THE ROMAN EMPIRE GOES AND COMES
There is plenty of evidence for decadence in the lives of the Roman emperors, but the collapse of their empire was physical as well, with the great cities and fine roads crumbling and falling to pieces, something which the victorious barbarians could hardly fail to notice. Other empires came and went, some (like that of Attila the Hun) not lasting very long. Attila’s successors – the next set of empire-builders – are the Franks, especially under Charlemagne, whose Frenchified name in English hides the fact that he was really German. He re-invented a Holy Roman Empire which wasn’t any of those things. The Roman church – a far tougher survivor – was also a little variable, although a Pope (Leo III, whom Charlemagne had had to bail out once or twice) gave him imperial respectability when he crowned him. Charlemagne’s biographer tried hard to make him into an Augustus, but didn’t really succeed.
The fragmentary Anglo-Saxon poem known usually as ‘The Ruin’ (there is no title in the original) presents a picture of what happens after civilisation has gone beyond decay. The Saxons must have been impressed by the architecture of dead Roman cities like Bath – it is clearly the Roman bath-house (itself a symbol of decadence, perhaps?) which stayed in the mind. But this alliterative poem (a Germanic form far more rugged in itself than the elegant and careful hexameters of much Latin verse) makes the point about decadence and decay well because it avoids all overt censure or comment, without moralising about the good old days. Absence of noise also plays a big part here. The Anglo-Saxon poem is in the tenth-century Exeter Book, one of the great repositories of Anglo-Saxon texts.
The Ruin
Stone wall once well-wrought, now wrecked by fate,
city broken, the building-work of giants,
roofs caved, collapsed towers,
gates fallen, frost on the mortar,
houses harrowed, hollowed, shaking,
undermined by age. Earth’s grip holds
the keen craftsmen, cold, long-dead,
in its hard hands; a hundred generations
went away. This wall, all mottled
with grey-red lichen outlived empires,
withstood storms till its steepness fell.
The walls crumble still, worn by weather …
[five fragmentary lines are omitted here]
One man’s mind once made quick plans,
a rich man with many thoughts,
with iron he bound the braces of the walls.
There were bright halls, bath-houses aplenty,
raised roof-beams, and the roars of soldiers,
mead-halls without number, noisy with men,
till mighty fate made it all change.
Far and wide fell the plague-doomed,
death bore away the brave warriors,
their shrines and temples torn to the ground,
their city crushed. Cult-priests and soldiers
sank to earth. Thus every courtyard fell,
the roof shed its red tiles
from the great arch. All became ruin,
made into stone-mounds, where many men
gladhearted, gold-clad, gloriously once
drank down their wine with war-armour gleaming.
Treasures they saw, silver, diamonds,
jewels and riches, gemstones, too,
in this bright city of a broad empire.
Stone rooms were here, streams flowed,
giving great warmth; a good wall held
to its bright bosom those broad baths
of heated water (well-being for men!)
They let the hot streams …
gush forth on grey stones
… a round pool …
… there, where the baths were …
… a most noble thing …
… the city …
[Ironically the poem breaks down into a ruin itself, and only a few words can be made out in the last lines]
Attila’s Hangover: the Eclipse of the Huns
Sometime between the ninth and the eleventh centuries (no-one is sure) a monk called Geraldus (about whom we know nothing) wrote (probably) a Latin poem of Walthari the Visigoth, who is taken as a hostage by Attila when the Hun empire is at the height of its power. Walthari becomes a great warrior, but after his fellow-hostage, the Frank, Hagano has escaped, Walthari and his Burgundian fiancée, Hildigunda (another hostage), hold a feast, get Attila very drunk, and make their escape with a lot of Attila’s gold. To his distress (and that of his wife Ospirina) no-one will pursue Walthari, and the Huns fade out of the story. The whole thing is a literary reflection of the sudden collapse of the powerful Hun hegemony after the death of Attila, when it fell to Roman and Germanic forces. Attila reputedly died of a massive haemorrhage on his wedding-night, but here his fall is via the demon drink, an aspect of his reputation that Chaucer knew as well. The Franks ambushed Walthari on the way home.
Geraldus
Waltharius
(260–323 and 358–418)
Walthari whispered to the girl:
‘You have been given charge of the royal coffers;
now listen well to what I have to say:
first take the king’s helmet and his three-layered coat,
I mean the ringmail tunic with the mark of Wayland.
Then take two coffers – neither must be too large –
and fill them with arm-rings of Hunnish gold, until
you can barely lift the coffers up breast-high.
Procure for me four sets of footwear that will fit,
and then the same for you, and put them in the chests,
and this should fill them up completely. Secretly
get well-turned fish-hooks from the smith – we shall
want fish and birds for food when we are on our way,
and I shall be both fisherman and bird-trapper.
Do all these things within the week, but cautiously –
you know now all the things we need for our escape.
Now let me tell you how we shall begin our flight.
When the sun has crossed the heavens seven times,
for the king and queen, their vassals, lords and court
I shall prepare and give a splendid feast,
and make sure they all end in drunken sleep,
till not a single one knows what is happening.
But you must only take a small amount of wine
at table – do no more than merely quench your thirst.
When the others rise, then go about your tasks.
When the force of drink has conquered everyone
then we shall set off westwards with all speed.’
The maiden heard, and did all he had asked. And then
the day arrived for which the feast was planned. Walthari
had prepared a mighty feast of food and drink,
and luxury itself presided at his table.
When the king came into the tapestry-hung hall
the hero welcomed him with customary grace
and led him to a throne decked out with purple cloth.
Attila took his seat, and placed two noblemen
at right and left. A chamberlain arranged the rest
at table. A hundred guests were seated at that feast,
and ate dish after dish, and drank until they sweated.
One course was finished and another took its place,
as wonderful food steamed in its golden vessels
– for only gold appeared upon the linen cloth –
while Bacchus, god of wine, adorned the goblets
with sweet drinks that would tempt the taste of everyone.
Walthari urged them all to drink their fill.
The meal was over; now they left the table,
and the warrior said, laughing, to the king:
‘With this, my lord, I beg, show us your favour,
let first yourself and then the others take their ease.’
And as he spoke he handed him a decorated cup
engrave
d with pictures of his ancestor’s great deeds.
Attila took it and drained it at one draught,
and gave the order that the rest keep up with him.
The stewards came and went, and came, and served the wine,
brought brimming goblets and took empty ones away.
Attila and their host urged everybody on,
and very soon the whole hall was roaring drunk,
and inebriate babbling came from every mouth.
Great heroes – what a sight! – staggered on their feet.
Walthari, far into the night, kept bringing in
Bacchus’ best, dissuading anyone who tried to leave,
until the power of drink and sleep overcame them all,
and there they lay – in doorways and in aisles.
Even if he had set fire to those walls,
there was not one who would have been aware of it.
[Walthari and Hildigunda make their escape]
The people of Attila’s court, in sleep and wine
stayed where they lay until the following noon,
but once awake, they tried to find their general,
to thank him for the feast and offer him their praise.
Attila, with his aching head held in his hands,
came from his chamber, and in wretchedness called for
Walthari, so he could bemoan his sufferings.
His servants said that Walthari was nowhere to
be seen. The king, however, still assumed that he
would be in some dark, hidden nook that he had found
for himself, still sunk in a sound, unhearing sleep.
Then Ospirina noticed Hildigunda’s absence.
Unusually, she failed to bring the queen her clothes.
The stricken Ospirina cried out to the king:
‘A thousand curses on our feasting yesterday
and on the wine, the downfall of all the Huns!
What I foresaw and had already told the king
has now come true, and we shall not get over it.
The mainstay of your empire has given way today,
its power, support, and all its famous strength has gone.
Walthari, the jewel of the Huns, has fled,
and taken my dear and favoured Hildigunda.’
And now the king flared up in fearful rage,
as all his happiness gave way to heartache.
he tore his robe from his shoulders and threw it down,
his anguished mind filled with conflicting thoughts.
Just as the east wind churns up and drives the sands,
so was the king’s mood, with wave on wave of sorrow,
his inner feelings turned this way and that, and what
went on inside him was reflected in his face,
although his anger would not let him say a word.
That whole day he would neither eat nor drink at all,
and his sorrows allowed his troubled mind no rest.
Night came, obscuring all the colours of the day,
the king fell on his bed, but never closed an eye,
tossing from side to side and from right to left,
feeling as if a spear had cut into his breast.
He started up, and tossed his head this way and that,
then sat bolt upright on his bed, a man distraught.
No help for it! He moved about within his fortress,
came back to bed, and then at once got up again,
and in that way he passed a long and sleepless night.
Meanwhile, the fleeing lovers hurried on, through
friendly silence, leaving the hated land behind.
Next day had barely dawned when Attila called in
his counsellors, and said: ‘If anyone can bring
the fugitive Walthari, like a greyhound bitch,
in chains, I’ll cover that man with pure gold
from every side when he stands before me, and as
I live I’ll spread treasures on every path he treads.’
But there was no great warlord in all those lands,
no earl, no margrave, no baron and no knight
prepared, however much he wished to show his strength
and gain eternal glory for his bravery
(and fill his coffers with the rich rewards as well),
to try his hand against the anger of Walthari
and meet him face to face with a sword in his hand.
Walthari’s strength was known, and all men knew too well
how many blows he gave, to win without a wound.
The king could not persuade a single warrior
to try for the rewards against odds like these.
Fredegonda, the Frankish Concubine
Roman Gaul eventually became the province of the Merovingian dynasty of Franks (the tribe who gave their name, eventually, to France). This particular dynasty provided a range of interesting kings in the early Middle Ages; they claimed partial descent from a sea-monster (which, given some of their activities, seems pretty plausible), and their favourite political weapon appears to have been constructive homicide. One of the most spectacular women politicians of all time emerged at this period, and it is baffling that Fredegonda, first a concubine and then a queen, is not far better known than she is. Initially one of several concubines of the sixth-century King Chilperic, she manipulated him into removing his second wife, married him, and throughout the rest of her (all things considered, surprisingly long) life, showed consistent skill in the permanent removal of opponents. Not that she did it herself very often. Bishop Praetextatus of Rouen once suggested to her that she might be destined for hell, and finished up with a dagger in the ribs, although he wisely elected to die at his own altar rather than be treated by her doctors. One of the citizens of Rouen remonstrated with her after this, but she invited him to have a drink with her, and guess what happened? After the death of her husband in 584, Fredegonda (who found time for several lovers whilst married to Chilperic) even managed to avoid being killed by Childebert II – she escaped by pleading pregnancy. Fredegonda’s deeds colour the pages of Bishop (later Saint) Gregory of Tours’ History of the Franks. Gregory lived from 539 to 594, and was made bishop in 573. His massive work is mostly a documentation of his own times and the doings of the royal families, and it shows how very closely they followed many of the less salutary traditions of some of the Roman imperial families. The History is a little like I, Claudius, with Fredegonda as Livia. Chilperic was married first to Audovera and then to Galswintha, before he married Fredegonda, whom he probably deserved. He had several children by his first wife, but they didn’t survive. Of her own children, several died of various illnesses, and her usual reaction was to have someone else (sometimes rather a lot of people) killed, declaring it to have been their fault. Fredegonda herself died in 597. The two extracts show us first the demise of the unfortunate Galswintha, and then that of Clovis, Chilperic’s son by Audovera, who was herself dragged from a convent and slaughtered on the orders of Fredegonda.
Gregory of Tours
History of the Franks
IV, 28 and V, 39
Seeing that his half-brother Sigibert had made a good marriage, King Chilperic was ashamed of being linked only with women of inferior rank. Even though he already had several wives, he sent envoys to ask for Galswintha, the sister of Sigibert’s wife Brunhilda, promising through these envoys that he would leave all the others when he had acquired a consort – a king’s daughter – worthy of himself. Galswintha’s father, King Athanagild of the Visigoths, accepted his promises and sent him his daughter, with a large amount of riches as a dowry, as he had done for his other daughter. When she arrived, Galswintha was received with great honour and was married to Chilperic, who treated her with all the more affection because of the great amount of treasure she had brought with her.
But soon his love for Fredegonda, whom he had earlier taken as a concubine, was to cause a great problem. Galswintha had already adopted the
Catholic faith and had been baptised, and now she complained daily to the king of being insulted, declaring that no-one showed her any respect; she demanded to be returned to her own country, leaving behind the treasures she had brought with her. First of all Chilperic tried subterfuge, calming her down and speaking sweetly to her, but eventually he had her strangled by one of his men, so that she was discovered dead in her bed. Chilperic pretended to mourn her death, but after a few days he married Fredegonda. His brothers, who reckoned that it was at the instigation of this woman that Galswintha had perished, forced him (temporarily) from the throne. Chilperic had three sons by one of his earlier wives, named Audovera. These were Theodebert, Merovech and Clovis …
After the death of their own sons, Chilperic and Fredegonda, bowed down with grief, retired to spend the month of October in the fortress situated in the middle of the forest of Villers-Cotterets. Fredegonda persuaded her husband to send his son, Clovis, to Berny; she was hoping that he would fall victim to the sickness which had already caused the death of his half-brothers and which was still raging there as a violent epidemic. But it spared Clovis, and he was not bothered by it at all.
The king went back to Chelles, an estate near Paris, and a few days after arriving at his residence there, sent for Clovis to come to him.
And now I shall tell you how the young prince met his end. While he was at Chelles with his father, he had some imprudent conversations and said some rather unwise things, to the effect that now that his brothers were dead he was assured of the throne, and that all Gaul would be his, and that his empire would be limitless – that at last his enemies would fall into his hands and that he could do with them what he liked. He also made comments and serious accusations about his step-mother Fredegonda. The queen heard of this, was worried, and determined to take steps to prevent any difficulties for herself.
The Dedalus Book of Medieval Literature Page 3
