from the pulpit and the people were receiving blessings and

being healed. Afterwards, the people traveled back (remearent) home to their own.184 Here we

see again the movements toward and away from Enimie’s relics at a council. But while this

blessing and departing was happening, suddenly Enimie’s remains that had been set up in a tent

began to work miracles. Two women were restored the use of their arms and hands and another

woman regained the use of her feet and began to run (cucurrit) about and leapt (exilivit) in praise

of Enimie.185 Another woman was healed of her muteness and a boy possessed by demons was

180 Of these six councils I discuss in this chapter, only Limoges 994 and Le Puy 1036 are on Goetz’s list of Peace of

God councils; but it only contains councils up to Bourges in 1038, “Protection of the Church,” 262.

181 Brunel, “Introduction,” in Privat, xix. Pass reiterates this dating in the 1990s, “Source Studies,” 60.

182 Hoffmann, Gottesfriede und Treuga Dei, 40 and 42.

183 “Non antiquum est quod refero, nam adhuc sunt viventes et idonei testes, qui asserunt in proximo peracto in

Mimato concilio, se mirabiles gloriosissime virginis Enimie perspexisse virtutes.” Enimie, 9, 296.

184 “Dicunt enim quod finis aderat placiti presulesque iam ascenderant pulpitum, ut in ultimo sermone benedicerent

populum quo gratulantes universi remearent ad propria, cum ecce nova consurgunt gaudia et repente letitia oritur.”

Enimie, 9, 296.

185 “Etenim ante glebam beatissime virginis positam in papilione, mulieres debiles due mancas cum brachiis sanas

receperunt manus. Tertia, restauratis a debilitate pedibus, ad laudem virginis exilivit et leta cucurrit.” Enimie, 9, 296.

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cured through vomiting (evomuit).186 Thus, we see that the populace traveled to the presence of

the saints to receive healing before traveling back home. Most of the miracles that occurred at

these council events addressed physical movement, connecting healing and mobility through

these miracles.

Many other miracles also happened at this place and time, proving the greatness of the virgin

Enimie, but the author was not able to write them all down. He declared that there were so many

miracles that if he had recorded them all, they would have filled a codex of their own.187 Thus,

like the similar miracles worked by Enimie and other saints at councils, it is clear that the

movement of the relics to the councils caused great numbers of people to also come to these

locations and then receive their desired healing. Movement in these cases shows the strong

mobile power of the relics even outside of their venerated and powerful homes, again placing

Mende at the center of sacrality in Gévaudan.

Despite the general flurry of movement throughout her miracle text, Enimie’s travel to Mende II

is not detailed there. However, it is clear that she would have had to travel in order to get to

Mende for the event since there is about a thirty-kilometer distance between Mende and Sainte-

Enimie. This is also the last miracle in her Miracula and it ends the whole text rather abruptly.

Thus, while it does not provide much in terms of movement, it does show, at the very least,

movements of Enimie, bishops, and the populace for participation at a third council.

Privat’s text also mentions Mende II, and offers a bit more about events than the miracle account

from Enimie’s source. Privat’s account of Mende II focuses mostly on a single miracle event that

included many movements. Like Enimie’s account of this council, Privat’s does not present a

call to council or discuss much of what happened at the council proceedings. Instead, Privat’s

text tells a story about a thief and his crew who pilfered a horse of great worth and how Privat,

who became visible in the visage of a youth, brought the thieves and the horse back to the

186 “Affirmant etiam puerum a demonibus possessum potenti virtute ibi fore curatum. Nam multis intuentibus, ab

ore tres carbones evomuit et sic deinceps sana mente permansit.” Enimie, 9, 296.

187 “Plures fuerunt et alie que ibi virginis bonitate perpetrate comprobantur virtutes, quas nos, studio brevitatis, in

relatione pretermittere curavimus, quoniam operante Deo, ita eius diatim exuberant beneficiorum miracula ut si per

ordinem scriberentur, mensuram excederet codex.” Enimie, 9, 296.

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council location at Mende. The movement in this miracle relates mostly to movements of roving

dangerous men and, accordingly, is detailed in Chapter 4 of this dissertation. Therefore, I will

not include it here other than to state the most important lesson of the miracle: that the

displacements in this miracle show the centrality of the city of Mende and the power of the

bishop by forcing the movements of the thief to return to the council location for judgment.

These movements for the council were not simply about eradicating abstract peace “out there,”

but were a mobile demonstration of Privat and his bishop accomplice to make peace at home at

Mende. For the author of the two Miracula, the relics were meant also to reinforce peace and

healing in relation to Mende and its bishop. According to Pass, the ultimate purpose of Privat’s

miracle text was to align the bishop of Mende with Privat. This was similarly, but not as

strongly, done with the miracles of Enimie. The overall message of the two texts is the

enforcement of peace, not simply chastising those who broke it, and identifying not just the

saints as “agents of this peace,” but those who benefit the most from the saints’ power: their

representatives, the bishops of Mende;188 this message is told with a great deal of movements

and stasis.

The central reason for the movement of relics was to attend and participate in councils,

especially those with the goal of peace. However, as we have seen, relics did not move

themselves. Instead they were moved by trusted men, just like those immobile people who were

carried for healing by those who cared for them. The relics balanced a relationship that both

encompassed movement and stasis by their displacement from one static point to another static

point. On both sides of the journey, the saints attracted people to them. The common message

was that if you wanted something from the saint you had to travel to the saint to receive that

desire and then be unmoving while you wait. While the relics were being moved, they also

worked miracles for those along the way who entered their presence demonstrating that to move

the relics meant also to move their attractive, miraculous power as well.


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By the end of the eleventh century, the sanctified peace seems to have lost impetus. It had been

most apparent in the 990s, 1020s, 1030s, and waned after around 1050; it had some resurgence

here and there, notably in the twelfth century in the mountainous areas of southern France. The

informality and openness, which had made the sanctified peace successful, likely contributed to

its demise. While the sanctified peace did not totally lack “institutional consequence,” it was

backed by oaths that were “inherently unstable” because the men who swore them were not

easily controllable, especially when they mobilized.189 In this context, the sanctified peace can

be viewed more in terms of incidents than of institutions. That their events were “recorded

exclusively in monastic or episcopal narratives and sermons,” rather than conciliar canons or

promulgations of law, further attests to their informality, which ultimately contributed to the

decline of the sanctified peace.190 Peace of God leaders realized that in order to attain peace,

further legislation was necessary so that the ceremonial parts of the peace could be backed up by

written affirmations.

Yet, these formalized affirmations do not occupy space in the miracle tales except for lip service

to them in the calls to councils. Instead, the authors are most concerned with the flurry of

movements and interactions between relics, churchmen, and the populace both on the road to and

from councils as well as at councils. My analysis of the six Peace of God councils brings out the

integral role of movement for these events. These displacements included people of all social

groups as well as the saints’ relics. Indeed, it was the presence of relics that motivated so much

movement. And these displacements followed a clear pattern: movement to the relics’ presence,

stasis upon arrival to wait for miracles, and movement back home afterwards. All these

displacements helped to utilize the pre-existing religious, political, social, and legal institutions

to root out the threats to peace and order.191

189 Bisson, “The Organized Peace,” 293. Although these nobles are not included in the Peace of God council

examples, the instability of roving elites is evident in Chapter 4 of this study, which discusses their bad movements.

190 Bisson, “The Organized Peace,” 293.


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The Peace of God forms the backdrop of Vivien’s miracles, and shows the hagiographer’s

depiction of Vivien’s power in this context. The spiritual powers inherent in possessing Vivien’s

relics were open to manipulation, which could be used to control nobility and peasants alike.

Taking Vivien’s relics to councils on bajulationes, or ritual outings, for Peace was a powerful

way to wield the saint’s power. Vivien’s Miracula mentions his relics travelling to three

councils: Coler (c.980), Limoges (994), and Lalbenque (between 1000 and 1010). Vivien’s role

at these councils is described as expected; he heals people and his relics are used to symbolize

his power in an attempt to mitigate seigneurial violence. But there are also occasions during

which Vivien’s miracle-working powers are tested, thus posing a challenge to Vivien. At the

Coler council, for example, there were two instances of this. One is by monks from Aurillac and

the other is by monks from Saint-Chamant. Considering the conflict of abbatial rule between

Conques and Figeac, it may seem surprising that Conques was not also a competitive force in

these council examples.192

Since there is relatively little that we can say with confidence about the Peace in Gévaudan

between the tenth and twelfth centuries, we are indebted to the miracle texts of Privat and

Enimie.193 They highlight the commemoration of the saints and their activities as part of the

Peace movement.194 These two miracle collections are most beneficial, I think, when used

together, almost as one document, because they complement each other well. Each Miracula

emphasizes different characteristics of Privat and Enimie that, when taken together, clearly

shows that the hagiographer valued their saintly strengths as expressed through their miraculous

powers and that these strengths were in turn valued by those in and around the communities of

Mende and Sainte-Enimie.

192 Fray contends that this lack of mention of Conques is evidence that the real rivalry between Conques and Figeac

had not yet begun when the Miracula of Vivien were written and that the writing of the continuation is surely before

1060. By his logic, this is when the real quarrel between Figeac and Conques started because there is no mention of

Conques or the quarrel, “L’aristocratie laïque,” 463.

193 Pass asserts that the miracle texts are similar to chronicle cartularies because they provide specific information

about people and the possessions the saints are protecting, “Source Studies,” 65-66.

194 See Sigal, “Le culte des reliques,” 105.

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They participated in the Peace to invoke saintly protection and to increase the authority and

prestige of their religious institutions. In these two narrative texts, their relics also travel to

councils where an atmosphere of enthusiasm was conducive to the manifestation of miracles.195

Many of the movements that were documented in these two Miracula are related to the Peace of

God and seek to mitigate aristocratic violence and challenges to the bishop’s rule. I would argue

that the hagiographers portray these miracles at councils as a collaborative act for a common

goal of peace participated in by everyone. Writing in 1996, Pass claims that these texts can be

read as histories of the Peace movement in the region because the Peace of God revolved around

saints’ relics and their miraculous deeds.196 Even the most simple of miracles is set in the milieu

of the peace councils and often literally at the councils.

In this climate of peace seeking, the bishops of Mende took advantage of the power associated

with the saints and aligned themselves with Privat and Enimie as guarantors of peace.197 Indeed,

their miracle collections show the significant role of the bishops of Mende in the Peace.198 Privat,

as the patron saint of Mende and himself a past bishop of Mende, clearly has a special

relationship with the bishops of Mende who participated in the Peace in Gévaudan. Enimie is no

less important role in the peace movement since she also had relationship with the bishops of

Mende.199 Usually, these sources are used by historians studying the mutation féodale, or feudal

revolution, but they are far richer than that and provide much more information. For example,

Peloux writes that they “shed light on the construction of episcopal territories and we can see

them as tools to reinforce episcopal or monastic lordship, supplying territorial cohesion to

episcopal spaces by transforming them into sacred spaces, placed under the protection of the

local saints.”200






200 Fernand Peloux, “Hagiography, Territory, and Memory in Medieval Southern France: The Diocese of Mende,”

in Cuius Patrocinio Tota Gaudet Regio, Saint’s cults and the dynamics of regional cohesion (Zagreb: Hagioteca,

2015), 113-114.

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Where these miracles occurred also has special relevance for the authors connected to the theme

of crisis mitigation. The council locations are all clearly special sites of religious and holy power

that are enriched by the presence of relics. But the locations of councils are not just anywhere;

they are holy locations. All of the councils occurred at churches and their environs. While this is

not a surprise, those specific places tell us where the author thought would be helpful for

garnering communal strength from collecting saints from far off places, as with the councils. But

relic travels for councils are not the only sanctioned positively-portrayed movements. People

who travel along with the relics toward the councils are also portrayed as moving rightly by the

hagiographers.

Overall, the above miracles provide examples of acceptable movements that ought to triumph

over unacceptable movements. The movements associated with relic journeys in this chapter

were sanctioned, allowed, expected, and communal. Furthermore, the miracle examples also

show what it looks like to move rightly. Almost all of the examples in this chapter are positively

portrayed, thus proving their goodness. In these movements, we also see the saints moving in

similar ways to the populace. Both relics and the mortally wounded need the assistance of others

to move. Both also are static when they arrived somewhere and are in the presence of each other.

And then both move on their way back home afterwards. For the return, the only difference is

that the ill are healed and are able to move home on their own while the saints still need an escort

for their movements. They also point to the implicit vulnerability of the saints, and in some ways

the populace, while in transit that need to be guarded and protected while moving. Once they

arrive to their holy location, they are safe to be set down and allow for the approach of the

multitude of common people, but which also incite conflict from other guardians of relics.

These councils were the first line of defense against unwanted violence. The next chapter, in

contrast, shows movements that the hagiographers portray as sinful, condemned, unforeseen, and

individual. These improper movements by dangerous rovers can stir saints to holy vengeance in

a sign that there remained a solution even when the Peace of God was unsuccessful.

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Chapter 4 Dangerous Rovers and Holy Vengeance: Life and Death

Consequences of Criminal Movements

When calls for peace at councils were not heeded, the saints were used to make an example for

those who might be tempted to break it. I call these peace breakers “dangerous rovers” because

when they are featured in the miracles, they were almost always on the move. In this chapter, I

will focus on movements of dangerous rovers that the hagiographers present negatively and the

acceptable retaliatory movements of saints in holy vengeance. The movements linked to immoral

behavior in the sources are depicted as unfocused, chaotic, contributing to disorder, and, for the

most part, they seem to be spontaneous. Some examples include movements related to theft,

pillaging, usurpation, and open attack. Since these movements are violently perpetrated,

revealed, and punished, this chapter is also about violence. Many of the negatively depicted

actions are quite mundane, and were likely acceptable for the time period in some social

contexts. But since they were destructive to the saints’ goods, people, or property, portrayed as

criminal behaviors that disrupted the daily norm, it is worth studying the movements

accompanying them. The Peace was not meant to order all of public life,1 therefore, the saints

were used by the hagiographers to augment this cause for peace. Although the improper

behaviors and movements usually originated near the saints’ property, the punishment meted out

by the saints, and therefore their movement, most often occurred away from that place and while

evildoers were in retreat.2

In the texts, violent men move and the saints move in retaliation, but everyone else remains still

unless they move toward the saints’ relics or shrines, or to react to the crises precipitated by the

movements of violent men. Although there are a couple of exceptions, the clearest message

across the texts of Privat’s, Enimie’s, and Vivien’s miracles is a critique of those who improperly

1 Hans-Werner Goetz, “Protection of the Church, Defense of the Law, and Reform: On the Purposes and Character

of the Peace of God, 989-1038,” in The Peace of God: Social Violence and Religious Response in France around

the Year 1000, eds. Thomas Head and Richard Landes (Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press, 1992), 265.

2 Throughout this chapter, behavior refers to the descriptions of types of actions or activities that the dangerous

rovers perpetrate and movement refers to the literal physical transfer of an object or body through space.

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succumbed to their greedy desires or who acted upon their deceitful and hostile tendencies, and

in doing so exchanged stasis for movement. In the hagiographers’ eyes, the movements of peace-

breakers are viewed negatively; only the movements of relics or toward the relics are portrayed

as acceptable.

These negative portrayals of movements in the miracle stories are almost always perpetrated by

nobiles and their milites or equites. Because these men were mobile (often on horseback) and

clearly demarcated as dangerous while perpetrating criminal movements in the miracles, it is

appropriate to call them dangerous rovers. Thus, from the perspective of the hagiographers, these

warring men’s movements portray a corrupt masculinity. Movements associated with violent

behavior that were perpetrated by dangerous rovers are all described by the authors as threats to

those who were, in contrast, static, and thus acceptable. Overwhelmingly, stasis is portrayed as

the preference in the miracles, and these dangerous, unfocused movements should be read as

signs of base individuals. That said, saints are portrayed as moving similarly, and even mirroring

dangerous rovers’ movements, when reacting to and punishing these criminal men’s movements.

When the saints’ movements for revenge are positively portrayed in the texts, I describe them as

saints acting in holy vengeance. By their condemnation of certain types of violence of dangerous

rovers, the hagiographers, therefore, decry a performance of masculinity that harmed the Church,

its goods, and people while simultaneously endorsing the saints’ similar violence for its

protection.

What is more fascinating than dangerous rovers’ criminal behaviors are these depictions of

movements associated with the punishment of dangerous rovers by saints. By their negative

portrayals of the movements of criminal men, the hagiographers reinforced the anti-violence

message for specific people and encouraged stasis as the expected norm. Therefore, movement

that disrupted social order and its basis in stasis, was a punishable social disturbance. While law

was at the foundation of the Peace, Peace statues did not demand punishment; instead, they

demanded reparations. Punishment was applied when reparation was not made.3 The

hagiography, therefore, mingles punitive miracles (punishment for wrongdoing) with positive

miracles (healing or restoration of plunder). Punishment miracles were a miraculous protection

3 Goetz, “Protection of the Church, 270.

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and a way to heal society from these negative effects of uncontrolled, unsanctioned violence.

From reading these miracles through the lens of movement, a deeper message is that the authors

wanted society in general to be as static as possible, with a special condemnation of out-of-the-

ordinary, violent movements.

In the context of proscribed, normalized, positive movements that we saw in Chapter 3, all other

movements, in contrast, stand out. In the miracle tales, these other, disruptive movements are

narrated through exemplary violent and criminal stories. Through the redaction of saints’

retaliatory movements, the hagiographers posit an anti-violence message. This message is

complicated, however, because violent movements are presented both as the problem and the

solution. In the tales, the hagiographers show movements of both dangerous rovers and saints in

holy vengeance, but the saints’ reactive movements of holy vengeance are sanctioned by the

hagiographers because they set right the balance of dangerous rovers’ violent, criminal

movements. All these movements, both of dangerous rovers and of saints in holy vengeance,

occur away from the saints’ relics and their home shrines. In the sources, the hagiographers do

not condemn all violence, but violence they deem inappropriate because it threatened protected

people, objects, and places.

Chapter Plan

This chapter will analyze the behaviors and associated movements that the authors consider a

threat to the social and spiritual order of their context. It begins by defining and historically

contextualizing the movers of the stories, i.e., the groups of men I call dangerous rovers, and the

saints who deliver holy vengeance. It then considers the evidence directly, parsing examples of

dangerous rovers and avenging saints on the move. I focus on the movements of dangerous

rovers and the saints’ reaction to criminal movements in order to punish dangerous rovers while

in retreat. It mattered by whom and where these movements occurred. The evidence of

movement is divided into two parts: 1) movements of dangerous rovers near or at the saints’

property that the authors portray negatively and 2) movements of saints to punish those criminals

while they were departing from the saints’ property that the authors portray positively. Finally, I

conclude that despite the preference for stasis, the hagiographers used the saints to both threaten

and condone holy violence to social order.

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4.1 Dangerous Rovers and Holy Avengers

The hagiographers describe the movements of dangerous rovers and saints as holy avengers in

relation to each other to proclaim which movements were acceptable and which were not. My

analysis first focuses on the movements that resulted from the dangerous rovers’ crimes because

these miraculously-induced movements revealed dangerous rovers for judgment. Saints also

moved in the miracle stories to punish these criminals. Portrayed as holy avengers, the saints

acted as ultimate judges to punish or forgive roving dangerous men for their crimes. Thus, I also

analyze the movements of the saints associated with their punishment of dangerous rovers while

in retreat.

Dangerous Rovers

Since the term dangerous rover is unique to this study, it requires definition. Dangerous rovers

are those men in the miracle stories who moved in ways that are negatively portrayed by the

hagiographers while perpetrating criminal behavior. In the miracle texts, dangerous rovers are

exclusively men and exclusively non-laborers. Many men moved around in the miracle texts and

could qualify as roving. Therefore, the qualification of dangerous is important; it distinguishes

sinful roving men from upright roving men. Misdeeds perpetrated by dangerous rovers portrayed

negatively in the three miracula are those violent movements inflicted on the saints’ goods,

people, and property under the saints’ protection. Not all dangerous rovers moved to do the same

crimes, but they are all similarly described when perpetrating their misdeeds. All moving nobilis,

milites, and equites in the sources are aggressive or atoning. Notably, these crimes align with the

original canons of the Peace of God outlined in Chapters 2 and 3.4

4 As a reminder to the reader, those canons are: “(1) the violent invasion of churches and robbery committed in

churches (canon 1), (2) assault on unarmed clergymen (canon 3), and (3) theft of cattle from peasants and the poor

(canon 2).” Goetz, “Protection of the Church,” 264. The original canons in the Latin text read: “I. Anathema

infractoribus ecclesiarum…II. Anathema res pauperum diripientibus…III. Anathema clericorum percussioribus.”

For the Latin text of the conciliar decrees see G.D. Mansi, Philippe Labbe, Gabriel Cossart, Nicolò Coleti, Jean

Baptiste Martin, and Louis Petit, eds., “Concilium Karrofense apud Karoffum Pictavensis,” in Sacrorum

conciliorum nova, et amplissima collectis: in qua præter ea quæ Phil. Labbeus, et Gabr. Cassartius…et novissime

Nicolaus Coleti in lucem edidere ea omnia insuper suis in locis optime disposita exhibentur, quæ Johannes

Dominicus Mansi…evulgavit, volume 19-20 (Florence: Expensis Antonii Zatta Veneti, 1759), 89-90.

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Dangerous rovers are detectable in the miracle texts by the hagiographers’ choice of terms to

identify them. The perpetrators of all the negative actions are denoted by male nouns, such as

quidam (certain male), vir (man), homo (man), latro (robber), and latrunculus (robber, rover),

with one exception of fur (thief), which has a common gender, and rebellis (rebellious), which is

an adjective that can be used for any gender. Dangerous rovers are also all described by social

designators that could only signify a male actor, such as eques (horseman, cavalry), equester

(equestrian, knight), miles (soldier), commiles (fellow-soldier), comes (companion; count), and

satelles (guard, servant, abettor). Most of these terms imply men who were trained warriors, but

the miracles themselves do not show all these men with arms nor all on horseback. Dangerous

rovers were also sometimes called nobilis (noble). While the hagiographers used this term to

denote both status and character, when applied to a person who was clearly a roving danger, it

seems to only indicate status. Overwhelmingly, the sources most frequently describe dangerous

men on the move using the terms nobilis/nobiles as well as miles/milites and eques/equites; miles

and eques are applied more or less interchangeably. What is most important is that the authors

write about all these men similarly by clearly presenting them as a menace to society and

performing a masculinity that threatens social order.5

5 Surprisingly, however, some terms in general usage in the eleventh century to describe violent warriors and a

violent context appear infrequently or not at all in Privat’s, Enimie’s, and Vivien’s miracle texts. For example,

juvenis, which designates a young person or youth, was often associated with disorderly behavior in the Middle

Ages. In some cases, it was used to denote a recently inducted miles, or knight; is only used four times across the

three miracle texts. Constance B. Bouchard does note, however, that the connection between juvenis and newly

dubbed knight was a twelfth-century conception, Strong of Body, Brave and Noble: Chivalry and Society in

Medieval France (Ithaca: Cornell University Press, 1998), 152. Given constant flux of meaning and usage around

terms such as youth or knight, as well as the usage of juvenis in the texts, it seems likely that juvenis could have had

at least nascent connections to a knightly connotation in the eleventh century as well. Of the examples of juvenis in

the text, only two reference this kind of young warrior. Privat’s text features a juvenis who was called noble in each

of chapters 6 and 12. Privat Chapter 7 mentions a young person who is healed and chapter 13 describes Privat’s

bodily appearance in the garb of a youth as a juvenis. Across the three sources, castrum is used eight times, but only

half of those occasions seem to refer to a fortified structure linked with a roving danger; the remainder of the

instances are used to refer to an encampment or field. In Vivien’s text chapters 15 and 33, the author references

camps when on the road for councils and in Privat’s text chapter 3, the author writes about encampments of

dangerous rovers. In Privat’s text chapter 12, however, the author uses castrum to denote a field. The remaining

examples of castrum likely refer to an actual castle or a fortified structure. Chapter 38 of Vivien’s miracles tells of a

sick woman from castrum Bedorius. Chapter 4 of Enimie mentions a roving danger from castrum Sancti Laurentii

and in Enimie’s miracles Chapter 5 the roving danger Nicetius is taken back to his castrum. In Privat’s miracles,

Mende is referred to as a castrum in Chapter 13. Surprisingly, the words vassus and militia are not used at all.

Considering that all warrior men would have been in some sort of vassilic relationship that included military service,

this is quite remarkable, but probably points to the authors’ preoccupation with the militaristic and violent aspects of

the dangerous rovers rather than the service component of their social function. The lack of militia is more

surprising considering how frequently militaristic activities were included in the sources.

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Since we are discussing male-centered violence, it is necessary to briefly discuss medieval

masculinity. Medieval Europe certainly was a man’s world in which a man’s position in the

social hierarchy determined cultural expectations of him.6 For the group of men under discussion

here (nobiles, milites, and equites), their militaristic attributes were a defining feature of their

performance of masculinity.7 While most scholars no longer recognize a “hegemonic

masculinity,”8 violence was an essential component of asserting dominance in the Middle Ages.

This included violent acts against men within one’s social strata and also against women and

other socially inferior groups regardless of their gender.9 Licit violence and warfare was part of a

noble or warring man’s practice, which was generally deemed accepted when practiced

according to social norms; but this behavior could easily spill into illegitimate forms for war.10

This included, as we shall see below, violence perpetrated against those who could not fight

back.

Just as there were multiple, overlapping, and competing versions of masculinity, it naturally

follows that the frequently-used terms (nobilis and eques/miles) to describe dangerous rovers

used in the sources are likewise impossible to precisely define. This is because in the Middle

Ages when they were employed, there was no universally applicable or stable definition.11 For

both milites and nobiles, their meanings changed over time, in context, and along with the elite

values that were also evolving and changing, especially concerning those values associated with

6 Ruth Mazo Karras, From Boys to Men: Formations of Masculinity in Late Medieval Europe (Philadelphia, PA:

University of Pennsylvania Press, 2003), 1.

7 Karras, From Boys to Men, 21.

8 Karras, From Boys to Men, 7-8 and Clare A. Lees, “Introduction,” in Medieval Masculinities: Regarding Men in

the Middle Ages, eds. Clare A. Lees, Thelma S. Fenster, and Jo Ann McNamara (Minneapolis: University of

Minnesota Press, 1994), xv.

9 Karras, From Boys to Men, 21.

10 Matthew Bennett, “Military Masculinity in England and Northern France c.1050-c.12.25,” in Masculinity in

Medieval Europe, ed. Dawn M. Hadley (London: Longman, 1999), 78.

11 Bouchard, Strong of Body, Brave and Noble, 2. Masculinity was likewise fluid over time, geography, and culture,

Lees, “Introduction,” xx and Karras, From Boys to Men, 3.

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possessing and engaging arms and horses.12 Even if we could precisely define these terms, there

was great variation among nobles and horsemen; neither was an homogenous group.13 One of the

complicating factors of the difference among nobles was the marked increase in the number of

noble families between the ninth and twelfth centuries in France. What had been a small

association of noble families in all of France in the ninth century became dozens of noble

lineages for any given region by the twelfth.14 During this period of flux, the understanding of

noble and nobility was quite fluid and subject to specific historical contexts.15 Among milites,

there was also a great deal of inequality.16 The status of miles described “a whole network of

religious, literary, and juridical connections.”17 Miles and the associated term militia were

growing in use between 980 and 1030 in charters, but miles is still ill understood in relation to

other terms even today.18

Often in the texts, the three terms nobilis, miles, and eques describe men who shared the

characteristics of warrior horsemen; but this was only one of their duties. Neither nobles nor

milites/equites can be reduced to their military function.19 Despite their similarities, these terms

12 Dominique Barthélemy, The Serf, the Knight and the Historian, trans. Graham Robert Edwards (Ithaca: Cornell

University Press, 2009), 147. Bouchard likewise urges scholars to contextualize milites in order to understand them;

she writes that even if we could come up with a definition of this term, it would not be valid outside of a narrow

window of time and space, Strong of Body, Brave and Noble, 172.

13 Bouchard, Strong of Body, Brave and Noble, 13 and Pierre Bonnassie, “Les milites en pays d’Oc au XIe siècle,

d'après les sources hagiographiques,” in Les sociétés de l’an mil: un monde entre deux âges (Brussels: De Boeck

Université, 2001), 463.

14 Constance B. Bouchard, “The Origins of the French Nobility: A Reassessment,” The American Historical Review

86. 3 (June 1981): 501.

15 From this example of nobilitas, Bouchard concludes that it was not a social class but a personal designation of

status that encompassed a collection of attributes and recognized behaviors. These attributes and beahviors changed

over time, geographical location, and from person to person, Strong of Body, Brave and Noble, 173.

16 Bouchard, Strong of Body, Brave and Noble, 13.

17 Barthélemy, The Serf, 144. Franco Cardini also offers various activities that might occupy the time of milites,

“The Warrior and the Knight,” in Medieval Callings, ed. Jacques Le Goff (Chicago: University of Chicago Press,

1990), 76-77.

18 Barthélemy, The Serf, 137 & 138.

19 Barthélemy explains that knighthood was more than the use of arms; it was also the pursuit of prestige and, if the

man was truly noble, it could include many other functions of that social standing, The Serf, 193-194. Bouchard

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are not likely interchangeable, as Georges Duby has asserted;20 instead, as Dominique

Barthélemy argues, they were likely complementary.21 Since the terms were usually applied to

the same men, but with varying connotations, the hagiographers focus on particular

characteristics and descriptions to convince the reader/hearer that the dangerous rovers were

undisciplined men.

Based on the use of nobilis, miles, and eques in the miracles of Privat, Enimie, and Vivien, I

suggest that we can group these dangerous rovers by their common characteristics to denote a

group that today are typically called “knights.”22 They were mostly armed men, riding on

horseback, and wielding power derived from their wealth or might. Knights as a group emerged

around 1000, but they had no cohesion as a social group in this period; their main unifying

characteristic was their warrior function.23 While some knights may have been nobles, not all

knights were noble.24 Indeed, in tenth- and eleventh-century France, there was no clear

distinction between a horseman and a knight.25

What made these men true dangerous rovers, however, is not their titles but how the authors

depict the way they moved. Dangerous rovers’ movements are described with verbs that denote

forceful or hasty movements, and their personal character is described with pejorative nouns.

Seizing movements are most typically signaled by rapio (to seize and carry off), which was used

echoes this sentiment for the nobility writing that nobles probably spent more time performing other functions of

daily life and survival than simply being a warrior, Strong of Body, Brave and Noble, 47.

20 Georges Duby, “Lignage, noblesse et chevalerie,” in Hommes et structures du Moyen Âge, ed. Georges Duby

(Paris: Mouton, 1973), 419.


22 The term “knight” was first used in the last decades of the nineteenth century to describe this culture of mounted

warriors that had a shared sense of values, Bouchard, Strong of Body, Brave and Noble, 11.


24 According to Barthélemy, Marc Bloch erroneously anachronized that all knights (implying horseback) were

equal to nobility in the Middle Ages. But, Bouchard argues that knight and noble were used almost interchangeably

until the fourteenth century when they sharply diverged, Strong of Body, Brave and Noble, 11.


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in five instances; but the hagiographers also use depredatus est (to pillage) in two instances,

arripio (to seize) one time, and cleptes (thief) one time. The hagiographers only highlight haste

in a couple miracle tales, but they use a great variety of words to do so. For example, they

employ conjugated versions of proruo (hurl forward), propero (hurry), accelero (speed up), and

festino (hasten); present participles such as currens (run) and urgens (urge on); and two other

phrases: repente rediens (sudden returning) and in proximo (right away). Their similar terrible

characters also demarcate dangerous rovers. This group of words is most diverse, ranging from

diabolico spiritu tumens (swelled with devilish spirit) to simple descriptions such as cupiditas

(desire), avarissimus (most greedy), or stultissimus (most stupid). Anti-social movements are

portrayed by these adjectival characteristics. Therefore, the authors similarly write about

dangerous rovers’ movements and motivations for movement that clearly marked them out as a

threat to social order. These descriptions written by hagiographers shows their side of what

Matthew Bennett describes as a mutually influential scenario in the constructions of medieval

masculinity; he writes that the image of knight was co-constructed by the warring laity and

medieval Christian writers, both of which groups had a vested interest in delimiting the behavior

of the warring classes.26

In sum, dangerous rovers were all men, and most were armed on horseback. For the

hagiographers, dangerous rovers symbolized disorder in a society that was to be rectified by the

saints.

Holy Avengers

While the first half of this chapter’s evidence examines the negative movements of dangerous

rovers that resulted from their threatening behavior, the second half reviews the positively

portrayed retaliatory movements enacted by the saints in response. Miracles involving relics that

punished usurpers and violent oppressors of the Peace of God, such as belligerent knights,

multiplied and peaked in the eleventh century.27 Barthélemy aptly asks: “What hagiographer did

26 Bennett, “Military Masculinity,” 71.

27 Anne-Marie Helvétius, “Le récit de vengeance des saints dans l’hagiographie franque (VIe-IXe siècle),” in La

Vengeance 400-1200, eds. Dominique Barthélemy, François Bougard, and Régine Le Jan (Rome: École française de

Rome, 2006), 426. Helvétius adds that after the eleventh century, little by little, the living saint stopped being a

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not get carried away when wielding his pen for his saint? Did the Peace of God have enemies in

principle, or did each instance of it have its own enemies, those specific to its promoters?”28

Despite this increase, punishment miracles are proportionally few compared to other types of

miracles in the three texts of Privat, Enimie, and Vivien. Yet, the increasing presence of

punishment miracles in general and their prominence in these three miracle texts demonstrate the

significance of punishment miracles to warn and to teach. In these miracles, the hagiographers

portray saints responding to disorder. When saints moved to punish dangerous rovers, they acted

as holy avengers who moved similarly to dangerous rovers, but the saints did so to right the

disharmony caused by dangerous rovers. For the saints, violence-for-violence could win the day.

While the hagiographers supported saints’ retaliatory violence, clearly there were limits to its

acceptability. The words used to describe the saints while enacting retaliatory movements are

telling of how they were conceived of by the hagiographers. In the previous chapter about the

Peace of God, when the saints are moved, the hagiographers use words that describe the saints as

objects.29 However, in the punitive movements of saints, they are described as though they were

alive, with terms associated with their living selves, such as martyr (martyr), confessor

(confessor), virgo (virgin), sanctus/sancta (saint or holy), and by name. Therefore, when the

deceased saints are portrayed actively in their justice-dispensing movements, they moved

without being visible. By this I mean that the saint was like a person, but without a terrestrial

body, and quite dissimilar to the passive relics that could not move on their own. Since great

active power is associated with the saints in their movements, it is almost as if they were working

model for young aristocrats and sanctity. Instead, dead saints, symbolized by relics, reminded everyone that living

man was inherently sinful, 448.

28 Barthélemy, The Serf, 272. But he also says that this writing did not necessarily reflect literal action. He writes:

“In medieval society, were not war and revenge taking mentioned more often than they were practiced? At the very

least, there were exercised with prudence.” The Serf, 266.

29 The reader will remember that the words used to describe their remains were gleba (dead body), reliquus

(remains), vestigium (vestige), corpus (body), and membrum (part, limb); words that describe their image are ymago

(image or likeness), pignus (symbol), and effigies (image or likeness). See Chapter 2 for a discussion about the

relationship between these words and the image reliquaries used to contain the relics of the saints.

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as invisible spirits.30 The hagiographers makes this distinction by using words related the living

saint for their invisible movement and words related to the remains of the saint for the visible

ones.

One way to understand these exactions of divine punishment is through the concept of immanent

justice. In a 1948 article that is still relevant today, Paul Rousset uses immanent justice to explain

certain actions, attitudes, and popular mentalité for a world in which divine justice could take the

form of celestial vengeance to punish sins.31 When immanent justice is done in the miracle

examples, the hagiographers use the terms ultio and vindicta, both of which can translate to

revenge or vengeance, with the connotation of divine punishment.32 Immanent justice in the

form of punishment miracles is, therefore, understandably found in miracle texts. While vitae

provided paradigms for medieval people to emulate, miracula contained stories about improper

incidents and their resolution, like saints exacting punishment.33 In the telling of stories about

sinful humans within the framework of unattainable religious examples, divine judgment seems

inevitable.34

30 This spirit-like power must be distinguished from visions of saints because visions included at least the

appearance of a body. While visions of saints were a typical medieval motif in hagiography, the saints do not appear

as visions in Privat’s, Enimie’s, and Vivien’s miracle tales, barring a couple of instances, one with Privat and one

with Enimie, and neither are in conjunction with punishments. This is why I qualify their active presence as a

spiritual one rather than a visionary one.

31 Paul Rousset, “La croyance en la justice immanente à l'époque féodale,” Le Moyen Âge 54 (1948). See also

Pierre-André Sigal, “Le culte des reliques en Gévaudan aux XIe et XIIe siècles,” in Cévennes et Gévaudan: Actes du

XLVIe Congrès organisé à Mende et Florac les 16 et 17 Juin 1973 (Mende, 1974), 39.

32 Helvétius, in her investigations of vengeance miracles in sixth- through ninth-century vitae, asserts that these

terms are generally synonymous with judgment-punishment to show “good” justice, “Le récit de vengeance,” 423.

In Rousset’s work, he identifies phrases, such as peccatis exigentibus (“with the sins having been expelled”), as a

literary cliché that show the obligatory and absolute nature of immanent justice, “La croyance,” 226. That phrase is

absent from the miracle literature I survey.

33 For Sigal, this difference between these two hagiographical sources also affected depictions of the actions of the

saint and is readily apparent in the miracle tales, “Un aspect du culte des saints,” 53. This phenomenon is limited

mostly to miracula since this genre of punishment miracle did not occur in vitae and translationes of the same

period. This is logical since vitae and translationes had a very different purpose than miracle texts, especially in

terms of negative examples they portray. For more about the differences between these three types of hagiography,

see Pierre-André Sigal, L’homme et le miracle dans le France médiévale (XIe-XIIe siècle) (Paris: Cerf, 1985), 9-15.

34 Helvétius, “Le récit de vengeance,” 449.

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Immanent justice was often dispensed swiftly. Indeed, the speed with which immanent avengers

retaliated was critical. Rousset describes immanent justice as a positive supernatural act in

response to sin that is immediately visible. He says: “God punishes or rewards right away, he

exercises his justice immediately, hic et nunc.”35 Sigal likewise writes that after harmful events,

like the criminal behaviors and movements analyzed for this chapter, there were those who were

waiting on divine vengeance to be served and those who were receiving divine vengeance.36 A

critical criterion, for Sigal, to understand whether or not vengeance was divinely meted out was

the immediacy or temporal coincidence of the negative event and the mitigating vengeance.37

Thus, the quickness with which the saints reacted with punishments shows that they were divine

avengers.

This is true of the miracle sources in the present analysis. When someone needed the saint to be a

holy avenger, they never had to wait long. The narratives of the three primary sources of

miracles about Vivien, Privat, and Enimie offer great examples of holy vengeance because their

authors show how the movements of sinful men are punished immediately by some sort of

otherworldly power that the authors attribute to God directly and/or indirectly through the power

of the saints. In these miracle narratives, therefore, reactive responses to dangerous rovers that

depredated the saints’ goods or people unfold mostly between roving men and the saints. The

saints’ power, however, worked two ways: they could heal, but they could also punish those who

did not respect them, mocked them, attacked ecclesiastical property, or harmed people under

their purview, who were unable to retaliate themselves.38

35 “Dieu punit ou récompense sans délai, sa justice s’exerce immédiatement, hic et nunc.” Rousset, “La croyance,”

225.

36 Pierre-André Sigal, “Un aspect du culte des saints: châtiment divin XIe et XIIe siècles d’après la literature

hagiographique du midi de la France,” in La religion populaire en Languedoc du XIIIe siècle à la moitié du XIVe

siècle, edited by Édouard Privat (Toulouse: É. Privat, 1976), 47.

37 Sigal, “Un aspect du culte des saints,” 47-48.

38 Sigal, “Le culte des reliques,” 110. Bozoky discusses the role of divine punishment, considering it a religious

violence enacted between evil men and divine powers. In her article, “Les miracles de châtiment,” Edina Bozoky

aims to connect the ideology of divine punishment (the reasons that caused divine punishment) with its practice

(how to create conditions favorable to incite divine punishment), “Les miracles de châtiment au haut Moyen Âge et

à l’époque féodale,” in Violence et Religion, eds. Pierre Cazier and Jean-Marie Delmaire (Villeneuve d’As:

Université Lille, 1998), 151.

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Pertinent to this chapter, there are two general categories of crimes punishable by an immanent

avenger. The first category concerns offences against the saints. This includes crimes against

relics, sacred space, and feast day, as well as those crimes against the goods and people under the

saints’ protection.39 Offenses that threatened the saints’ sacred spaces, their relics, their

surrounding space, and their home shrines, were problematic for the hagiographers and

warranted punishment because they threatened to profane the saints’ special locations and their

attending power. Crimes against the goods and people of the saints also merited punishment

because they threatened the economic base of the saint.40 This category of punishable miracle

was not new in the eleventh century, but what was new, according to Edina Bozoky, is that there

was a marked increase in the miraculous punishments for those who usurped church lands,

attacked monks, or looted the goods from the peasants who lived on the saints’ lands.41

Bozoky and Pierre-André Sigal agree on the first category, but Bozoky adds a second category,

which concerns those crimes that disrupted the ideal social order, both spiritual and temporal.42

Bozoky sees this category of social disruption as new in the eleventh century.43 Yet this category

is already abundantly clear in the miracles of Vivien, Privat, and Enimie. While the behavior

perpetrated by dangerous rovers pertains to crimes of category one, they all ultimately disturb the

social peace and therefore also fit into category two and warrant immanent justice. Crimes that

disrupted social order might be similar to those of categories one and two, misdeeds against the

saints and their property, respectively; but their portrayal as more significant than standard

villainy is important for the hagiographers. Gregory Allen Pass concludes that punishment

miracles were not simply saintly chastisements against men who attacked the Church and those

under its protection, but that “these are miracles pointedly set in a world of disorder which is

39 Bozoky, “Les miracles de châtiment,” 154-155.

40 Bozoky, “Les miracles de châtiment,” 155-156.

41 Bozoky, “Les miracles de châtiment,” 156.



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being brought under the control of saints and bishops.”44 What is more, the victims of these

disruptions were unarmed peasants and churchmen who could not reciprocate violence on the

sinful perpetrators thereby causing the need for an immanent avenger. For Bozoky, all these

interventions of divine punishments for the misconduct of earthly men were a way to prove the

need for the divine to retaliate against the violence that churchmen and their dependents were

unable to return on those who offended them and the saints.45 Significantly, Sigal concludes that

almost all the victims of punishment miracles were lords and men-at-arms.46 Sometimes there

were also brigands or thieves, and rarely the punished men were priests and monks or people

who had other seemingly innocuous professions.47

The miracle examples below are instances that highlight movements of men deemed improper by

the hagiographers because they deviated from their social expectations. To handle these

improper violent movements, the hagiographers use the saint as immanent avenger to return

violent movements to set the world right again. When punishing the dangerous rovers, the saints

moved similarly to them while exercising spiritual justice. The saints kill some of the

inappropriately violent movers, but that was allowable, according to the authors, because the

saints were spiritual arbiters that fulfilled the dual function of judge and executioner. When

Peace of God attempts failed, medieval people who could not avenge themselves of the criminal

actions and movements of dangerous rovers had to rely on God and the saints to do it for them.

44 Gregory Allan Pass, “Source Studies in the Early Secular Lordship of the Bishops of Mende,” (PhD diss.,

Harvard University, 1996), 65.

45 See especially Bozoky’s questions about divine punishment miracles in, “Les miracles de châtiment,” 152.

46 In his 1976 article “Un aspect du culte des saints,” Sigal examined prominent miracle texts in Midi France, which

he defines as Aquitaine, Languedoc, and Provence. In his seminal study from 1985, L’homme, he significantly

expands this source-base geographically and quantitatively. The monograph covers all of France and references

seventy-six Vitae and 166 collections of miracles and translationes, comprising of over 5,000 miracles in total. See

L’homme, 13.

47 Sigal, “Un aspect du culte des saints,” 51. Typical depredations by lords upon peasants identified by Sigal are

similar to my own findings, and include theft of pack animals, milking animals, herd animals, and farm animals;

ruining of the harvest; and burning of village and homes. Abbeys and their dependents were also victims of various

types of sins, such as the theft of wine or food reserves and attacks on the monks or clerics themselves along the

road or in their own homes, “Un aspect du culte des saints,” 41-42.

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4.2 Miracle Evidence

The miracle evidence is divided depending on whether the predominant movements were done

by dangerous rovers or holy avengers. These examples are not always easily separable because

multiple types of movements and movers intermingle in the miracle narratives. In addition, many

of the negatively-portrayed movements are directly linked to similarly undesirable behaviors,

making it difficult to distinguish between dangerous rovers’ actions in place and their

movements across space. This mixing of movers and movements and the unclear boundary

between actions and movements underscores the importance of the hagiographers’ distinctions

between proper and improper movements as well as the contrast between movement and stasis.

Therefore, there will be some overlap of examples and movements in the analysis and between

movement and behavior. To help parse out the evidence, dangerous rovers’ movements will be

examined as revelatory movements, that is, those movements that revealed dangerous rovers as

criminals by animalistic or wild movements and guided movements. Furthermore, these criminal

movements display a tension between the dangerous rovers, most notably milites, and the rustici.

Holy avengers’ movements are examined as miracles in retreat that highlight the use of ultio and

vindicta; they also show the attempts by bishops and monks to control these punitive situations

through controlling the power of the saint.

Revelatory Movements of Dangerous Rovers

Many movements in the three miracula enacted by dangerous rovers as a result of the criminal

acts can be categorized as revelatory. That is, through a miracle, the hagiographers write the

dangerous rovers as forced to move by the saints in ways that reveal them as perpetrators. By this

I mean that the authors attributed unexpected movements of dangerous rovers to the agency of

the saints. These movements, forced by the saints, can be subdivided into two categories:

uncontrolled, animalistic movement and guided movement. In both cases, the saint forced the

movements of the perpetrators to bring their criminality to light after the fact, and to bring

offending men to justice. Of the few examples of divinely-revealed wild movements by

dangerous rovers, there is an example from each of the three primary sources. Each of these

following examples also includes positive, sanctioned movements by others in the story,

therefore, juxtaposing the dangerous rovers with acceptable movers.

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Rustici versus Milites and Nobiles

Examination of these revelatory movements of dangerous rovers reveals a tension and fissure

between horsemen, like milites, and the unarmed laboring poor, the rustici. Broadly speaking,

previous to the eleventh century, society had been dichotomized between liberi (freemen) and

servi (slaves/servants). This pre-Hebraic and pre-Roman division was institutional.48

Increasingly in the tenth and eleventh centuries, Midi society was divided between milites and

rustici.49 Duby asserts that a shift in the exacting of power and liberties exercised by individual

lords made “explicit the cleavage between potentes and pauperes.”50 Both Duby and Franco

Cardini link this shift to the exemption from bans of powerful men, who were armed, and those

who were still subject to it, who were laborers.51 This new divide separated people by social

function and way of life. The opposition between warriors and laborers is very clearly seen in the

miracle tales of Privat, Enimie, and Vivien. Indeed, examples from each source pit horsemen

against rustici.52

The first example of uncontrolled, revelatory movements that shows conflict between the

powerful and poor people comes from Enimie’s miracle collection. Chapter 5 of Enimie’s

miracles tells us that a rustica multitudo (rural multitude) from one of Enimie’s hamlets was

accustomed to use donkeys to move goods that it needed for its livelihood, such as salt and other

items. By offering this habitual tidbit, the author sets up for the reader or hearer a stable,

repetitive movement that was part of the everyday life of these rustici and their donkeys. Once,

while the rustica multitudo was traveling with its donkeys,53 an eques named Nicetius,

accompanied by his men, ran into (obviaret) the rural multitude and their animals. As is typical

48 Cardini, “The Warrior and the Knight,” 75.

49 Milites rather than nobiles was used as the dividing line because milites and rustici were adjacent on the social

hierarchy, Georges Duby, The Chivalrous Society, trans. Cynthia Postan (Berkeley: University of California Press,

1977), 168.

50 Duby, The Chivalrous Society, 168.

51 Duby, The Chivalrous Society, 168 and Cardini, “The Warrior and the Knight,” 75.

52 For Enimie, see chapter 5; for Vivien, see chapter 18; and for Privat, see chapter 11 of their respective texts.

53 “…ad negotium cum asinis tenderet…,” Enimie, 5, 289.

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in these miracle texts, the wrongdoer of the tale, in this case the eques Nicetius, was overcome

with desire when he saw the pack animals and then acted on this greedy urge: he seized (rapuit)

and plundered (depredatus est) the rustica multitudo of its donkeys.54 The viscount (patrie

vicecomes), however, used great force (vi exigente) to make Nicetius return all but two of the

donkeys.55 Although the viscount enforced restitution, it is important to note that no movement

is associated with him; the author, when describing only his behavior, makes him a motionless

and, therefore, positive character.

This resolution, however, may have satisfied the patrie vicecomes, but it did not satisfy Enimie

who would not let the predator live much longer.56 To set up Enimie’s revenge, the author shifts

the scene of the story to Lodève, to the tomb of the blessed Fulcran. There is no sense of urgency

in the change of location, so perhaps the hagiographer wanted to give the impression that the

next phase of the story was contiguous to the previous one, even though probably not

immediate.57 A monk from the monastery of Sainte-Enimie had arrived (convenisset) at Lodève

where he saw that wretched Nicetius, then called miles by the author. The hagiographer

positively portrays this movement of the monk from Sainte-Enimie to Lodève because it is

movement toward a saint’s shrine.58 Upon seeing Nicetius, the monk asked how he could keep

Enimie’s donkeys, to which Nicetius replied with insults. The monk thus responded: “‘Behold in

your face already I see you are despicable and leprous and my hope will not be denied further,

since the hour is near at hand, in which the blessed Enimie will exert her power on you.’”59

54 “Qui tantam asinorum multitudinem cernens, cupiditate ductus, eos rapuit ac depredatus est.” Enimie, 5, 289.

55 “Sed patrie vicecomes, vi exigente, preter duos, cunctos restituere fecit.” Enimie, 5, 289.

56 Although we see a female saint (Enimie) acting on dangerous male rovers, the hagiographers do not make any

reference to the gendered nature of this situation. Therefore, my analysis similarly omits a genered conversation here

because the data does not support it. I do concede, however, that a wider analysis of the subtle silences such as these

could warrant further investigation with a larger corpus of sources.

57 I assume a brief time passed because the author carefully noted that Enimie would not let that predator (predator)

live much longer.

58 See Chapters 3 and 5 of this study for more examples of similar positive movements toward saints’ shrines for

pilgrimage and penance.

59 “Ad quem vir Dei sic fatus est: ‘Ecce in tua vultus specie iam despicabilem ac leprosum te conspicio, nec ultra

mea frustrabitur spes, quoniam cominus aderit hora qua in te Enimia beatissima suam expendet virtutem.’” Enimie,

5, 289.

164

Immediately after the monk’s departure (nec mora), Nicetius was snatched up (captus…est) and

bound (vinctus tenebatur) by his lord. In this case we see that at first, there is no hurry for

revenge by the saint, but once the monk foretold Nicetius’ ruin by Enimie, immanent justice is

served imminently. The use of the passive voice is also worth pause; although the arrestor is

named (he is Nicetius’ lord), the passive voice places Nicetius verbally central in the story, and

leaves open the insinuation that the saint is the real mover.

Between Nicetius’ arrest and his death, Enimie compels him to movement to reveal his guilt.

After his arrest, while captive, Nicetius began to tear into pieces and gnaw the objects around

him, and to move about furiously while braying like a donkey.60 The author clearly views these

revelatory movements as a punishment clearly meted out by Enimie for the theft of the donkeys.

After this scene of movement, Nicetius is taken back (delatus), now passive, to his own castle in

bondage where he died in great torment.61

This example connects movement and stasis to the tension between rustici and horsemen. In

opposition to the predictability of the rustici, the unpredictability of dangerous rovers made them

a seemingly spontaneous threat to the rustici; indeed, horsemen could strike at any moment. In

this example, Nicetius and his men happened upon the rustica multitudo and then depredated it.

When this danger is realized, the rustici need an outside agent to deliver justice.62 At first, this is

the viscount in what Gregory Allen Pass sees as lay authorities’ pursuit of justice to maintain the

peace.63 But Enimie is the one who actually metes out punishment. Nicetius is not able to escape

the wrath of Enimie for having travelled away with her animals. Instead, no matter where the

evildoer goes, the saint is more than willing to meet him to deliver revenge. Although we do not

60 “Nec mora, servus Dei retulit regressus ad hospitium, miles diaboli captus a domino est, omnesque dilacerare

cupiens, scamnum etiam in quo vinctus tenebatur, morsu corrodebat atque inter varios ululatus et teterrimos

mugitus, voces asininas fortiter inclamabat, et penam reatus sui virginisque potentiam, volens nolens, confitebatur.”

Enimie, 5, 289.

61 “Sic deinceps vinctus et catenatus ad castrum proprium delatus, post nimios cruciatus pessima morte vitam

finivit.” Enimie, 5, 289.

62 In a few instances, the rustici are portrayed moving to the saint or bishop to complain. For example, in Chapter 3

of this study, the congregation of people was key to assuring the success of pleas to the saint for peace.


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have confirmation that the two outstanding donkeys were returned, Nicetius’ death without

penance should be understood as justice served by Enimie.

The juxtaposition of moving versus static agents in the story also merits discussion. Nicetius and

the monk, who was the spokesman of the saint, are the only active agents in the story. Their

movements are clearly portrayed in opposition to show the unacceptability of Nicetius’ criminal

movements and the acceptable movement of the monk. The patrie vicecomes is not depicted

moving at all. Yet, it should be noted that these two forms of rectification, the lay one and the

saintly one, happen in cooperation with each other.

A second example of violent revelatory movement, this time from Vivien’s miracles, also

emphasizes the rift between laborers and warriors. In this case, Vivien exposes a thief who stole

from a rusticus. This thief is not punished for his improper behavior, but is brought to light by

his movements. As in the previous example of donkey-theft, this thief stole from a rusticus under

Vivien’s protection, but not from Vivien directly. While the relics of Vivien were at the council

at Coler, a latrunculus, who was also in attendance at the council, stole by deception (furto

ademit) a knife from a rusticus. After slipping the knife out of its sheath, he hid in a mob of

soldiers.64 That the thief thought he could conceal himself among soldiers suggests that he may

have been a soldier himself.65 As soon as the rusticus noticed his loss, he immediately cried out

to Vivien to avenge him. This thief was so stirred by divine vengeance that he

took up the little knife crosswise in his teeth, and just like a wild boar he began to swing

around here and there with that little knife among the density of trees, and tormented with

hellish fury, he rushed headlong through the middle of soldiers to some tree and with

[his] teeth transfixed that little knife into its base.66

64 “Latrunculus quidam uni rusticorum cultellum a vagina furto ademit, interque tantam gentium legionem

permixtus latuit.” Vivien, 18, 266.

65 According to J.F. Niermeyer and C. Van de Kieft, legio only has a military connotation. They define legio as an

“army section numbering a thousand mounted men” or an “army section of indefinite strength,” Mediae Latinitatis

Lexicon Minus: Lexique latin médiéval A-L (Leiden: Brill, 2002), 778. Therefore, I conclude that this latrunculus

was a fighting man.

66 “Continua fur ille divina ultione correptus, artavum in transversum dentibus arripuit, et quasi aper inter arborum

condensa hac et illac illo cultello ventilare coepit, stygiisque furiis exagitatus, per medias phalanges ad arborem

quandam proruit atque in ejus stipitem cum dentibus ipsum cultellum transfixit.” Vivien, 18, 266.

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Thus, the wild movements provoked by Vivien made the thief visible to all. The movements are

also depicted violently; he snatched up (arripuit) the knife and then swung it around (ventilare

coepit) with hellish fury (stygiisque furiis) until he ran headlong (proruit) through a crowd of

soldiers (per medias phalanges), and then transfixed (transfixit) the knife in the tree and ended

the movement. It is notable that the rusticus is unmoving in opposition to the thief who reveals

himself through movement.

What is most striking, however, is what happened after the knife was recovered. After this

miraculous exposure of the thief, more miracles of this sort occurred, but are not described in the

source.67 Instead, the author tells of people moving and other relics being moved into the

presence of Vivien’s relics. Everyone “crowded together their saints to the assembly point

(curia) of the holy confessor, they worshipped him with rather noble honor, and they gave up

praise before the rest [of the saints’ relics present] in rather honorable concord.”68 This miracle

tale is centered on a flurry of movements; first, there are negative movements of the roving

danger, then movements counter-acted by positive movements attributed to Vivien. After

positively-portrayed movements of people and relics toward Vivien’s relics, that they worship

Vivien shows a clear assertion of hierarchy among the saints present at the council with Vivien at

the top. It is quite curious that the text does not mention any other punishment than these

animalistic movements and the saints and people congregating in Vivien’s presence. Instead, the

miracle tale ends with everyone praising Vivien for this miraculous recovery. Perhaps the

miraculous recovery is all the chastisement that was necessary because the crime was quite

minimal. A possible subtext is that the thief was actually taken, arrested, and then punished as a

thief, but that the author did not see fit to include these details because they did not glorify the

saint.

Privat’s miracle collection contains a third example of revelatory movements of powerful men

against rustici. In this example, we see that even the archdeacon of Mende could be counted

amongst roving dangerous men. While in a quarrel with the bishop of Mende, the archdeacon

67 “His ergo et hujusmodi mirabilium signis omnes undique exciti….” Vivien, 18, 266.

68 “…suos sanctos ad praedicti confessoris curiam constipaverunt, eumque nobiliori honore coluerunt ac prae

ceteris emplioribus laudum concentibus sublimarunt.” Vivien, 18, 266.

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pillaged (depredatus est) an estate that belonged to Privat. In retaliation, the martyr made all the

animals that were held captive on that estate “to charge (se ingerere) the enemy with such a great

impetus that you would say that they had the power of reason.”69 These misbehaving men were

so affected by the assaulting animals that they lost all their sense.70 The plunderers decided to

return (redeunt) the stolen goods to the rustici, who had convened (convenerant) after the

plundering.

The hagiographer contrasts the negative movements of the archdeacon and his men with the

positive movements of the rustici. That the rustici moved with an active verb rather than a

passive verb merits some pause. Normally in the miracle tales, the common people actively

moved only in conjunction with others of higher status than themselves, such as churchmen and

relics. But in this instance, the movement of the rustici caused the dangerous rovers to bring back

the pillaged goods and to repent. These plunderers, still quite senseless, went back to the estate

and spent the night (pervigilem ducunt) in praise of Privat.71 In the morning, they enacted

(pertractant) the peace that had been agreed upon the day before with the men of Privat and

through divine mercy returned their senses. It seems a bit odd that the plunderers decided to

make peace and return the stolen goods, unless we accept that here the hagiographer is implying,

without spelling it out, that this is at the bidding of the saint. Privat uses the movement of

animals and of men to deliver punishment and to force penance. While the saint himself is not

written as active in this miracle, his forcing hand is implied in arousing the animals to act upon

the pillagers to force the return of the pillaged goods because the hagiographers always attribute

these wondrous happenings to God through the saints they glorify.

69 “Etenim fera animalia, que ibi capta fuerant, ita contra hostes magno impetu se ingerere ceperunt ut vim rationis

ea habere diceres, si videres cornibus ac pedibus seu capitibus, ne a predonibus ducerentur, se defendentes.” Privat,

11, 19.

70 “Cumque pene per totum diem cum hostibus inauditum certamen conficerent, ita predones amentes affecti sunt

ut, oculis apertis, qua in parte essent discernere nequirent.” Privat, 11, 19.

71 “Tandem, cum rusticis qui post predam convenerant placito confecto ut omnia redderent ipsis ductoribus, rursum

redeunt ad quam depredati sunt villam, sicque noctem illam, non bene sani, in laudem sancti martyris Privati

pervigilem ducunt.” Privat, 11, 19.

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After the rest of the offending men were sent away (obmissis ceteris), the archdeacon remained

as a witness of his own demented confusion and the power of Privat,72 and with an implied sense

of permanent stasis among Privat’s religious men. The hagiographer, recognizing the fantastic

nature of this miracle, uses the first person to write: “…lest this [miracle] seem incredible to

anyone…I affirm that the same archdeacon is a witness of his own crime.” Normally, the author

uses the first person plural in the text, so this use of the first person singular is remarkable; it

suggests that the hagiographer was very close to the events. Not only did Privat thwart the sinful

movements of pillaging and bring the evil-doers to light by forcing their movements, Privat also

kept the archdeacon thereafter as a witness of the evil and marvelous movements of the

miracle.73 In doing so, the author renders him static, but still gives him a voice.74

This example of an archdeacon behaving badly is included in a chapter about dangerous rovers

because the author writes about the evil actions and punishments of dangerous rovers in the same

way as similar miracle tales. In addition, the role of the archdeacon in this tale is contrary to the

expectations attending his office. The archdeacon, who should have been working in cooperation

with Privat, instead acted against him with his band of men, who are dangerous rovers in this

story. The only lasting damage seems to have been the degradation of the archdeacon’s mental

state, resulting in the archdeacon becoming a witness of the power of Privat against dangerous

rovers. Thus, anyone could be a danger in the hagiographer’s eyes if they moved and acted a

certain way.

The fourth example of turbulent, retaliatory movement shifts from the fracture between milites

and rustici to a conflict between two nobiles and saint Privat. The movement linked with harmful

72 “Facto autem mane de pace pertractant initioque cum martyris hominibus federe, tribuente divina clementia,

sensus recipiunt, sicque confusi et absque ullo prave voluntatis profectu, ad propria remeant et, ne alicui videatur

hoc incredibile, obmissis ceteris, eumdem archidyaconum testem sue confusionis esse affirmo, qui mutations

postmodum narrare solitus est ita se amentem fore effectum tantamque in animalibus apparuisse virtutem ut de sua

suorumque salute omnino desperaret.” Privat, 11, 19.

73 Other similar examples of people remaining at the saints’ shrines after a miracle are treated below in Chapter 5 of

this thesis.

74 Perhaps their association with the archdeacon explains the merciful divine punishment of the animal attack that

inflicted no permanent physical wounds. The armed followers of the archdeacon were likely working as a proxy for

the archdeacon who ought not do the pillaging in the miracle himself. Therefore, it is most plausible that the

dangerous rovers that pillaged with the archdeacon were milites.

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behavior in this miracle concerns the pillaging of Privat’s image reliquary by two noble men who

gave in to their greed and thus threatened the sanctity of Privat’s holy statue.75 This is a

marvelous and rare example of a direct description of an image reliquary from these texts to

narrate an exceptional scandal.76 The author takes the reader/hearer on the furtive journey with

the thieves in which the men, both named Gui, “invaded with an evil spirit of greed,”77 decided

to plunder the church of the holy martyr Privat and take away (auferre) bits of his statue.78 This

theme of greed concerning Privat’s statue is not too surprising. Displaying treasures in churches,

such as reliquaries adorned with precious metals, surely created temptation for pillaging.79 But

the relic keepers likely hoped that the threat of both celestial and earthly punishment would be

enough to deter such temptation.

In the narrative, the author emphasizes movement and stasis, equating them with chaos and

order. To illustrate this point it is worth examining one sentence closely. The author sets the

scene of the theft for the reader:

Moreover they [Gui and Gui] coming at night, laid hidden in the crypt and, in the very

greatest silence of the still of night, at this time not as Christians but as barbarians,

seizing the body of the saint, they took away his head and right arm, and with the gold

and gems from his face removed, they left the rest dispersed and in disorder.80

75 The author of the Privat’s Book of miracles was careful to note that one man was more noble than the other,

although he did not nuance this information any further in the text. “Duo itaque nobilissimi viro, unus tamen altero

nobilior….” Privat, 9, 17. Saint Foy’s miracles contain a parallel story about the theft Foy’s sacred vessels. See The

Book of Sainte Foy, translated by Pamela Sheingorn (Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 1995), 2.5,

124-127.

76 Jean Hubert and Marie-Clotilde Hubert, “Piété Chrétienne ou paganisme? Les statues-reliquaries de l’Europe

carolingienne,” in Cristianizzazione ed organizzazione ecclesiastica delle campagne nell’alto medioevo: Espansione

e resistenze, 10-16 aprile 1980, volume 1 (Spoleto: Presso la sede del Centro, 1982), 246.

77 “…maligno cupiditatis spiritu invasi…,” Privat, 9, 17.

78 “…statuerunt furtim aurum de sancti ymagine auferre.” Privat, 9, 17.

79 Sigal, “Un aspect du culte de saints,” 42.

80 “Venientes autem nocte, in cripta latuerunt atque, in ipso noctis conticinii summo silentio, non jam ut Christiani,

sed ut barbari, sancti glebam arripientes, caput ei auferunt et brachium dextrum, auroque cum gemmis de superficie

ablato, cetera confusa ac dispersa relinq[u]unt.” Privat, 9, 17. For more on image reliquaries and other precious

reliquaries, see Chapter 2 of this study.

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In this case, the author stresses the peacefulness of the night in comparison to the seizing of the

holy body (sancti glebam81 arripientes) and their removal of the bits of the statue. The

hagiographer also implies contrast between his negative portrayal of their leaving the statue in

disorder with the orderliness of the statue before the Guis’ pilfering.

When the clerics saw in the morning what had happened in the night, they told the bishop

immediately. The bishop, also saddened, ordered the battle cry (“classi[c]a signorum pulsare

jubet”), which congregated all the people together. Once the people were gathered

(congregatoque universo populo), the bishop gave a brief speech to announce what had

happened and called the thieves (in this instance he called them raptores) to penance. Therefore,

the bishop used the mobilization of people to the sacred shrine as a mechanism to solve a

common problem.82 Movement of the people is down played by the hagiographer’s use of a

passive ablative, thus omitting their movement without making them inactive. Indeed, their

gathering was essential to bring on the saint’s action. In addition, the monks and bishop only

speak but do not move. With these verbal choices, the author, thus far in the story, shows only

the thieves moving.

As the story continued, so did the movement of the two Guis. Privat made these men visible by

their movements. Since no one came forward to confess the pilfering, the bishop put the thieves

(in this instance he called them latrones) under anathema, which symbolized a ritualized

alienation that physically removed the men from their congregation. Since collective

mobilization on its own was not enough to bring the thieves to light, Privat stepped in and forced

the Guis to reveal themselves. Privat rendered these two noble men full of madness, acting

wildly, so that “they raging all around by wandering divulged the deed they committed.”83 The

author employs specific vocabulary, circumquaque debacantes,84 to accentuate the

81 Gleba can refer to the actual body as well as the receptacle of the body of the saint, Jean-Marie Sansterre, “Après

les miracles de sainte Foy: présence des saints, images et reliques dans divers textes des espaces français et

germanique du milieu du XIe au XIIIe siècle,” Cahiers de civilisation médiévale Xe-XIIe siècles 56 (2013): 49.

82 Congregation in response to crisis is a recurring theme in all the miracle texts surveyed for this study, which are

more fully discussed in Chapters 3 and 5.

83 “…ut circumquaque debacantes eundo facinus commissum ipsimet propalarent,” Privat, 9, 17.

84 Privat, 9, 17.

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uncontrollable movements of the men. Once their sin was made public, the two men were

penitent and they returned (reddunt) the gold and gems, although it is not clear if the men also

returned to the church of the holy martyr to do this. This lack of specificity about the location of

the return of the pilfered items seems unusual because, as we shall see in Chapter 5 of this study,

when formerly criminal men in these sources were penitent, they are usually clearly depicted

moving toward the saints’ shrines to gain forgiveness.

At the very end of the miracle, Privat also moved because this return of goods alone clearly did

not satisfy him. Although Privat did not kill the men, he did punish them with severely violent

movement: he “utterly whipped” (funditus flagellavit) the thieves (fures). One was turned stupid

and all his children died, thus ending his lineage. The other man lost all his possessions, was

debilitated on one side of his body, and was only able to sustain himself through alms because he

was unable to move as well and freely as he previously had. Thus, each one is punished by a

deprivation of movement of some sort. Both of these punishments further show the central place

of movement within the story. Through his description of the movements of both the sinners and

the saint, the hagiographer makes clear that Privat’s image reliquary is very important to the

author and Mende. The costly statue was both a symbol of terrestrial wealth, made from

donations to Mende, and divine favor, because Privat protected it from permanent dispersal.85

A few historians discuss this tale. Both Pierre-André Sigal86 as well as Isabelle Darnas and

Fernand Peloux87 stress Privat’s anger in reaction to such a violation of the sacred as a

significant aspect of the miracle tale. For Jean-Marie Sansterre, however, the focus is on the

relationship between the statue and the saint. He states that “In this case, the saint appears

necessarily distinct from its reliquary statue,”88 highlighting that, within this miracle, the author

made distinctions between the saint himself as a spiritual entity and the relics or image reliquary



87 Isabelle Darnas and Fernand Peloux, “Identité et dévotion: le représentations des saints locaux en Gévaudan du

Moyen Age à nos jours,” in Regards sur les objects de dévotion populaire, eds. Isabelle Darnas and d’Agnès Barroul

(Actes Sud: Arles, 2011), 45.

88 “En l’occurrence, le saint apparaît forcément distinct de sa statue reliquaire qui pourrait bien ne pas avoir été

refaite à l'époque de l’hagiographe.” Sansterre, “Après les miracles de sainte Foy,” 49.

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in the physical form. This is the reason why I earlier made the distinction between the saints’

invisible movements versus the visible movements of the saints’ relics. I surmise that the

movements enacted as part of this statue-pillaging miracle show both of these points of view:

that the statue was important because it was the representation of the saint and that we ought to

understand a distinction between the relics and the saint, but it is the saint who performed holy

vengeance through movement in the story.

A final curious point remains about this miracle: why were the relic keepers not blamed in this

tale for their failure to protect the statue from pillaging? Patrick Geary writes that when relics

were not properly protected from despoilers, as was the case in this tale, the community could

often expect something bad to happen to those who should have protected it.89 It strikes me that

neither the fear of relic theft nor dismemberment is voiced in the miracle story. The hagiographer

does not chastise the clerics in charge of safeguarding the statue, and they certainly are not

shown as punished for allowing the image to be despoiled. Only the perpetrators of sinful

displacement of the relics are punished. One possibility is that this lack of chastisement indicates

that the author of Privat’s miracles was among the relic keepers at Mende, although this is not

verifiable. Whether he was or not, the relic keepers are noticeably absent from the scene and the

movements in the story. It is also possible that the hagiographer wanted to keep focus on the

thieves and their movements rather than the relic keepers. Whatever the reason, it must remain

speculative.

These examples of movements written as forced by the saint to reveal roving dangerous men all

include wild behavior related to animals. In the three cases, of nobilis and milites/equites, the

perpetrators are compelled to act like wild and furious animals. The example of the archdeacon

and his men, by contrast, is acted upon by wild furious animals rather than acting that way

themselves. I interpret this use of animals as further commentary by the hagiographers to show

disapproval for dangerous rovers’ improper movements.

89 Patrick Geary explains that not properly caring for saints’ relics could sometimes result in dire consequences. He

writes: “Saints were vital, powerful members of society and commanded reverence, honor, respect, and devotion.

They were entitled to defense, service, and an enthusiastic cult. When people purposefully or accidentally failed to

give them their due, either directly or by acting improperly in their relics’ presence or indirectly by infringing on

their honores, (their property, religious community, or devotees), they could retaliate with violence.” Living with the

Dead in the Middle Ages (Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press, 1994),120.

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Guided Movement

The previous examples showed, among others, violent, uncontrolled movements that dangerous

rovers were compelled to do by the saint to reveal them as perpetrators of improper behaviors.

Now we turn to an example of revelatory movement, but movement that, while not violent, was

guided by Privat.

This fifth example of compelled movements is from chapter 13 of Privat’s text and involves a

band of thieves, showing a positive representation of armed men and the compassionate

judgment of the bishop of Mende in the face of dangerous rovers. For a council at Mende, a great

many equites had convened (concurrentibus). Also present was a most cunning (astutissimus)

thief and his crew, who, desiring to pilfer horses, observed the places whence they would be able

to steal horses and flee securely.90 Thus, before the movements of theft, the band of thieves first

observed their surroundings from a position of stasis. But at the first silence of night, the robber

stole (raperet) two horses of great worth and hid (lateret) in the nearby wood, which place he

had spied the day before.91 When the bishop of Mende heard about this matter, he was full of

sorrow, but declared that he had faith that through Privat, God would restore the stolen horses so

as not to disturb the cause of peace for which they had all assembled.92 At this point, only the

thieves and the stolen horses had moved. The bishop was motionless, and his faith that Privat

would rectify the situation kept the bishop from doing anything at all to retrieve the purloined

horses.

While the bishop did not move, the saint is depicted avenging the theft by making the culprits

move aimlessly before drawing them back to the council location. The author first writes about

90 “Denique concurrentibus undique equitibus, latro quidam astutissimus cum sociis suis apta loca observabat

quibus nocte equos furari posset et quo vellet tendere securus effugere valeret.” Privat, 13, 20.

91 “Whence it happened that, at first silence of night, he seized two most distinguished horses, which were of great

worth, and he hid nearby in the wood, which had a hiding place, he had spied by looking [about] the day before.”

The Latin reads:“Unde factum est ut, primo noctis silentio, duos optimos equos, qui magno appretiabantur pretio,

raperet et prope in silva que aderat latibulum querendo invisus die altero lateret.” Privat, 13, 20.

92 “Cumque hoc episcopo predicto nuntiaretur, factus subtristis, talia retulit: ‘Spero in Deum meum, quoniam, per

beati Privati merita, quocumque ducantur equi, michi restituentur; nec erit fas ab ullo fure diutius retineri, quod hoc

pro communi pace constat esse congregatum.’” Privat, 13, 20.

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the thief and his wandering in the third person singular. After his pilfering, the thief spent the

whole day (per totum diem) wandering about (perlustrans) the forest, mindful of spies that could

find him out and trying to find his escape on the road toward Alais (Alès). Once night fell, he

took up (arripiens) the journey, but Privat thwarted his flight, making (conciniens) him journey

in error by wandering in circles (“per silvam in rotatu pergebat”), finding no exit for escape.93

On the next day, he lay hidden in the forest and then after nightfall he thought that he was exiting

(exire) the forest and taking up (incipere) the route that he had been seeking.94 But divine power

did not let him go (pergeret) the way he wanted to, and he was ignorant of the right way to

proceed (ageret) when a beautiful youth (juvenis pulcher) appeared, whom we can assume was

Privat, a vision in corporeal form.

When the brilliant youth appeared, the hagiographer switches from talking about the thief in the

singular to writing about the thief and his band of men in plural. The youth spoke to the dejected

men and offered to show them the route that they desired to take (tendere).95 This stranger

seemed to know well the roads (vias) and the byroads (diverticula);96 the subtext here is that he

knew the right way to move. These wretches trusted the youth and promised him a share of the

booty in exchange for his aid.97 The youth walked (precedit) and led these men back (reducit) to

the place they did not want to go.98 The hagiographer’s choice of reducit (to lead back) coupled

93 “…nocte insequta, iter cum equis ac sociis arripiens, orbatus lumine cordis, sancti martyris virtute universum

illius noctis itineris laborem frustra coniciens, per silvam in rotatu pergebat, nec ulla exeundi facultas ei accidere

potuit.” Privat, 13, 20.

94 “Sicque valde confusus, die altera inibi latuit, iterum vero succedentibus tenebris, visus est exire de silva et viam

quam cupiebat incipere.” Privat, 13, 20.

95 “Sed cum errando pergeret nec fas esset ire quo vellet, stultus quid ageret ignorabat, jamque de spe sue

prosperitatis diffisus, infortunii sui penas luebat, et ecce subito juvenis illi pulcher apparuit ad iter expediendum

precinctus et ad viam carpendam omnibus preparatus, qui dum illos tristes videret causasque mestitie quereret, illi

patefaciunt rei eventus, sibique hoc accedisse asserunt quod nulli hominum [h]actenus crederent evenisse.” Privat,

13, 20-21.

96 “Tunc ille consilium prebet, sese illuc tendere quo ipsi vellent affirmat et vias notas bene tenere atque diverticula

nosse, ad plenum manifestat nullum in itinere fore discrimen si tantum se sequi vellent et pro suo comitatu debitum

impendere manus.” Privat, 13, 21.

97 “Credunt itaque eum miseri et sui laboris sodalem adsciscunt partemque de furto se daturos fideliter

repromittunt.” Privat, 13, 21

98 “Ad hec juvenis grat[ul]abundus precedit ductorque factus ad loca non speranda reducit.” Privat, 13, 21.

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with the detail that they were being led back to an undesired location is subtle foreshadowing of

the positive movements of Privat to lead the sinful men to judgment. Since we are to believe this

youth was Privat, we see the saint, also using deception by appearing in the guise of a friendly

figure to the band of thieves, participate in the movements of this miraculous tale in semi-

physical form instead of invisibly as in the previous examples.

The men walked (ambulantes) all night and in the morning, when the thieves thought that they

had arrived (pervenisse) at Alais, they instead found that they had returned to the council

location whence they had stolen the horses.99 The youth vanished before their eyes and the

thieves were seized (capiuntur) and dragged (deducuntur) before the bishop all the while

beseeching Privat’s succor. It is possible that the passive voice of capiuntur and deducuntur is

significant. The passive voice obscures the agents of the seizing and dragging and makes the

dangerous rovers acted upon rather than active. Forced to come before the bishop against their

will, they were moved involuntarily. Once these dangerous rovers were brought before the

bishop, the “powerful milites, who had come together concerning their ruin,” offered various

counsels of punishment. But the bishop, “with higher counsel, considering the miracle of the

martyr, decided to pardon the wretches.”100 In a surprising decision of compassion, the bishop

allowed these men to go free (abire) and unharmed (illesos),101 so that they could spread the

story of Privat’s powers. Therefore, their departure facilitated the spread, and in a sense the

movement, of the story of Privat’s miracle. This narrative, then, gives a juxtaposition of the static

bishop at Mende, faithful in his God and patron saint and the on-the-loose wanderings of the

thief and his crew, plus the positive movements of the saint and of the rumor of his power.

It is fascinating that the saint was active, especially compared to the bishop who remained at

Mende throughout the whole miracle tale. This youth, who, to the hagiographer and his audience,

99 “Nam per noctem illam pariter ambulantes, mane illucente aurora, cum se Alestum pervenisse putarent, inventi

sunt in loco ubi prius equos fuerant furati.” Privat, 13, 20.

100 “Cumque potentes milites quo convenerant de eorum nece ob latrocinium diversas proferrent sententias, antistes

predictus, altiori consilio, virtutem considerans martyris, statuit miseris indulgeri et, ut ipsi, concessa vita, sancti

merita predicarent, recuperato furto, illesos abire precepit.” Privat, 13, 21.

101 “Cumque potentes milites quo convenerant de eorum nece ob latrocinium diversas proferrent sententias, antistes

predictus, altiori consilio, virtutem considerans martyris, statuit miseris indulgeri et, ut ipsi, concessa vita, sancti

merita predicarent, recuperato furto, illesos abire precepit.” Privat, 13, 21.

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was Privat in disguise, moved in order to restore the horses and to bring the thieves to penance.

This example further reinforces that society should be motionless, except to come to the relics by

faith, and the only ones that could really move if someone misbehaved were the saints; I believe

this is the didactic message of the hagiographers.102

Even though the bishop was unmoving, he seems to have exhibited the most judicial power in

the story. Unlike the other miracles about dangerous rovers we saw above, the saint did not

inflict punishment. In fact, no punishment was given by anyone. The milites gave their suggested

punishments (although the author does not share them with the reader), but ultimately the bishop

allows the thieves to go away unharmed. The author states that they were freed in order to share

their story. For the bishop, through the hagiographer’s words, this likely meant spreading the

story of his mercy along with Privat’s miracle.

The above examples have shown three important points about the portrayal of powerful men in

the miracle collections. First, the hagiographers depict warriors’ and thieves’ oppression of the

lower classes involving movement as a common occurrence in miracle texts.103 Indeed, these

types of depredations are precisely the typical examples that were cited as impetus for Peace of

God gatherings and attempts for peace we saw in Chapter 3. Second, the hagiographers’

portrayal of movements is fundamentally negative; criminal men are forced by the saint to reveal

themselves through movements they normally would not have done, such as acting like

animals.104 Third, this negative discourse on movement is further highlighted by the fact that the

only positive moving actors in the miracles are the saints and their rustici. Only pious

movements toward the saints or movements of the saints are permissible.105 These three points

102 In his article about saints appearing as visions in order to punish wrongdoers, Szymon Wieczorek sees similar

occurrences of saints acting as brutal executioners, “A beato Maximino se letaliter ictum eiulando indicavit: Visions

of Saints Personally Executing Physical Punishments in 10th- and 11th-Century French Hagiography,” in Ecclesia et

Violentia: Violence against the Church and Violence within the Church in the Middle Ages, eds. Radosław Kopeck

and Jacek Maciejewski (Newcastle upon Tyne: Cambridge Scholars Publishing, 2014), 255-257. Wieczorek’s work

is relevant here because it shows that a literary tradition of saints in tenth- and eleventh-century France, and earlier,

existed in which saints were represented as taking on physical form to administer punishment.

103 Pass, “Source Studies,” 77. See also Thomas Head, Hagiography and the Cult of the Saints: The Diocese of

Orléans, 800-1200 (Cambridge, England: Cambridge University Press, 1990).

104 Bonnassie, “Les milites,” 460.

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combined show how the hagiographers would prefer society to be in the face of violence and

power abuses of nobiles, milites, and equites performing their masculinity.

The profusion of these violent examples has led many historians to believe that there was a

transformation of medieval society in the eleventh century. If hagiographers overemphasized

violence in ecclesiastical sources, they likely did so with a purpose: to construct the saints as

ultimate judicial powers. These miracle sources from the south of France in the eleventh century,

and others from the time period, point to an expectation that nobles should rule well, but that a

great many did not.106 Nobles and their milites behaving badly was a problem because they were

supposed to be the source of social justice and order. When justice was not administered by the

lay lords, churchmen and rustici turned to celestial sources to solve their earthly, mundane

problems. Sources of aid included the Peace of God movement, headed by bishops and like-

minded laity; but more immediately, victims of warriors’ violence looked to the saints for holy

vengeance.

4.3 Holy Avengers’ Reactive Movements

In response to violence perpetrated by armed men, hagiographers recorded the most sensational

tales to make their point clear: inappropriate violence would be met by the saints’ reprisals. In

the hagiography, saints acted as holy avengers to counteract dangerous rovers with

punishment.107 What is striking and will be explored in this section is that, when the saints

moved in the capacity of holy avengers, they moved in similar ways as dangerous rovers. In fact,

the saints often mirrored dangerous rovers’ criminal movements while inflicting immanent

justice. Most of the movements enacted by dangerous rovers involved seizing and taking away

something that belonged to the saint or the people under his protection. When it came to

punishing these dangerous men for their crimes, it was not necessary for them to be in the

105 Bonnassie “Les milites,” 461.


107 Law was at the foundation of the Peace. And Peace statues did not demand punishment, but instead demanded

reparations. Punishment was applied when reparation was not made, Goetz, “Protection of the Church, 270.

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presence of the saint’s relics or at the shrine. Instead, punishment was more often than not meted

out on evil men out in the world rather than at the shrine, likely to protect the sanctity of the

saints’ property. This is what I describe as the saint moving invisibly toward those who were

guilty of some indiscretion to punish them. In Privat’s, Enimie’s, and Vivien’s miracles this

occurred while the dangerous rovers were in retreat.

To gain access to the intermediary power of a saint as holy avengers, a religious community

needed to possess, protect, and venerate that saint’s relics. Once access to an intermediary was

achieved, ecclesiastics used rites to protect both visible and invisible barriers to put themselves

under divine protection. The violation of these barriers provoked divine vengeance and

punishment of the aggressors.108 Relics were central to this process because their very presence

protected a place both spiritually and materially.109 Thus, when the goods, people, or sanctuaries

of the saints were attacked, this was perceived as a direct affront against the saint that merited

retaliation.110 On this matter Bozoky states: “In general, the relics played a catalytic role for

triggering the judgment of God.”111 Medieval hagiographers were clearly aware of the abundant

power of possessing relics and used it to their advantage. Therefore, we must not underestimate

the power assigned to the relics in the sources.

In the following four examples of holy avengers punishing dangerous rovers in retreat, two use

the word ultio and two employ vindicta. This makes clear to the reader or hearer that the

punishment was divinely sanctioned as immanent justice. Of these examples, three are from

Privat’s miracles, and one is from Enimie’s. While Vivien’s miracle collection does include

punishment miracles, since they all involve acts of penance at the saint’s shrine, they will be

examined in Chapter 5 of this present work.

Movements in Retreat



110 Bozoky, “Les miracles de châtiment,” 160. To incur the holy avenger, people could use the clamor as a

malediction against the perpetrator, Bozoky, “Les miracles de châtiment,” 162.

111 “De façon générale, les reliques jouaient le rôle catalyseur pour déclencher le jugement de Dieu.” Bozoky, “Les

miracles de châtiment,” 163.

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The first example of immanent justice by a holy avenger is from chapter 3 of Privat’s miracles in

which the city of Mende is attacked.112 This is a prime instance of the hagiographers portraying

an otherwise acceptable performance of masculinity as inappropriate because it threatened the

safety of the saints’ home. The story begins by describing a former, peaceful time at Mende

when the martyr Privat was trusted to protect the city from evil. During this time, Mende enjoyed

peace and lack of perturbations.113 The next line explains how peace had been achieved: Privat

was striking his enemies with his lance. One such enemy was count Gui, or Gui-Geoffroi, who

was duke of Aquitaine and count of Auvergne (1058-1086).114 Gui had heard of the power of the

saint, yet his pride as well as his lust for gold and silver led him to Mende with a band of soldiers

(milites). Privat, as though sleeping, allowed Gui and his men into Mende, where they seized the

goods and rights of Mende,115 celebrated their victory, and divided the spoils of their plunder.

But Privat did not allow them to go unpunished. After celebrating his spoils, Gui was inflicted

with a wound (Illi vulnus infligitur). Although the author does not state it right away, we

discover that Privat, acting as miles and judge, was responsible for the wound.

Through the mouth of the count, the hagiographer identifies Privat as the holy avenger and

highlights the immediacy of the punishment. Lamenting his wound in sheer torment, the count

cried out to his men:

‘Woe, woe! O wretched peoples, why do we struggle in vain? The saint is against us:

what are we able to do? Let us retreat, therefore let us retreat, since I was struck by him

with a spear, divine law will not let me to enjoy the present life for much longer.’116

112 The beginning of this account is missing from the prose part of chapter 3, but it can be found in the poem

version of Privat’s miracles that is also included in the miracula written by the same author.

113 “In solo suo martyre / Posuerat fiduciam, / Ejus fulta munimine, / Mundi spernens malitiam. / Sic longa duxit

otia, / Nulla vexata rabie, / Per magna secli spatia, / Bona dolata requie.” Privat, III, 25, lines 137-144.

114 Pass postulates that this crime was perpetrated around 1086, “Source Studies,” 74-75. Unfortunately, Pass does

not give reasons for his dating.

115 Privat, III, 25, lines 145-160. Although the author switches at this point from urbs to villa, it seems clear that he

is still talking about the city of Mende rather than a nearby manor. Poetic license would have allowed the author to

write about the city as a manor, and the city would have functioned quite similarly to a manor. In addition, the editor

of Privat’s miracles summarizes chapter 3 as an attack on Mende specifically.

116 “‘Heu, heu! miseri, quid nitimur frustra? Sanctus contra nos est: ecquid agere possumus? Recedamus, ergo,

recedamus, quoniam ab ipso lancea percussus, non diu michi fas erit presenti perfui luce.’” Privat, 3, 6.

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Responding to the count’s call for departure, his standard bearer sounded the trumpet to signal all

his men to exit (exire) the city.117 Privat, therefore, reversed the direction of the attackers’

movements by putting them to flight (exeunt). After their departure, the author injects his

musings on the potential for incredulity about the events. He remarks that while these events may

seem unbelievable, God can do anything for those who believe in him.118 Perhaps the potential

for disbelief about this story prompted the author to use Gui’s voice to name Privat as avenger. If

the recipient recognized his punisher, that ought to convince others as well.

The movements of this tale intensified after the count and his men left Mende. Even in retreat,

their movements are uncontrolled as they scattered in all directions (fugientibus undique

universis). As they passed a church in the suburbs of Mende, the roof tiles were lifted (nimio

impetu sublevate) and flew through the air (per aera devolantes) like birds (in modum avium) in

pursuit of the enemy men (hostes persequu[n]tur). These tiles moved so precisely and intensely

that they wounded some and killed others, scattering (disperguntur) their bodies in carnage all

over the place, leaving many of the men abandoned dead or half-dead.119 Church property was

destroyed, but for the good cause of bringing evil men to justice.

The author attributes the miraculous movement of tiles to Privat, but in all likelihood, the

citizens of Mende threw them while in pursuit of the dangerous rovers. Michel Lauwers,

examining symbolic meaning and representations of monastic structures, uses this example to

propose that roof tiles could be warriors.120 Whether or not the hagiographer meant the roof tiles

to be warriors, it is clear that the author sees the flying roof tiles as weapons wielded by the saint.

In this tale, the saint’s vengeance is depicted as a cataclysm of movements with men and roof

117 “Tum signifer verba vocativa sonat, tubisque clangentibus quisque citatur exire de op[p]ido.” Privat, 3, 6.

118 The author directly references Matthew 17:20.

119 “Ergo, fugientibus undique universis, ecclesia erat in suburbio que tegulis ligneis contecta habebatur que ilico,

nimio impetu sublevate atque in modum avium per aera devolantes, hostes persequu[n]tur aliosque feriunt, vulnerant

alios et aliis usque ad necis confinium inferunt plagas, factaque multa strage, non jam per recta ytinera, sed per devia

montiumque per concava ac per aspera rupium, plurimis interfectis seu semivivis relictis, disperguntur per diversa.”

Privat, 3, 6-7.

120 Michel Lauwers, “Circitus et Figura. Exégèse, images et structuration des complexes monastiques dans

occident médiéval (IXe-XIIe siècle),” in Monastères et espace social: Genèse et transformation d’un system de lieux

dans l’occident médiéval, ed. Michel Lauwers (Turnhout: Brepols, 2014), 78n.85.

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tiles going in all directions. This punishment did not happen at the holy city of Mende, but out-

and-about where the dangerous rovers were moving in retreat. The message is clear: there is no

escaping holy vengeance because it would come to you; and the more violent the attack, all the

more violent the retaliation would be.

After this routing, the count, with a few of his men, continued their flight (effugiens), but Gui did

not last long before he was rendered static by death.121 The aforementioned count, “having been

struck by a blow of holy beating,”122 mangled inside and out with a broken bladder and damaged

lung, struggled to gasp for air until he finally exhaled his last breath and his spirit transited to

death.123 After he died, the author’s use of ultio (revenge) makes it clear that this was a holy

vengeful killing. The hagiographer seems to suggest that the count most likely went to hell

because the author mentions that although the count was repentant, “late repentance gave

fruitless effect”124 and will not save one from the penalties of one’s evil deeds against God and

his martyrs, especially from Privat.125 After this count died, his wife and slaves appear and move

in the story. They, along with a great crowd, convened (convenientium) as witnesses to the

count’s passing and they all understood that, on account of his crime of attacking Privat’s city, he

had been led to the gates of hell (inferni ad menia ductus) and took up his deserved place in the

121 “Predictus vero miserabilis comes, cum paucis effugiens, proximo in tempore infelice fine preventus, presentem

lucem amisit.” Privat, 3, 7.

122 “…ictu ferientis sancti percussus….” Privat 3, 7.

123 “Nam, ut diximus, ictu ferientis sancti percussus, cum nimio ommium membrorum dolore defatisceret, etiam ab

intimo fracta vesica ac pulmone vitiato, tamdiu flatus varios aurarum per posteriora emisit quousque ex[h]alavit

spiritum.” Privat, 3, 7.

124 “Sera penitentia infructuosum dedit effectum.” Privat, 3, 6.

125 At the end of the poem, the author noted that the count died such a terrible death that such a thing is not read,

Privat, III, 26, lines 217-220. It is a little strange that he would be so squeamish considering the other terrible and

horrific deaths he already wrote in earlier chapters. Thus, Privat’s wrath was so strong that the author euphemized

the violence. The poem ends with victorious words: “Whoever evil man now would fear, seeing the power of God,

and whosoever good man should rejoice, seeing the justice of God,” a strong warning to those who may do harm to

Privat’s lands in future. The poem reads: “Quisque malus nunc timeat, / Videns Dei potentiam, / Et quisque bonus

gaudeat, / Videns Dei justitiam.” Privat, III, 26, lines 221-224.

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underworld in eternal flames.126 The reverent movements of the family without repercussions

further confirms that such movements were acceptable to the hagiographer.

This example shows that many and violent movements could be part of a miracle story of

vengeance in which Privat acts like the men he is fighting against. First, the debauched count and

his men move toward Mende in hostile attack and then Privat fights back in kind and forces the

evil men into retreat. Mende is the sacred center that ought not to be violated and is protected

fiercely by Privat. Next, the armed attackers are pursued by roof shingles endowed with flight to

aggressively rout the men. Finally, the guiltiest party, the count, who is at the root of these

criminal acts, dies, his body broken by the terrible movements of its parts. Besides the physical

movement of dangerous men and of the inanimate objects moving thanks to Privat, the

reputation of Privat as protector also travels far and wide by being “preached throughout all

Gaul,”127 according to the author, as a warning and a promise that he looks after his own. Again,

this places Mende at the center of Privat’s protected sacrality. Thus, Privat defends his city and

his people, just as, according to Pass, an upright lord ought to.128 This is exactly the kind of

celestial vengeance against criminal lordship that the miracle tales promoted. The author’s

additional vehement urging to have faith in these hard-to-believe miraculous movements as a

warning to everyone, near or far, against harming Mende supports the idea that he was a cleric at

Mende.

Despite the hagiographer’s strong admonitions against attacking the holy city of Mende, the next

chapter of Privat’s miracles offers the story of another likewise unacceptable invasion. This

second example equally demonstrates Privat’s concern for the wellbeing of Mende and his

126 “Funeris excubias mesti concelebrant nati; uxor, si affuit, miseras querelas emisit, vernulorum cetus omnisque

convenientium turba pessima tua de morte testantur, nullus veniam tibi promit[t]it remedium, Herebi domus tuis pro

conco[m]missus te acquisisse proclamant et qui castrum ar[r]oganter invaserat sancti, ipse invasus spiritibus a tetris,

inferni ad menia ductus pro martyris gazis flammas habebit eternas. Sic miser des penas quas gehenna met[t]it

amaras. Ve enim tibi, quoniam de te tuisque similibus olim dixit Propheta: ‘Maledictus homo qui spem ponit in

brachio carnis sue.’” Privat, 3, 7. After Gui’s death, again, the author returned to preaching and ended the chapter

with admonitions against foolish delusions that keep man from his faith in God and his holy martyrs. The author

also wrote that this story was spread far and wide throughout all of Gaul. To me, this signifies the hagiographer’s

hope in the far-reaching reputation of Privat’s strength, Privat 3, 7.

127 “…per totam Galliam predicabatur…,” Privat 3, 7.


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determination to protect his city; but the telling of these two stories in a row insinuates that

Mende is vulnerable enough to be attacked repeatedly. In this account, there are three instances

of inappropriate movements that are met with similar movements, but those which the author

depicts favorably: Mendois men moving in retaliation, the bishop calling the people to move to

provoke Privat as the holy avenger, and Privat moving as an holy avenger.

The author writes that while lord Aldebert129 was bishop of Mende, there was an eques,

“unchecked in his evilness,”130 who along with a band of soldiers (milites), attempted to invade

the city of Mende.131 The citizens of Mende were disturbed (conturbati) by the sounds of

invasion. With whatever men that were available, they defended the walls (menia deffendunt),

but eight Mendois were killed in the process. These movements of retaliation by the men of

Mende are acceptable, and movements that mirrored those of the dangerous rovers. In reaction to

this tragedy, bishop Aldebert ordered a fast and for all the people to congregate (convenirent) in

bare feet before Privat’s holy body (ante sancti martyris corpus) for their own penance to incite

the martyr to bring the evil ones also to penance or to obtain vengeance for them.132 In this case,

we see more permissible movements with the mobilization of righteous people en masse toward

the relics to counteract the dangerous rovers’ negative movements of attack. When describing the

purpose of this assembly, the author reinforces the desire for vengeance by using ultio.

After an eight-day133 period, “with many of his [Privat’s] same enemies riled up,”134 battle was

begun in which the intruders were mercilessly slaughtered in carnage “much worse than by one

129 Pass dates this miracle account to the episcopacy of Aldebert de Peyre (1099-1109), “Source Studies,” 75-76;

but I think it was his predecessor.

130 “…eques quidam malitia sua infrenis…,” Privat, 4, 8.

131 “…sancti martyris urbem invadere at[t]emptavit.” Privat, 4, 8.

132 “De quorum nece episcopus, cum clericis et omni plebe, mestitudine non parva affectus, statuit jejunium

cunctisque indixit ut ante sancti martyris corpus nudis pedibus cum magna contrictione cordis convenirent

peteren[t]que Dei omnipotentis clementiam quatenus presentis loci recentem invasorem, ob meritum beatissimi

Privati, aut ad veram penitentie reduceret emendationem aut quam expediebat dignaretur punire ultione.” Privat, 4,

8.

133 Pass considers it significant that in this instance the invaders killed eight men in their assault of the episcopal

city. Then, after the same number of days as people killed in the assault, the invaders were attacked and killed,

warning all would-be attackers that Privat protects his city, “Source Studies,” 76.

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hundred swords” and witnesses saw the rending of flesh, a very violent vengeance by Privat

against these criminal attackers. The attackers who remained alive were too senseless to attack

Mende again; they were made immobile after their sinful attack movements.

Rather than giving an exposition of the battle action, the author focuses on the passive instances

of movement of the dangerous rovers, the active movements of the avenging saint, and the

people under his protection. The eques and his milites tried to invade and the citizens actively

defended the walls. But then the citizens were killed by the invaders, effectively focusing on the

dead citizens being acted upon instead of making the invaders active, thereby removing the

dangerous rovers’ agency even in their harmful behavior. Positive movements are the most

described in this passage. Even though he does not move, the bishop of Mende calls people to

positive movement in reaction to the inappropriate movements of the dangerous rovers. And

when the battle resumes eight days later, movement is passive: battle was begun and the enemies

were riled up (described with an ablative absolute). Movement attributed to the saint, however,

by the rending of the dangerous rovers’ flesh, is actively written. In the end, Privat renders the

enemies motionless and, therefore, powerless.

Indeed, positively-portrayed movements are the focal point of this miracle tale. Moral men move

to protect, deserving men gather at Privat’s relics to ask for aid, and the saint responds by

attacking and rendering the ill-behaved men immobile. The congregation of people thus both

evokes and pleads for immanent justice. For Pierre-André Sigal, the punishment clearly ought to

be divinely attributed since the victims of the crime had implored the saint to come to their

aid.135 There is no need to search further for reasons why the leader of the band of evil men was

physically punished, according to Sigal, because the connection is quite obvious.

The last two examples in this chapter both demonstrate punishment while in retreat, like the

previous examples, but both with the added element of haste in the movements of dangerous

rovers. And instead of ultio, the author uses the term vindicta (vengeance) to describe the role of

134 “Plurimus namque commotis ejusdem inimicis…,” Privat, 4, 8.

135 Sigal, “Un aspect du culte des saints,” 48.

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holy avengers. In chapter 6 of Enimie’s miracula, a miles named Teotardus selfishly plundered a

cottage touching upon Enimie’s lands. This Teotardus exhibited the typical traits of a roving

danger, described by the author as “depraved in all acts, who killed rural inhabitants and was

violent to women, a thief and most greedy, and most stupid in all things.”136 All in all he was

known as a terrible man. With this description of his character and movements (opere, cedem

dabat), the author sets up the reader/hearer of this story to despise Teotardus and to see his

subsequent movements as criminal and criminally motivated.

While perpetrating his criminal movements, Teotardus is described as moving swiftly. First, he

pillaged Enimie’s village by snatching (raperet) whatever he wanted.137 The author’s use of

rapio implies that the seizure was quick and probably violent. Before departing, Teotardus took

his devastation a step further by setting fire to the houses.138 After this additional devastation and

the goods stolen (sublatis…omnibus), he retreated in haste (repente rediens). This is a typical

representation of the danger of men on the loose – they rush in, seize and destroy, and then

quickly escape. The author uses active words of haste to describe Teotardus’ departure. But

while he was leaving, many people foretold his ruin at the hands of Enimie saying that she would

avenge the devastation of the cottages subject to her.139 These people warned that he would feel

her vengeance (vindicta) for his crimes. Teotardus’ response was to blaspheme Enimie and say

that he did not fear her injurious spear more than anyone else’s,140 but Enimie proved this lack of

respect to be a foolish one.

Yet again, the author details Teotardus’ rapidity, but this time he couples the criminal’s swiftness

with consequences for his evil movements. As Teotardus was hurrying (properat) home, a piece

136 “Alter erat in proximo / Illius monasterio, / Teotardus de nomine, / Omni pravus in opere, / Qui cedem dabat

rusticis / Iniurias et feminis, / Cleptes et avarissimus / In cunctis ac stultissimus.” Enimie, 6, 289-290.

137 “Hic accedit ad casulam / In rure tunc contiguam / Quod virgini attigerat, / Ut raperet quod poterat.” Enimie, 6,

290.

138 Sublatis namque omnibus / Ignem imponit trabibus.” Enimie, 6, 290.

139 “Sicque repente rediens / Atque a multis audiens: / “Noveris te certissime / Pro hiis vindictam capere / Que

gessisti in subdita / Virgini nunc mapalia,…” Enimie, 6, 290.

140 “…Ille blasfemat plurimum / Nec se timere iaculum / Eius plus quam alterius / Asserit in hominibus.” Enimie, 6,

290.

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of iron he had taken from a cottage door and had placed on his belt created a pustule because the

iron tidbit adhered (heserat) inextricably to his body and then burned (incenderat) no matter the

exertions applied.141 He was not punished at the scene of his crime, but punishment came to him

while he was in retreat, just as with the example above of men in retreat after attacking Mende.

The author notes that Teotardus deserved this penalty and yet he still was unable to repent.

Instead, he spent the whole night awake groaning and raving and keeping vigil

(Noctem…pervigilans) all the while cursing the virgin Enimie.142 Throughout the night, he

experienced the greatest misery and saw visions of the infernal depths of hell, the whole time

knowing that Enimie had caused his scourge and that he would soon die and move to the hell he

had envisioned.143

Enimie did not make him wait for long: her retribution was just as fast as his evil deeds. Soon,

“[h]e was totally full of itchiness and was effected by scabies. Then his putrid flesh fell swiftly

into bits. Afterwards the wretch died and was led (deducitur) to the depths of hell.”144 In

describing the swift speed with which the flesh fell from Teotardus’ moribund body, the author

mirrors the speed with which Teotardus had perpetrated his crimes. It is almost as if his body

parts (flesh) move in punishment. The author seems to connect speed with Teotardus’

thoughtlessness about his actions, and, thus, reinforces the stupidity of the criminal’s

movements. This miracle makes clear that Enimie sees the movement of her goods being taken

away and that in response she does not suffer violence and slander against her without contrite

repentance or punishment.145

141 “Dumque ad domum properat, / Sentit in carne pustulam / Et maculam quam pessimam, / Nam ferrum illi

heserat / Ardorem et incenderat.” Enimie, 6, 290.

142 “Ultricem penam meruit / Nec peniteri potuit, / Noctem namque pervigilans, / Se furibundum increpans, /

Verbum quod contra virginem / Ausus fuisset dicere.” Enimie, 6, 290-291.

143 “Ceve inferni furias / Respiceret sic clamitat: / ‘Eheu! Agens me miserum, / Quid faciam iam amplius? / Ergo

qui prope sistitis / Quod patior non cernitis! / Nam sancta est Enimia // Que me flagellis verberat / Ne vivere diutius

/ Pro hiis queo vulneribus, / Sed iam pergam ad herebum, / In potestatem demonum.’” Enimie, 6, 291.

144 “Totus plenus prurigine / Efficitur et scabie. / Tunc eius caro putrida / Per offas cadit ocia. / Postea miser

moritur / Ad ima et deducitur.” Enimie, 6, 291.

145 Pass, “Source Studies,” 68-69 and Sigal, “Le culte des reliques,” 110.

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The final example of a holy avenger punishing in retreat contains hasty movements and the use

of vindicta to show celestial intervention. Chapter 12 of Privat’s miracles juxtaposes the swift,

sanctioned movements of the bishop of Mende with the swift, uncontrolled negative movements

of a youth. When the bishop Aldebert of Mende was rapidly riding146 (accelerabat) with many

horse riders (cum pluribus equitibus) while the field crops were being stored up in granaries,

there was an unbridled lascivious youth running about (currens) among them.147 The description

of the youth’s movements suggests his lack of control. In addition, the fact that the author

describes the youth as lascivious also implies the youth’s loose morals as parallel with his loose

riding.148

The youth’s subsequent rapid movements further reinforce the negativity of his previous

movements. He snatched up (rapuit) a bundle to feed his horse from the stockpile of a widow,

whose food store was under the purview of the saint.149 When the widow complained to the

bishop, he, among many others, admonished the youth to return the seized bundle (raptum

manipulum) straightaway (in proximo) or face Privat's vengeance;150 but the youth ignored

them.151 As quickly as the youth had acted, Privat retaliated with vengeance, just as the bishop,

now not moving, had promised. The arrogant youth did not heed the bishop’s warning. After this

refusal to heed the reasonable request, the saint enters the story to deliver vindicta. Right after

the bishop’s ultimatum, he continued to ride his horse quickly (festinavit), even spurring the

146 The author does not specify to or from where the bishop was riding.

147 Privat, 12, 19.

148 Thomas Head comments on this topic of the problem of youths: “Georges Duby has suggested that iuvenes of

aristocratic society were tempted into violence by the lack of inheritance and marriage partners. The seniores might

have been tempted out of violence by a sense of the approach of death and judgment [emphasis Head’s].” “The

Development of the Peace of God in Aquitaine (970-1005),” Speculum 74.3 (1999): 686.

149 “Inter quos quidam juvenis, effreni equi remissis habenis currens, de cujusdam vidue acervo, qui ad sanctum

pertinebat, manipulum suo sonipedi rapuit.” Privat, 12, 19. In Foy’s miracles, there is a similar instance of a

horseman stealing a bundle of hay from a peasant under saintly protection. See Sheingorn, The Book of Sainte Foy,

3.21, 171-173.

150 “Cumque de hoc vidua conquereretur, episcopus et multi alii illum increpare ceperunt, et, ut raptum pro sancti

reverentia reddere deberet manipulum, ammonere studebant: quod nisi faceret, sciret se pro hoc martyris vindictam

in proximo recepturum.” Privat, 12, 19.

151 “Sed levis juvenis hoc pro nichilo reputans, pabulum quod ceperat equo suo defferre curavit.” Privat, 12, 19.

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animal to increase its speed (“quisque sonipedem suum calcaribus urgens”).152 The result of this

hastiness is that his leg was shattered into pieces, which he understood was punishment for his

previous criminal behavior (theft) and quick, and therefore implying thoughtless, movements.

The wound would not heal until he made restitution to the widow five-fold and offered an

appropriate length of candle to the martyr’s statue.153

Both the bishop and the youth play key roles in this story. The bishop, at first moving swiftly like

the youth, later became static when he chastised the youth. To punish the transgressor, Privat

also reacted swiftly, mirroring the speed of the youth’s movements. Gregory Allan Pass

highlights how the bereft widow complained to the bishop and then that he and others warned the

knight to return the hay pro sancti reverentia.154 This instance of lordly exaction is particularly

interesting to Pass because when the story was told to the bishop Aldebert, the youth was

actually on cavalcade with the bishop; indeed, leaving at the time of the harvest was typically

when war was made.155 In Pass’ estimation, this is significant since it is the earliest reference of

the bishop of Mende exercising any sort of military power in Gévaudan. While Pass adds that

“just as St. Privat is active in maintaining the peace and order in the Gévaudan, so too is the

bishop of Mende when he rides out on cavalcade,” therefore equating the bishop as a protector

on par with Privat.156 But I see a different message. Even though bishop was speaking for the

saint, it was the power of the saint that corrected the miles’ behavior while on the move. It is

through the bishop’s declaration and the youth’s own realization that the author makes clear that

Privat was the avenger. Similar to the congregation of people in response to crisis, so too the

bishop of Mende acts in tandem with the saint to prevail against sinners.

152 “Cum ecce prope castrum quo tendebat, quisque sonipedem suum calcaribus urgens currere festinavit, illumque

miserabilem juvenem unus, qui juxta currebat, nimium percutiens crus dextrum ejus in partes comminuit, sensitque

miser quantum vindicte vulnus ob contemptum martyris pro parva preda recipere meruit.” Privat, 12, 19-20.

153 “Nec aliter ab illata plaga sanare potuit donec ad sue stature modum sancto martyri candelam offerret atque pro

ablato manipulo alios quinque vidue restitueret.” Privat, 12, 20.


155 Pass, “Source Studies,” 77-78.


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Vengeance miracles, such as the four just presented, are part of Edina Bozoky’s conception of

miracles that prioritized a return to proper social order, which she presents as new to the eleventh

century. Therefore, it seems clear that these crimes and their punishment were just as meaningful

to the authors who wrote the miracula as the positive healing miracles because the punishments

were a type of miraculous protection and, in a way, social healing from the negative effects of

seemingly uncontrolled violence. Concerning these revenge miracles, Bozoky writes:

A strange atmosphere emanates from the miracle tales from the early Middle Ages; an

important proportion of the tales serve as terrifying examples which show how, for

certain misdeeds committed, men and women subjected to severe punishment, that one

attributes often to God directly, but more often by the saints present in their relics, and

who act thanks to their power (virtus) coming from God.”157

This virtus of the saint appears in their retaliatory movements. With immanent justice meted out

through a divine avenger, God, saint, or a combination of both, the mingling of terrifying

punishments with salubrious miracles are clear signs that divine forces were at work in their

world and in these instances they were performed by mirrored movements described as ultio and

vindicta.158

Given the many instances of dangerous rovers behaving badly and the saints’ retaliations, it is

reasonable to conclude that one purpose of the miracle collections was pedagogical. The miracle

examples told readers and hearers of the tales, especially armed men, how to act properly – and

what would happen if they committed certain crimes.159 To bring about the saints’ revenge, the

first two miracle examples in this section include the congregation, or moving, of people and the

use of ultio to show divine sanction for the punishing movements. The role of the populace in

congregating is important. The third and fourth miracles do not involve the congregation of

157 “Une atmosphère étrange émane des recueils de miracles du haut Moyen Âge; une importante proportion des

récits sert d'exemples terrifiants qui montrent comment, pour avoir commis certains méfaits, les hommes et les

femmes subissent un châtiment sévère, que l’on attribue parfois à Dieu directement, mais le plus souvent aux saints

présents dans leur reliques, et qui agissent grâce à leur puissance (virtus) venant de Dieu.” Bozoky, “Les miracles de

châtiment,” 152.

158 Rousset also notes that the chroniclers represented most often the avenging aspect of the immanent justice when

something bad happens to the sinners; the other side of this, that of blessing and recompense, is not missing from the

sources, “La croyance,” 233.

159 Helvétius, “Le récit de vengeance,” 444. These examples would be useful for the noble youths growing up in

monasteries and cathedrals, Helvétius, “Le récit de vengeance,” 446.

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people, but include movements of the body parts of criminals as part of their punishment; both

examples also include vindicta to show the movements were divinely sanctioned.


Violence and its mitigation were key preoccupations of Midi hagiographers. Monks and clerics

hoped that protestations of their weakness and inability to bear arms in legitimate contest would

deter dangerous rovers; but the miracle texts clearly show this pleading was not always heeded.

When attacks persisted after attempts of deterrence, they resorted to the power of the saints,

against whom neither secular warrior nor judge could win. Thus, as Constance Bouchard writes,

many miracle collections are filled with “stories in which knights and nobles attacked monks or

their possessions, but were then killed or maimed by the saints the monks served.” She continues

that in reality, compromise was usually the solution between church and secular men, but

avoidance of quarrel from the beginning was preferred.160

Dangerous rovers, which included primarily nobiles, milites, and equites, are fundamentally

portrayed behaving badly in Vivien’s, Privat’s, and Enimie’s miracles. Some of these dangerous

rovers were repentant after punishment and were healed from saintly inflictions of violence.

When these dangerous rovers were healed by the saints with positive miracles, it was almost

always healing from a wound or disability that had been inflicted by the same saint.161 Thus, the

saints could necessitate the miracles that they performed, keep a person in permanent disability,

or lead them to death if contrition and penance were not successful. A salient message of the

miracles, then, is that the saint is the ultimate judge. Another message is that stasis was preferred

to movement unless the movements were sanctioned, such as penance and the saints’ retaliatory

movements.

Clearly, violence done by the saints is sanctioned by the Church as a way to manage the violence

inflicted upon the people, goods, and places of the saints and the Church. In the context of the

miracula of Privat, Enimie, and Vivien, violence was not as simple as a conflict between the

laity and clergy, although it may seem that way at first glance. Instead, it was between people


161 Bonnassie, “Les milites,” 474.

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who saw themselves as guardians of stability and peace and those who threatened that stability

and peace,162 and in the cases shown above, these threats to stability occurred when the roving

dangerous men moved to perform their masculinity. In the three texts, these guardians are the

bishop of Mende and the saints; threats are dangerous rovers and their harmful movements that

disrupt the safety of Mende and the goods and people of production. Dangerous rovers, presented

as disrupting the status quo, provoke Privat’s and Enimie’s vengeance. Given this necessity to

maintain social order, it is unsurprising that the saints are represented as reacting to violence in-

kind and often by similar movements to the dangerous rovers they punished. For example,

dangerous rovers who attacked Mende are retaliated upon by Privat; thieves who move swiftly

are also quickly punished by Privat and Enimie.

Although examples of divine vengeance abound in hagiography and especially in miracles,

Helvétius reminds us that vengeance miracles were not the norm in hagiography; they were one

component of it.163 Even if only a small component of miracles and hagiography, punishment

stories played an active role in the various processes of negotiation and the regulation of

conflicts.164 And this was a new category of punishments to appear in the hagiography in the

eleventh century. Their purpose was to show “good” justice through “judgment-punishment.” In

the texts, this is signaled by the hagiographer’s use of ultio and vindicta.165 Therefore, some

hagiographers viewed vengeance as a normal and just part of respecting the rules of society.166

Indeed, miracles were a way to “symbolize the restoration of order and the Church.”167 After the

eleventh century, punishment miracles little-by-little eclipsed punishment miracles in


163 Helvétius, “Le récit de vengeance,” 421-422.





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hagiography in favor of centralized judiciary institutions that gained dominance in the twelfth

century.168

Through the miraculous examples, we see that unexpected movements are viewed disdainfully

and lead to punishments, but movements toward the saints and their shrines are encouraged by

the hagiographers. Dangerous rovers’ positive portrayals through penitential acts after

perpetrating violence are addressed in Chapter 5 below, which treats movement toward the

shrine because penance always led penitents to the saints’ shrines. To the mass movements of

people to saints’ shrines we now turn.


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Chapter 5 Journeys to the Shrine: Pilgrimage, Penance, and Obliteration

Chapter Introduction

Thus far, I have used the three miracle collections of Privat, Enimie, and Vivien to show the

intercessory power of the saints as connected to movements. In Chapter 3, movement was

communal rather than individual, with movements both away from and toward the saints’

shrines. The miracle texts show relics, clerics, and the populace all traveling to councils for the

Peace of God. This socio-religious movement had been instituted by the bishops of the Midi with

hopes to curtail certain types of violence, namely those offences perpetrated by dangerous rovers

that were discussed in Chapter 4. Yet, rather than focusing on this violence and the conciliar

decrees against it, the miracles regarding the Peace of God councils focused on the populace

amassed at these events to witness the power of the saints, who were passive in their movement

while bound in their relics. As such the miracle texts focus on the sanctified rather than the

institutional nature of the Peace of God councils. In Chapter 4, there were two sets of

movements. First were the negatively-portrayed movements of dangerous rovers, those ill-

behaved nobiles and their milites and equites, who, through a combination of negatively-

portrayed behavior and movements while out and about, perpetrated offences against the saints’

property, goods, and people. Second were the positively-portrayed retaliatory movements of the

saints who punished dangerous rovers with reciprocal movements away from the saints’ shrines.

For these displacements, the saints are attributed with performing punishment miracles not in

their corporeal forms, but invisibly. Therefore, the saints showed their power both out-and-about

on trips (as in Chapter 3) and across physical distance (as in Chapter 4); but most commonly

when people wanted the saints’ help, they visited their remains at their home shrines.1

While the previous chapter focused mostly on socially disruptive movements, this chapter turns

back to the largely positive movements of people toward the saints’ shrines. The evidence from

the three miracle sources shows that an attractive power of the shrine, analyzed below as spiritual



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magnetism, drew people of all social classes there – the good, the ill, and the bad – and everyone

underwent a transformation. To further reinforce the spiritual pull of the shrines and their lure of

people to movement, most of the positive stories outlined in this chapter coincide with the annual

feast day of the saint, which was the saints’ biggest celebration day. The hagiographers are most

preoccupied with positive movements toward the shine, such as pilgrims and reformed criminals;

but they also offer stories about negative movements toward or at the shrine to make an example

of them. All these movements, both proper and improper, take place at or near the shrine, thus

reinforcing the ultimate power of the relics in their home space.

5.1 Chapter Plan

The centripetal movements investigated in this chapter show a remarkable pull of place-centered

holiness to the saints’ home church. This indicates that, despite the mobility of the relics and

their participation in the Peace of God councils, their ultimate power was rooted in their

emplacement at their shrines and manifested as spiritual magnetism. Spiritual magnetism

encapsulates the universality of shrines that is fuelled by a community’s ability to “entertain and

respond to plurality.”2 Indeed, in the miracles, movements to go on the road with relics was

special; but movement toward the shrine was best. The following miracle examples offer

positively- and negatively-portrayed movements of people toward the shrine. The positively-

portrayed movements all demonstrate the attraction of saints’ shrines. These examples can be

separated into three categories. First, are the positively-portrayed movements of people who,

after they had been healed by the relics while abroad, are motivated by the saints’ healing power

to travel back to the shrine with the relics. Second, also positively-portrayed, are movements to

the saints’ shrines motivated by the desire for healing, either from physical ailments or spiritual

transgressions through penance. In these examples, pilgrims are drawn to the shrine on the

saints’ festival days as well as one-off long-distance pilgrimage journeys.3 Third are negatively-

portrayed examples of people motivated to move toward the saints’ shrines after perpetrating

offences. These movements are enacted by men who are all ultimately rejected by gruesome

2 John Eade and Michael J. Sallnow, “Introduction,” in Contesting the Sacred: The Anthropology of Pilgrimage, ed.

John Eade and Michael J. Sallnow (London: Routledge, 1991), 15.

3 Some of these examples also coincided with the saints’ festal days.

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death or obliteration because their actions befouled the sacred place. Despite their differences in

action and description, all three of these reasons for movement underscore the expectation that

pilgrims would be changed once in the presence of the saints’ relics. By describing pilgrims’

movements toward the saints’ shrines positively, the hagiographers clearly offer them as

acceptable movements in promotion of the cult sites; likewise, their negative depictions of men

who threatened the sanctity of the shrines designates their movements as unacceptable and

subject to the saints’ punishment.

5.2 Brief Overview of the Cult of the Saints and Pilgrimage in the Middle Ages

Before examining the evidence, it will be useful to sketch the background on the cult of the

saints and pilgrimage. In 1980, historian Peter Brown published The Cult of the Saints: Its Rise

and Function in Latin Christianity, which quickly became a foundational work. In this

monograph, Brown elegantly explores the transition from ancient hero worship to the medieval

cult of saints through the role of tombs, shrines, relics, and pilgrimages to venerate their remains.

In addition, he argues that the cult of the saints crossed boundaries between elite and popular

religion to show the role of the saints in the religious life of all Christians, thereby disrupting the

two-tiered model of elite and popular religion that had been pervasive in the historiography to

that point. Since the 1980s, there have been numerous works on the cult of the saints and popular

religion.4 It is not necessary to discuss all these works here, but it is useful to understand the

broad strokes of how the cult of the saints developed into a complex and extensive network of

Christian sanctuaries in the medieval West and, especially, how those sanctuaries became shrines

for pilgrims as well as sanctified spaces that ought not be violated.

4 See, for example, Barbara Abou-El-Haj, The Medieval Cult of the Saints, formations and transformations

(Cambridge, England: Cambridge University Press, 1994); Thomas Head, Hagiography and the Cult of the Saints:

The Diocese of Orléans, 800-1200 (Cambridge, England: Cambridge University Press, 1990); André Vauchez, La

sainteté en Occident aux derniers siècles au Moyen Âge: d’après le procès de canonisation et les documents

hagiographiques (Rome: École française de Rome, 1981); André Vauchez, La spirualité du Moyen Age occidental:

VIIIe-XIIe siècles (Paris: Presses Universitaires de France, 1975); André Vauchez, Lieux sacrés, lieux de culte,

sanctuaires : approches terminologiques, méthodologiques, historiques et monographiques (Rome: Ecole française

de Rome, 2000).

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Until the Carolingian period, there were relatively few places that were considered holy and that

attracted pilgrims.5 As we saw above in Chapter 2, it was in the Carolingian period that decreed

each Christian church ought to have a holy relic in the altar. Through this “process of

territorialisation of the sacred,”6 relics grew in importance in social and religious life and their

homes became spiritually magnetic places. At the same time, relics were increasingly in

circulation for various reasons, such as despoliation of relics from the East and from Roman

catacombs; displacements due to barbarian invaders who threatened the security of monasteries

and other religious centers; furta sacra, or sacred theft of relics; and the mercantilist and piratical

trade of relics. As the cult of the saints grew, so too did desire for and veneration of their relics.7

After the year 1000, with many saints’ shrines scattered across the Christian West, pilgrimage to

holy sites boomed. The development of pilgrimage shrines happened on the local level, hand-in-

hand with the development of the cult of relics. In the eleventh century, there was no centralized

or formalized protocol for canonization. Instead, decisions about sanctity rested with local

bishops to nominate and celebrate saints. When local saints were not available, the increased

networks of the relic trade and other impetus for relic movement filled those gaps, leading

historian James Skyrms to write that “the saints were not only the very special dead, to borrow

Peter Brown’s felicitous phrase, but also the very mobile dead.”8 The more that relics spread, the

more people flocked to their shrines because the relics were the source of miracles at shrines.

While some visitors headed to the saints’ shrines without prompting, shrine keepers also worked

to attract “people on the move.” The saints were a central point around which experience and

memory coalesced in the Middle Ages and the shrine keepers capitalized on this. One way to do

this was to cultivate what James J. Preston calls spiritual magnetism, which is “the power of a

pilgrimage shrine to attract devotees” deriving “from human concepts and value via historical,

5 The numbers are especially few when compared to the vast dispersal of pilgrimage sites, big and small, by the end

of the eleventh century.

6 André Vauchez, “Saints and pilgrimages: new and old,” in Christianity in Western Europe c.1100-c.1500, ed. Miri

Rubin and Walter Simons (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2009), 328.

7 James F. Skyrms, “The Rituals of Pilgrimage in the Middle Ages,” (PhD Diss.: University of Iowa, 1986), 129.


197

geographical, social, and other forces that coalesce in a sacred center.”9 Preston outlines four

ingredients for this spiritually attractive force: “(1) miraculous cures, (2) apparitions of

supernatural beings, (3) sacred geography, and (4) difficulty of access.”10 He notes, however,

that not every spiritually magnetic shrine has all four attributes, but as the attractive quality

grows, that increase can raise the shrine level in the hierarchy vis-à-vis other shrines.11 And

place was important in this process; Vauchez writes that for pilgrims, the place where the saint

chose to reveal their power was more important than the saints themselves.12 This sense of

attraction of pilgrims is exactly what the hagiographers recorded in Privat’s, Enimie’s, and

Vivien’s stories.

Pierre-André Sigal explains that in most of medieval Europe, the worship of the saints and the

expectation of their intercessory power in all sorts of circumstances was a permanent and typical

aspect of daily religious life. People thought that the saints watched them from on high. He

argues that for a society that generally was not easily able to understand abstract ideas, the saints,

through their miracles, were a concrete manifestation of the power and presence of God.13 This

concrete manifestation of power, or, in other words, spiritual magnetism, drew all members of

society, from peasants to kings,14 to sacred shrines in search of a transformative experience.

Hagiographers recorded their movements for local and distant pilgrimages in search of a

transformation to show the proper way to move toward the sacred and what happened when this

was done incorrectly. Thus, the miracles offer an idealized version of local and distant

pilgrimages to reinforce the power of the shrines of the saints.

9 James J. Preston, “Spiritual Magnetism: An Organizing Principle for the Study of Pilgrimage,” in Alan Morinis,

ed., Sacred Journeys: The Anthropology of Pilgrimage (Westport, CT: Greenwood Press, 1992), 33.

10 Preston, “Spiritual Magnetism,” 33.

11 Preston, “Spiritual Magnetism,” 37. Relics also increased the draw of pilgrims, especially in the medieval period

when the cult of relics was at its height. Preston urges scholars to use historical context to understand the spiritual

magnetism of a place and that we study individual shrines, “Spiritual Magnetism,” 38 and 45.

12 Vauchez, “Saints and pilgrimages,” 337.


du XLVIe Congrès organisé à Mende et Florac les 16 et 17 Juin 1973 (Mende, 1974), 103.


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The variety of saints and shrines also contributes to the multiplicity of avenues for studying

pilgrimage. Pilgrimage encompasses such a wide array of cultures, time periods, behaviors, and

activities that it is no surprise that it is hard to define.15 There is not one comprehensive

definition of pilgrimage, because, as John Eade and Michael J. Sallnow remind us, there is no

one pilgrimage, only pilgrimages plural.16 It is necessary, therefore, to define pilgrimage in

context.17 The problem for this study, however, is that we cannot see the multivalence of

pilgrimage as well as we would like because the written record only contains their

hagiographers’ point of view, written to encourage belief more than describe it.18

Most journeys toward a sacred shrine had a positive religious intent, qualifying these movements

as pilgrimage journeys. As a ritual of motion,19 pilgrimage fits well into the hagiographical

analysis of this dissertation. Indeed, hagiography sheds meaningful light on pilgrimage and its

evolutions in contrast to canonical sources that do not question pilgrimage, its proliferation, or

changes.20 Yet, despite the close connection between pilgrimage and the shrines in the sources,

most definitions of pilgrimage are too narrow for this analysis. For example, the anthropologist

15 Skyrms, “The Rituals of Pilgrimage,” 107. Pilgrimage is often a feature of universalizing religions, Christianity,

Islam, and Buddhism, as well as many other religions, including Judaism, Hinduism, and Sikhism. Pilgrimage also

spans across time, from the ancient, medieval, early modern, and modern periods. The experience and practice of

pilgrimage crosses various boundaries of the social, cultural, religious, personal, political, economic, and spiritual

realms. Therefore, as Ian Reader proposes, what is most attractive about pilgrimage is that it “straddles so many

disciplines, including history, theology, folklore, social geography, sociology and anthropology.” “Introduction,” in

Pilgrimage in Popular Culture, eds. Ian Reader and Tony Walker (London: The Macmillan Press Ltd., 1993), 14. If

we need to cross all these boundaries to examine pilgrims, then we must also expect various perspectives when

studying the multifaceted phenomenon of pilgrimage, Lutz Kaelber, “The Sociology of Medieval Pilgrimage:

Contested Views and Shifting Boundaries,” in From Medieval Pilgrimage to Religious Tourism: The Social and

Cultural Economics of Piety, eds. William H. Swatos, Jr. and Luigi Tomasi (Westport, CT: Praeger Publishers,

2002), 53-54.

16 Eade and Sallnow, “Introduction,” 13. Further to this point, Eade and Sallnow’s deconstruction of pilgrimage

argues that there is no possibility of shared meaning or narrative of the experience of pilgrimage.

17 Simon Coleman, “Do you believe in Pilgrimage?: Communitas, contestation and beyond,” Anthropological

Theory 2:3 (2002): 362.


19 Skyrms, “The Rituals of Pilgrimage,” 117. See also Coleman and Eade, “Introduction,” 1-25.


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Alan Morinis defines pilgrimage as travel to a sacred space that is away from home.21 However,

in the Middle Ages, “pilgrimage was most often simply a journey ad limina sancti, to the

threshold of the saints…to stand in the presence of, even to touch, the body of a dead person.”22

In the three miracle texts, pilgrimage is not always to a “somewhere out there,” but could also be

a short journey to saints’ shrines nearby. The hagiographers portrayed all these journeys to the

shrine, long-distance or short, like pilgrimages. In this light, therefore, I use pilgrimage to

include any and all religiously-motivated travel to the saints’ shrines for the purpose of

transformation, be it a journey of thousands of kilometers or just a few steps to the local church.

Following Skyrm’s call for inclusivity, I opt for his definition: “a ritual journey to some part of

the spiritual landscape which has demonstrated remarkable power,” involving a ritual act that

follows some kind of regularized pattern and certain conditions.23 One useful way to

conceptualize pilgrimage in this study is that of “people on the move” with religious motivation

who experience a range of interactions as they move, including people, institutions, cultures, and

circumstances.24 I use pilgrimage or sacred journey to refer to a literal journey that was

undertaken for a sacred purpose. Even if the miraculous movements under consideration do not

count as pilgrimages per se, they can, at the very least, be analyzed like pilgrimages.

21 Alan Morinis, “Introduction: The Territory of the Anthropology of Pilgrimage,” in Sacred Journeys: The

Anthropology of Pilgrimage, ed. Alan Morinis (Westport, CT: Greenwood Press, 1992), 4.

22 Skyrms, “The Rituals of Pilgrimage,” 117. Skyrms adds that in early Christianity, by contrast, pilgrimage had

been a journey to walk in the steps of a holy person and not necessarily to actually see that holy person or their

remains, 118.

23 This means also including comparisons with non-medieval and non-Christian pilgrimages, Skyrms, “The Rituals

of Pilgrimage,” 111-112. In addition, Skyrms advocates for a definition that distinguishes pilgrimage from other

kinds of travel. Pilgrimage must be rooted in a spiritual motive, thus separating it from travel for other reasons.

Admittedly, however, it is hard to discern motives for medieval travellers, “The Rituals of Pilgrimage,” 109-110.

Rita Tekippe adds that pilgrimage and procession are likewise difficult to separate in practice and in the texts

because they each had a similar goal. She writes: “In both rites, the movement through space and time was a symbol

of the transformation of the pilgrim/marcher, seeking transcendence, and the physical or spiritual healing/miracles.”

“Pilgrimage and Procession: Correlations of Meaning, Practice, and Effects,” in Art and Architecture of Late

Medieval Pilgrimage in Northern Europe and the British Isles, eds. Sarah Blick and Rita Tekippe (Leiden: Brill,

2005), 697. Skyrms, “The Rituals of Pilgrimage,” 113-114.

24 The phrasing of pilgrimage as “people on the move” was used by J.S. Birks, Across the savannas to Mecca: the

overland pilgrimage route from West Africa (London: C. Hurst, 1978), xi.

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To further complicate matters, miracle collections present pilgrimage from an elite, learned

perspective. This was likely somewhat different from the pilgrims’ own perspective of their

experience.25 Pilgrims played their own role in the perpetuation of the cults of Vivien, Privat,

and Enimie and the spread of their fame, but ultimately those who were in control of the shrine

and relics held the power over their saints’ reputation and sacred power.26 Morinis explains that

pilgrims were not the “creators of culture” at the shrine nor were they in charge of the rituals

performed once they arrived.27 The people managing the shrines, for this study the monks or

clerics of the home shrine, had institutional control of the events and interactions there. Having

an especially efficacious and powerful patron that no one else had, could increase the spiritual

magnetism of a place and thus the draw of pilgrims.

The written miracle stories, therefore, were one attempt to control this power and cultural

memory at the shrines, but pilgrims also had the power to share their stories. People knew that

the saint could heal and they expected a transformation when they visited their shrines. Shrines

were widely known to be a place to gain healing from the saints and the transformative power of

the saints was passed from pilgrim to pilgrim by seeing it or hearing about it from others who

had experienced it, or by experiencing it themselves. Indeed, a healed pilgrim’s body was mobile

evidence of the wonder-working power of saints. Ronald C. Finucane explains that the

movements of the people who shared the stories of healing and carried them on their bodies were

the best witnesses of a story.28 Yet again, it must be remembered there is no uniform viewpoint


26 Eade and Sallnow, “Introduction,” 11. Like many topics from the Middle Ages, we only have the idealized

version of things.

Skyrms cautions indiscriminate use of secondary sources on pilgrimage. He asserts that recent scholarship on

pilgrimage has been completed by the same types of clergymen who wrote the original sources, and, thus, have an

inherent clerical bias; he believes this has led to erroneous assertions and assumptions in the scholarship, “The

Rituals of Pilgrimage,” 6-7.

27 Morinis, “Introduction,” 17.

28 Ronald C. Finucane, Miracles and Pilgrims: Popular Beliefs in Medieval England (New York: St. Martin’s Press,

1977), 156.

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of the laity, but multiple perspectives; we must parse the extant examples in the miracles to get a

sense of lay viewpoints.29

This leads us to question the audience for medieval miracle texts, which is hard to ascertain with

any precision or certainty. The three chief difficulties in ascertaining the audience of

hagiography all concern the potential for variety. First, there is great variation within the genre of

hagiography. As Ian wood phrases it, “Hagiography is not one genre, but a multiplicity.”30

Variety affects form and content as well as function and audience.31 Second, function was also

highly variable and often there were multiple functions for a single text. Woods sums this up

well: “Hagiography, then could be history as much as it could be liturgy, theology, edification

and propaganda, whether spiritual, cultic or political. It was an infinitely flexible medium, with a

vast pool of Biblical and other models to draw on.”32 Truly, hagiography could embrace more

than one function at a time. Third, there was also great variety in dissemination and audience.

Scholars generally agree that hagiographical literature was communicated in three ways in

descending order from the original text: reading, hearing the reading, and hearing about the

reading from someone who had read or heard it read.33 Given these three means of dissemination


30 Ian Wood, “The Use and Abuse of Latin Hagiography in the Early Medieval West,” in East and West: Modes of

Communication, Proceedings of the First Plenary Conference at Merida, ed. Evangelos Chrystos and Ian Wood,

(Leiden: Brill, 1999), 93.

31 A good example that will be familiar to the reader is a comparison between the three texts surveyed in this work,

which are all quite short in length and similar in scope as compared with the volumes of miracles written about Foy.

Admittedly, the variation between the length and form of these two miracles is partially connected to authorship; but

even when the monk-continuator took over from Bernard in writing Foy’s miracles, his length and style is still

markedly different from Vivien’s, Privat’s, and Enimie’s miracula.

32 Wood, “The Use and Abuse,” 108-109.

33 Wolfert S. van Egmond, “The Audience of Early Medieval Hagiographical Texts: Some Questions Revisited,” in

New Approaches to Medieval Communication, ed. Marco Mostert (Turnhout: Brepols, 1999), 42-43. Alcuin gives

three audiences for hagiography, each with their own functions. In his Vita Willibrordi, Alcuin explains that the text

has a prose section that should be read to the brethren in the church, a poetry section that should be ruminated upon

in solitude, and a homily that can be preached to the people. The latin reads: “…unum prosaico sermone gradientem,

qui puplice fratribus in ecclesia, si dignum tuae videbatur sapientiae, legi potuisset; alterum Piereo pede currentem,

qui in secreto cubili inter scolasticos tuos tantummodo ruminare debuisset. … Unam quoque priori libello

superaddidi omeliam, quae utinam digna esset tuo venerando ore populo praedicari.” Alcuin, Vita Willibrordi, ed.

Wilhelm Levison, MGH SS rer. Merov., volume 7, 113-114. Both van Egmond and Wood discuss Alcuin’s division

of function and audience of his Vita Willibrordi, “The Audience,” 43 and “The Use and Abuse,” 93.

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of hagiographical texts, we are then faced with multiple audiences and functions for miracula: 1)

hearing in the community of the writer for their own community’s education,34 2) reading by

individual religious community members or learned lay people,35 and 3) sharing orally with the

public community.36

Despite these uncertainties, the feast day was the most obvious occasion for oral discourse on the

saints because that is when the most people visited the monastery at the same time.37 With

crowds gathered, the texts were often read aloud to visitors. Indeed, miracle texts were key to the

celebration of saints’ festal day; after all, the practice of the festival day stemmed from the

religious community’s possession of a literary work about the saint.38 However, on these

occasions, the texts would have been disseminated in an erratic and piecemeal fashion because a

text could not have been able to be read in entirety in one sitting and there was no way to

guarantee who would come back to hear the rest of the stories.39 The documents, intended to

preserve, not spread, the story, gave letters to the dissemination of miracles, but the circulation of

stories happened with or without the written word.40

Ultimately, however, we cannot know the audiences with any certainty;41 all texts are influenced

by their historical context, including hagiography, which touches on all aspects of religious and

34 Baudouin de Gaiffier discusses this “in house” reading, Études critiques d’hagiographie et d’iconologie

(Brussels: Société des Bollandistes, 1967), 484-487.

35 See de Gaiffier about private reading within the monastery, Études critiques, 487-489.

36 On this point, de Gaiffier distinguishes between sermones ad monachos and sermones ad populum, Études

critiques, 490.

37 Non-monastic churches that had special saints would have likely observed the same practice, Van Egmond, “The

Audience,” 50. See also Martin Heinzelmann, Translationsberichte und andere Quellen des Reliquienkultes

(Turnhout: Brepols, 1979), 111-112. Connecting the saints to the festal days placed them in the liturgical cycle, de

Gaiffier, Études critiques, 477. Unfortunately, the scope of this study cannot include liturgy.

38 De Gaiffier, Études critiques, 479.

39 Van Egmond, “The Audience,” 53. In contrast, it is safe to assume that within a religious community, the

continuity of audience and readings was much more consistent than outside of it.

40 See Brian Stock, “II. Textual Communities,” in his The Implications of Literacy: Written Language and Models

of Interpretation in the Eleventh and Twelfth Centuries (Princeton, N.J.: Princeton Univesrity Press, 1983), 88-240.

41 This is true with the obvious exception of texts that explicitly tell us who their audience was.

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intellectual life.42 What we can glean must come from specifics about content and context of

individual source data,43 to which we now turn.

5.3 Journeys to the Shrine for Transformation: Physical and Spiritual Healing

I begin the miracle examples by taking up where the evidence in Chapter 3 ended, with a miracle

that happened during the return trip from a council. People who were healed abroad by the saints

sometimes accompanied the relics on their return trip home. These movements highlight the

attractive power of mobile relics to draw adherents back to the shrines, thus proving the spiritual

magnetism of the place. A shrine’s attraction usually relied greatly on the transformative

miracles performed by their patron saints and their presence. After all, pilgrims expected

miracles at the shrine.

There are two examples of incidents on-the-way-back from councils that drew devotees back to

Enimie’s home. Vivien’s text contains an example of a healed man staying at the shrine

indefinitely. Privat’s miracles provide no examples of incidents while returning from council

gatherings nor any examples of gaining permanent devotees.

Chapter 3 of Enimie’s text offers two accounts of healed people who returned to the shrine at

Sainte-Enimie with Enimie’s relics after the council at Le Puy, there were two noble women

named Lantildis and Dominica. Lantildis, whom the author noted was of nobler stock than

Dominica, had been “castigated by the scourge (verbere) of the omnipotent God” who had sent

away (amissis) her sight. In hopes of attaining illumination, she was led (deducta est) by her

relatives into the presence of Enimie’s relics in the basilica of Mary at Le Puy-en-Velay.44 When

Lantildis came before Enimie’s relics at the council, everyone nearby exalted Enimie with voices

of praise and beat their breasts with repeated sobbing, calling out to the Lord that his servant

42 De Gaiffier, Études critiques, 475.

43 Wood, “The Use and Abuse,” 101.

44 “Quarum prima Lantildis nobili stirpe progenita dicitur, sed Dei omnipotentis, amissis luminum aciebus, verbere

castigata a familiaribus suis quod illuminari posset, Anicium, ad genitricis Domini nostri basilicam deducta est.”

Enimie, 2, 286. Unfortunately, the author does not tell us what Lantildis did to deserve the scourge of God.

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might restore Lantildis’ sight.45 Without delay, their prayers were answered: with tears streaming

forth from her eyes, Lantildis’ sight was returned and she gave the greatest thanks to her

illuminatrix, thus showing through the author’s word choice that she believed Enimie, not God,

had healed her.46 Dominica, who was also nearby, experienced a similar miracle and equally

showed her thanksgiving.47 Both women had traveled to the council and then once there, moved

into Enimie’s presence to ask for and then received healing.

After their miraculous healing, both women wished to take up their journey (retrogradum

incipere iter) homewards, but supernal power denied them and instead they followed (consecute

sunt) Enimie all the way back to her monastery.48 After her arrival at Sainte-Enimie, Dominica

felt the desire to serve Enimie deeply in her soul and remained (permansit) there with Enimie,

immoveable (immobilis) and in her service.49 Dominica, who had previously moved for healing

and to be with Enimie, decided to remain rooted at Sainte-Enimie with her holy healer. Lantildis,

however, considering herself to be of nobler stock, often tried to return (conata est…progredere)

to her family.50 Yet, as many times as Lantildis took up her journey (adgressa est iter)

homeward (repatriandi), seeing her siblings and relatives approaching (adventantibus) to escort

her home, that many times Enimie re-blinded her and rendered Lantildis unable to leave

(nequivit transire) the limits (fines) of the monastery. After many repulsions (repulsos), Lantildis

finally remained (permansit) there at the monastery until her death as a witness of the miracles of

45 “Statimque ad strepitum vulgi et ad laudantium voces Enimiam extollentes sanctissimam virginem, commoto

animo, inter amara suspiria et crebros pectoris singultus, Dominum invocabat maiestatis, ut per famulam suam quos

amiserat intuitus ei restitueret acierum.” Enimie, 2, 286.

46 “Nec mora, oculi, spirantibus lacrimis, denegatum recipiunt lumen, et dudum orbata femina, claram intuens

lucem, ultra quam fari potest, illuminatrici sue retulit grates.” Enimie, 3, 286.

47 This is the only sentence the author provides about Dominica’s miracle: “Haud procul aderat altera quam

superius Dominicam nominavimus, que non dissimili miraculo, nec minus et ipsa gratiarum exhibuit laudes.”

Enimie, 3, 286.

48 “Tum demum cum vellent ad proprias domos retrogradum incipere iter, virtus hoc denegavit superna. Quapropter

virginis excubias usque ad eius monasterium consecute sunt nimium merentes.” Enimie, 3, 286.

49 “Dehinc Dominica eque lancis probo hoc dispensans examine, virginis beate animo persensit voluntatem, sicque

immobilis postmodum in eius permansit servitio.” Enimie, 3, 286.

50 “Lantildis vero nobiliori ceu se reputans genere, ad maiorem procurandam familiam conata est sepius ad

proprium progredere solum.” Enimie, 3, 286.

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the virgin.51 This example shows that Lantildis’ efforts to leave Sainte-Enimie and return to her

family were the undesirable movements because Enimie thwarted them. The result of attempting

these incorrect movements was the repeated loss of her sight until Lantildis realized the error of

her movements and decided to stay at Sainte-Enimie indefinitely.52 The relics’ spiritual

magnetism drew both women back to Sainte-Enimie with her relics and relic-bearers, where,

enticed by their healing, they stayed in the saints’ service.

But the draw of Enimie’s spiritual pull was not the same for each woman. Therefore, Dominca’s

and Lantildis’ movements to the council and then to Sainte-Enimie each offer a positive and

negative example of Enimie’s conditional healing power. Dominica, who felt drawn to stay in

Enimie’s service at Sainte-Enimie did not have her recently-regained sight revoked. Lantildis, on

the contrary, because of her denial of service to Enimie, was forced to stay at Sainte-Enimie if

she wanted to keep her sight. That her sight was conditional attests to the gift-giving and

expected reciprocation of the holy healer: miraculous power would only persist if the appropriate

reciprocation was received.53 And so both women were kept at Sainte-Enimie.

Yet, not all those who were granted their sight by Enimie were expected to participate in the

degree of service that Enimie elicited from these two women. It is significant that Lantildis and

Dominica were noble since it was much more likely that a noble woman than a common woman

would enter into the service of a saint. In fact, the nobility were expected to provide women to

the holy service. This was especially true when these women also brought with them lands to

donate to the saint, although neither Lantildis nor Dominica are recorded in the miracle text to

have brought anything with them except their service. Perhaps this tale is the fulfillment of local

nobility sending their unmarried women to Enimie; their nobility made them prime candidates to

51 “Unde post multos repulsos iam castigata, usque ad obitum, miraculorum virginis testis ibi permansit.” Enimie, 3,

286.

52 Pierre-André Sigal recounts a similar miracle, L’homme et le miracle dans le France médiévale (XIe-XIIe siècle)

(Paris: Cerf, 1985), 82. A blind woman was returned her sight by Saint Aile at the abbey of Rebais. When she tried

to return home, she was reblinded. Eventually, the woman promised that if she regained her sight again that she

would be a servant of the saint. Her sight was returned and she remained there. See Miracula S. Agili, AASS Aug. 5,

2:4:592.

53 This expectatation of reciprocation is not present in any of the other miracles; the theme only surfaces in

Enimie’s own Vita.

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give back more to the saint than Enimie would have expected of the vulgar recipients of her

miracles.54 Pierre-André Sigal offers this type of personal dedication to the saint as the most

intense version of giving back to the saint.55 Indeed, reciprocation for a miracle would rarely

permanently change a person’s daily life.56

Perhaps it was not just that Enimie wanted to keep Lantildis in her service, but that her healing

was tied to Enimie’s home at Sainte-Enimie, as it had been for Enimie herself. Her legendary

arrival and decision to stay at Sainte-Enimie parallels this example in two important ways.57

First, Enimie had contracted leprosy by praying to God to save her from marriage and to allow

her instead to be his servant. Likewise, when Lantildis and Dominica became Enimie’s servants,

they became ineligible for marriage. Second, the legend states that Enimie was only able to

remain healed from leprosy if she stayed at Sainte-Enimie and never returned back to her family.

This is a direct parallel to Lantildis’ experience of only remaining healed if she forsook her

family and stayed at Sainte-Enimie.58 Perhaps we can read the hagiographer’s story of Lantildis

and Dominica as a reenactment of Enimie’s life story with the goal of gaining more people to her

community at Sainte-Enimie.

Almost as an afterthought, the author of Enimie’s miracles provides one more example of

drawing someone back to Sainte-Enimie after the Le Puy council. As the relics were traveling

back (in redditu), already with Dominica and Lantildis in tow, a blind man (caecus) named

Girbald from the hamlet of Baccus heard the praising voices of those returning (redeuntium)

from the council and ran into (obviavit) the body of Enimie. He pushed (ingessit) into the middle

of the crowds (in medio turmarum) and he stubbornly asked for healing through the saint.59 He

54 Commoners only seem to have been expected to give praises and thanks.

55 Sigal, L’homme, 79.

56 But some did join monastic life, Sigal, L’homme, 84.

57 See Enimie’s Vita, Enimie, 251-277.

58 For more about Enimie’s legendary life, see Chapter 2 of this work.

59 “Cecus erat in vico qui dicitur Baccus, cuius nomen Girbaldus. Hic obviavit sanctissime glebe, audiens voces et

laudes redeuntium, seque cum reverentia, fide plenus in medio turmarum ingessit, obnixe rogans ut ei pietas divina

per famulam suam subvenire dignaretur ut denegata restitueret lumina.” Enimie, 3, 286-287.

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did not have to wait long; soon, God, through the merits of Enimie, gave Girbald sight and he

traveled (perrexit) along with the train of people moving with the relics (post sanctissimas

reliquias) to Sainte-Enimie. Like Lantildis and Dominica, Girbald did not simply go home, but

traveled on with Enimie after his miracle. This shows both the mobile power of the relics and

also the happenstance incidence for those who found her along the road, perhaps when they

might not have otherwise had access to her relics. Although we do not know if this Girbald

stayed at Sainte-Enimie after arrival or just traveled there with the relics, what is significant is

that he joined the group carrying Enimie’s relics and went directly to the shrine in glorification

of her miracle-working power and remained there for a period of time as evidence of Enimie’s

healing power.60

These miracle examples demonstrate two quite different expectations in reaction to healing. The

story of Lantildis and Dominica connects their social status as noble women who, once healed,

owed Enimie more than Girbald, likely a commoner, after his healing. For members of lower

social strata, most healing miracles were reciprocated with vocalized thanksgiving and gestures

of praise, which seems to be enough to satisfy the saint as a return gift.61 Yet, as was made clear

in Chapter 4 of this work, the saints also punished nobles and their soldiers differently. For

pardonable offences, nobles often had the opportunity for restitution and their men-at-arms were

usually punished without that chance.62 Thus, the nobility are portrayed in these miracle texts as

sometimes-forgivable characters, but their pardon comes with the expectation to give back to the

saints’ communities, as with the keeping of Lantildis and Dominica at Saint-Enimie. The travel

of Lantildis and Dominica to Sainte-Enimie seems to be the fulfillment of this sort of

expectation. But what about Girbald? That Girbald’s status was not given by the authors, coupled

with the fact that he encountered Enimie’s relics while traveling along the road, suggests that he

60 Once healed, some people stayed on for a while. Skyrms gives an example of a healed man who stayed for a

month to tell anyone who would listen about his miracle, “The Rituals of Pilgrimage,” 166. See Miracula S.

Raynerii Pisani, in Acta sanctorum quotquot toto orbe coluntur, vel a catholicis scriptoribus celebrantur June

volume 4, (Paris: V. Palmeé, 1867), 13:134: 372. Another man stayed for three months at the shrine to share his

recovery story, Skyrms, “The Rituals of Pilgrimage,” 167. See “Vie et miracula de S. Laurent archêveque de

Dublin,” Analecta Bollandiana 33 (1914): number 65, 177.

61 The examples below about miracles at the shrines attest to this.

62 See the section below on journeys to the shrine after bad movements and bad behaviors.

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was of inconsequential status. Thus, Girbald’s trip to Sainte-Enimie can arguably be attributed to

the spiritual magnetism of Enimie, whom he noticed because of her jubilant followers, and that

of Sainte-Enimie, because it was her sacred home. Nothing in the story insinuates that he is

bound to Sainte-Enimie like Lantildis and Dominica are.

Another example of a healed person staying for an indefinite period with the saints comes from

Vivien’s text. Although this person was not attracted there on the way back from a council,

nevertheless, this miracle can be interpreted as evidence of the spiritual pull of Figeac that kept

one man there for a long time. Chapter 26 of Vivien’s text tells of a miles named Ugo, who was

celebrated in his hometown of Cardaillac. Ugo went (aggreditur) to Vivien’s monastery for

vespers one Saturday, but also brought with him (secum adduxit) an old mute man named

Folcherium.63 The movement of the renowned soldier Ugo to Vivien’s shrine to celebrate him is

an unusually positive portrayal of a miles in the miracle texts. While Folcherium was at Mende

celebrating nighttime vigils, he was healed.64 After his healing, he stayed at Figeac for a long

time among the monks and grew accustomed to living in obedience with them.65 That Ugo’s

movement also had a positive benefit for someone else, in this case Folcherium, reinforced the

positive result of his movement toward the shrine. Furthermore, that Folcherium stayed at Figeac

among the monks shows that sometimes the common man also gave thanks for his miracle by

offering himself into the service of the saint.

The choice, voluntary or not, to remain at a holy place for a period of time after receiving a

miracle is presented as validating the spiritual magnetism and holy resonance of a place. Visitors

and miracle-recipients were essential for increasing a cult’s prestige and power. Therefore, their

movements to the shrine are portrayed positively in the hagiography. Keeping people there, no

doubt, increased spiritual attraction as well.

63 “Cardaliacum multis notitiae est oppidum, ex quo miles inclitus, Ugo vocitatus, causa orationum quodam vespere

sabbati sancti pontificis coenobium aggreditur, mutumque veteranum secum adduxit, nomine Folcherium.” Vivien,

26, 269.

64 “Qui cum cerei luminari ante sanctum Dei nocturnas celebraret excubias, hora noctis media vinculum linguae

illius resolvitur, ac sic, prorumpente sanguinis unda, verborum facundia ei caelitus impertitur.” Vivien, 26, 269.

65 “Qui reformatus nobiscum in eodem multo tempore vixit monasterio, necessarioque nobis assuevit frequentibus

adesse obsequio.” Vivien, 26, 269.

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Movement of pilgrims to the shrines in hopes of a transformative experience can be analyzed as

that place’s spiritual magnetism. People moved to the shrine because they had faith that the

saints would heal both their physical and spiritual ailments. As mentioned above, I consider all

the movements toward saints’ shrines within these miracle tales as pilgrimages. For this section

of the chapter, it is important to note that we are talking about pilgrimages on two scales. There

are those that were long-distance pilgrimages that included locations such as to Jerusalem,

Rome, Constantinople, or Santiago de Compostela.66 And then there were those that were local

pilgrimages that varied in length from across a region to intra-village travel. These smaller-scale

local pilgrimages are integral to my analysis; I analyze these briefer journeys like longer-distance

pilgrimages because their movements are a microcosm of larger pilgrimages undertaken in

medieval Christian Europe.67

Local Pilgrimage Journeys to the Shrine for Saints’ Festivals

As noted, one of the most celebrated occasions to draw pilgrims to the shrine was the feast day

of the shrine’s patron saint.68 In this period, bishops had the right to celebrate in their own

diocese the feast days of any saints they deemed important.69 The potential for healing is

66 Vauchez notes that the three main pilgrimage sites were to Jerusalem at the church of the Holy Sepulcher, which

was supposed to be the site of Christ’s tomb and resurrection; Rome, which was a cult site for Peter and Paul and

several other saints; and Constantinople, where the Byzantine emperors collected great many relics (these were later

distributed after the Crusades). He adds that “Alongside these traditional centers of pilgrimage, however, many new

sanctuaries developed in the eleventh and twelfth centuries.” Most famous was the Saint James of Compostela

pilgrimage that flourished in conjunction with the Spanish Reconquista from the Muslims, “Saints and pilgrimages,”

327-328.

67 For example, the pilgrimage maze at Chartres cathedral shows the microcosm of pilgrimage within a larger

framework. Chartres, a popular twelfth-century Marian pilgrimage site and stop along the French route to Santiago

de Compostela offers a great example of pilgrimage on a small scale that could be completed by a short journey to

Chartres. Since this pilgrimage takes places inside the Chartres cathedral, I consider it a local pilgrimage. For more

about the Chartres pilgrimage maze, see Daniel K. Connolly, “At the Center of the World: The Labyrinth Pavement

at Chartres Cathedral,” in Art and Architecture of Late Medieval Pilgrimage, 285-314 and James Bugslag

“Pilgrimage to Chartres: The Visual Evidence,” in Art and Architecture of Late Medieval Pilgrimage, 135-183.

68 Certain times of year were more prone to pilgrimage and procession, such as holy days like Easter and the Holy

Week or saints’ annual festal days, Tekippe, “Pilgrimage and Procession,” 711. Vauchez states that

commemorations of the faithful dead, celebrated from the eleventh century onwards, were instigated by Abbot

Odilon of Cluny (994-1048), “Saints and pilgrimages,” 324.

69 Vauchez adds that this freedom was so heavily used that by the fourteenth century there was a ban on instituting

new feasts, “Saints and pilgrimages,” 325.

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portrayed in the sources as a means to attract people toward the shrine that was rooted in their

physical embodiment and the potential for the break down of that body. André Vauchez writes:

“From this anthropological perspective, sanctity appears primarily as a language of the body and

as linchpin of a symbolic system based on the invigorating and healing power of relics….”70

This power was rooted in the shrine center where the relics were held.

With the many movements in the miracle texts, it is clear that both local and distant pilgrimages

represented in these texts show concepts of togetherness and conflict. To analyze these concepts,

I review three examples of pilgrims attracted to the shrines to gain healing during the festivities

to celebrate Vivien, and one example of a pilgrim motivated to travel toward his shrine to test his

healing powers. Privat’s text mentions one account of festive celebrations, but I analyze that

miracle story below in the section on long-distance pilgrimage journeys. Enimie’s text does not

mention any annual celebrations. Within the three examples of annual feast days for Vivien, one

theme that emerges, besides healing, is that a great flock of the populus gathered for the

occasion. While the central narrative of each festival tale is different, they are all united by the

movement of vast numbers of people toward the shrine which can be understood as the places’

spiritual magnetism. The positive portrayals of movements toward the shrine for healing and to

celebrate the saints reminds us that festal days, like council gatherings, were an occasion when

the populace was desired at the shrines by local relic guardians on behalf of the saints and that

these were acceptable movements.

During these festal occasions, the bustling mass of the populace was not always easy to manage

when they arrived at the saint’s shrine to gain a desired healing. Indeed, the clergy often had to

struggle with unruly crowds at shrines.71 For example when people congregated for some saints’

festivities, such a great crowd converged that access to the holy place was made difficult.

Chapter 30 of Vivien’s miracles records one such instance of pushy crowds. This account

features a blind man who had traveled to Figeac for the saint’s annual festivity day. For this

occasion of celebrating the saint, an immense multitude of people, as was customary, assembled

(coire) at Figeac. The crowding was so great (pro intolerabili constipatione) that Vivien’s image



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reliquary was removed (expellitur) from the monastery and then set up (statuitur) in a larger

space.72 In this more spacious location, “the statue could be more easily visited by all and

honored with fitting gifts.73

This example highlights two aspects that deserve some explanation: the massive movements of

assembled people that forced the image reliquary of Vivien to be moved where it could be more

accessible and the tributes that the populace brought to Vivien in thanksgiving. The text makes

clear that people flocked to shrines for healing on festal days and that they did so en masse.74

They were often crowded into small spaces in monasteries or churches to be in the direct healing

presence of the saint.75 When pilgrims overran shrines, bishops or abbots might reconstruct their

churches to accommodate the large crowds.76 The problem of crowded shrines was compounded

72 “Ad hoc sollemne gaudium tantae multitudinis assuescit coire immensitas ut pro intolerabili constipatione a

monasterio majestas venerabilis confessoris expellitur ac in amplissimo loco fixis tentoriis statuitur. “ Vivien, 30,

271.

73 “Ibi vero liberiori amplitudine ab omnibus frequentatur debitisque munerum exeniis honoratur.” Vivien, 30, 271.


75 Skyrms, “The Rituals of Pilgrimage,” 161. At other times, the populace was excluded from even entering the

church until the saint intervened. Chapter 39 of Vivien’s text states that when the relics from Saint-Santin were

brought (bajulabantur) to Vivien’s monastery at the advice (consilio) of the prelates there, a large group of the

populace (infinitae plebs) accompanied (comitari) the relics to Figeac. (“Praelatorum ergo illius loci consilio ad

sancti confessoris monasterium inde reliquiae bajulabantur, quas infinitae plebs studuit comitari tumultus.” Vivien,

39, 276.) A cursory statement of Santin traveling to Figeac is all the detail in the text that we have of the holy

journey. The rest of the miracle chapter tells of a vast flock outside the church clamoring for entry. When vast

numbers of pilgrims forced church doors open, this was precisely the type of occasion that prompted the

reconstruction of churches to accommodate more pilgrims. In response to their pleas, divine power completely

pulled off (evulsit) the bars and poles on the doors and miraculously opened (aperire) them allowing the crowd to

enter (intro admisit) like a dense stream. (“Quas dum sibi aperire obnixis clamoribus insisteret, aedituusque nullo

modo audiret, ilico facto terribili impetu seras et vectes repagulumque valvis oppositum divina virtus radicitus

evulsit, ac sic mirabiliter reseratis januis forensem turbam denso agmine intro admisit.” Vivien, 39, 276.) Clearly, if

the populace was not able to enter the church, Vivien was willing to help them. For another similar example of a

saint opening the doors for an excited mob of the populace, Bernard of Angers, Liber miraculorum sancte Fidis: il

racconto dei prodigi di una santa bambina, trans. Luca Robertini and ed. Luigi G. G. Ricci (Florence: Edizioni del

Galluzzo per la Fondazione Ezio Franceschini, 2010), 2.12, 277 & 279.

76 Skyrms provides the example of Abbot Suger (r.1081-1151) of Saint-Denis who witnessed such great crowding

at that shrine that he decided to reconstruct the church to make room for more pilgrims. While Skyrms recognizes

that Suger’s commentary of pilgrim quantities was likely hyperbole, nevertheless the reconstruction occurred

because shrines were busy, highly frequented places for pilgrims, “The Rituals of Pilgrimage,” 161-162. This type

of pilgrim-accommodation reconstruction happened in several other churches across the eleventh century and

beyond. Other notable examples include Conques, which, in its eleventh-century heyday, was the goal of pilgrims

who would leave behind gifts and the stories of Foy’s miracles, Sheingorn, “Introduction,” in The Book of Sainte

Foy (Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 1995), 10-12.

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by the ill health of the pilgrims and people who came for healing. Skyrms sets the scene well:

“Some of them were incapable of standing, so that the area around the tomb of the saint was

sometimes littered with the bodies of the lame [sic].”77 He adds that people might see others just

lying around in the presence of the saint wailing sickly and making all kinds of noises.78

Supplicating pilgrims carried on no matter what was happening in the church. They did not even

stop for mass or celebration of offices and occasionally interrupted these services. Visitors went

to the saints’ presence more than for in-person supplication; they went to pray, sleep, and/or cry

out.79 In a way, the allowance of this behavior signaled that, for the hagiographers, pilgrims

trumped liturgy, or at least were on par in importance. Additionally, the chaos of a noisy and

distracting populace could force relic keepers to take the relics outdoors.

This miracle account also mentions gifts for the saint; gifts were a visual advertisement of the

efficacy of the patron saint of the shrine.80 Gift giving in the Middle Ages, such as this example,

was based on a system of exchange, that is, gift and counter gift.81 If the original gift was healing

from sickness, then the reciprocal gift came from the person healed. Once a person received their

miracle, an ex-voto, an object that is left in the sanctuary, was appropriate.82 Sigal explains that

clerics at the shrine particularly appreciated the leaving of objects because it showed new arrivals

that their saint was an effective healer. Sigal adds that the practice of gift giving by miracle

recipients was not consistent; pilgrims did not follow a strict set of gift-giving rules and there





81 Sigal, L’homme, 79.

82 Sigal, L’homme, 86. In addition, Sigal notes that the word that usually corresponds to the ex-voto is votum and

can be replaced by the expression votiva oblatio. Rarely the word oscillum is used. There are also more imprecise

words used such as munus, munusculus, oblatio, offerenda. These words are used for a general sense of offering or

oblation.

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were exceptions, but it was characteristic of pilgrims to give a gift before and after their

healing.83

A similar instance of Vivien’s image reliquary moving to an outdoor location away from the

monastery at Figeac during his annual festivities comes from chapter 30 of Vivien’s text. After

noon, once the outdoor celebrations were completed, some very noble soldiers84 were carrying

(reveheretur) Vivien’s image reliquary back to the monastery when a blind man (caecus quidam)

started to solicit (sollicitare coepit) Vivien for his sight. The blind man was not immediately

granted his request, so he incessantly repeated his desire for aid, much to the annoyance of the

bearers of Vivien’s image. The man persisted for so long with no result that even the men

carrying Vivien’s image urged him to stop his pleas and go away (recede), complaining that the

blind man was a stumbling block (scandalum) in their way.85 But since bearing the reliquary was

a heavy burden, eventually the carriers set it down (deponi) to rest for a little while.86 As soon as

the blind man was able to approach (accederet) the relics, he received his sight.

This example of a miracle nearby but outside the shrine building proper during Vivien’s

festivities offers important points about movement and access. First, it reminds us that the

83 Sigal, L’homme, 90-91. Gifts given before the healing were ex-donos and the gifts given after were ex-votos.

Only ex-votos are included in Vivien’s, Privat’s, and Enimie’s miracula. Despite these irregularities, there are

generally four types of ex-votos, or post-miracle gifts. First, there are symbolic objects, such as candles, wax, wicks

(silver or linen), or lamps. Chapter 30 of Vivien’s miracles records an illustrative instance. Second, there are

figurative ex-votos made of wax or precious metals in the shape of the healed body part. See Sigal, L’homme, 100-

101. These are the most typical remunerations, Skyrms, “The Rituals of Pilgrimage,” 154. Skyrms provides

additional examples, such as chains, bridles, distaffs, plough pieces, carts, wax items (such as hands, arms, feet,

eyes, legs, heads, faces, gums, jaws, breasts). Disabled people typically left behind the items they had used to arrive

at the shrine. For example, Skyrms provides a story of a woman who, after being healed by a saint, left the cart that

she had used to drag herself around. Thereafter, this cart was hung up in the shrine, 157. See “La vie et les miracles

de S. Amator,” Analecta Bollandiana 28 (1909): number 7, 83. Third, there are material objects related to the

healing left as a witness, such as crutches, staffs to aid walking, or orthopedic objects. See Sigal, L’homme, 102-104.

Fourth, there are gifts of money or other valuable objects such as chalices, tablecloths, or animal hides. See Sigal,

L’homme, 104-107.

84 This is a rare instance of roving and potentially dangerous men with a positive epithet; they are called

“nobilioribus militum personis,” Vivien, 30, 271.

85 “Cui etiam sancti confessoris inquiunt bajuli: Recede, stulte, velocius: scandalum enim nobis es omnibus.”

Vivien, 30, 271.

86 “Illo autem fideliter coeptis insistente petitionibus, contigit pro laboris respiratione sancti confessoris deponi

feretrum et ibidem subsistere paululum.” Vivien, 30, 271.

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populace could gain unusual access to the saints’ relics when they were outside of their normal

spaces and were readily available for public access, yet still near the shrine. Often the populace

was forbidden to approach the image reliquary in their churches; therefore, while the image was

outside its normal place, more and different people could approach and gain intimate access to

the relics outside the shrines than inside it. Second, this example reemphasizes that, at all times,

the relics of Vivien were available and willing to perform miracles for those in his presence. The

movement outside simply readied Vivien’s relics for miracle dispensation in those exterior

locations.

In chapter 21 we find another example of the populace traveling to the saints’ shrines for healing

specifically during the annual festivities of the saint. In this case, the monks shared their wine

with the annual festivity attendees. As expected, whenever Vivien’s annual feast day arrived, an

innumerable crowd of people (innumera gentium caterva) was accustomed to congregate

(confluere) at Figeac in celebration.87 It was common for the elders of Figeac to serve

(impertirent) necessities to Vivien’s petitioners and not let anyone depart (redire sinerent)

empty-handed.88 On one occasion, the abbot Adaz (about 974-988) ordered the cellarer to open

the wine casks and administer wine to all who came (cunctisque advenientibus).89 The author

does not tell us that any drinking glass was passed around to the host of crowds, but clearly some

movements had to have happened to dispense the wine.90 After the celebrations were complete,

when the steward went to check the wine levels, he was astonished to see that the vessel was just

as full as it had been in the beginning.91 Since the abbot and monks had been so generous in

supplying the wine to all who had congregated there, they were rewarded by divine power with a

87 “Annuo recursu tanti confessoris festiva gaudia imminebant, ad quorum votiva sacramenta ex diversis partibus

innumera gentium caterva confluere super assueverat.” Vivien, 21, 267.

88 “Senioribus ergo loci usualis mos aderat ut familiari devotione petentibus impertirent necessaria ac nullum

vacuum redire sinerent de tanta copia.” Vivien, 21, 267.

89 “At ille ex jussu magistri vasculum, quod vulgariter tonna dicitur, in dispensationem aperit, cunctisque

advenientibus falernum ministrare non destitit.” Vivien, 21, 267.

90 The wine cup moved or the people moved toward it. Either way, there clearly had to be movement involved in

the dispensation process.

91 “Peractis igitur festivitatis frequentationibus, oeconomus ille ad illud vas venit, et quantae vacuitatis esset post

tantam expensionem temptare voluit. Sed mox divina fecundante virtute, ita illud plenum invenit ac si nullatenus ab

eo exisset amphora vini.” Vivien, 21, 267-268.

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non-diminishing the wine supply. Clearly the author highlights that not only people and relics

moved, but also consumables could move in dispensation to show the saints’ miraculous powers.

The order to distribute wine to all people in the customary fashion is significant because it set up

a precedent for a recurring expectation. Receiving physical gifts of sustenance as well as spiritual

gifts could certainly have been a draw for attendees. We know from Vivien’s miracle in chapter

30 that relics were taken outside during these events to make room for more gifts for the saint.

After all, the more people that arrived, the more gifts were brought. There were multiple

attractive elements (miracles, wine, community celebration) and rewards (increased fame, gifts)

for participating in the communal festivities. In addition, we know that work was forbidden

during the saints’ feast days and those who violated this interdict were subject to punishment.92

Indeed, the monastery itself might be the only place where the amassed pilgrims could gain

sustenance on the occasion.

But not everyone came to the annual festivities for healing or victuals. These examples can be

understood as illustrative of the notion of communitas articulated by Victor and Edith Turner.

The Turners saw pilgrimage as a kinetic ritual, one that allowed for opportunities of

transformation both socially and psychologically, even if only temporarily, through the

journey.93 Departing from the established Durkheimian structuralist approach, the Turners

instead offered the anti-structural concept of communitas in which pilgrims exited the normal

everyday structures and hierarchies of life and entered the liminoid94 state as pilgrims who

crossed boundaries of time, space, and society through their participation in a common and

unifying goal of pilgrimage. On this sacred journey, the pilgrims found themselves among a

large group of similar people and, for the Turners, the similarity of their intensions transformed

92 But, de Gaiffier writes, this rule was lenient for markets that attracted foreigners to the shrines, Études critiques,

491.

93 Simon Coleman and John Eade see this as a clear adaptation of Arnold van Gennep’s representation of life as a

set of transitional experiences, “Introduction,” in Reframing Pilgrimage: Cultures in Motion, ed. Simon Coleman

and John Eade (London: Routledge, 2004), 2.

94 Victor Turner and Edith Turner define pilgrimage as “liminoid” or “quasi-liminal” instead of fully liminal

because of the voluntary nature of its undertaking and opposed to liminal experiences, which are not optional, Image

and Pilgrimage in Christian Culture (New York: Columbia University Press, 2011), 35. See especially their chapter

“Introduction: Pilgrimage as a Liminoid Phenomenon,” Image and Pilgrimage, 1-39.

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into a feeling of commonality, a communitas of believers.95 The communitas of pilgrimage was a

liminoid experience that was not static and fixed, but open and unconceptualized by religious

routines.96

This notion of a unifying pilgrimage experience, however, has attracted a great deal of criticism.

One notable critique on the Turners’ theory is from John Eade and Michael Sallnow in the

Contesting the Scared: The Anthropology of Christian Pilgrimage, published in 1991. In short,

Eade and Sallnow argue that instead of oneness, pilgrimage offers a “realm of competing

discourses”97 of which communitas is only one. Furthermore, they add that shrines have the

ability to “absorb and reflect a multiplicity of discourses.”98 There is not one ideal homogenous

experience of pilgrimage, but many.99 Simon Coleman contributes that pilgrimage is not “about

any one thing”100 and urges that we break out of the binary of Turnerian communitas and Eade

and Sallnow’s contestation.101 Perhaps instead of describing pilgrimages plural (rather than

pilgrimage singular), we should be looking at what Kaelber describes as the “multiplicity of

discourses about pilgrimage”102 because “pilgrimage in medieval religion was a multifaceted

phenomenon,”103 the aspects of which phenomenon could overlap and be held simultaneously.

95 Turner and Turner, Image and Pilgrimage, 13.

96 Turner and Turner, Image and Pilgrimage, 231.

97 Eade and Sallnow, “Introduction,” 5.

98 Eade and Sallnow, “Introduction,” 15.

99 Other critiques come from C. Bawa Yamba who states that the Turners’ view is like a “theoretical strait-jacket”

and that the best research “does its own thing” instead of framing scholarship in terms of agreeing with or

disagreeing with the Turners, Permanent Pilgrims: The Role of Pilgrimage in the Lives of West African Muslims in

Sudan (Edinburgh: Edinburgh University Press, 1995), 9. One useful way of doing this is to follow Alan Morinis’

targets for analysis: journeys, goals, and pilgrims. For Morinis’ tripartite typology of pilgrimage, see “Introduction,”

14-21.

100 Coleman, “Do you believe in pilgrimage?,” 363.

101 Not only are those two aspects only two parts of the same phenomenon, but there are many more options and

much more complexity of meaning to unpack around pilgrimage that we have to think outside of the ways that

pilgrimage studies have been done since the 1970s and look at what the pilgrimages themselves show us, Simon

Coleman, “Epilogue: The Janus Face of Pilgrimage,” in Antón Pazos, ed., Pilgrims and Pilgrimage, 267.

102 Kaelber, “The Sociology of Medieval Pilgrimage,” 53.

103 Kaelber, “The Sociology of Medieval Pilgrimage,” 54.

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They were also subject to the point of view of the pilgrim. For example, Di Giovine

acknowledges that conflicting experiences, such as communitas and contest or competition, are

ultimately subject to the perspective of the participant.104

This competitive, contested aspect of pilgrimage appears in Vivien’s Miracula. An example from

chapter 29 tells of a test to Vivien’s powers that occurred at a large festival gathering at Figeac.

Through this example of testing Vivien’s powers, we see again a common reason to move

toward Vivien’s relics in his Miracula.105 At the time of Vivien’s annual festivities, a great

crowd of the populace (infinitus populus) flowed (confluxit) to Figeac from many places (ex

diversis partibus), among whom some of the monks from the monastery of Marcelliacus also

were present (affuerunt). To test Vivien’s powers, these monks brought (adduxerunt) a mute man

(mutum) who had been raised up from a young age in the bakery by their pastry maker.106 While

the mute man stood (stantem) before Vivien (ante suam praesentiam … gloriosus confessor) late

at night, right away when Vivien saw (vidit) him, he loosened (resolvit) the man’s tongue into

free speech, much to the amazement of Marcelliacus’ monks who were present.107

This example also reiterates the theme of tests of the saints that we saw in Chapter 3 at Peace

gatherings. First, other communities of religious men traveled toward Vivien to test his powers.

Second, they made these tests publically in front of large gatherings of people. Third, like the

two examples of the monks of Aurillac and clerics of Saint-Chamant in Chapter 3, this instance

too started with movement precipitated by disbelief and ended with total astonishment clergy.

Finally, this instance reinforces that when one wanted something positive to happen, or hoped for

a healing, one had to travel to sacred relics or their shrine to receive that healing. Thus, a journey

104 Michael A. Di Giovine, “A Higher Purpose: Sacred Journeys as Spaces for Peace in Christianity,” in Pilgrims

and Pilgrimages, 32.

105 While movement toward the relics to test the saints’ power was uncommon, it did happen. See Chapter 4 for

examples.

106 “Voluto quidem anni curriculo, sollemnitas praedicti confessoris illuxit, ad cujus celebranda gaudia infinitus

populus ex diversis partibus certatim confluxit. Inter quos monachi quidam ex Marcelliaco monasterio affuerunt, qui

ut experimentum tantarum virtutum facerent secum quendam adduxerunt mutum in eorum pistrino ab ineunte aetate

sub artocopa adultum.” Vivien, 29, 270.

107 “Quem sero ante suam praesentiam stantem gloriosus confessor ut vidit, actutum linguae ejus vinculum resolvit

liberamque loquelam cunctis stupentibus eum fari coegit.” Vivien, 29, 270-271.

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had to be undertaken to gain the expected transformation. Even if the ones who spurred the

movement did not believe that it would be effective, disbelief did not affect the outcome.

Miracles were a platform to declare the spiritual power of the place and festival times were ideal

for attracting pilgrims and promoting the cult site. The flocking of people en masse for these

occasions shows that relics had a powerful attractive component. In addition, the congregation of

people on festal days was higher than most other days of the year. The more people who arrived,

the more chances there were for successful miracles. These festival narratives provide mostly

examples of the Turners’ communitas, but also the contestation that arose in a competitive

spiritual environment. Local pilgrimages to the shrines for festivals were only one occasion that

drew in pilgrims for healing. Now we turn to long-distance pilgrimages.

Long-Distance Pilgrimages

In the Christian Middle Ages, the most widely known pilgrimage centers were Rome and

Jerusalem as well as the popular108 pilgrimages to Santiago de Compostela and to Marian cult

sites. Rome and Jerusalem were not sought after sites of healing because they were considered

holy by their association with biblical persons. However, pilgrimage to Compostela, Marian

sites, and local saints’ shrines, like Vivien, Privat, and Enimie, relied on attracting pilgrims with

their spiritually attractive power, that is, the efficacious healing powers of their patron saints.

Most of the movements described in Vivien’s, Privat’s, and Enimie’s miracles were across short

distances; but there are three long-distance pilgrimages in the miracle texts, with one from each

text. The longest story in Enimie’s text is about a reformed criminal nobleman who went on a

long-distance pilgrimage seeking forgiveness for past sins against the saint. The other two

instances, one from Privat’s text and one from Vivien’s, both give examples of pilgrimages

instigated because of physical ailments. What is most interesting about these latter two examples

is that, similar to the local pilgrimages we just examined, the pilgrims arrived at the shrine and

attained healing during the saints’ annual festivities. Clearly, annual festivities were an essential

part of attracting people to the shrine. In both Enimie’s and Privat’s accounts of long-distance

108 I mean popular in terms of commonly taken rather than popular in terms of the cultural or political practice of

distinguishing between the masses versus elites.

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pilgrimage, the pilgrims were people who lived nearby Privat or Enimie, but who first traveled

extensively elsewhere before being healed at local shrines.109 For Vivien’s example of long-

distance pilgrimage, the woman came from a neighboring region.

Privat’s example of a long-distance pilgrimage comes from chapter 6 of his miracles. It offers a

pilgrimage tale about a lax and wanton noble man living in the vicinity of Privat’s shrine at

Mende, who had a single son whom he loved more than was appropriate (opportunum).110 After

this youth was initiated as a horseman, he took on the heedless lechery of his comrades and was

punished by God (who already had plans to heal him) by rendering the youth mute and deaf.111

Since he was an only son, his parents were tormented by the loss of these faculties.112 They sent

him to many places in supplication, fasting, and almsgiving in hopes of attaining his health

because they knew that travel to holy sites could provide healing.113 After a tearful farewell, the

parents sent him (mittentes) with servants and money for sustenance.114 The author vaguely

offers the destinations of this youth’s travels writing that he went (adiens) to the dwelling places

109 Sigal writes that this narrative of visiting far off saints only to be healed locally is a trope of medieval miracle

collections, “Le culte des reliques,” 108.

110 “In predicta igitur Gaballitana vir quidam habebatur, stem[m]ate nobilitatis et opibus gloriosus, qui unicum de

propria conjuge cum haberet filium, magis quam opportunum foret eum dilegebat.” Privat, 6, 11.

111 “Alitus tamen intra domum, post pueriles annos, cum ad juvenilem tandem pervenisset etatem, equestri ordini

est deputatus. Tum demum, ut illa afferre solet etas, in nimia la[s]civia dissolutus ganearum turpes lux[us] et vana

seculi blandimenta amplecti cepit atque inter complices suos cunctis in rebus noxiis se primum ac promptiorem

adhibere curavit. Verumtamen Deus omnipotens cunctorum que fiunt summa providentia non diu ejus improbos

mores dilatari sustinuit, impositisque sue medele saluberrimis antidotis, quo eum in posteritate superventure vite

redderet saniorem, mutum illum ex[h]ibuit atque surdum.” Privat, 6, 11.

112 Skyrms asserts the importance of heirs in this period, “The Rituals of Pilgrimage,” 478-479. Perhaps this is why

the parents were so upset that their only son was made ill; it meant that he was also unable to fulfill his social

obligations.

113 “Unde, curis ceteris obmissis, totos se in orationibus et jejuniis atque helemosinis pro ejus imbecillitate

contulerunt, offerentes Deo omnipotenti sedulas hostias, ut qui mutum et surdum atque demoniacum, secundum

euvangelicam lectionem, per unicum filium suum, Jhesum Christum, redemptorem nostrum, curaverat, ipsorum

propriam sobolem, isdem officiis destitutam, per eundem Salvatorem nostrum, perdite sospitati restituere

dignaretur.” Privat, 6, 11-12.

114 The notation of money is significant because, as Skyrms rightfully writes, pilgrimage could be expensive, 471.

“Quod parentes animo pertractantes, arbitrati sunt ad beatorum apostolorum eum provehi debere limina, ut saltem

illorum meritis ad perditam redderetur incolumitatem. Itaque ad viatici impensas alimoniam prebent, delegatisque in

ejus familia quibusdam servis, cum lacrimis atque femitibus eum mit[t]entes, ad ultimum vale dicunt.” Privat, 6, 12.

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of the apostles, martyrs, and confessors as well as the places of the venerable virgins.115 While

the youth toured the sacred ashes and relics, he kept praying inwardly for an outward sign of the

saint’s miraculous power.116 The hagiographer’s set-up is clear: improper behavior resulted in

divine punishment and the sought-after remedy was movement to holy places.

Movement is at the centerpiece of this tale. After his journey wandering across great stretches of

land (multis terrarum spatiis perlustratis), the son returned (reversus) home with his pilgrimage

entourage, dejected and without healing.117 Once home, the family and attendants from the

journey were in conversation with the community. At this gathering, the father lamented his

disappointment and lack of understanding for why his son was not healed. After all, he had sent

his son (transmisi) to holy places, but with fruitless effect, and he did not know where else he

could send (dirigere debeam) the youth.118 One person present spoke to the father, telling him

that what he sought could be found much closer since Privat dwelled in their vicinity and would

certainly provide the desired health.119 The parents decided to put their hope in Privat.

The annual festival day of the martyr was drawing near, so the father, trusting the advice he had

received, led (duxit) his son and servants to Privat’s basilica where they lit many candles,

brought (contulit) many gifts, and held vigils. Throughout the night, none of them ceased to

115 In this case, venerable virgins could refer to either the various shrines dedicated to Mary that were nearby

Mende or could simply refer to the places where there were venerable virgins, like monasteries.

116 “Qui sanctorum apostolorum et martyrum plurimorum ac confessorum adiens mansiones, non est oblitus

venerabilium loca virginum, per quorum cineres ac reliquias gloriosas non cessabat interius cordis singultis

deprecari quatenus eorum conniventia merita sue calamitati subvenire dignarentur.” Privat, 6, 12.

117 “Sed, dum nec sic curaretur, post longos labores, multis terrarum spatiis perlustratis, cum sociis ad propria est

reversus.” Privat, 6, 12.

118 “Tum vero, sermocinantibus famulis de his qui in itinere acciderant cum senioribus, inter ceteras

confabulationes infelix ejus genitor sic fertur fuisse affatus: ‘Ecce ego huc usque miserrimus homo mutum et

surdum natum prope et emi nus per varia loca sanctorum, ut ei bonitas subveniret superna, transmissi, illisque ut

reorum meorum sive ipsius obice peccatorum hoc spernentibus facere, ignoro ad quem ultra aliorum eum dirigere

debeam.’” Privat, 6, 12.

119 “Cumque diu in his et consimilibus demoraretur querelis, plurimi qui astabant talibus eum perloqui ac consolari

ceperunt affatibus: ‘Heu! tu, senior, quem rex superne glorie Christus de hac opacitatis miseria ad plenum conferat

sospitatis gaudium! si nostris vis parere consiliis, comminus habebis remedium nec procul a te amplius est

querendum. Enimvero tecum pertracta rectoque equitatis examine per animum volve que et quanta in patria nostra

totius sanitatis conditor Deus per martyrem suum Privatum operari dignatus est mirabilia, ad quem profecto si iveris

tuique molestias infortunii patefeceris, verum profitemur, non regrederis a tua petitione immunis.’” Privat, 6, 12-13.

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entreat Privat to heal the youth.120 But at dawn, since the youth still remained unhealed, the

crowd refilled (replebant) the church of the martyr and all wept in one accord on behalf of the

deaf and mute youth.121 Yet time passed on. It seemed that although God had already

preordained the youth’s healing, it would not be immediate. The clerics celebrated the mass of

the third hour, and finally, as the clerics sang, the youth sent his arms heavenward (celum

tendente) and suddenly he shook (valde contremuit) a great deal, and then fell over (dilapsus),

vomiting (evomuit) blood.122 The parents and servants raised (sublevatus) up his body and when

the youth looked to the heights, his tongue loosened so that he clearly spoke praise to God.123

After the cessation of the festivities, the youth and his family traveled (redeunt) back to their

own home.124

This miracle is remarkable for the way it discusses movement. Although the badly-behaved

youth had traveled extensively to saints’ shrines, it was not until he moved to the correct, local

location that he was healed. Yet again, the hagiographer shows that to get something desirable

from the saint, travel to the shrine or relics was imperative. This story also gives primacy to

120 Skyrms notes that many pilgrims stayed all night in the shrine. He sets the scene: “All of this activity [at the

shrine] continued throughout the night, since many of the very ill were not easily able to leave. And, of course, the

desperately afflicted could hardly be expected to stop their petitions to accommodate the schedules of the shrine-

keepers.” “The Rituals of Pilgrimage,” 167. “Credidit ille et, quoniam martyris dies proximus instabat, festinus

comitantibus multis infirmam sobolem ad sancti basilicam duxit, ubi, plurimis accensis luminaribus, non modica

contulit dona, noctemque pervigilem excubans, cum ipsius genetrice ac ceteris qui aderant secum, sancti Privati

clementiam non destitit exorare, ut unico nato, miserando ei apud Deum, subvenire dignaretur.” Privat, 6, 13.

121 “Sed illucescente aurora, finitis laudibus matutinis, cum viderent ad suas petitiones nullum occurrere

prosperitatis effectum, magnis miseriarum [clamoribus] sancti martyris aulam repleba[n]t, ita ut pene universa que

convenerat turba, in omnibus compatiendo doloribus, partiter fleret.” Privat, 6, 13.

122 Emitting foreign matter was a common motif in narratives about healing from physical ailments, Skyrms, 168.

“Denique, cum laudes angelicas concinerent clerici, orantibus illis, ipsoque egroto manus ad celum tendente atque

corde, quod ore non poterat, superni muneris propulsante majestatem, subito, valde contremuit, in terramque

dilapsus, tres sanguinis evomuit offas. Privat, 6, 13.

123 “Iterum autem parentum aminiculis sublevatus, dum sicut in extasi positus superiora intueri videretur, ilico

aperte sunt aures ejus, solutoque lingue ipsius vinculo, loquebatur recte et voce clara, magnificans Deum, sancti

Privati affuisse testabatur presentiam que eum ab injectis nexibus dissolutum reddidisset et sanum. Que vero et

quanta gaudia parentibus tunc fuerint, que vel letitia famulis et omni plebi acciderit paucis verbis nequeunt explicari,

ideoque, his pretermissis, reducatur ad finem stilus locutionis.” Privat, 6, 13-14.

124 “Concelebrato igitur martyris festo, nati juvenis parentes vota sua Domino persolvunt, sicque sospite sobole

ovantes ad propriam redeunt domum.” Privat, 6, 14.

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Privat above all other saints and to Mende as the central site for a holy cure.125 What is more, the

author used the mouthpiece of a local person to urge the parents to send their son to Privat for

healing. That the family’s associate chided them shows the expectation that they should have

known better than to send their son far away when a marvelous and healing saint lay right in

their vicinity. This suggests that Privat was perceived to be little known even to those living

nearby the shrine. Long-distance pilgrimage, although well intentioned, was not the right

movement. The hagiographer, therefore, uses this chance to show that less movement is better

and this call for less movement is rooted in the desire to present Privat as more powerful than

other saints.

A second long-distance pilgrimage example comes from chapter 37 of Vivien’s text. There was a

disabled woman who lived in the neighboring Agenais region. This woman (muliercula) named

Reinaldis was carried (devecta) to many places of the saints (“ad plurima … sanctorum loca”),

yet on these journey she was not relieved of her immobility.126 But at last, the disabled woman

was set (oblata) in front of Vivien, and miraculously she was restored to an erect (erigitur)

posture. Thus, after visiting many other holy sites with the aid of foreign travellers (alienis

vectoribus), the woman was able to return (redire) to her own home on her own.127 With this

example and the similar instances written above of those traveling to Vivien for healing during

the festival time, it is clear that Vivien’s shrine at Figeac was an effective place to be restored to

full mobility.128 Although the women had been carried to many shrines, it was only when she

was carried to Vivien’s, an obvious burden, that she was able to return home without aid and

125 It should be noted, however, that despite primacy being placed on Privat in this miracle, it was not Privat alone

who healed the youth, but God through the youth’s presence nearby Privat and according to God’s ordination

through Privat.

126 “[A]genensium in partibus muliercula erat membris contracta omnibus, quae ad plurima devecta sanctorum loca,

nullum salutis assequi potuit munus.” Vivien, 37, 275.

127 “Tandem vero sancti confessoris oblata conspectibus, diu quaesitae reparationis in statum mirabiliter erigitur; et

quae alienis vectoribus sancti viri expetivit limina, cum omni prosperitate incolumitatis propriis plantis meruit redire

ad propria.” Vivien, 37, 275.

128 The miracle from Vivien chapter 26 discussed above also shows this same story. Folcherium was carried to

Figeac from Cardillac by the soldier Ugo, but then Folcherium stayed behind with the monks for a while.

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with mobility restored. Yet again, less movement to the right place is written as better than the

long-distance movements to other shrines.129

The third long-distance pilgrimage example comes from chapter 8 of Enimie’s Miracula. It is the

most extensive pilgrimage journey in the three sources. Even the hagiographer explicitly

recognizes that this miracle shows the most outstanding power of Enimie, stating that it “is the

greatest sign, indeed wonderful is the might of the virgin Enimie.”130 The text states that “there

was an exceedingly evil man, villainous, impious, who committed many crimes by enacting

depraved deeds.”131 Yet, despite his wickedness, he was able to turn his life around and, by the

mercy of God, he sought penance, his hands were restricted in shackles. He did penance in a hair

shirt, with bronze and iron fetters on his arms, to achieve atonement.132 The man hoped that

looking upon (intuens) the places of the saints would free him of his shackles.133

The pilgrimage itinerary in the text is quite extensive. According to the hagiographer, the first

stop was Jerusalem, and then he sought (petit) Bethlehem to visit the hall of the Virgin Mary, the

sepulcher of the Lord, and, praying at the holy crib (praesepe), he called on the merits of many

129 I am assuming that this woman was non-noble because usually the hagiographers note the superior status of

people and omit the status of common individuals. The desire to regain physical movement is an unsurprising desire

for a populace only able to work for subsistence by the use of their bodies. Injuries that left a peasant or laborer

unable to work were a matter of concern for the family and local community because they all collaborated and

worked together for survival in a highly interdependent community. Skyrms notes that a knight or a noble might see

a battle-wound as a badge of honor, but a disabled peasant was a burden to the family because the loss of a worker

could bring on economic hardship, Skyrms, “The Rituals of Pilgrimage,” 505-506. He continues: “When disabling

afflictions struck peasants or laborers, then, the social order of a small village community could be put under

extraordinary stress. It was necessary that the person who had been relegated to the status of a social marginal either

change roles by recovering his or her ability to perform economically useful labor or definitely accept the status of

marginality. Pilgrimage was a ritual that helped to accomplish this transition, Skyrms, “The Rituals of Pilgrimage,”

508. Therefore, it is hardly surprising that the populace sought remedy from saints for disabilities that prevented

social and economic contributions to their community.

130 “…Maximum est prodigium, / Name virtus admirabilis / Enimie est virginis,….” Enimie, 8, 292.

131 “Vir fuit valde noxius, / Facinorosus, impius, / Multa committens crimina / Prava implendo opera.” Enimie, 8,

292.

132 “Tandem conversus postea, / Dei nostri clementia, / Venit ad penitentiam, / Atque utendo aspera, / Indutus est

ciliciis, / Vinclis constrictus ereis, / Utrumque et per brachium / Circulum duxit ferreum.” Enimie, 8, 292.

133 “Ipsorum loca intuens, / Petit eis remedia / Solvant ut vincla ferrea / Sibique dando veniam, / Indulgeant

facinora.” Enimie, 8, 292-293.

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saints. Then he continued eastwards; he sought (querit) Thomas in India,134 and then turned

back westward to Andrew in Achaia, John at Ephesus, and to the apostles Judas, Luke, Simon,

Thus he came to Constantinople and prayed to Holy Wisdom (Hagia Sophia), and invoked the

apostles Iudas, Luke, Simon, and Stephen the protomartyr.135 He crossed the sea (transmarinos

exiit) and he reached (pervenit) Rome to call on Peter and Paul, and Bartholomew. Then he

awakened Matthew in Salerno, and Mark in Venice. After traveling through (peragrando) Italy,

he came (pervenit) to Alemmania and Flanders, he crossed over (transit) to Brittany, and then

went (adiit) to Normannia to seek Michael. Then he returned (revertens) through Francia, the

church of Saint-Denis, the one of Reims, and not forgetful of any saints – so the author tells us –

he sought (quesivit) the relics of Martin, Hilary, Martial at Limoges, Mary at Le Puy, Sainte Foy

at Conques, Saint Gilles at Rodez, Anthony at Vienne, Saturninus at Toulouse, and James in

Spain.136 This is quite an elaborately portrayed journey! During these travels, the man was freed

from two of his fetters, but one remained, which caused him great pain because the flesh around

it was decaying.137

It seemed that there was no remedy until Enimie appeared to him in a dream telling him to get up

as soon as possible and travel to her for relief.138 The man rose up (pergens) straight away (nec

mora) and sought out (querit) the place where Enimie dwelled to obtain his desired freedom

134 Sigal notes that this was near Madras, “Le culte des reliques,” 108-109.

135 Sigal suggests that the pilgrim went to the Hagia Sophia, “Le culte des reliques,” 108-109.

136 “Adiit Iherosolimam, / Petit Betleemiticam / Aulam Marie Virginis, / Sepulcrum orat Domini, / Et ad presepe

supplicans / Merita sancta invocat. / Tomam querit in India, / Andream in Achaia, / Iohannem rogat Effesim, /

Sicque Constantinopolim / Sophie Deo supplicat / Apostolos [et] invocat, / Iudam, Lucam et Simonem, / Stephanum

protomartirem. / Post transmarinos exiit, / Romam quam cito pervenit, / Petrum et Paulum inrogat, / Bartholomeum

excitat, / Salerno Matheum provocat, / Marcum et in Venetia. / Peragrando Italiam, / Pervenit Alemanniam, / Non

est oblitus Flandriam, / Se transit ad Britanniam, / Sic Normanniam adiit, / Michaelem expetiit. / Post revertens per

Franciam, / Dionisi basilicam / Remigii et pignora / Queque sanctorum alia, / Non est oblitus aliqua. / Nam Martini

reliquas / Quesivit et Hilarias, / Martialis Lemovicas, / Sancte Marie Podium, / Fidis in Conchis vallium, / Egidii ad

Rodanum, / Antonii Viennium, / Tolose et Saturnium, / In Spaniis et Iacobum.” Enimie, 8, 293-294.

137 “Ab hiis atque ab aliis / Petitis amminiculis, / Ipsorum patrociniis / Binis caruit circulis. / Unum solum in

brachio, / Caro crescens cum corio, / Mansit inferens arduum / Dolorem illi putridum.” Enimie, 8, 294.

138 “ De hoc nunquam ab aliquo / Suo in adiutorio / Ullum fuit auxilium, / Vel habuit remedium, / Donec virgo

Enimia, / Apparendo per sompnia, / Ei per suam gratiam / Talia dedit monita: / ‘Eheu, tu, inquit languide, /

Consurge quam citissime, / Ad meum domicilium / Vade atque presidium. / Meum erit post / Dominum, / Tibi dare

subsidium.’” Enimie, 8, 294.

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from the remaining fetter.139 Since he did not know the route to Enimie’s shrine, he sought the

advice of many to ascertain directions. That this man journeyed all around before heading to

Sainte-Enimie and that he did not know the way to Sainte-Enimie signals that Enimie was little

known even in her region. As he journeyed to Enimie’s shrine, the author writes that the man

passed through (venit per) a great deal of rough terrain to find her temple, which was far away

from the main roads, further demonstrating its isolation.140

Upon arrival, he entered (ingrediens) the place on a donkey, praising the merits of Enimie.

Pouring forth many prayers, he waited all night in vigils until the last part of the evening when

Enimie became present and offered her aid.141 Enimie removed his one remaining fetter. In a

story with a great deal of movement, the hagiographer also includes the fetter in the movement.

Upon removal, it leapt (resilit) off the man and fell (cecidit) into three pieces, one causing a

clatter as it was springing (saliens) onto the altar while the man, stupefied, fell (cadens) limp to

the floor.142 After a while, he rose up (surgens), saw that he was freed from the iron, and then

straightaway threw himself (inruit) back to the floor in protestations of immense thanksgiving.143

Movement through space is central in this miracle tale and to the process of healing that it

portrays.

This pilgrimage that culminated at Sainte-Enimie is a grand example. Few hagiographical

sources from the Middle Ages offer this level of detail about a pilgrimage. And after all this

traveling, a saint that he did not know about completed his healing through the miraculous

139 “Nec mora; ille ocius / Pergens querit a pluribus / Iter quod erat dubium / Eius ad monasterium.” Enimie, 8, 294.

140 “Tandem venit per aspera / Terrarum multa spatia / Ad templum sancte virginis, / Confidens eius meritis.

Enimie, 8, 294.

141 This is another example of pilgrims waiting up all night at the shrine in hopes of transformation. See Skyrms,

167. “Asilum tunc ingrediens, / Preces fudit assidue. / Cumque spectat optabilem / Salutem et pervigilem / Noctis

servat confinium / Usque ad conticinium, / Adest virgo Enimia, / Ferens sancta presidia.” Enimie, 8, 294-295.

142 “Tum videbatur languidi / Quod frangeret cum malleis / In ulna sua circulum / Quod habebatur ferreum. / Quod

dictum est mirabile / Sed non est incredibile. / Confractum ferrum resilit, / Plures in partes cecidit, / Una ad crucem

pervenit, / Alia glebe ingruit. / Frustum quod fuit tertium / Super altare subitum / Saliens facit strepitum. / Clavus

confixus, sonitum / Faciens, non apparuit. / Statim homo obstupuit / Et ceve cadens mortuus, / Amens fuit

sermonibus.” Enimie, 8, 295.

143 “Sicque surgens post modicum / Suumque videns brachium / Iam caruisse circulo, / Illico regi Domino / Grates

immensas protulit / Ac pavimento inruit, / Benedicens Enimiam, / Curatricem precipuam.” Enimie, 8, 295.

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removal of his last fetter. Furthermore, it shows that even those who do not know Enimie could

still be healed by her – even when they moved improperly at first to other locations. Since

Enimie removed the final stubborn fetter, her shrine is offered as having ultimate healing power.

These three stories offer examples of people who first moved toward other saints’ shrines but

then received their full penitential healing by the surprising intervention of like-known saints.

First, the lecherous noble youth was taken on his pilgrimage and then journeyed to Mende.

Second, the Agenais woman was taken to Figeac by other people because she was unable to walk

herself, but left on her own two feet without aid. Third, the extensive pilgrimage of the reformed

criminal shows important movements all along the journey. In each case, the original pilgrimage

movements are enough to merit full transformation. It was not until they went to the final saint,

that is, made the ultimate correct movements, that they obtained their sought-after

transformation. This implies that although ultimately the long-distance pilgrimages elsewhere

were not improper movements, what was most important to the hagiographers was to write that

the pilgrims eventually made the final movements to the shrines where healing was preordained.

The many movements in the three miracula for long- and short-distance pilgrimage journeys

make evident the importance of movements in hagiography as a tool of instruction regarding the

movement of the population. There are many movements and actions in these stories, showing

the deep complexity embedded in the miraculous events and their redaction. While healing was

the most typical reason to make these pilgrimage journeys, the timing was most often correlated

with festival occasions. A theme that surfaces is the idea that the person would not be healed

until they reached the right saint, the one that God had preordained to heal them.144 This idea can

be understood as proof of the power of the saint and another source of potential competition.145

5.4 Journeys to the Shrine for Penance after Criminal Movements and Criminal Behavior

Thus far, all examples of pilgrimage journeys toward the shine have been positive portrayals of

movements by upstanding people who need physical healing. This section, however, examines


145 See Chapter 3 for more examples of competition among saints through their miracle-working power.

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examples of dangerous rovers moving toward the sacred shrines. The examples below should be

read differently than the examples we saw in Chapter 4 of this dissertation of dangerous rovers

because the direction of movement is different. Instead of moving away from sacred places after

their criminal behavior, the men discussed here willingly went to the shrines seeking penance or

forgiveness for past offenses. André Vauchez describes the context for these types of movements

well: “By the end of the eleventh century, while the majority of the faithful who frequented the

sanctuaries did so spontaneously…there were now some who took the road because they had

been enjoined to do so by ecclesiastical or even civil authorities in order to expiate their sins or

evil conduct by an appropriate penance.”146 Vivien’s, Privat’s, and Enimie’s texts each include

one example of these types of movements toward the shrine, and in each case, things went well

at the shrine.

Dangerous Rovers’ Penance at the Saints’ Shrines

The first example of a roving danger moving toward a saint’s shrine seeking penance comes

from chapter 5 of Privat’s miracles. It tells of a wealthy nobleman who lived in the same region

as Privat, the Gabales region.147 Although this nobleman was very rich, he still desired more, so

he subjugated (subjugavit) a profitable village called La Roche that belonged to the dominion of

Privat.148 Even more egregious than simply despoiling the village, this nobleman took in the

rents (censuuum) for several years during his possession (usus) of it.149 This shows an example

146 Vauchez, “Saints and pilgrimages,” 330. He adds that sinners traveled on pilgrimage in this period in part due to

a shift in the penitential and pilgrimage context; pilgrimage had become “a particularly effective means of enabling

the faithful to obtain the remission of their sins.” Vauchez, “Saints and pilgrimages,” 330. Thomas Whitney Lecaque

also attests to the increase of penitential pilgrimage in the eleventh century, “The Count of Saint-Gilles and the

Saints of the Apocalypse: Occitanian Piety and Culture in the Time of the First Crusade,” (PhD diss., University of

Tennessee, Knoxville, 2015), 6.

147 “In eadem igitur Gaballitana provincia vir quidam tam opibus locuplex quam et seculi nobilitate famosissimus

extitit.” Privat, 5, 9.

148 “Hic vero, habendi nimia cupiditate accensus, nam, ut scriptum est: “Dives avarus rebus indiget cunctis,

quamdam de possessionibus sancti martyris opulentissimam villam nomine Rocham suo dominio magnarum virium

potestate subjugavit, plurimosque per [annos] ejus censum usu fruitus est.” Privat, 5, 9.

149 According to Félix Buffière, this is likely Saint-Privat-la-Roche, Saint Privat: évangélisateur du Gévaudan: son

martyr, son ermitage, ses reliques, ses miracles (Mende: Editions Les Amis de l’Ermitage, 1996), 77.

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of a powerful man knowingly and unjustly seizing ecclesiastical property based on his secular

rights.150

Many years after this usurpation, while he was still enjoying its revenue, the man traveled

(occurrit) to Mende for Privat’s annual festivities.151 As people came (veniebant) to celebrate the

feast of the martyr, according to custom, they placed (offerebant) their gifts into the hand of the

statue of Privat that was set up at his church.152 The rich noble approached (accedens) the statue

and offered (obtulit) his tribute submissively, but the statue flung (repulit) it away with a light

toss (jactura) backwards.153 Thinking that the gift was too paltry, the noble doubled his tribute as

well as genuflected (flexisque poplicibus) in humility to give his gift, which again was flung

away “just as the first, as if a light stalk which is agitated in the wind, with a cyclone brought

about, was turned around in the air and was sprung back afar off on the floor of the church.”154

Still not properly understanding these events, the nobleman thought that Privat wanted even

more money, so he brought (protulit) a greater sum and he quickly offered (properavit offerre)

yet more into the hand of the statue, which rejected (repulsi sunt) the tribute so fast that “it

hardly appeared to the eyes watching in which direction they fell.”155 With these last

movements, the hagiographer seems to be emphasizing speed.

150 Thomas Head, “The Development of the Peace of God in Aquitaine (970-1005),” Speculum 74.3 (1999): 661.

151 “Sed pia virtus sancti non est passa eum in hoc malitie sue crimine usque in finem perseverare, nam, quodam

tempore, beati martyris sollempnitatis annua volvebatur dies, ad quam multis concurrentibus populis, et ipse

occurrit.” Privat, 5, 9.

152 “Erat tunc pretiosa ymago in martyris ecclesia, deforis quidem auro et gemmis preclaraque emblemate ornata,

deintus vero preclarioribus ejus pignoribus fecundata, cujus in manu oratores qui veniebant, ut mos erat, munera

offerebant.” Privat, 5, 9.

153 “Ad quam ille accedens supplex obtulit munus, sed mox illud repulit sanctus levique jactura quos posuerat

nummi ceciderunt retrorsum.” Privat, 5, 9.

154 “Tunc non bene providus senex, pro ipsa parvitate repudiari existimans donum, idem iterum duplicavit flexisque

poplicibus summa cum humilitate offere curavit, statimque illud ut prius, quasi levis stipula que vento agitatur, facto

turbine, in aere volvitur ac procul in ecclesie pavimento resilitur.” Privat, 5, 9.

155 “Quod cernens imprudens, non ut quisque sani capitis prop[r]ii reatus culpam in hoc facto agnovit, sed majora

infra se reputans sanctum munera recipere velle, plurimos dehinc protulit solidos et, more solito, in manu ymaginis

properavit offerre. Sed, ut palam daretur quod ejus munus pro ablato predio sanctus non approbaret, cum tanta adhuc

tertio repulsi sunt celeritate ut oculis intuentium vix qua parte ceciderint appareret.” Privat, 5, 9.

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This example shows the statue moving in disapproval of the gifts of the nobleman since he had

taken possession of the village improperly. Even when it had been doubled and tripled, the

money did not free him from Privat’s judgment for subjugating La Roche. As the scene

unfolded, everyone who was standing around watched in anticipation while the nobleman

blushed in shame and prostrated (est prosternatus) himself. His attendants and friends raised him

up (relevantes) and removed him from the action (“eum…semotam in partem reducentes”)

where they, who understood the message sent by the saint’s actions, urged him to restore the

village of which he had illicitly taken possession.156 Regaining his senses, the nobleman returned

(reversus) to Privat’s presence and in front of the statue, the clerics, and all the people assembled

there, he gave back (reddidit) the village to Privat, and again made his gift of tribute. The statue

accepted (retinens) the gift with stasis and all understood this as a sign that the man’s penance

was satisfactory.157 Again, the congregation of people is present; it seems important to the

hagiographer that a mass of people are there to witness the successful penance. After recounting

this miracle story, the narrator interjects his own analysis of the situation; namely that this

miracle added to the faith and power of Privat and that the holy one would not accept gifts unless

the giver was properly reconciled with his brother. It is likely part of a sermon preached at the

cathedral about a drama that occurred within the church. Furthermore, the author adds that his

readers should be on their guard against offending the saints since they were the mediators

between man and God, like the nobleman had.158

156 “Tum vero satellites vel amici ejus qui forte tunc secum convenerant eum relevantes ac semotam in partem

reducentes, admonere ceperunt hac causa hoc sibi sue oblationis dedecus fore illatum eo quod villam quam sancto

abstulerat reddere denegaret, nec posse fieri ut ejus donum Deo omnipotenti et ejus martyri ullo modo esset gratum,

quousque rem male possessam cum penitentie fructu restitueret et redderet satisfactionem.” Privat, 5, 10.

157 “Quibus monitis ille commotus, mentisque sensu recuperato, sui facti injuriam recognovit et hoc sibi merito

accidisse profitens, ilico ante sanctum reversus altare, coram universa plebe, spectantibus clericis, villam a se prave

possessam cum quadam manus indicatione beatissimo reddidit Privato et sic demum gratanter et humili devotione

ymagini sancte largitus est donum, quod retinens illa non repulit ultra, ut manifeste ostenderet in red[d]ito predio

sanctum fore placatum et in penitentia rei quodam modo congratulari.” Privat, 5, 10.

158 The Latin reads: “Si ergo, fratres karissimi, in quantum Christiani sumus, omnes vocamur, cavendum est nobis

ne sanctos Dei offendamus, quoniam, si vere bona agimus, et ipsi fratres nostri sunt jam translati ad requiem, jam de

sua immortalitatis gloria securi, adhuc tamen de nostra infirmitate solliciti, ideoque mediatorem Dei et hominum

cotidie sunt interpellantes pro nobis, quatenus suis obsecrationibus apud Deum obtineant omnipotentem ne

culpabiles munera offerentes ipsi accipere renuant, sicut supradicto accidisse confratri audivimus.” Privat, 5, 11.

Gregory Allan Pass adds that Privat’s rejection of money until the nobleman had restored the village is a story about

“aristocratic ambitions and the imposition of bad lordship” that the hagiographer portrayed as typical of the type of

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Concerning the movements in this tale, they all made clear that the cathedral at Mende was a

powerful place. While punishments are meted out wherever the sinful man is and usually away

from the saints’ property, as seen in Chapter 4 of this study, resolution, be it forgiveness or

restitution, is made at the sacred shrine. Not only is Mende where the image reliquary of the saint

was housed, but it is where forgiveness is granted. The movement of the actual image reliquary

itself to reject the money also highlights the centrality of the cathedral at Mende for its

possession of such a powerful statue. Sansterre sees the movement of the statue, however

positive for the story, not as miraculous but as humanly contrived. He proposes that the clerics

played a prominent role in this account writing that “[t]he story reveals…the obvious

manipulation of the image by the clergy of Mende.”159 In the hagiographer’s redaction, the relics

“fertilized” the reliquary, and vivified by the contents of the relics, they were “filled with the

presence of the saint” (“emplie de la présence du saint”); the statue could receive offerings and

animate itself,160 and reject them when necessary. Whether or not the statue moved by divine or

clerical aid, through this example, the author shows the priority of reconciliation with the saint

over the acquisition of money in the basilica. For the author, the property obviously held more

worth than the nobleman’s annual gift.

This example also shows the hagiographers’ use of movement and stasis to emphasize what he

thought was acceptable behavior. For this nobleman, a trip to Mende was necessary for him to

see the error of his ways and regain his senses. And when he gave an inappropriate gift, the

statue moved to make this clear. When he became penitent and mde restitution, his gift was

accepted by the hand of the statue, then immobile, thereby symbolizing acceptance of the man’s

power enacted by powerful secular men, “Source Studies in the Early Secular Lordship of the Bishops of Mende,”

(PhD diss., Harvard University, 1996),72 and 73. Pass continues: “The physical manifestation of Saint Privat on

earth is potent. It makes clear that one can stand before [a] saint and be judged in this life.” “Source Studies,” 73.

Clearly good behavior had to occur in the right context for the saint to remain static in acceptance of it.

159 “Le récit révèle plus que la manifeste instrumentalisation de l’image par le clergé de Mende.” Jean-Marie

Sansterre, “Après les miracles de sainte Foy: présence des saints, images et reliques dans divers textes des espaces

français et germanique du milieu du XIe au XIIIe siècle,” Cahiers de civilisation médiévale Xe-XIIe siècles 56

(2013): 49.


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gift and of the man’s successful penance. This instance again shows a clear relationship between

movement and stasis as a way to understand the hagiographer’s portrayal of the saint’s miracles.

The next example involves both protecting the goods of Enimie and the reform of an invader. In

chapter 4 of Enimie’s text, a noble man named Abim from the town of Saint-Laurent (Castri

Sancti Laurentii) invaded (invasit) Enimie’s hamlet of Roasac. According to the author he was

the worst sort of thief (Cleptes … pessimus) and while he was quickly taking away (deducens

ocius) plunder, he was caught by a marvelous power that bound (nexuit) him in chains while

demons took over (captus) his senses and sent (amisit) them to the depths. The hagiographer

provides vivid imagery of the struggling movements of Abim running about furiously

(debacchando cursitans) and rending anything he could.161 Eventually, Abim’s comites,162 who

are unfortunately not named, led (ducant) him to Enimie’s church. These counts decided to take

Abim to the shrine of Enimie so that they could recover the plunder for the rustici whence it was

stolen.

Right away, Abim geared up for his penitent journey to Sainte-Enimie, for which excursion the

author takes us through space with the man by describing the peregrination. It was early winter,

but he proceeded (pergit) to the shrine, going (incedens) in bare feet and with a cooking pot on

his head (capite ferens cacabum). We are told that his steps eventually became sluggish

(languida) from the cold weather, but he still reached the basilica of Enimie where he entered

(intrat) and declared his crime.163 Enimie, however, did not pardon him right away, but kept him

161 “Tunc debacchando cursitans, / Laniabat quos poterat.” Enimie, 4, 287.

162 The use of comites warrants some pause. On the one hand, it could mean companions. As seen in the previous

miracle example from Enimie’s text, friends of nobles could be a persuasive force in pressuring criminal associates

into penance. On the other hand, it could mean counts. Counts seems most logical for two reasons. First, as counts,

they would have had some power to persuade Abim to make restitution at Sainte-Enimie, although it is a bit odd that

they would send Abim to a shrine as punishment. Second, the plural use of counts could indicate, as Pass, notes that

these events occurred around 1000 when Bernard (d.c.1016) and Pons I (c.1011) were joint counts of Gévaudan,

thus accounting for the plural use of comites, “Source Studies,” 68.

163 “…Pergit nam ad auxilium, / Capite fernes cacabum, / Sicque incedens pedibus / Nudis, in hiemalibus / Brimis,

atque vestigia / Eius fiunt mox languida / De glaciali frigore. / Hac fretus plenitudine / Intrat sancte basilicam, / Sua

proclamans crimina….” Enimie, 4, 287-288.

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there in an open space where all those present could see him.164 Thus, we have the narration of

Abim’s approach and of all those congregated there waiting in anticipation for what would

happen next. The author notes that it was necessary for Abim to speak of his plundering crime so

that all would know what would befall future plunderers.

Still penitent and unhealthy from losing his senses, Abim traveled (rediens) again, this time to

Mende (tendit), where there was a group of presules,165 and where, again, he recounted his

crimes.166 At Mende, he added to his penance by giving (dat) many gifts to Enimie. By the

bishop’s judgment, Abim, “with the populace as [his] witness, in hereditary right, he gave to the

monastery [of Sainte-Enimie] the church of the most holy bishop Amans [Amancius], likewise of

the most glorious tomb of the Lord Jesus and from the village called church Braxh [Broxh], the

spring of Boldoyra [Boldoyram].”167 Once this was finished, Abim was finally healed.168

The intercession of the bishop in this story tells the hearer and the reader that not only is Sainte-

Enimie important, but that Mende and its bishop are also important. Abim moved from his castle

in Saint-Laurent to Roasac then to Sainte-Enimie where he returned what he had taken. Although

one may expect the penitent journey to be over with these acts, he also went on to Mende where

finally, his fate was mitigated by giving property. Pass concludes: “In other words, the object-

lesson of these miracles is that it is Ste. Énimie who controls the peace and, by implication, the

164 “…Sed non beata illico / Homini parcit frivolo, / Sed tendit in propatulo / Quod cernat illum concio, / Ut

pluribus sit notio / Ipsius depredatio, / Ne magis in confinio / Ullius sit ablatio.” Enimie, 4, 288.

165 The use of presulum could refer to bishops or prelates. Given the plural use of comites above, it could signify

those counts, who could also be considered prelates. On the other hand, the use of presul a bit later in the text to

refer to the bishop of Mende, makes it more ambiguous. Admittedly, it would be strange for there to be a group of

bishops at Mende, unless this miracle had occurred around the time of a council at Mende or the bishop of Mende

sought out other bishops to witness the land transfer.

166 “Tuc ille valde penitens / Atque postremo rediens, / Ad Mimatense oppidum / Tendit requirens, presulum / Sic

cetus in presentia, / Suam luxit malitiam / Et ex rebus donaria / Dat virgini non modica, / Sed Domini clementia /

Non sibi est propitia / Donec suis de prediis / Cenobio fert virginis.” Enimie, 4, 288.

167 “…teste populo, / Iure hereditario / Contulit monasterio / Ecclesiam episcopi / Amancii sanctissimi, / Simul

gloriosissimi, / Sepulcri Iesu Domini / Et villam de Broxh dictam / Una fontem de Boldoyram. / Post hec sanus

efficitur / Christusque benedicitur.” Enimie, 4, 288-289.

168 “Post hec sanus efficitur / Christusque benedicitur.” Enimie, 4, 289.

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bishop of Mende, who controls the relics of the saint.”169 In addition, Pass highlights that this

miracle also catalogues the transfer of properties from Abim to the monastery of Sainte-Enimie.

Although Mende’s bishop was directly associated with the saint and her punishment, it is

surprising that he imposed his own penalty in addition to hers. His importance in the story might

be the result of the clerical author, who resided at Mende and wrote both Privat’s and Enimie’s

miracula.170 But the bishop of Mende was not invoked in any other of Enimie’s miracles, so

perhaps since this resolution of his crime ended with land transfer, it required the bishop’s hand

in forcing or validating that transfer by Abim’s journey from Sainte-Enimie to Mende. Whatever

the reason, to obtain full pardon it was clear that the man had to travel to both holy locations,

Sainte-Enimie and Mende, to declare his crime before receiving his physical and spiritual

transformation.

Although the counts are not named, they still play an important role in the movements of the tale.

The counts do not inflict punishment further than asking for the restitution of the goods taken;

they simply bring Abim to Enimie and the bishop of Mende who settles the matter with his

ruling.171 Divulging his sins to the bishop at Mende was not enough: Abim returned the hamlet

to Enimie because of the request of the counts. When he faced the bishop, he was asked to give

compensation to the abbey, in other words, something additional. For Pass, this miracle “vividly

illustrates the activities of the counts of Gévaudan, Ste. Énimie, and the bishop of Mende in

enforcing the peace, but it especially emphasizes the association between the saint and the

bishop.”172 Therefore, this story implies that Enimie got her revenge by a combination of comital

and episcopal interventions and shaming.

Usually in the miracle tales, it was the nobility and their men who sought forgiveness at the

shrines, however, Chapter 24 of Vivien’s miracle collection provides an example of the

inappropriate actions and movements of a common laborer. The author classifies these deeds as





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an exceptionally terrible example of public corruption.173 The author then writes that Guitbert

would not stop, in honor of the Lord’s day, the work which he had begun on Saturday.174 As

punishment, a pickaxe (dolabra) and a circular item (circulus) inextricably adhered to his

hands.175 After this divine punishment, Guitbert was led (adducitur) to the mercy seat of

Vivien’s church where he spent the night prostrate in prayer.176

On the next day, after prime, this wretched Guitbert was pardoned and freed by God through

Vivien’s intercession.177 The miracle that revealed his pardon offers the most compelling

movement in the story. Ripping open (diripuit) his palms with an effusion of blood, the circulus

leaped out of his hand,178 which for a long time remained suspended above the altar as an

example to keep others from such acts and as a testimony of Vivien’s miraculous power.179 This

very simple case of a peasant working on Sunday makes clear that if one moved in labor on an

improper day, Vivien would retaliate.180 But it also shows that one could be absolved by coming

to his church to pray for pardon. Thus, we see that, like the other examples above, Guitbert was

punished away from the saint’s shrine wherever he was doing his evil deeds, but then to gain

freedom from this punishment he was brought to Vivien’s shrine – we must assume willingly

because he stayed there all night in prayers – where he was freed from the bondage of the

circulus and the pickaxe. Therefore, movement to the shrine was an essential part of his pardon.

173 “Terribile valde est quod narro et ad exemplum publicae correptionis actum cunctis.” Vivien, 24, 268.

174 “Sub solari globo vesperascente quodam sabbato, quidam, Guitbertus nomine, importunius prohibentibus quam

plurimis, coepto operi insistere non desiit.” Vivien, 24, 268. In the Middle Ages, the Lord’s day started on the

evening before.

175 “Cui, divina puniente rumphea, dolabra dexterae circulusque laevae inextricabiliter inhaesit, ac sic eum

caelestem iram promeruisse luce clarius cunctis innotuit.” Vivien, 24, 268.

176 “Qui tamen ad impetrandam facinoris sui veniam ad sancti confessoris propitiatorium adducitur et totam

noctem, similis per omnia monstro, in orationibus prosternitur.” Vivien, 24 268.

177 “Sequenti vero die, quae dominica dicitur, post primam, per sanctissimi confessoris suffragia miser ille a debito

supplicio absolvitur ac mirabili bonitate Dei subinde liberatur.” Vivien, 24, 268-269.

178 “…quodam saltu emisso…,” Vivien, 24, 269.

179 “Qui multo tempore suspensus ante altare, testimonium tanti miraculi praebuit, atque a tali opere multos

compescuit.” Vivien, 24, 269.

180 Likewise, peasants working on the saint’s feast day could also result in holy vengeance, de Gaiffier, Études

critiques, 491.

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5.5 Negatively-Portrayed Examples of Dangerous Rovers at Privat’s Shrine

In contrast to the second group of examples, the third and final section of this chapter shows

damaging things that happened when people moved improperly toward or at the saints’ shrines.

Interestingly, all three of these examples come from Privat’s Miracula. However, this is not too

surprising considering that Privat’s text includes the most violent behaviors and the most

scathing punishments against those who offended the saints and disrupted social order.

Chapter 3 of Privat’s miracle collection shows Privat retaliating against a hostile perpetrator’s

movements after death. In this story, a miles named Gaucelm took away (ablatis) some goods

from a meadow adjacent to Privat’s lands and then devastated (depopularet) the people on the

way out.181 Despite warnings from friends and comrades that the saint would punish him,

Gaucelm mocked the saint’s vigilance, claiming that Privat did not oversee such trivial

matters.182 The miles haughtily declared:

You, friends, lay threats against me for these landed estates I hope to possess, though I

hold them in my power and they are subject to my right according to my parentage; as

if the divine virtue and power of the saint watch over such things! But, whatever the

case may be or whatever may be done in this life about such things, I do not know; but,

know this at least, that by my will I shall strive to hold on to my possessions and the

people living there.183

181 “Predium quoddam est ad eccelsiam sancti martyris pertinens Privati cui miles, nomine Gaulcemus, nimium

infestus erat in tantum ut amenum quod ibi adjacent pratum et magna vastatione ablatis rebus loci incolas

depopularet.” Privat, 2, 4.

182 “Cumque diu a commilitonibus aliisque Deum timentibus ne hanc injuriam sancti redditibus ejusque

famulantibus inferre deberet ammoneretur, ille, fastu superbie inflatus sueque salutis prosperitatem oblitus, talia

referebat: ‘En vos, amici, minas michi pro his quas possidere terrenis opto substantiis impenditis, cum eas penes me

habeam meoque juri secundam parentela meam subjaceant, utputa virtus divina sanctique potentia de talibus curent!

Sed, quicquid sit vel erga illos quid in seculo isto agatur, ego ignoro; unam tantum sciatis, quoniam ad velle meum

illam possessionem ibique habitantes retinere tentabo.’” Privat, 2, 4.

183 Translation from Pass, “Source Studies,” 71-72. The Latin version reads: “En vos, amici, minas michi pro his

quas possidere terrenis opto substantiis impenditis, cum eas penes me habeam meoque juri secundum parentelam

mean subjaceant, utputa virtus divina sanctique potentia de talibus curent! Sed, quicquid sit vel erga illos quid in

seculo isto agatur, ego ignoro; unum tantum sciatis, quoniam ad velle meum illam possessionem ibique habitantes

retinere tentabo.” Privat, 2, 4.

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For Pass, this quotation in the miracle “[p]rovides a dramatic illustration of aristocratic defiance

of the peace and the rights of the church.”184 This Gaucelm sees himself as the rightful owner of

the property.

Some context might help us to understand the defiance of Gaucelm in this miracle tale. Perhaps

Gaucelm did not view his usurpation as a disregard for the Church. Christian Lauranson-Rosaz

argues that local lords and principes might see it within their rights to seize lands that had been

given to the Church by their family members in the past.185 Pass adds that Gaucelm clearly does

not distinguish between “right and might;” 186 to make this point more emphatic, the

hagiographer uses Gaucelm’s own voice.187 Thus, perhaps to the mind of this Gaucelm, he

viewed his family’s donation of lands to the Church as temporary and that it still belonged to him

and his family. Unfortunately for Gaucelm and his family, Privat did not see it that way. On the

spot, divine power imposed (imposuit) the end for Gaucelm and drew away (subtraxit) his life.

He surely ended his life badly, explained the hagiographer, unless he was able in his last breath

to do penance.188

The hagiographer’s portrayal of Gaucelm as a criminal leads to the obliteration of his body when

it is moved to Mende for burial. His family, concerned for his soul, wanted to seek penance on

his behalf; they carried (deferre) him to Privat’s church, where the martyr’s body lay,189 to


185 Christian Lauranson-Rosaz, “Peace From the Mountains: The Auvergnat Origins of the Peace of God,” in The

Peace of God: Social Violence and Religious Response in France Around the Year 1000 (Ithaca, NY: Cornell



187 Indeed, it is a rare instance of hearing the direct voices of these men in the tales. Direct speech is only utilized a

couple times by each hagiographer.

188 “Unde factum est ut, eodem in hac protervia sanctique despectione, ut male affatus fuerat, perseverante, summa

clementia Dei omnipotentis martyris sui blasphemiam ferre nequiret illatoque justo judicio dictis ejus finem

imposuit atque per mortis exitum ilico eum ab hac luce subtraxit, ita ut miser ille ne saltem in ultimo anhelitu

penitentie valeret celebrare excubias.” Privat, 2, 4.

189 “Quo defuncto, parentes ejus et affines eum ad ecclesiam ubi sancti martyris corpus requiescit ad sepeliendum

statuerunt deferre, quatinus de commissis reatibus aliquam indulgentiam pia Dei miseratione sanctique propiciatione

invenire mereretur.” Privat, 2, 5.

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obtain a Christian burial.190 Given that Gaucelm himself likely saw nothing errant about his

reappropriation of Privat’s lands, it is hardly surprising that his family, after his death, seemingly

had no qualms about transporting the criminal’s body to Mende. The local church would have

been the logical place for Gaucelm’s burial.

Privat, however, did not endure this befouling transfer of Gaucelm’s body to his holy shrine and

caused a spontaneous fire to erupt inside Gaucelm’s tomb. Rising up (consurgens) to the rafters,

the fire emitted (emitteret) balls of flames.191 While the fire burned, it did not spread; instead the

hagiographer portrays the rumor of the fire spreading (devolans).192 The source of the fire was

sought by pulling off (auferunt) the stone cover of Gaucelm’s tomb. But no matter how much

water was poured on the fire, it was unable to be extinguished and did not die down until not a

speck of the criminal miles remained.193 The hagiographer then offers an explanation of the

drama: “he who had despised [Privat] while alive would be rejected by [Privat] once dead….”194

This miraculous and cleansing fire signals to the reader that those who committed crimes against

Privat would not go unpunished.195 Despite Gaucelm’s family transferring him to a holy place to


191 “Nam posteris sepulture ejus diebus, ignis ab ymo sepulchro consurgens corporis ipsius bustum miro modo

concremare cepit ita ut flammarum globos per concavas tumbe rimas ad summa vis ipsa ardoris emitteret.” Privat, 2,

5.

192 “Que miraculi fama per vicinas propinquorum aures devolans, fit concursus multorum, conclamatio consurgit,

luctus resonat, apparet et meror.” Privat, 2, 5.

193 “Sed ut rei probaretur effectus, de superficie sepulchri auferunt lapidem plurimorumque vasorum abundantiam

supereffundunt aque. Sed res mira valdeque stupenda! Dum magis spargebant aquam, eo amplius abundabat

incendium, convalescebat et flamma. Quod cernentes lympharum vani portitores vi sua nil posse proficere, pectora

sua pugnis ferientes magno clamore Dei exposcebant misercordiam sanctique implorabant clementiam, ne illis

accideret in damnationis excidium quod increduli visi sunt contra veram virtutem agere. His quippe peractis, ignis

incendium tamdiu prevaluit, paulatim vim deponens flammarum, quousque nec cinis mortui cadaveris appareret in

monumento, ut virtus egregii martyris comprobaret[ur] Privati, quoniam qu[i] e[u]m despexerat vivens ab eo

respueretur jam mortuus, et in combusto demonstraretur cadavere quam vindictam pateretur in anima.” Privat, 2, 5.

194 “…quoniam qu[i] e[u]m despexerat vivens ab eo respueretur jam mortuus….” Privat, 2, 5.

195 Another fiery example comes from Vivien’s text, but it shows his relics moving in the vicinity of the shrine. In

this case, the relics were moved in order to protect them from destruction. One night, a fire erupted in the bakery at

the monastery because of the negligence of the servants. The fire raged so much that it threatened to burn down the

monastery with an encircling and engulfing fire. Vivien’s majesty was moved outdoors by the elders of the place for

protection. The hagiographer attributes Vivien with declining and curbing the flames until they ceased, saving the

monastery from total destruction. This story seems to make a causal link here between saving Vivien’s image by

moving it outside and Vivien’s salvation of the monastery. Vivien 31, 272. This example is also very similar to the

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save his eternal soul, Privat would not suffer that transfer and protected the sanctity of his holy

shrine by removing the interloper from the face of the earth. This example of punished

movement toward the shrine is extraordinary because usually travel to the shrine was praised by

the hagiographer. Thus, Privat demonstrated that depredation of his lands would not pass

unpunished and that certainly he would not suffer the defamation of his holy place with the body

of such a scoundrel. If sacred space is a point of communication196 then Privat’s communication

is a warning that anyone who dared to defile his holy place would be dissolved. Again, this

miracle emphasizes Mende as the sacred center. It also reemphasizes the tension portrayed by the

hagiographer that was discussed Chapter 4 of this study; unless moving toward the relics for

penance or to venerate the saint, nobles and their men-at-arms should keep off church lands.

The author did note, however, that some people accused the clerics of the church of starting the

fire, but the author quickly added that “others, whose minds are more sound, were saying that

this was done by God because of [Gaucelm’s] insanity and objection.”197 Thus, the author

highlights accusations of naysayers of Privat’s power to dismiss them outright and assert the lack

of faith of anyone who questioned Privat’s miraculous power.198 The fact that he mentions this

rumor and attempts to reject it is likely proof that he was a cleric in this church, well positioned

to know the circulating rumors.

Two more examples show men moving improperly who, as a result, faced gross physical

punishment that led to alienation from their familiars and then death. The first of these two

one on the road to Coler during a storm but with opposite effect. While en route, Abbot Gerald placed a hat on the

head of Vivien’s image to keep it from being befouled during a rainstorm. Once the hat was removed, however, the

tempest no longer pestered the statue or his entourage. See Chapter 3 of this work and Vivien, 32, 272-273.

196 Jonathan Z. Smith, “The Wobbling Pivot,” in Map is Not Territory (Chicago: University of Chicago Press,

1993), 94.

197 “Dicunt alii, ob vindicte causam a clericis ecclesie hunc ignem fore illatum, alii vero, quorum mens sanior erat,

hoc Dei factum pro ejus insania et contradictione asserebant..” Privat, 2, 5.

198 This miracle was also recorded in verse at the end of Privat’s miracles, likely signaling to the reader that this

miracle was special enough to be recorded twice. Perhaps more likely, the verse was used on feast day celebrations.

Privat, II, 24-25.

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examples comes from chapter 8 of Privat’s text in which another miles named Gaucelm199 from

Quintinhac traveled (pervenisset) to Privat’s village and seized (rapuit) a chicken from a

widow’s household in order to feed his hawk.

Movement, however, did not stop with the seizure of the widow’s chicken. After the theft, the

author takes us on a journey through space with the widow, bereft of her chicken, pursuing

(insequta est) the miles shouting after him all the way to Privat’s church that he ought to return

her bird or else Privat would kill the miles in retaliation.200 The widow’s pursuit of Gaucelm is

interesting because usually the victims are not depicted as moving except to convene at the

relics. The author notably writes that the miles had entered (intraverat) the church for prayer,

which appears to be a strikingly pious act to follow his cruel deed. The miles, hard hearted and

turned to bitterness,201 ran at the widow and beat her until she was almost dead.202 Right on the

spot (illico), Privat punished the man with extreme violence by inflicting a whip-lashing (illatum

flagellum) on the place where the chicken hung from his belt. This violence wounded the man so

utterly that it permeated all of the man’s limbs and caused his skin to be covered by unhealable

scabby eruptions and skin mange. Not even his most loyal men or relatives would approach

him.203 His movements against Privat resulted in literal ostracization and alienation.204 The miles

199 This appears to be a different Gaucelm than the one who died in Chapter 3 of Privat’s text, discussed above.

200 “Vidua vero, multis vocibus eum, ut pullum redderet, insequta est, donec in ipsam basilicam sancti Privati

intraret, ibique etiam illum magis verbis exacerbare cepit, promit[t]ens ei mortis ex[c]idium sanctumque martyrem

suo in adjuterio adesse affirmans, nisi predam quam sibi abstulerat restitueret.” Privat, 8, 16.

201 “…animi est felle commotus…,” Privat, 8, 16.

202 “…et in viduam incurrens eamque calcibus et pugnis fortiter tundens, pene exanimem reddidit.” Privat, 8, 16.

203 “Sed pietas martyris irreverentiam sui ferre nequiens, eum illico, Dei prestante judicio, in ipsa parte corporibus,

ubi casu pullum ad cingulum pendiderat, percussit. Sicque variatim per cetera membra illatum flagellum se extendit,

donec totum corpus nimia impetigine atque scabie solveretur; nullusque ei medicorum subvenire potuit, non herbe

non confectiones nec aliquod adinventionis remedium ei salubre fuit, quousque miser ille ab ipsa parte corporis ubi

infirmitas ceperat ac postmodum per reliquas totus putrefactus, suos fetores et immunditias nec ipse jam, nec aliquis

ejus fidelis seu propinqu[u]s fere sustinens, infelix et miserabilis, vitam amisit presentem; meliusque satis ei fuit, ut

puto, pro reatu suo in hac vita penitentiam sustinere corporalem, quam in altera eterno igne in anima cruciari.”

Privat, 8, 16.

204 “Sicque variatim per cetera membra illatum flagellum se extendit, donec totum corpus nimia impetigine atque

scabie solveretur: nullusque ei medicorum subvenire potuit, non herbe non confectiones nec aliquod adinventionis

remedium ei salubre fuit, quousque miser ille ab ipsa parte corporis ubi infirmitas ceperat ac postmodum per

reliquas totus putrefactus, suos fetores et immunditias nec ipse jam, nec aliquis ejus fidelis seu propinqu[u]s fere

sustinens….” Privat, chapter 8, 16.

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then died a horrible and lonely death. For Pass, this part of the story is especially important: “In

an age when personal ties defined virtually every aspect of life, it is said that neither his family

nor his fideles could endure the stench from his putrefaction, or in other words his sin.”205 This

lonely death, a terrible curse as Pass points out, is the result of the sinner’s improper movements

at the shrine.

Movement in this miracle, from Privat’s village to the church at Mende, brought the conflict to

the holy space of Privat’s church.206 Improper movements ruined a generally positive movement

toward the shrine, which should have been praised. He had the chance to be penitent in the

church, but chose to be violent instead, which could not go unpunished by the saint. According

to the author, however, it was better that he had suffered in corporeal life so as not to suffer in

the next world; at least the wretched miles was not also sent to hell. This event also occurred at

the same time as the Peace of God council at Le Puy (c.1036), where Privat’s holy relics were

taken, showing that even in the relics’ absence, Privat used his power and might to protect his

people and goods.

A second, and final, example of gross physical punishment at the shrine comes from chapter 14

of Privat’s text. In this tale, a morally impure man, who was at Privat’s crypt, “dared irreverently

to complete the divine offices upon the holy altar of the martyr.”207 He persisted in these acts for

some time. Since his impurity was befouling the place, so says the hagiographer, the man was

warned to cease by those who knew about his crime.208 Unfortunately, the hagiographer does not

specify who these knowledgeable men are. Finally, the man was repelled (repellere) from the

martyr’s presence by a putrid affliction in his groin that left him full of worms. The condition


206 Pass, “Source Studies,” 76-77.

207 The social status of this man was not given, but the French editor of Privat’s miracles says that this man was a

priest. “Etenim in sancti Privati cripta, ubi ejus sacre reliquie recondite continentur, nullus, nisi castus sacerdos,

missas celebrare audebat; sed quodam tempore, quidam non bene sibi providens, verum cupiditate offerentium

munerum captus, dum in ceno luxurie sepius devolveretur, ausus est super sanctum martyris altare irreverenter

officia explere divina.” Privat, 14, 21-22.

208 “Cumque hoc diutius faceret et a quibusdam ipsius reatus bene consciis, ne tantum nefas comit[t]eret,

ammoneretur, illeque hoc parvi penderet, et magis ac magis sue pollutionis fetore sacrum locum profanaretur…,”

Privat, 14, 22.

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was so bad that no one, neither doctor nor family member, would approach the man, suggesting

that it was proper to move away from someone who moved improperly. Sadly for this criminal

man, who was adamant that he did not want to leave (cedere) the holy place in time, he

languished in lengthy torment and died.209

In this miracle, the criminal movement is the improper touch of a sacred object, and this touch is

combined with inappropriately performing a sacred service.210 Thus, the Miracula delineates

retributions for crimes against the saints themselves.211 The quickest of these types to be

punished was sacrilege – the violation of the sacred. Sigal proposes that touch was a strong

action that could result in immediate retaliation by the saint, because of a violation of the

primitive taboo: defamation of Privat’s holy crypt in the protected areas under the church at

Mende.212 As a warning, at the end of the miracle story the author speaks directly to the

members of his religious community, very probably the other clerics at Mende. He writes:

On account of this, o most dear brothers, we must be zealous, with a pure mind and a

spotless body, to approach the holy altar, so that we are deserving to find the grace of

God and to be[come] his dwelling place, since, they who are living chastely and piously

reaching out to the altar, will not be separated from that eternal altar; but the ones impure

and polluted by some other luxuries who presume to approach the altar, will not have a

part in this eternity and in the fellowship of believers, but [instead], they having been

joined in the most pitiable fellowship, will have perpetual punishments and immense

tortures in hell.213

209 “Cumque hoc diutius faceret et a quibusdam ipsius reatus bene consciis, ne tantum nefas comit[t]eret,

ammoneretur, illeque hoc parvi penderet, et magis ac magis sue pollutionis fetore sacrum locum profanaretur,

superna virtus talem pestem a martyris sui presentia ilico curavit repellere: ab ipso quippe putredinis inguine eum

percutiens, totum reddidit fetidum et vermibus plenum in tantum ut nullus amicorum nullusque medicorum ei prope

pro intolerabili fetore valeret assistere, sicque miser, qui loco sancto ad tempus cedere noluit, per longos penarum

devolutus cruciatus, tandem infelix pessima morte preventus, vitam presentem amisit.” Privat, 14, 22.

210 Above, in Chapter 3 of this work, we saw a similar circumstance at the place that Enimie had been sat while at

the council of Le Puy. Anyone, animal or person, who dared tread or tarry there, died on the spot, Enimie, 3, 285-

286.

211 Pierre-André Sigal, “Un aspect du culte des saints: châtiment divin XIe et XIIe siècles d’après la literature

hagiographique du midi de la France,” in La religion populaire en Languedoc du XIIIe siècle à la moitié du XIVe

siècle, edited by Édouard Privat (Toulouse: É. Privat, 1976), 42.

212 Sigal, “Un aspect du culte des saints,” 43 and 44 and Sigal, “Le culte des reliques,” 110.

213 “Quapropter, fratres karissimi, studeamus, mente pura et castro corpore, ad sacrum accedere altare ut Domini

gratiam invenire ejusque habitaculum fieri mereamur, quia, qui caste et pie viventes ad hoc sunt pertingentes altare,

ab illo eterno non separabuntur altari; qui vero immundi et aliqua luxuria polluti ad istud presumunt accedere altare,

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Through these two examples of touch and celebration of the mass while being impure portrayed

as sinful movements, the warning is clear: desecrate the holy place of Privat at the risk of your

body and soul. This warning also included the language of movement. One was not to approach

(accedere) the holy altar without first being purified; otherwise he would be separated

(separabuntur) from that holy place, just as this man was also separated from his family and

salvation. The author also makes clear the distinction between the sacred and seemingly

incorruptible relics and the putrid sinner’s body that was befouled by his impious act. Thus, for

Sigal, just as man could participate in the sacralization of Privat’s holy places, so too he could

also spiritually befoul it.214


All of the people moving toward or at Vivien’s, Privat’s, and Enimie’s shrines in this chapter had

a transformative experience. Some were healed at Peace of God councils examined in Chapter 3

or on the way back from these councils, and they traveled to the shrine with returning relics.

Others independently sought out transformation by undertaking local pilgrimages or long-

distance pilgrimages that culminated at the shrines. Dangerous rovers, like those criminal men

analyzed in Chapter 4, also moved toward or at the shrine where they either obtained forgiveness

or death. All the examples presented in the hagiography and discussed in this chapter clearly

indicate the shrine, with relics present, as the ultimate locus for a variety of, albeit

overwhelmingly positive, transformative experiences that were fulfilled by sanctioned

movements. Spiritual magnetism could draw people to movement the hagiographers deem

acceptable.

It is significant that all the positively-portrayed movements for transformation occurred

publically. Barbara Abou-El-Hai writes: “In the Middle Ages the cult of saints was

quintessentially a public phenomenon. Its arena was not a private sphere of spirituality but a

in illius eterni ac colentium societate partem non habebunt, sed in Herebi miserrimis choris associati penas perpetuas

et gehenne immensos possidebunt cruciatus.” Privat, 14, 22.

214 Sigal, “Un aspect du culte des saints,” 44 and Sigal, “Le culte des reliques,” 110.

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public orchestration of ceremony.”215 This public display of miracles was essential for the

spreading of healing stories. In the evidence examined in this chapter, public displays are very

apparent. Most miracles surveyed here occurred among masses of the populace and on the saints’

feast days. These public events were also quite unpredictable. Crowds at shrines were difficult to

manage and their spiritual experiences impossible to control. As we saw above, mobs of pilgrims

present for festal occasions could sometimes force relics outdoors. In outdoor locations, the

people had freer access to them, a bonus for the populace, and also allowed more space for the

reception of gifts, a positive aspect for the shrine keepers.

Pilgrimage movements most often culminated at the shrines during celebrations for the saints’

feast day. This signals one of two things. Either medieval people thought festival days were more

likely than other days to provide a transformative experience, or else the hagiographers mostly

wrote about miracles that occurred on festal days. Indeed, these occasions were an ideal time to

share miracle stories since large crowds were congregated at shrines. Stories were spread both by

word of mouth and, as Finucane reminds us, through the movements homeward of healed bodies

and souls.216 This word-of-mouth sharing of stories was important because miracle collections

were not intended to spread the story; instead, they simply preserved the proof of these

transformations.

While this public nature is true for pilgrimage, and penitential movements toward the shrine,

negatively-portrayed movements at or toward the shrine had less or no audience. While this may

seem counter-intuitive considering the main purpose of miracula was didactic, it is similar to the

way the punishment miracles treated in Chapter 4 are described by the hagiographers. Perhaps

because punishment miracles were very specific teaching examples there was less of a need for

an audience to witness them. Perhaps also, or in addition, as we saw in the final two examples of

this current chapter, criminal men and their punishments merited separation from the populace at

large.

215 Barbara Abou-El-Haj, “The Audiences for the Medieval Cult of Saints,” Gesta 30.1 (1991): 3.

216 Finucane, Miracles and Pilgrims, 156.

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Of course, we only have the hagiographers’ views on miracles that occurred at the shrines. These

are descriptions of events with a narrative purpose. Along with the variety of audiences for

miracle texts and their functions, so, too, recipients varied as well as their experiences and

interactions with the sacred. Everyone, from peasant to monk, had his or her own expectations

and points of view. The miracula of Enimie, Vivien, and Privat were attempts by their

hagiographers at harnessing this transformative power, in other words, the spiritual magnetism of

the saints’ miracles and transformative experiences at the shrines.

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Chapter 6 Conclusion: Movement and Hagiography in Eleventh-Century

Southern France

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This study has brought together and analyzed the elements of movement and miracles, which up

to now, have mostly been studied separately.1057 At the center of this study, are the three miracle

texts of Saint Vivien at Figeac, Saint Privat at Mende, and Saint Enimie at Sainte-Enimie, all

written in eleventh-century southern France. In this exploration, I have focused on the

relationship and interactions between medieval people and the relics they venerated. Their

miracle texts, replete with movements, have proven fecund ground for the exploration of

movements of people and relics performing peace, masculinity, and pilgrimage.

Interaction with relics was not merely a movement or an action, but an experience that varied

depending on where one encountered the relics and the status of the people interacting with

relics. Written by learned elites of the Church, the miracles provide examples of differing

movements, expectations of movements, and behaviors linked to movements to tell each social

group how to move properly or when to be still. For example, as we saw in the above chapters,

most frequently the nobility were chastised and the poor were protected. The distance that people

traveled to receive their transformations, be they physical or spiritual, also varied depending on

the social standing of the person. For most common people, they flocked to the relics at any

possible occasion, be it at the home church, at councils abroad, or simply when encountered on

the road. For the nobility and their warriors-at-arms, their movements were usually away from

sacred shrines and in those situations, the saints moved invisibly toward them to punish the

perpetrators of these improper movements. In instances of nobles seeking healing or restitution,

they were more likely than common people to travel great distances to receive their

transformations. As explored in Chapter 5, this was likely because they had more free time for

such activities and more financial resources to sustain these long-distance, difficult trips while

common people had to rely on more ad hoc means to approach the saints.

André Vauchez writes about how medieval people interacted with and experienced the saints and

their miracles:

For most Christians, sainthood was first and foremost a concrete, experiential reality,

with a social dimension that was universally recognized – the most solemn oaths were

sworn on the relics of saints, after all, and their relics were carried in procession

1057 See Chapter 1 for my review of the literature connected to this gap.

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whenever an epidemic raged or a calamity threatened the community. Faith in the

saints was based less on theological notions accessible only to the clergy than on a set

of convictions that permeated the common mindset. Important among these was the

belief in the permanent intervention of God in the life of humankind. The Creator

might sometimes allow the forces of evil to act so as to punish sinners and unbelievers,

but he also intervened in history so as to restore order in a world disrupted by sin, of

which sickness, war and bad weather were the most visible consequences. However, it

was rare for God, whose infinite grandeur remained inaccessible, to be approached

directly. In general people preferred to resort to intermediaries closer to humankind:

the Virgin Mary or, even more, the saints, in line with the practices that governed

relations between the dominant and the dominated in this world.1058

All these interactions with relics described by Vauchez are present in the three miracle texts and

the significance of these texts is made clearer through a focus on movement.

Relic movement happened in two ways. On the one hand, the hagiographers portray relics and

their custodians moving in the miracles to attend and participate in sanctioned church events

traveling both away from and back to their home church. Otherwise, they were at rest at their

shrines. On the other hand, the hagiographers record how saints moved invisibly to punish

wrongdoers or to urge action. In these stories, nobles and their warriors did not usually initiate

movement for healing, but they did move to do something unacceptable, like pillaging, and they

did so away from the sacred relics and their shrines. When saints moved to punish, the relics

were not physically present but worked invisibly; or at least the hagiographers attributed saintly

impetus to those types of miraculous movements and events. The popular masses are depicted

flocking to councils for healing, toward relics while on the move, and likewise to the shrines of

saints when the relics had returned to their homes; such depictions reinforced the sacred center of

the shrine as an important and holy destination and are represented as proper movements.

Overall, the main purpose of the miracle texts was didactic, but none of the morals of the miracle

tales are groundbreaking. In fact, they are just what the reader might expect. What is new in this

study’s analysis is that it examines these moral tales through the lens of movement to show that

the three miracle texts portray the hagiographers’ overall preference for society in stasis. If one

moved, it should be performed in proscribed ways, with proper movements connected to the

1058 André Vauchez, “Saints and pilgrimages: new and old,” in Christianity in Western Europe c.1100-c.1500, ed.

Miri Ruben and Walter Simons (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2009), 325.

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saints’ relics. If one moved improperly, the saints could be counted on to punish the offenders;

but if one moved correctly, the saints could be counted on to deliver sought-after transformative

punishment. The descriptions of movement included in the three miracle collections were meant

to establish social norms of movement. This work concludes that movements of relics, with

relics, and toward relics were the most acceptable movements in the three miracle texts and that

all other movements were subject to scrutiny. In other words, the hagiographers offer a proper

way to perform movements for peace, masculinity, and pilgrimage.

Themes and Future Directions

I have only been able to scratch the surface of exploring movements within miracle texts. One of

the central limitations of this study is the small source set. Because I wanted to dive deeply into

the movements contained within these three little-known texts, I intentionally limited the sources

to three. Additionally, these three sources are from two geographical contexts, which further

narrows my analysis to only Quercy and Gévaudan. Second, the source base itself imposes

limitations on this study. Although there are a decent number of hagiographic sources on the

south of France in the Middle Ages, relatively few center on saints with image reliquaries in the

context of the Peace of God. Even for those that do, there are often few other primary sources

remaining to provide a full picture of their context. The hagiography itself is valuable for its use

of abundant movements in relation to saints, relics, and people, but the sources must be

interpreted with care; hagiography raises some issues of reliability. As a portrayal of events, they

represent a combination of likely real and fantastic events from an elite learned church

perspective. The miracles show how the hagiographers wanted things to be mingled with how

they might have been.

Each of the three saints’ miracle texts, considered individually, provide their own version of a

successful, powerful saint. The movements in Privat’s miracles characterize him as a mobile

avenger, which fits well into his legendary history as a bishop who stood up to barbarian

invaders. Privat’s miracles are replete with punishments against aggressive men and violators of

the peace. In these stories, dangerous rovers move to enact criminal deeds, such as pillaging and

devastating the saints’ lands, goods, and people. These examples of violence and aggression are

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precisely the reason that the Peace of God was extended into Gévaudan.1059 While Privat’s

miracles targeted violence against and protection from violent nobles, movements in Enimie’s

miracles characterize her as a mobile mediator. This portrayal aligns well with her legendary

history of peaceful healing at her shrine. The miracles of Enimie centered on movements related

to gatherings assembled for the Peace of God councils and healing at the home shrines.

Movements in Vivien’s miracles characterize him as the ultimate healer at home and abroad.

This is reflective of the historical context of conflict with the monastic community at Conques in

which Vivien’s miracles were written. Vivien’s miracles include movements that highlighted

contest with nearby monasteries that also had powerful relics. These movements occurred at holy

shrines while Vivien’s image reliquary was moving to Peace of God councils and also attracted

some of this conflict to the home shrines at Figeac; in all of these interactions, Vivien is hailed as

superior.

Since in the sources the hagiographers pay little attention to issues pertaining to gender, I have

likewise omitted it from my own analysis in favor of the more overarching themes portrayed by

the hagiographers, such as reliquaries, the Peace of God, miracles, and healing. But as a scholar

living in a post-modern world, I know that gender ought not to be sidelined in favor of data that

is explicit in the texts. Some questions about gender, therefore, could add useful insights, such as

how male saints are portrayed versus female saints, how female versus male miracle recipients

move, and a deeper look at the gendered aspects of male dangerous rovers.

To conclude this study, I present six themes apparent from this detailed analysis of movements in

these three texts. First, saints and their relics were prestigious social and religious tools that

attracted people to move toward them. Miracles at the saints’ shrines, which attracted pilgrims,

reveal what can be theorized as the spiritual magnetism of the place. As seen in Chapter 5,

pilgrimage in this dissertation was both for physical healing from bodily ailments and for

spiritual healing through penance after improper movement. The redemptive, transformative

power of the relics at shrines both proved and added to the spiritual magnetism of the home

shrines. Chapter 5 puts forth an argument for the spiritual magnetism of the home church of

1059 Pierre-André Sigal, “Le culte des reliques en Gévaudan aux XIe et XIIe siècles,” in Cévennes et Gévaudan:

Actes du XLVIe Congrès organisé à Mende et Florac les 16 et 17 Juin 1973 (Mende, 1974), 105.

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Enimie’s, Vivien’s, and Privat’s relics that drew in pilgrims by the saints’ established miraculous

power. This power, like the relics themselves, was mobile and able to be moved when the relics

moved, for example to the Peace of God councils as seen in Chapter 3.

The evidence available in Privat’s, Enimie’s, and Vivien’s sources offers exclusively positive

portrayals of saints’ and shrines’ to underscore its attractive power, proven in the tales with

successful healing. A beneficial new direction for this line of research would be to search other

primary sources for evidence of unsuccessful miracles, similar to those alluded to in the long-

distance pilgrimage narratives when the ultimate healing was performed by Vivien, Enimie, or

Privat, or examples when spiritual magnetism broke down.

Second, as a result of traveling to the shrines, people received a transformative experience by

virtue of the relics. Transformation was the result of miracles delivered by the saints through

interaction with their relics. To obtain a desired transformation, people had to move to be near

them. Sometimes this meant traveling with relics or encountering them on the road to, at, or

returning from Peace councils, as seen in Chapter 3; other times this meant travel to the saints’

shrines as pilgrims, as discussed in Chapter 5. The miracle transformation could also offer

increased mobility, that is, the healing often gave back the ability to move to the healed person.

Such was the case for people with visual or physical impairments who went to see the saints as a

sick person but left healthy.

With an expanded corpus of primary sources, it would be interesting to see how transformation

and healing are linked to movement in the Middle Ages. For example, medical sources, omitted

here in favor of a focused study on hagiography, could contribute interesting analysis on the

intersections between medieval medicine, miracles, and disability.

Third, while it is well established that relics at their home church protected that space, they also

did this while on the move. Movements of image reliquaries show the mobility of the saints’

spiritual power in two ways. Chapter 3 showed that saints moved invisibly in the miracle tales to

punish those who perpetrated misdeeds against the saints, providing miracles away from the

safety of their sacred homes. In this way, movement away from the sacred site protected its

sanctity from profanity. Chapter 4 demonstrated that while the relics of these three saints

traveled to councils for the Peace of God, their miraculous power traveled with them. All of this

is reinforced by the discussion in Chapter 5 of the relics at their home shrines attracting people

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there for miracles. Taken together, this also shows that relics’ spiritual power provided miracles

wherever they went and that people and saints moved to their presence, at home or abroad, to

gain transformation.

Similar to theme one, the sources show only positive portrayals of the saints’ mobile power, even

in the face of monastic competition, such as we saw in Vivien’s text when his relics traveled to

Coler for a Peace of God council in Chapter 3. Building on the work of historian Kate Craig,1060

a further avenue for research could examine unfavorably-portrayed encounters with relics on the

road and search for instances in other primary sources of unwelcome traveling relics.

Fourth, the prestige and power of the saints made them useful tools for the hagiographers to fight

the perception of increased violence around the year 1000, discussed in Chapter 4, and by their

participation in the Peace of God movement, treated in Chapter 3. While scholarship on miracles

and pilgrimage is well established and relatively uncontested, the Peace of God and millennial

fear are topics of extreme debate and polarization among scholars. By adding movements into

the conversation, I was able to cut through the controversies and show that unsanctioned

violence prompted the movements of relics, people, and the saints in the miracle texts of Enimie,

Privat, and Vivien to perform peace on-the-go. The hagiographers’ use of movement to combat

violence was an effort to show the restoration of social order, preferably by stasis, and to uphold

the ideal of society safe from unwanted violence.

Concerning this theme, the role of church reform is a possible avenue for exploration. It would

be useful to widen the sources to build on this present study, which is deliberately focused on the

positive aspects of the Peace of God to combat violence through hagiography in specific cases.

Sources outside of hagiography could include texts written by clergy in response to violence in

eleventh-century Midi France. These could be examined to show some of the realistic and

difficult to ascertain aspects of this process that are often omitted in the idealized, prescriptive

hagiographical sources.

1060 See specifically Kate Craig, “Tension, competition, and exclusion,” in “Bringing Out the Saints: Journeys of

Relics in Tenth to Twelfth Century Northern France and Flanders” (PhD diss., University of California Los Angeles,

2015), 95-124.

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Fifth, miracles in the sources were beneficial for all social groups. For example, the

hagiographers do not take an elite perspective on the millennial debate, the Peace of God in

Chapter 3, and pilgrimage in Chapter 5, but instead emphasize the demotic nature of these

movements through the many movements of people and relics presented in the miracle

collections. Admittedly, many of these movements involve elite men and their warriors-at-arms

and were written from an elite, learned perspective. Yet the tone of the miracles was likely

comprehensible to all levels of society in a way that other types of primary sources are not. In

order to take advantage of the traveling goodness associated with the relics, people had to travel

to experience the saints’ powers. The hagiographers, therefore, included the many movements of

people and relics in their miracles because the physical movement of people and relics offered an

acceptable example of the complex interactions between saints’ relics and other saints as well as

saints and people of various levels of society; for the hagiographers, this showed the boundaries

of saints’ power, a power that was exhibited to institute peace and justice in the places under

their domain.

Concerning this theme, it is prudent to remember that miracle tales were not in-the-moment

descriptions, but after-the-fact reflections. In some instances, the authors were writing several

years after the events had taken place. Since miracle texts are technically a genre of literature,

not accepted by scholars as factual accounts of events, the time separation is not as important as

the fact that all these stories were reflective interpretations of the writers. This complication has

percolated in the background of this dissertation. Widening the miracula corpus would surely

both corroborate and provide alternative views for understanding how individual communities

envisioned the movements of their saints and relics in context.

Sixth, the miracle stories were also used to control and limit movement. We know that medieval

travel was a risky endeavor and that it could be dangerous, given the dangerous rovers of

warriors on the loose; yet, people and relics were still expected to travel to counteract social

disorder. The saints’ roving goodness thwarted dangerous rovers. Yet, it is fascinating that the

hagiographers only rarely and only implicitly portray this danger.

Given this general lack of recognition of the danger inherent in relic travel in the three sources, it

would be interesting to explore more primary sources to see if other hagiographers overtly

mention this concern. It would also be useful to search for any particular types of movement or

253

places that were considered more dangerous to travel to than other places. Additional research

into the theory of mobile sacred space could likewise be a fruitful direction to continue my

analysis of the control and delimiting of relic movement inscribed by medieval authors.

Considering these themes and areas for future research, I have two more suggestions for

potential research. The first step would be to expand the miracle corpus to include as many other

miracle texts as possible. I have done individual research and have surfaced important themes, as

explicated above, but with a solid understanding of how movements function within miracle

texts, it would be useful to test themes in the context of other sources. I would limit this to the

south of France and other image reliquaries that participated in the Peace of God, for a start.

Second, with an expanded source base, it would be fascinating to map out the movements of the

miracle texts. This could be done in two ways. On the one hand, mapping on a geographical map

may reveal miracle “hot spots” or places of avoidance. This would be a tricky enterprise given

that the miracle texts do not provide all the details of travel itineraries, often only discussing a

return journey rather than the outbound and return journey. Nevertheless, pinpointing the places

where the saints performed their miracles across several sources could provide valuable data on

trends of miracle activity and their relationship to areas under contestation between communities.

On the other hand, literary diagrams of miracles in the style of Franco Moretti could be useful.

Moretti asserts that diagramming literature can make patterns visible, that once perceived, can

highlight “experiences of social space” that exist within “systems of geography,” allowing

historians to map out a mentalité or ideology of the past.1061 Making a literary diagram would

add to the possibilities of analyzing these sources.

***

As a final thought, I would like to consider whether the hopes of the hagiographers I have

gleaned from my research were reached. If the central messages from the texts were to keep

people static to prevent certain types of violent attacks and to move properly in reference to

relics, then they were more or less attained. In the period directly following the eleventh century,

pilgrimage, acceptable movement in the eyes of the hagiographers, and holy travel not only

1061 Franco Moretti, Graphs, Maps, Trees: Abstract Models for a Literary History (London: Verso, 2005), 39 and

42.

254

increased but boomed. The pilgrimage to Santiago de Compostela attracted more and more

pilgrims to Saint James’ shrine in Galicia, Spain. Places such as Figeac, Mende, and Sainte-

Enimie, positioned on or near to the eastern pilgrimage routes to the Galician shrine, benefitted

from the influx of twelfth-century pilgrims. Relatedly, the twelfth-century surge in popular piety

likewise contributed to more and more visitations of southern French communities that

celebrated the ever-growing cult of the Virgin Mary. Travel to other holy sites, such as Jerusalem

also increased in the twelfth century for reasons connected to the eleventh-century

hagiographers’ desire for less local violence. From the Peace of God emerged the Truce of God,

which sought to limit more specific types of violence on certain days. Yet neither the Peace of

God nor the Truce of God was actually able to stop warring violence. Instead, these peace

movements contributed to the redirection of violence eastward to a new enemy of Muslims and

Islam while simultaneously providing more incentives and more places to which medieval

people could move.

255

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